The Impel Down warden had been reassigned to Marineford at dawn.
Magellan had been, well, otherwise occupied at dawn—so he didn't know. Hearing Hannyabal's report now, he felt the drop in pressure that meant a big storm on the horizon.
"Just one lap of the Grand Line and a shiny new title—Pirate King—and they mobilize like this? What reason is buried that deep?"
He chewed the thought, then shelved it. Whatever the high tables were hiding, he had a jailbreak to handle.
"Move. Level 6."
Marineford, Marine Headquarters.
A cavernous conference hall. Every major Marine seat filled: Fleet Admiral Kong, the Admirals, Vice Admirals, Chief Strategist Tsuru, the Director of Naval Intelligence—and even the breathless Impel Down Warden RUSH-DELIVERED to the meeting.
"Everyone's here? Good. Then this operation briefing begins."
Tsuru's eyes skimmed familiar faces. "Regarding Gol… do Roger—"
"Hold it, Chief Strategist."
A Vice Admiral raised his hand. "Garp isn't present."
"Garp is pursuing the Roger Pirates in the New World," Kong replied. "He's exempt. Continue, Tsuru."
She nodded—only for another Vice Admiral to lift a hand.
"One question first. Why are we calling him Gol-do Roger? The wanted poster says it, the news says it. Isn't it Gol D. Roger?"
Tsuru inhaled to frame the answer, but Sengoku cut cleanly across:
"Orders from above. Forget that name. From now on, everyone will call him Gol-do Roger. Understood?"
Glances traded like cards. Gol D.—just one D missing. Why?
Kong's voice went flat. "Some of you wouldn't know. The Clan of D is a troublesome line—once called the Natural Enemies of the Gods. The World Government's enemies. Our enemies."
A small voice near the back: "Then Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp—"
"Garp is… special. Not part of that discussion."
Silence crystallized. Names were done.
Tsuru steered back. "As for the Roger Pirates: the directive is to crush them quickly and arrest Roger. At any cost."
Crew capture was secondary. The captain was mandatory. The Five Peaks of the New World were a wash to the Government—except Roger's lot. They'd touched taboo.
The Five Elders had handed down a kill order. The weight rolled downhill to Headquarters. Thus: this room.
"Suggestions?" Kong asked, hands folded.
Every eye found Sengoku. The "General of Strategy" always had knives in his cloak.
"The problem isn't beating Roger's crew," Sengoku said. "It's stopping them from escaping."
He slid a folder across the table. "Per our New World picket ships, both the Roger Pirates and the Kuja Pirates recently visited Wano."
"Wano?" Zephyr arched a brow. "The samurai nation?"
"Precisely. And you must've noticed—when Roger reached Laugh Tale, there was a new face aboard." Sengoku's gaze flicked to the warden. "Garp's pursuit reported contact with the Brewer—Dimon. A month later? Roger's Pirate King."
"Your point?" Kong said. "Our target is Roger, not Dimon."
"He's tangential," Sengoku conceded. "My real lever is the Kuja Pirates."
A ripple. He pressed on. "Everyone knows Roger dotes on Shakky. If we take her, he will come to—"
"Denied!" someone blurted.
"Absolutely not—how could we move on Shakky?" another sputtered. "General Sengoku, she's a natio—cough—crowd favorite. Grab her and every pirate with a heartbeat swarms us!"
"Then it won't just be Roger we're facing."
Excuses piled up like driftwood. Sengoku's jaw ticked.
Did they forget what uniform they're wearing?
He looked to Kong. The green or red light would have to come from the top. The plan was clean; the fallout controllable—assuming the news stayed contained.
Kong stroked his moustache. "On a woman? Questionable optics."
You, too? Sengoku stared. All this over one woman? No wonder the Kuja sailed where they pleased. Even when caught, they sashayed away—and looted a frigate on the way out.
Useless.
How am I supposed to fix the Navy with you worms?
Tsuru saved the room. "Other options, Sengoku?"
"Best lever is still Kuja." He didn't miss a beat. "We don't have to touch them. We seed a false report…"
Heads lifted. Eyes sharpened.
"Good plan. As expected of General Sengoku!"
Right—anything works as long as it doesn't touch Shakky. He swallowed the sigh and laid out the bones: forged arrest notices, Judicial Island transfer timetables, a "cipher" leak designed to pull Roger to a kill box.
Pens scratched. The trap took shape.
Outskirts of the Flower Capital, Wano.
Twist the Future — Super Saiyan.
Dimon clenched his fists. Haki danced around him; hair shot upright, turning a rich gold.
He flexed. The strength… didn't budge.
"Hm. No good? So my future can't be Saiyan?"
The Age-Age Fruit really wasn't god-tier—couldn't even hand him a proper Saiyan buff.
Well—half-credit. It could fake the look.
A presence skimmed the edge of his Observation. He dropped the form immediately. He'd sneaked out precisely so no one would witness his teenage-dream form.
Abel spiraled down, newspaper tucked under an arm. "Lord Dimon—today's World Economy News. Major headline!"
Dimon took it—and blinked.
[Idol Empress Shakky Captured; Immediate Transfer to Enies Lobby for Trial!]
"What kind of joke—Shakky got caught?" He turned to Abel.
"She's currently in the Flower Capital hosting a signing event," Abel said evenly.
"Charging for autographs."
Dimon's mouth opened, closed.
Came to my Wano and started fleecing my cattle?
He set the paper down, eyes narrowed, thoughts drifting like smoke.
A false arrest, broadcast loud. A rendezvous window at Judicial Island.
Sengoku's style: bait the hook, let the fish see it, and wait.
On the palace veranda, a cipher-line Den Den Mushi chirped—sharp, official, insistent.
Abel's hand hovered over the receiver. "Cipher Pol frequency. It's marked urgent."
Dimon's gaze slid to the horizon, to where the waterfall's spray stitched the sky. For the briefest second, his Future Sight flashed—
—and he saw a dog-headed prow nosing the clouds.
"Answer it," he said softly, a smile not reaching his eyes. "Let's hear the script."
Across the sea, three Marine task forces shifted in unison. In Marineford's map room, red cords tightened around a single blue pin: the Oro Jackson.
To be continued…
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