"Did you hear?" the pockmarked man asked.
"Hear what?" His companion looked up from his newspaper, appearing genuinely curious.
Townspeople filed past the district's center, passing the bench where the two old men sat—one reading, the other smoking.
"There's another Marine warship in the bay," the pockmarked man continued. "There's a Marine Rear Admiral in town. You don't see that rank around here often, if you know what I mean..."
"So that's the fucking news?" His partner stared at him blankly, clearly disappointed and annoyed.
"I mean, well it is..." he started nervously.
His friend snorted before looking back into his paper.
"Forget it, you pile of crap. That's why I don't like telling you anything!"
"Well, I wouldn't mind if you ever said anything worth listening to," the man shot back. "Ohhh! There's a Rear Admiral in town. What, you wanna get an autograph from the guy? Bring him some cookies, too?" He mocked, chuckling at his own joke.
"Piss off, Boris!" the pockmarked man grumbled, standing up, throwing his cigarette to the ground, and stepping on it. "I'm going home to my wife," he mumbled, clearly not taking kindly to his friend's japes.
"Say hey to Margaret for me!" Boris called out, loud enough for his departing friend to hear.
Marine Base Headquarters, Logue Town
"It still disgusts me that you dress like an ingrate, Smoker. Have you no desire to set an example for the men stationed here?"
The speaker was a man in his mid-thirties with slick black hair and a groomed mustache. An eye patch covered his left eye, but his right was fixed sharply on Smoker, who currently had two Cuban cigars clamped between his teeth.
This was Commodore Heinkel Bradley, ('Sekiryū' ), the 'Crimson Dragon.' Resolute and occasionally self-centered, Heinkel held a deep-seated loathing for criminals, a byproduct of childhood trauma at the hands of pirates. He despised mediocrity and lacked any patience for those who disregarded etiquette, putting him in constant, abrasive conflict with Smoker's rebellious nature.
As the first officer of the battleship Custodian and the right-hand to Rear Admiral Toji Zenin, Heinkel was the epitome of a Marine officer, the kind of man whose face belonged on recruitment posters. He sat with rigid, professional grace in a sharp dark blue suit with a similar colored tie, a white Justice cloak draped over his shoulders. The gold epaulets caught the artificial light alongside three medals pinned to his chest, yet his expression remained one of deep, cold disapproval.
"Well, it disgusts me that you're in my office when I didn't invite you. But alas, here we are," Smoker grunted, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke and pointedly ignoring the jab at his attire.
"Now, now, Smoker-san... don't be so ill-humored," Commodore Ichimaru Shinji interjected. His voice carried a thick Kyoto lilt, sharp and mocking.
As usual, a permanent, inscrutable smile stretched across his face, his eyes narrowed to thin slits. He leaned back, radiating a mock politeness that made it impossible to tell if he was being friendly or sharpening a knife behind his back. His hair was white as snow, and he sat casually in a sofa chair near the door, his cloak tossed carelessly onto Smoker's coat hanger.
To many of his compatriots, the 'White Snake', ('Shirohebi'), was a disturbance; to those who didn't know him, he was an unsettling mystery. Shinji was fully aware of his reputation and took a perverse pleasure in toying with the emotions of those around him, a habit Toji often found entertaining, though it only served to grate on Bradley's nerves sometimes as he thought Ichimaru was too unserious sometimes.
Despite his current rank, Shinji's history was a stained one. He had once been promoted to Rear Admiral over taking even Bradley in prowess and service, but his tenure was short-lived. He had been demoted back to Commodore after a brutal assault on a cipher poll officer who had dared to insult him. Shinji hadn't just argued; he had systematically broken several of the man's ribs and a leg, leaving no doubt that his "mocking politeness" was merely a mask for a terrifying volatility.
A black&red-hilted katana rested against his chair, a silent reminder that this man had carved a deadly reputation for himself in the New World. Whether a Rear Admiral or a Commodore, the 'White Snake' remained a man no one wanted to cross.
"Perhaps he's wearing that undersized jacket as a means to show that cute petty officer of his his muscular chest. How naughty of you, Smoker-san," Ichimaru mocked, punctuating the jab with a wink. "What's her name again? Mashigi?"
Smoker turned a deep shade of crimson. He gripped the edge of his desk so hard the wood groaned, looking ready to pounce on the snake-faced man.
"Ichimaru, you bastard! I'll kill you!" he growled.
"Calm down, Smoker. I'm disappointed that you still allow Ichimaru to rattle you so, after all these years." Bradley interjected, metaphorically stepping between the two like a weary parent.
All three men, including Toji, four, had joined the World Government's Navy at the same time . Which was 12 years ago; yet it was painfully evident that Smoker had become the outlier of their circle; his over-dependence on his Devil Fruit had hampered his growth in ways that couldn't be so easily expressed. At thirty-four, Smoker was the eldest, followed by Bradley at thirty-three. Toji and Shinji were the "prodigies" of the group at twenty-eight and twenty-seven, respectively.
Smoker eased back into his seat, his scowl deepening as he redirected his glare from Shinji to Bradley.
"Why are you all here, anyway?" he asked, forcing his murderous thoughts aside.He desperately wanted to tell them to bugger off, in the most creative ways possible, and to wipe that smug look off the white-haired bastard's face with his fist. But not today.
Today, he wasn't going to let them bait him into tearing his own office apart.
"Well, we shouldn't be," Bradley answered. "But since we're on our way to Headquarters and you're posted here, Toji thought it best to pay you a visit. It has been a year and a half since we've all been in the same room, after all." He reminisces.
"That, and he broke his other sword, so he came to get a replacement. But better blades could be found on the Grand Line, so I'm surprised he'd not look before we set sail from the new world, hopefully he does get something in the town , an oddity. if not" The mustached commodore added in a rough but almost posh tone.
