"That guy!"
At Marine Headquarters, fury spread across the officers' faces. To see a Vice Admiral humiliated like that, Harbel one of their own, was infuriating. Yet beneath their anger was unease. They had all witnessed Mostima's movements. It wasn't that Harbel had been careless; even they might have ended up the same way under such circumstances.
More than anger, there was dread. Mostima's speed and battle instinct rendered him untouchable to anyone of similar rank.
"We can only hope Zephyr arrives quickly," Tsuru murmured, her expression calm but troubled. The failure lay not in Harbel, but in their lack of intelligence. Had they understood Mostima's true strength earlier, Harbel wouldn't have fallen so easily.
It was clear now, Marine intelligence needed to improve, and Mostima in particular warranted close surveillance. Though Tsuru trusted Zephyr's power, even she couldn't be certain he could capture the man alive.
They had all seen it; Mostima's supernatural speed and his ability to soar through the sky.
Above the battlefield, Mostima hovered gracefully, wings spread, gazing down at Vice Admiral Harbel, who knelt bleeding amid piles of fallen Marines.
Though missing a leg, Harbel still forced himself upright, blood dripping from his tattered uniform, his glare fierce even through exhaustion.
"One last strike to finish you," Mostima said softly. His tone was polite, almost gentlemanly, but his words were death itself.
"You devil…" Harbel gasped, his empty sleeve flapping in the wind as blood pooled beneath him.
Mostima chuckled, amused, and lifted one hand. Feathers gathered around his arm like living light.
"Feather of God: Judgment."
The air trembled as countless feathers fused into a colossal, sword-shaped plume, descending with blinding brilliance. Its cutting edge radiated lethal sword slash.
Harbel's instincts screamed danger. He tried to move, but no matter how he dodged, the blade's point remained locked on his heart.
"Stop right there!"
A voice thundered across the battlefield—powerful, commanding, and unmistakably that of an Admiral-class warrior.
Zephyr had arrived. But even as his voice echoed, it was too late.
Teach felt the new presence instantly. He recognized the weight of that aura; it wasn't Garp or Sengoku, nor Fleet Admiral Kong, who guarded Headquarters. It could only be the former Admiral and current instructor of the Marine Academy—Zephyr.
Behind Zephyr came a contingent of Marine cadets, strong and weak alike, the next generation of Marines.
Still in his prime, Zephyr radiated raw power. Even from afar, Teach felt the pressure of his will and wondered silently whether he should interfere.
Behind Zephyr, nearly a hundred cadets advanced in formation, led by a man and a woman at the front.
"Gion, after this battle, will you accept my confession?"
The man grinned awkwardly, his face flushed.
"Heh, Tokikake, if you can surpass me in the number of enemies you defeat, I'll give you the chance to confess," said the young woman, Gion, smirking as she glanced at him and sprinted ahead.
"Really? That's great!" Tokikake's eyes lit up, his heart-shaped pupils betraying his excitement.
The other cadets sighed. These two were the monsters of their generation, Gion, the academy's most beautiful and skilled cadet, and Tokikake, her overly persistent admirer. His devotion was infamous, but Gion tolerated him, if only out of amusement.
Zephyr's voice rang out again, cutting through the air, urging Mostima to stop. Yet as soon as he felt Harbel's life fading, his expression darkened.
Mostima, hearing the distant voice, only sneered inwardly. His raised hand didn't falter.
The massive feather-sword plunged downward, piercing Harbel's chest and bursting through his heart. Blood erupted in a crimson spray as the blade tore through his back.
Harbel coughed twice, blood filling his throat. His eyes widened in disbelief, a trace of regret flickering in them before they dimmed forever.
Even Zephyr's arrival couldn't save him. Mostima hadn't even hesitated.
Zephyr landed beside Harbel's body, fury radiating from him as he took in the field of Marine corpses.
Mostima's lips curved into a courteous smile. "My deepest apologies, Mr. Zephyr. You arrived too late, and I couldn't hold back in time." He bowed slightly, his tone polite and almost mocking—an aristocrat apologizing for an unavoidable inconvenience.
Behind that elegance, though, his entire body was coiled tight, ready to react. Zephyr's mere presence was suffocating—an overwhelming aura not unlike Whitebeard's. Mostima knew one wrong move could mean his end.
