White Ghost had to fight the urge to show Kuzan a very rude hand gesture. Unfortunately, this was the Fleet Admiral's office and it was packed with top brass, so he swallowed it.
Borsalino chimed in, sleazy as ever.
"Come on, Kuzan, stop dreaming," he drawled. "I almost managed to swipe one myself last time, but something came up…"
He sighed theatrically.
"Even Dr. Vegapunk was impressed by your… creativity. Speaking of which, White-bro," he added, rubbing his chin, "you're a Mythical Zoan user. Want to cooperate with the doctor's experiments a bit more?"
White Ghost stared at him.
"Didn't I already give him a vial of blood?" he said. "How much more does he want?"
Borsalino scratched his cheek.
"About that… the doctor only just started analyzing it. The moment your blood touched air, it burst into flames. Nearly gave everyone in the lab a heart attack—suddenly it was just burning, golden fire everywhere.
"So ah… are you sure you're still human, White-bro?"
"You're the one who isn't human," White Ghost shot back, rolling his eyes.
But the question stuck with him.
Last time my blood was drawn, I really was at my wildest, he thought. Dragon might and Conqueror's Haki merging… even I could barely control it.
Maybe that changed my blood?
He couldn't deny it. Ever since his awakening, his body felt… different.
No way, he told himself quickly. I'm still human. Just… upgraded.
His gaze slid over and landed on Zephyr.
An idea struck him.
A big, reckless idea.
"Kid," Zephyr said suspiciously as White Ghost's stare intensified. "What's with those eyes?"
"Want to help me with an experiment, Zephyr-sensei?" White Ghost asked, standing and walking over.
"What kind of experiment?" Zephyr frowned.
Everyone turned to look now, including Sengoku, who'd been quietly calculating the "value" of each Devil Fruit.
White Ghost raised his right hand.
Golden flame blossomed in his palm.
"My fire doesn't just burn," he said. "It heals. I've pushed that part of the power as far as I can… but there's one thing I still haven't confirmed."
Sengoku nodded; he knew this much already. So did many others.
In the last war, Kuro, Jango, and Ain had all been seriously injured—then White Ghost had burned their wounds clean. Not even scars remained.
After treating his own people, he'd refused everyone else—claiming he was "too drained" to continue.
Sengoku knew that was utter nonsense.
Especially when White Ghost had still found the energy to patch up Kuzan's chest wound—a gaping slash from Big Mom. Now there wasn't even a mark.
And some vice admirals—Gion, Gaji and a few others—had also mysteriously gotten "a bit of treatment."
"Let's try it," Zephyr said simply.
His body was a map of old injuries and hidden damage, accumulated over a lifetime of battle.
"If it can fix something, great. If not, no loss."
"Alright," White Ghost said, and pressed his burning palm against Zephyr's chest.
Zephyr immediately felt as if a tide of warmth was surging through him—like a gentle fire, washing over every inch of his body.
Outside, the others watched as the golden flames poured steadily into Zephyr, and his whole body flushed red, like a forge being brought back to life.
Then—
Cough.
He doubled over and spat a mouthful of thick, tar-black blood onto the floor.
White Ghost drew his hand back.
No one moved.
First, they trusted him; if he'd wanted to hurt Zephyr, he could've done it long ago—not in a room full of admirals and vice admirals.
Second, every single one of them could feel it with Observation Haki:
Zephyr's life force had just surged.
His energy was practically roaring.
"Hey," Zephyr said hoarsely. "Your ability's… not normal, kid."
White Ghost nodded slowly.
"I think so too," he said. "Your asthma's not completely gone, though."
Do you even hear yourself? several people thought at once.
Curing "hidden internal injuries" would already be unbelievable. But his chronic asthma, too?
Zephyr took a deep breath.
Then another.
"This feels… so much better," he said. "Thanks, brat. I can tell—even if I exhaust my strength in battle, my asthma won't flare up like before."
The frailty that had clung to him for years was gone.
He didn't look like an old man forcing himself to stand anymore.
Now he looked like what he truly was:
A powerhouse in his twilight years.
"It's frightening, really," Borsalino said softly. "Mythical Zoans are too scary. So, ah—are you sure you don't want to help the doctor with some more experiments?"
White Ghost shook his head firmly.
"I refuse. I'm not interested in being anyone's test subject. And I still have my own unfinished business."
You think I don't know about your Seraphim project? he added silently.
He turned back to Sengoku.
"Alright, Fleet Admiral. You've probably made up your mind. And quit staring like you're trying to shake more goodies out of me. There's nothing else. I'm dry."
As he spoke, he pulled out a large bundle from his bracelet and set it on the desk.
"This is from Ain," he said. "She's not coming. She was afraid she'd cry too much. Says it's not like you'll never see each other again—it's just a goodbye for now, not forever."
Zephyr looked at the pile: bottles of fine sherry, supplements, some clothes, even a few boxes of premium cigars.
"She got this well-off just by following you?" he asked dryly. "Does this count as me accepting bribes from a former subordinate?"
White Ghost shrugged.
"All the top brass in the Marines is in this room," he said. "Call it filial piety, not bribery."
Kuzan's attention had drifted back to the bracelet.
"You really don't have a spare?" he asked. "I want one so badly."
White Ghost rolled his eyes.
"Go find a space-type Devil Fruit and hand it to Vegapunk," he said. "Let him make you one."
"About that…" Borsalino said lazily. "Judging from the last two fruits we sent to the doctor, it looks like there aren't any more storage-type ones left.
"Fortress–Fortress Fruit. Bag–Bag Fruit. Box–Box Fruit," he said, ticking them off on his fingers.
White Ghost coughed and changed the subject a little too quickly, suddenly very interested in not talking about those.
Unfortunately for him, Sengoku and the others weren't fools.
They remembered the sudden, unexplained death of one of Whitebeard's division commanders.
A Bag–Bag Fruit user.
And how, right after that, the fruit had "somehow" ended up in White Ghost's hands.
"You had someone kill him?" Sengoku asked bluntly.
White Ghost shook his head.
"Wasn't my doing," he said. "I got that fruit through a trade."
Sengoku stared at him for a long moment.
He already had his own suspicions about that war.
And White Ghost was at the center of all of them.
"I'll approve your resignations," Sengoku said at last. "But there are conditions."
White Ghost went back to his seat beside Kuzan and nodded.
"I'm listening."
"First," Sengoku said, "from now on, any pirates you capture and turn in to Marine bases—your bounty payout is cut in half."
White Ghost's eyes widened.
Old fox, he thought. Going straight for my wallet.
Sengoku ignored the look and continued.
"Second. Going forward, there will be… situations the Marines are not in a position to handle openly.
"When those arise, we'll send them your way. If anything goes wrong, the Marines will deny all involvement."
White Ghost's expression turned thoughtful.
"And in return?" he asked.
"In return," Sengoku replied, "for the everyday messes you get into on your travels, the Marines will help suppress the fallout—as long as you don't go too far."
"In other words…" White Ghost said slowly, "as long as I don't wipe out whole countries, you'll cover for me?"
Sengoku didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
"This I can live with," White Ghost said, nodding.
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