New World — G-10 Base
The world-shaking political clash of the commendation ceremony had only just settled.
Gern Reginald Sigmar hadn't even had time to savor that hard-won victory before plunging headfirst into work on a far grander, more complicated scale.
Inside the G-10 command office, documents were stacked like miniature mountains. Den Den Mushi rang in overlapping bursts, their mechanical "buru buru" echoing relentlessly through the room.
Just as he had anticipated, seizing Whitebeard's territory was only the beginning. The real challenge lay in digestion and consolidation.
Victory was not a matter of planting a flag and calling it done. It required stabilizing affiliated kingdoms, securing maritime routes, integrating resources, and preparing for the inevitable infiltration and counterattacks from the other Yonko.
And now, two additional responsibilities had been added—both enough to make anyone's scalp prickle.
Foremost was the construction of the new Marineford.
Relocating Marine Headquarters into the New World and expanding upon the foundation of the former G-2 base demanded astronomical funding, massive resource allocation, coordinated manpower transfers, complex defensive architecture, and renegotiations with surrounding powers. The scale of the undertaking far surpassed the reconstruction of the old Marineford.
Second was the strategic restructuring of the first half of the Grand Line.
Though the center of gravity had shifted, "Paradise" could not be abandoned. Maintaining order there without diverting the New World's primary forces—deterring restless pirates while preventing the World Government from using the situation as a pretext to interfere—required delicate positioning and meticulous personnel arrangements.
In short—
There was an ocean of work to be done.
And yet, Gern demonstrated an astonishing level of coordination and efficiency worthy of his overwhelming strength.
He did not drown himself in trivialities. Instead, he seized the core issues first.
His fingers tapped swiftly across Den Den Mushi of different colors, issuing clear and decisive orders one after another.
To the New World:
He signed several military directives under the title of "Marine Governor-General of the New World."
He ordered Barrett to lead an elite fleet in a thunderous sweep through Whitebeard's former territory, crushing any pirate crews refusing regulation or attempting to exploit the chaos. High-pressure suppression. Absolute deterrence.
He instructed Tesoro to deploy his financial acumen to swiftly seize and integrate Whitebeard's key commercial islands and underground trade routes—cutting off the economic infiltration of the other Yonko and reopening negotiations under new terms.
He tasked Enel and Kuma with patrol duty along the peripheral zones of G-10's sphere of influence, keeping close watch on any unusual movements from Big Mom and Kaido's forces.
As for the construction of the new headquarters, he initiated encrypted communication with Sengoku directly—transmitting G-2's original blueprints and the surrounding maritime data in full packages.
He requested that Sengoku, in his capacity as Fleet Admiral, produce a preliminary expansion plan and budget as soon as possible, and immediately initiate early-phase construction using the massive funding Gern had "extracted" from the World Government.
He understood something critical:
Sengoku had to be deeply involved. Only then could internal resistance be minimized—and the old marshal firmly tied to his own war chariot.
As for the first half of the Grand Line, now somewhat adrift in self-satisfied complacency, Gern drafted a formal proposal.
He suggested temporarily rotating hardline, highly disciplined Vice Admirals such as Onigumo and Momonga through key Paradise chokepoints. High-mobility patrol strikes. Decentralized authority. Granting them discretionary power in the field to compensate for the temporary absence of top-tier combat forces.
…
After several hours of relentless administrative work, even Gern felt a faint strain press against his mind.
He rubbed his brow subconsciously and lifted his head to ease his eyes.
And that was when his gaze landed on the comfortable sofa off to the side of the office.
There lay Sengoku.
Slumped without the slightest regard for dignity.
A bag of senbei crackers in hand, chewing with loud crunches. A cup of steaming tea rested beside him.
The relaxed, leisurely image stood in stark contrast to Gern's mountainous paperwork and incessantly ringing Den Den Mushi.
He looked like a second coming of Garp.
Gern stared at him.
A vein pulsed faintly on his forehead.
Grinding his teeth slightly, he spoke with poorly concealed irritation.
"Fleet Admiral Sengoku."
"If I remember correctly, you are still, in name at least, the overall head of the Marines."
"Are you really comfortable looking like that?"
Faced with the accusation, Sengoku looked utterly unbothered—like a pig unafraid of boiling water. He even sank deeper into the sofa.
After taking a slow sip of tea, he replied in a tone so deliberately irritating it almost perfectly mimicked Kizaru's lazy drawl.
"Oh my~ Governor-General Gern, now that's not quite fair, is it?"
He shook the senbei bag lightly.
"You're the one who insisted on stirring up this whole affair. Relocating headquarters, integrating the New World—such grand moves. If you're not busy, who should be?"
He set down the teacup and sat up slightly, a grin tugging at his lips.
"What's wrong? Did you think sidelining this old marshal and turning me into a decorative clay statue would be an easy, comfortable job?"
He gestured lazily toward the mountain of documents in front of Gern, his tone half teasing, half faintly retaliatory.
"No matter how capable Tesoro is, he can't personally authorize everything, can he?"
"Setting aside the fact that high-level officer transfers require the Fleet Admiral's seal… military expenditures above certain limits… documents involving diplomatic matters with allied kingdoms…" Sengoku shrugged.
"Most of those? He doesn't even have the authority to approve them."
"So naturally, they pile up here with you, 'Governor-General.' Or—" he added lightly, "theoretically, they should be delivered to me."
"…Tch."
Gern muttered a curse under his breath as he watched Sengoku's shameless enjoyment.
Then again, anyone who could spend decades bantering with Garp was hardly going to maintain strict decorum once relaxed. Only the dignity of the Fleet Admiral's position had kept Sengoku restrained before. Now, with pressure slightly eased, his true self surfaced.
Still—
Power was never easy to hold.
Responsibility followed authority like a shadow.
All beginnings were difficult.
If he wanted to become a true master of this era—
Then he had to first sort through these tedious yet critical realities.
"Hmph."
With a soft snort, Gern turned his attention back to the ocean of documents.
Yet the corner of his lips curved upward, almost imperceptibly.
This challenge—outmaneuvering an old fox while managing colossal responsibility—was exhausting.
But it was exactly what he desired.
Because everything—
Was proceeding according to his script.