Zephyr's fists clenched. The sight of that smile, that calm after a massacre, made his blood boil. Every instinct screamed to crush this man and throw him into Impel Down to rot for life.
Mostima flapped his wings, ascending once more, returning to his previous position in the sky. Below, the pirates and bounty hunters remained frozen. None dared move.
They had just watched him kill a Marine Vice Admiral effortlessly. The disparity between them was now painfully clear.
And then, Mostima spoke.
"Do you see them?" He gestured toward the approaching Marine cadets. "Those are the students of the Marine Academy—sent here to wipe us out."
"They are the future of the Marines. They must be tempered. And you—" his gaze swept across the pirates "—you are their whetstones, the stepping stones chosen for their growth."
He paused, his smile returning. "My condition is simple: kill them. I will hold off Zephyr. As long as you kill one cadet, you may leave freely."
It was a masterstroke of manipulation. He'd instantly understood Zephyr's intent and used it to turn the pirates against him.
At Marine Headquarters, the watching officers' expressions darkened. Mostima's words endangered every cadet on that field.
Below, the pirates and bounty hunters stirred, greed and bloodlust rising in their eyes. One kill and they could leave alive.
And those words—whetstone, stepping stone—stabbed deep into their pride. They were killers and marauders, not training dummies for the Marines.
Killing these "future heroes" would be poetic justice. Their expressions twisted into feral grins.
"Bastard!" Zephyr snarled. His form blurred, vanishing in a burst of speed. The air cracked beneath his feet as he launched himself skyward, closing the distance in an instant.
He knew he couldn't waste time. His cadets were powerful, yes, but still inexperienced. Without his guidance, their losses would be catastrophic. The live broadcast only made things worse—the entire world was watching.
If he didn't stop Mostima, the man would either slaughter his students or keep him pinned down. And seeing how young Mostima was, Zephyr knew one thing for certain—if this man lived, he would become a monster.
Once, he might have considered recruiting someone like Mostima. But after this… after the blood of a thousand Marines and one Vice Admiral had been spilled, that was no longer possible.
"What a monster!" Mostima laughed softly as Zephyr charged, the man's speed bending the air around him. "To move like that with sheer physical strength… how terrifying."
But Mostima had no intention of fighting head-on. His advantage lay in speed. If he stayed mobile, Zephyr couldn't touch him.
"Storm Barrier!"
Feathers erupted around him, spinning into a violent vortex. Mostima floated at its center, guiding their motion with precision. The whirling barrier followed his every move, forming a living shield.
This time, unlike his sparring with Teach, he fought without restraint.
Zephyr crashed through the air, his Armaments Haki flaring. His fists shattered the feather barrier but Mostima was already gone, darting across the sky.
Facing such a powerhouse, he remained cautious. Against monsters like Teach or Ares, he knew his Devil Fruit alone wasn't enough. Until his mastery evolved, only his swordsmanship could truly harm them.
He needed to reach the level of a Great Swordsman soon.
Zephyr cursed under his breath. Mostima refused to meet him directly, slipping away with mocking ease. His movements reminded him of that irritatingly evasive disciple of his.
At Marine Headquarters, Kizaru leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, eyes gleaming. "Oh-ho… not bad. He's right up my alley. I should go pay him a visit sometime."
Every head turned toward him.
"Kizaru," Sengoku said sharply, "remember you're a Marine."
"Hmm? Of course, of course," Kizaru replied lazily. "I'll just… interact with him under the pretense of capturing a pirate." He paused, realizing, "Oops. I said that out loud."
Sengoku sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Kizaru was as infuriatingly carefree as ever. Among the new generation, all three Logia users were powerful, but only Kuzan truly shared Sengoku's ideals.
He couldn't have known that, in the future, Kuzan's belief in justice would waver and his once-bright eyes would dim with disillusionment.
Meanwhile, Teach observed quietly. The mermaid Kairi lay unconscious beside him, knocked out by Teach himself, some scenes were simply too brutal for her to see.
Back in the sky, Mostima's tactics remained the same: evade, harass, and delay. He knew that in a direct clash, Zephyr would crush him. But in a battle like this, speed was everything.
Zephyr pursued relentlessly, the air bursting with each step, but no matter how he moved, he could only touch Mostima's shadow. In the sky, Mostima's aerial maneuvering far surpassed Moonwalk.
And below them, as their deadly chase raged across the heavens, the battlefield changed again—
the Marine cadets were walking straight into danger.