"Well, you've seen me, so hurry up and begone from my base. I need not see you any longer, nor Toji," Smoker puffed, releasing another large cloud of smoke into the room. He sat with his arms crossed now, as if he wasn't having any of it.
"And I thought you'd be curious to see our latest catch...or what's left of them," Shinji said in his off-putting tone.
"The Vane Pirates. Altogether, they carried a bounty of 764 million. Toji carved up their captain pretty well. Too bad we couldn't take him alive it would've definitely increased our bonus this time."
"A shame it is Shinji, but have you forgotten, their captain was too dangerous to capture alive. I nearly lost a hand to that filthy creature of his vice-captain," Bradley replied.
"At least he and the remaining survivors can be sent to Impel Down, and that will be the end of them."
Shinji dismissed him with a flick of his hand, conceding the point without words.
Smoker was impressed, though his pride would never allow him to admit it. Over the years, his companions had remained among the best recruits of their batch. He himself had not fallen far behind in rank, but misdemeanors and insubordination had stalled his progress. Worse still, after acquiring a Devil Fruit, he had neglected the more martial aspects of his training—relying too heavily on its power instead of honing his physical strength and combat skill. Now, he regretted it. It had left him trailing behind.
He had sailed the New World before, serving under higher ranks among hardened, seasoned crews. Even compared to his friends here, he knew the difference between Paradise and that place—it was like night and day. The New World was no sea for the weak. It was a death trap. A place where only the strongest and the sharpest of mind survived.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed the office door creak open, then shut with a solid thud.
There he was: Rear Admiral Toji Zenin. The Black wolf, (Kokurō).
A sinister smirk tugged at Toji's lips the moment he saw Smoker's scowl. The Rear Admiral clearly found his friend's irritation amusing.
"It's been a while, Benjamin. Its always so good to see you," Toji pronounces, deliberately using Smoker's rarely spoken real name. He shrugged off his black coat and hung it beside Ichimaru's. His white Marine coat had been left back on the ship—he had no intention of drawing attention while moving through town.
"Well, I can't say the same," Smoker grunted. "I was having a peaceful day. Then you lot show up unannounced, clogging my docks with your ships and invading my space with your nonsense."
Toji chuckled as he dropped into a seat beside Shinji, far too comfortable for a guest. He leaned the katana and wakizashi against the chair, settling in as if the office belonged to him.
"You're still as stiff as ever, Benjamin," Toji said, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. "Relax. Loguetown's the last stop before the Grand Line. It's meant for a little breathing room before trotting into the dangers of the real seas , isn't it?"
"You can breathe and rest easily on your ship and anywhere else, not in my office or my damn harbor where your men gobble up our resources," Smoker growled. Still, the use of his given name dulled some of the edge in his voice. His gaze shifted to the blades resting against the chair.
"I take it those are the new swords," Bradley cut in ignoring smoker's tirade.
"They are," Toji replied. "And I'll be staying here for about a week, hopefully some pirates come along so I can test them." His smirk sharpened and it looked darker more so than he wanted due to the scar on the edge of his mouth.
"Tch." Smoker clicked his teeth.
"Don't you have prisoners to send to Impel Down?" he shot back. "Why waste time here, why don't you all piss off?"
A fair question, Smokey Boy, but that's an answer you'll never get, he thought to himself.
In a few days, the Straw Hats would arrive in this town. So would Dragon. So would Garp.
But it was Luffy he wanted to see, Luffy alone, a lie really he wanted to see all the strawhats. Luck and destiny seemed to cling to them, bending the world in subtle, impossible ways. Toji intended to see it for himself, to test whether that same force could be turned in his favor… though he had always believed in carving his own path, always did, back then up until now, but more was better after all, manipulation was apart of winning.
Dragon, the leader of the Revolutionaries, posed a different kind of problem. He wasn't a fight Toji could win, not yet. More importantly, a clash of that magnitude in a place like Loguetown could devastate the entire area, if not more. It wasn't a risk worth taking.
Besides… Dragon was doing something worthwhile, he was doing God's work. So why interfere? He'd let the man do as he did they all had their roles to play in the machinations of the world. It was his way of sticking his finger to the world nobles afterall.
So it made no sense to interfere, so he would do what he did best, stay out of immediate sight, keep quiet and be somewhere else when Smoker inevitably crossed paths with the Revolutionary leader.
Perhaps he'd pass the time capturing Buggy and Alvida. And, more importantly, he'd make sure Bradley and Ichimaru kept their distance from the Revolutionary Army. The last thing he needed was an unnecessary clash between his sadistic friend and those freedom fighters, things would escalate in the wrong direction, some place he didn't want it and that place being right back to headquarters.
The New World had been unforgiving these past few months. Pirates killed, captured, or tortured for information. Slave rings dismantled. Smuggling networks crushed. Conspiracies unraveled. Missions completed with and without much fuss, and he needed no more problems no more issues and long drawn out fights.
The world offered no shortage of work. No shortage of chaos. Some might question why he chose to become a Marine, and the answer was simple, really, because he wanted to.
Officially, the Marines were the "good" side. Unofficially… far from it, but the world wasn't divided into light and dark, it was far more complicated than that. Corruption festered beneath the surface. Ancient mysteries lingered. The Celestial Dragons… parasites draped in authority, committing atrocities without consequence or infractions.
And how he despised them. The thought alone stirred something dark within him, visions of tearing them apart, of handing them over to Dr. Hill , his ship's surgeon, to be tormented in ways even the most creative minds couldn't think of all while he watched.
He hoped that one day he'd get that chance and he'd favor it.
One man against a vast, rotting system.