"But this time…"
Vice Admiral Caron's body trembled slightly as his fingers slowly reached toward the drawer and gently pulled it open.
Inside the drawer was a framed family photo.
The glass reflected the soft glow of the setting sun, and within that light seemed to lie his deep attachment to his family, along with the complicated emotions now twisting in his heart.
The gentle light fell across the desk, where a photo carrying precious memories rested quietly.
In the photo, his little granddaughter Emily's originally brilliant smile now felt like a sharp needle stabbing straight into his eyes.
Looking closely, one could see that one of her front teeth was missing.
That small gap did not lessen her cuteness at all. Instead, it added a bit of mischief and innocence.
In the corner of the photo, the iconic candy windmills of Totto Land could still be seen faintly, their bright colors seeming to speak of the wonderful time they had shared last year.
Back then, he had happily taken her to the dreamlike Whole Cake Island for a trip.
Along the way, they had left behind countless laughter-filled and sweet memories, and this precious photo was the best proof of that journey.
Just as he was immersed in the warmth of the past, a sharp, urgent cry from a Transponder Snail suddenly shattered the quiet.
The sound rang wildly like an alarm, making his heart beat faster despite himself.
Caron slowly reached out and picked up the call.
From the receiver came the Chief of Staff's voice, clearly thick with tears. Every word seemed wrapped in endless despair and fear.
"Sir! We just received urgent news… Big Mom has publicly announced that all family members of Marines will become her so-called 'revenge targets'!"
The words struck Caron's heart like a bolt from a clear sky.
His body swayed violently, as if he had lost his balance.
His right hand instinctively reached toward the depths of the drawer, where his sidearm was stored.
In that instant, countless thoughts flashed through his mind. Rage, unwillingness, struggle, and all kinds of emotions tangled together.
However, when his gaze once again fell on the photo, on Emily's innocent face as she held up cotton candy, his heart softened instantly.
The hand that had been gripping the pistol slackened powerlessly.
After a moment of silence, Caron slowly opened his mouth.
"Pass down the order…"
His voice was low and hoarse, carrying an indescribable heaviness.
As he spoke, he slowly removed the Marine badge from his collar.
His movement was slow yet firm, each motion seeming to tear at his own soul.
"323rd Branch… is to disband immediately."
Those few simple words were as heavy as a thousand pounds, pressing down until it was difficult to breathe.
Soon, hurried and chaotic footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Soldiers moved back and forth, busily burning all kinds of documents.
Flames roared to life, and the papers twisted and danced in the firelight before turning into streams of black smoke that rose into the air.
Through the drifting smoke, Caron saw the figure of the recruit Tom.
That young boy held the Marine flag tightly in his arms, his eyes filled with extreme reluctance and stubbornness, refusing to let go no matter what.
Caron still remembered the day Tom had enlisted.
His eyes had shone brightly then, full of longing as he said he wanted to "become a hero like Vice Admiral Caron."
Yet now, everything had become so cruel and helpless.
When the final Marine flag slowly descended, the scene felt especially solemn and tragic.
The elderly Vice Admiral Caron suddenly straightened his once-hunched back.
His eyes were filled with firmness and resolve.
Facing the empty office, he gave the most perfect salute of his entire life.
In that moment, time seemed to freeze, and every emotion was released through that single gesture.
The setting sun fell over him, stretching his shadow long across the room.
That long shadow happened to cover the slogan on the wall that read Absolute Justice, as though silently questioning that so-called justice.
"Emily…"
Caron murmured softly, his voice full of guilt and helplessness.
He carefully placed the resignation letter he had written beneath his Marine cap and whispered to himself.
"Grandpa… is going to be a deserter this time."
The moment the office door slowly closed, the family photo inside the drawer suddenly fell over without warning.
The back of the frame revealed half of a yellowed old wanted poster.
On it, the young Monkey D. Dragon stared quietly at the now-empty seat, like a silent mockery that left one sinking into deep thought.
The seawater gently struck the reefs along the shore, producing a steady rhythm.
And amid that busy yet solemn atmosphere, the first civilian ship carrying many retired soldiers slowly set sail.
The wooden vessel was somewhat weathered, but still sturdy. It floated steadily on the water, rising and falling gently with the waves.
Its mast stood tall, pointing toward the sky.
Hanging from it was not a pirate flag symbolizing plunder and adventure, nor a Marine flag representing authority and order.
At the very top of that straight mast fluttered only the simplest piece of white cloth.
The white cloth snapped in the sea wind. Originally, it was a distress signal used by South Blue fishermen when they encountered disaster on the vast ocean, a symbol of their desperate cry for survival.
But now, in this special moment, it had been given a new and deeper meaning.
It had become the entire branch's solemn and heartfelt farewell declaration.
The white cloth swaying in the wind was like a silent song, telling of past glory, present departure, and the hope for an unknown journey ahead.
...
Midnight.
The ink-black sky seemed to have been torn open, and torrential rain poured down like millions of furious silver whips, lashing wildly against the tightly shut window of G-8 Branch's communications room.
Dense raindrops struck the glass with sharp crackling sounds, as if they meant to shake even this solid building apart.
Inside, Vice Admiral Jonathan sat leisurely in his chair with a fine cigar between his lips.
The rising smoke curled and spread through the relatively closed room, like a nimble gray ribbon, gentle yet carrying a faintly mysterious air.
Through the smoke, Jonathan's calm, resolute face could be faintly seen.
His gaze was focused and deep, fixed straight ahead.