Click. Click.
The sound of bullets being chambered cut through the silence of the conference room, sharp and unmistakable.
Even Steele, who'd been acting so aloof, grew cautious.
Sure, he was CP9's so-called "killing machine," but he was still just a man.
Taking on an entire Marine base single-handedly—even with the Six Styles and Armament Haki—was a tall order.
More importantly, he had no good reason to fight them.
The World Government wouldn't lift a finger to protect him if he started cutting down Marines without cause.
"So, you're choosing to rebel against the World Government?" Steele demanded, trying to regain the upper hand.
He was here on official orders, and that was his only leverage.
After catching her breath, Bell-mère waved a hand to stop Duncan.
Her voice was hoarse but firm.
"We're not rebelling. But attacking me? That's a provocation. Until you can explain yourself, this interrogation is over."
She stood a little straighter.
"I am Petty Officer First Class Bell-mère of Branch 127. Unless you have a warrant issued by the World Government, you have no authority to detain or question me."
Steele's face darkened.
He was used to nobles and officers falling in line the moment he spoke.
To be challenged like this, and in the "weak" East Blue of all places…
The air grew thick with tension.
Everyone held their breath, waiting.
Would he attack? Would he back down? Or would the Marines stand their ground?
....
"Hah! It's been years since I've been to the East Blue. This place never changes, does it? Still so… peaceful."
On the deck of a massive warship, a broad-shouldered man with purple hair stood at the bow.
His Justice Cloak billowed in the sea breeze, making him look every bit the legendary Marine.
"It's an honor to see you again, Instructor Zephyr," said Momonga, who was busy giving him the rundown on Branch 133.
Zephyr had taught Momonga's class at the academy, along with other future legends like Sengoku and Garp.
"That friend of yours, Raleigh—I heard he made Rear Admiral. Got assigned as Vice Adjutant in the North Blue." Zephyr shot a disapproving glance at Momonga.
"And you? Still just a branch captain. Back in my day, that kid was always slacking off. A total waste of talent. If he just be a serious for a little bit, your class could've produced two monsters."
He shook his head.
"And you, Momonga—I told you not to get distracted by his antics. You don't have his raw talent. You have to work for it."
Momonga offered an awkward smile.
Arguing with Zephyr was pointless.
"But you haven't done too badly for yourself," Zephyr continued, his tone softening.
"While I was at Headquarters, I saw your reports. Always leading from the front, fearless in a fight. You've done the Marines proud."
Momonga's chest swelled with pride. "Thank you, sir. I'm glad I haven't disappointed you."
"Hahaha! As long as you're out there putting pirates in the ground, you're serving justice, no matter where you are." Zephyr's smile faded as he got down to business.
"Headquarters is worried about that Royal Guard incident. The records show Raleigh was in Povo Village when it happened."
"I've spoken with Raleigh since his transfer, but he never mentioned a massacre," Momonga said quickly.
"I only learned about it from the papers. If you're suggesting he's tied to the Mad Blade Pirates… I find that hard to believe. We actually clashed with them soon after we were stationed here."
He called for a messenger, who soon arrived with a well-worn logbook.
Momonga flipped it open to an early entry.
"See here? Our fourth day at Branch 133. We got a tip, and Raleigh led us out immediately. We tracked the Mad Blades to a deserted island and fought them for half the night." He pointed to a line of red ink at the bottom of the page.
"Their captain, Nisugi Kazuki, could already cut iron. They were strong. In the end, they just… got away."
Zephyr nodded.
Truth be told, he wasn't too concerned about whether the Marines had crossed a line.
He'd seen worse arrangements in his time—like that business at God Valley.
His real job was to make sure the World Government couldn't use this as a stick to beat the Marines with.
"Alright. I'll take this," Zephyr said, tucking the logbook away. "This is all the proof we need to show we did our jobs."
With that settled, a grin spread across his face.
"We've got some time before I head to Branch 127. How about I show you a few tricks? A little refresher on the Six Styles. Might keep you in one piece the next time you run into a super-powered pirate."
"Uh, Instructor Zephyr?" Momonga rubbed the back of his neck, looking embarrassed.
"We, ah... we already know the Six Styles."
"I know you do, kid. You were one of my most diligent students." Zephyr clapped a heavy hand on Momonga's shoulder.
