Dim oil lamps cast trembling shadows across the metal walls of the warship's interior.
Vice Admiral Zephyr sat at his desk, thick stacks of battle reports and casualty lists spread before him. An ink bottle rested beside a steel pen stained dark from hours of writing.
Despite his reputation as the iron-fisted "Black Arm," Zephyr possessed the temperament of a strategist—someone who understood not only warfare, but people.
"…Haa."He rubbed his temples. Even someone like him could feel fatigue after a battle like God Valley.
The casualties far exceeded expectations. Too many had died. Even fewer had managed to bring their comrades' bodies back.
The pen scratched across the paper as names were crossed out, commendations assigned, ranks adjusted.
Until—
Gern Reginald Sigmar.
The pen halted.
"…Gern."
Zephyr stared at the name, brows knitting slightly.
A second-class soldier from a West Blue branch surviving God Valley alone was already miraculous. Bringing back a superior's corpse on top of that bordered on unbelievable.
By regulation, such merit justified promotion to Corporal, the lowest non-commissioned rank.
And yet…
Something felt off.
Too perfect.
Appearing at the final moment of evacuation, drenched in blood, carrying his fallen superior with tragic resolve—it all felt… rehearsed.
Zephyr set the pen down, tapping the desk slowly with his knuckles.
That boy's face surfaced in his mind again—especially that grief-stricken expression.
"Adjutant," Zephyr said at last.
"Yes, Vice Admiral!" The officer at the door snapped to attention.
"What do you know about the West Blue branches?"
The adjutant hesitated before lowering his voice."Rampant corruption. Officers buying ranks, soldiers bribing their way out of dangerous assignments. For someone like Gern—no background, no connections—to still be a second-class soldier after four years… he's either painfully honest… or dangerously clever."
Zephyr's eyes darkened.
Honest men didn't survive God Valley.
And clever men… knew how to turn tragedy into leverage.
"There's also something strange about Lieutenant Derrick's body—"
"Enough." Zephyr cut him off sharply. "That boy's grief was real."
The adjutant froze.
"I've seen liars. Cowards. Manipulators." Zephyr's voice lowered."But the sorrow in his eyes? That wasn't an act."
The adjutant hesitated, then fell silent.
Zephyr stared again at Gern's name. After a moment, a quiet chuckle escaped him.
"Interesting…"
His pen moved decisively.
Original Promotion: CorporalRevised: Sergeant
The adjutant's eyes widened. "Vice Admiral—!"
Zephyr closed the file."The West Blue needs to be cleaned up. And to clean rot, you need a blade."
He turned toward the porthole, moonlight glinting off the sea.
"And whether that blade cuts corruption… or something else entirely—"
A faint smile curved his lips.
"That depends on the boy himself."
Several Days Later — Crew Quarters
Gern lay in a hammock, idly spinning a Marine emblem between his fingers.
Around him, exhausted soldiers slept heavily, their snores echoing softly through the cabin.
No one noticed the faint vibrations coiling around Gern's fingertips.
"So… we're almost in the West Blue," he murmured, glancing toward the round porthole. "And a promotion too…"
The cabin door slid open.
"Attention! We're approaching West Blue Branch 133! All personnel assigned there, prepare to disembark!"
The messenger paused—then glanced meaningfully toward Gern's corner.
"And—Gern Reginald Sigmar!"
"Yes!" Gern swung down from the hammock.
"By official order, you are hereby promoted to Branch Sergeant, effective immediately!"
The cabin exploded in noise.
"What?! From second-class soldier straight to sergeant?!"
"That's insane!"
Gern accepted the promotion order calmly. The ink was still fresh. At the bottom—Zephyr's signature, sharp and heavy.
He looked up."Please convey my thanks to Vice Admiral Zephyr… for his 'recognition.'"
West Blue — Marine Branch 133
The port buzzed as the returning ship docked.
Branch Commander Asahi stood waiting, hands on his hips, scowling as he surveyed the battered survivors.
"Damn it! I sent two thousand men—this is all that came back?!"
His eyes landed on Gern.
The boy stood out immediately—tall for his age, nearly six-foot-two, with a bandage-wrapped blade strapped across his back.
Then Asahi noticed the rank insignia.
"…You?" His pupils shrank. "You jumped from second-class soldier to sergeant?!"
Gern scratched his cheek awkwardly."Just… good luck, sir. I didn't expect you to remember my name."
Asahi waved the others away and strode up to him.
"That Derrick… he died at God Valley, didn't he?"
"Yes. The casualty report should already be here."
"I know he's dead," Asahi said with a grin, rubbing his fingers together. "I mean—his compensation. You claimed it, right?"
Gern sighed internally.
Still, he understood.
If he wanted smooth advancement—and future command authority—he'd need cooperation.
And now that he had a Devil Fruit… money meant very little.
He nodded."Before he died, Derrick said you'd taken good care of him. He wanted his compensation delivered to you."
Asahi's eyes lit up."Ah—now that's loyalty! Don't worry. You'll have smooth sailing from here on out."
He leaned in with a grin."Any mission you take? I'll make sure the path's clear."
"Commander…" Gern blinked.
"What's that look for?" Asahi laughed. "We're Marines! Protecting the people is our duty!"
Then he leaned closer and whispered,"Besides, a damaged warship makes funding requests much easier… and if you die someday, I won't skimp on your compensation either! Hahaha!"