Akainu's single sentence — "You're nothing but frightened!" —
stabbed straight into the one wound the Five Elders refused to acknowledge.
Their expressions darkened instantly.
Shepherd Ju Peter clenched his fist so hard the knuckles whitened. Topman Warcury's breathing hitched almost imperceptibly. In the eyes of the other three, fury and alarm flashed in equal measure.
Because in that moment, they finally understood something with chilling clarity—
This was no longer merely Sakazuki's personal bias.
It was a sign.
A dangerous signal.
The Marines — that colossal engine of violence — were beginning, from top to bottom, to develop something perilous: independence. A will of their own, slipping beyond the World Government's grasp.
Gern Reginald Sigmar was one matter entirely. But now even Sakazuki — once regarded as obedient, controllable, the very embodiment of weaponized loyalty — was showing signs of independent judgment. He questioned directives. He measured orders against his own creed instead of bowing in blind submission.
That loss of control frightened them far more than any Yonko fleet ever could.
"Sakazuki!" Warcury barked sharply, trying to wrest back dominance through threat. "Do not forget — we can support you… and we can just as easily support Kuzan!"
"The Fleet Admiral's seat is still ours to decide!"
He was still dangling it — authority, rivalry, leverage — trying to box Akainu in with the promise of power and the specter of competition.
What he received in return was a low, undisguised, thoroughly contemptuous laugh.
"Heh."
"By all means," Akainu replied, voice steady and resolute. "Try."
"Though I can't stand that lazy bastard right now… if Kuzan were truly willing to let you pull his strings—"
"—then after Ohara, he wouldn't have changed so drastically. He wouldn't have started doubting so-called 'justice' in the first place."
The words struck clean.
Without waiting for further rebuttal, Sakazuki turned sharply and strode toward the exit.
But just before stepping through the massive doors, he stopped. He did not look back.
His final words rang through the chamber like iron striking stone.
"If you want to support me, then do it."
"If you don't — it makes no difference."
"I, Sakazuki, have no need for your charity."
A pause.
As if recalling something.
"As for the Marine Science Unit…"
"If I remember correctly, the word 'Marine' comes before anything else."
"Sakazuki! You—!"
"I have extermination operations to attend to. I won't entertain this any further."
And then he was gone.
The doors shut, leaving behind five men seated at the pinnacle of world authority — their faces dark and storm-heavy.
From this day forward, the blade known as the Marines was no longer simply held by a man like Gern who sought to reverse the hierarchy and claim the handle.
The blade itself was becoming too hot to grasp.
Outside, Sakazuki descended the grand staircase away from the suffocating air of the Hall of Power, heading toward the elevator that connected to G-1 below.
At the entrance to the passageway—
He collided with the one man he least wished to see.
Wearing the same white coat of Justice, expression perpetually lax, Kuzan stepped out of the lift from below.
He, too, had clearly received a "summons."
Fire and ice met in the corridor of power.
Their gazes locked.
In that single instant, both men understood.
The World Government was betting on both sides.
They had just met with Akainu. Now they had called in Aokiji. A calculated move to sow rivalry, to maintain balance through internal friction.
"Heh." Akainu broke the silence with a dismissive snort. "I hope I won't end up feeling about your 'justice' the same disappointment they tried to feed me about Gern."
The implication was sharp.
If Kuzan's so-called Burning Justice ever bowed to manipulation, it would be just as contemptible.
Kuzan didn't flare up. Instead, he stopped walking. A faintly ironic smile tugged at his lips.
"Sakazuki," he said calmly, though every word struck with precision, "you should be thanking me."
Akainu frowned. "What?"
"Because…" Kuzan continued unhurriedly, eyes drifting over Sakazuki's body, "if I hadn't stopped him back then…"
"…you'd still be lying in a hospital bed, contemplating life."
The meaning was unmistakable.
At the end of the Summit War, when Akainu had attempted to finish off Luffy and Ace, Monkey D. Garp had erupted in a fury beyond reason. That single, devastating punch had sent Sakazuki flying.
Had Kuzan not intervened — had he not reminded Garp that at that moment he was nothing more than a grandfather who had just lost his grandson —
The aftermath would have been far worse than a recovery period.
That memory pierced deep.
Because in Akainu's heart, that blow had felt like betrayal — betrayal by Justice itself.
His face darkened further.
Heat radiated from him uncontrollably now. The stone beneath his boots began to sizzle faintly.
He stared at Kuzan, jaw tight, veins standing out along his neck. He did not answer.
One man simmered with magma.
The other exuded creeping frost.
"Kuzan…" Sakazuki's voice came low, squeezed through clenched teeth. "Don't push me."
He could feel his composure eroding beneath that cold mockery.
"Push you?"
Kuzan did not retreat, even with killing intent thickening the air between them.
"Sakazuki," he countered, gaze steady, "have you ever truly realized how extreme — how dangerous — the 'justice' you worship actually is?"
"Was Ohara not enough to make you reflect? A justice without a trace of humanity? A justice willing to sacrifice everything? Is that what you call 'absolute'?"
The air trembled.
Magma churned more violently around Akainu's frame. Another heartbeat and the corridor might have become a battlefield.
And then—
Kuzan said something that froze the moment in place.
His eyes sharpened.
"Or…"
"…should we follow Gern's example?"
"…Right here. On Holy Land Mary Geoise."
"And settle this ourselves?"
The words detonated like thunder.
Follow Gern?
Fight atop Mary Geoise?
Years ago, Gern Reginald Sigmar's rampage in the Holy Land had become a legend within the Marines — an unrepeatable feat — and a humiliation the World Government desperately wished forgotten.
And now Kuzan was suggesting they replicate it. That two Admirals wage a death match in the sacred heart of authority itself.
Sakazuki had not gone mad.
In the end, he said nothing more.
He cast Kuzan one final, glacial glare — colder than the ice itself — and stepped into the descending corridor.
Kuzan watched his back recede.
The mocking curl on his lips faded slowly into something quieter — something heavier.
A faint sigh escaped him.
Then he shook his head and continued upward.
The fault line between them had nearly reached its breaking point.