"But I'm talking about them." He gestured around the deck at the rank-and-file soldiers.
"The Six Styles are tough. Even if a grunt manages to learn one, he can't teach it. Luckily for them, I happen to be an excellent teacher."
Seeing Zephyr's determination, Momonga hesitated before pressing on.
"Sir, that's what I'm trying to say. The ordinary soldiers... they know them, too."
Zephyr burst out laughing, a booming sound that echoed across the water.
"Momonga! I never took you for a joker! The Six Styles? Most Headquarters marines don't have the full set. You expect me to believe every soldier in the East Blue knows them?"
Momonga took a steadying breath.
He had to just say it. "I knew you wouldn't believe me, sir. But it's the truth. Pick any soldier you like. Have him demonstrate."
Zephyr studied Momonga's face.
This wasn't the boy he remembered—this was an honest man.
He'd never lie about something so easily verified.
He waved over a young, fresh-faced seaman.
"You. Come here."
"Instructor Zephyr! Seaman First Class Hans, reporting!" The soldier snapped a perfect salute, back rigid.
Zephyr returned the salute, his eyes appraising. "At ease. Your captain tells me every man at this base has mastered the Six Styles. Is that true?"
Hans scratched his cheek, looking sheepish.
"Mastered all of them? Sir, no sir. Those techniques are way too difficult."
Zephyr nodded, his suspicion confirmed.
Just as he thought—
But then Hans continued casually, "My talent's pretty average. So far, I've only managed to learn three."
Only three.
Zephyr's brain stalled.
His eyes widened just a fraction.
He said 'only three.' He knows three.
A proud smile tugged at Momonga's lips. "Hans. The Instructor would like a demonstration. Show him what you've got."
"Yes, Captain!"
"Soru!"
In a blur of motion, Hans vanished from his spot.
Zephyr and Momonga turned to find him already standing on the far end of the deck.
"Soru, sir," Hans reported.
Then, his body seemed to go limp, swaying and contorting like a sheet of paper.
A few other soldiers, clearly used to this drill, lunged at him with practice swords and fists.
Their attacks whistled through the air, but not a single one connected.
"Kami-e..." Zephyr murmured, his voice low with disbelief.
He wasn't shocked by the techniques themselves—they were child's play to him.
He was shocked that a random seaman in the weakest ocean was performing them.
Hans's forms were rudimentary, the power behind them weak, but they were real.
Undeniably real.
After dodging the last attack, Hans planted his feet and kicked off the air itself, walking several steps on nothing before landing softly back in front of them.
"Those are the ones I know, Admiral," Hans said, looking genuinely apologetic that he didn't know more.
Momonga couldn't hide his pride.
"Well, Instructor Zephyr? I told you."
Zephyr was silent for a long moment, his brow furrowed in deep thought.
"The forms are different," he finally said. "The power output is lower, maybe by a third. But the trade-off..."
His eyes snapped up, burning with a new, intense fire.
"The difficulty has been slashed. That's the only way a soldier of his caliber could learn them."
He grabbed Momonga's arm, his grip like iron.
"You didn't simplify this system. Who did? Tell me. This person... they've deconstructed the Six Styles to their very core. To reduce the difficulty without completely sacrificing power... it's genius."
His voice grew more urgent, picturing the applications.
"The New World is a meat grinder. If every marine could learn even this version... we could save countless lives. Do you understand what this means?"
Momonga flinched.
He knew Raleigh would see this as a monumental headache, not an opportunity.
And if he did hand it over, he'd probably demand a king's ransom from Headquarters.
Seeing Momonga hesitate, Zephyr's face darkened.
His voice dropped, losing all its former warmth and becoming the voice of an Admiral.
"Branch Commander Momonga."
"Sir!" Momonga snapped to attention, back ramrod straight.
"Do you have any idea how many good marines die fighting pirates every single day? If they had this, some of them might still be alive. But your hesitation is keeping that from them." Zephyr leaned in, his voice a low, commanding growl.
"This is about the strength of the entire Marine Corps. Now, for the last time. Who. Was. It?"
Momonga swallowed hard.
"Sir... I need to make a call. It's not my secret to tell."
Without waiting for another order, he turned and practically fled for the office, Zephyr's intense gaze burning a hole in his back.
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