CHAPTER 262 ZEPHYR
On Fish-Man Island, Brett reviewed the screenplay. Tesoro's screenwriting team worked with impressive efficiency—they'd delivered the third draft within a single week.
"This is already the third version," Tesoro said, exhaustion evident on his face. "To help you out, I've pulled several all-nighters straight."
"I'm genuinely grateful," Brett replied, eyes fixed on the script before him, barely managing a perfunctory response between reviewing pages.
The screenplay was remarkably well-crafted. It centered on an ordinary Fish-Man Island resident who accidentally became entangled in a conspiracy involving spies from an evil organization. Through his cleverness, with assistance from the great Director Brett and the handsome Tesoro, he ultimately foiled the villains' sinister schemes.
Setting aside the self-aggrandizing roles added for himself and Brett, the story flowed smoothly with tight pacing and logical consistency. Even stripped of those elements, it constituted an exceptional screenplay.
As propaganda cinema, Brett particularly valued the anti-espionage messaging. The screenwriters had devoted considerable effort to developing the antagonists—the agents—detailing their despicable tactics in depth. Threats, inducements, manipulation of island residents into stealing secrets, then coordinated external assault on Fish-Man Island.
Viewers would clearly recognize espionage's insidious methods and terrifying reach.
"Not bad. Actually, excellent," Brett nodded slightly. Though political propaganda, superior quality certainly improved the project.
"Obviously," Tesoro declared with characteristic arrogance, tilting his chin despite being shorter than the seated Brett, somehow managing to look down at him anyway.
"The project has Fish-Man Island's investment. When can shooting begin?"
He was already impatient.
"How could it possibly be that fast?" Tesoro scoffed. "Scripts are finished. Next comes casting. So be grateful, Brett—I'm letting Fish-Man Island have the lead role."
Not that Tesoro didn't want to star, but a human protagonist would undermine the residents' identification with the story. Only a fish-man hero matching wits against evil agents would resonate deeply.
"Let me take you to—"
Brett's head turned toward the office door.
The next instant, it opened as a blue, rotund figure rushed in.
"Latest news!" Jinbei waved a newspaper, his face reflecting disbelief. "Major news!"
"Major news?" Tesoro asked, puzzled.
"A new Shichibukai has been appointed!" Jinbei unfolded the newspaper, displaying a large, clear photograph for both to see. "Look who it is! Didn't expect this, did you?"
"No way!" Tesoro was genuinely startled, eyes widening in shock as he rushed forward, seizing the newspaper for careful examination. "The government's gone insane!"
Tesoro recognized the man in the photo. He knew this person possessed considerable strength—definitely Shichibukai material. But strength wasn't the issue. The issue was the man himself.
Brett's lips curved upward slightly. Had this happen seven years earlier than in the original timeline?
"Are they seriously not worried about Marine mutiny?" Tesoro laughed heartily after his shock. "They really dared appoint this guy as Shichibukai?"
Why wouldn't they?
Brett smiled internally. When had the World Government ever cared about the Navy's feelings? Eight hundred years of existence—the Navy had never successfully defied government will.
"This should be entertaining," Brett chuckled softly.
Though seven years accelerated, what would Zephyr choose?
---
At Navy Headquarters, Marine Base Marineford, in a certain laboratory:
Admiral Zephyr tested his new arm. A black mechanical limb, aesthetically differing from ordinary arms only in color. From appearance alone, it seemed unremarkable.
"While it obviously won't match your original arm's functionality," the scientist from the Science Division, specifically assigned to design Zephyr's prosthetic, adjusted his glasses seriously, "the internal technology grants it considerable power. For now, it should suffice."
The former Navy Admiral, the Black Arm, Navy Headquarters' chief instructor, kept his expression neutral as the mechanical hand opened and closed. Utilizing neuromuscular interface technology, the prosthetic responded to his will despite lacking sensation—far superior to standard prosthetics. The internal power system provided remarkable strength.
Barely acceptable.
The laboratory door suddenly burst open as a blue-haired naval beauty rushed in.
The scientist frowned. "Miss Ain, this is a sterile laboratory—"
"Teacher Zephyr!" Ain ignored the scientist, thrusting a newspaper before her most respected mentor. "Look at this."
Zephyr froze, reading the panic and fury in his student's eyes. He automatically accepted the newspaper.
One glance.
His pupils dilated.
"What the hell is this joke!!" His powerful mechanical hand crumpled the thin paper, his facial muscles twitching—the former World Government's highest combat force hadn't lost composure like this in years.
"Ain! We're going to the Fleet Admiral's office!"
He kicked the laboratory door flying open, striding away without looking back.
The scientist left behind watched his departing silhouette, lips moving silently as panic suddenly seized him. He'd seen the photograph on the newspaper.
He understood something major was about to happen.
Though what did it concern him, a mere Science Division scientist?
Better to return to the Science Division quickly.
Zephyr's strides lengthened. Each step pushed off with maximum force, accelerating, accelerating! Like the fury in his heart, increasingly difficult to contain.
"SENGOKU!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"