"Issho-san, please follow me."
Kuro, the ever-immaculate secretary, led the way.
His pace was a perfect, measured cadence—neither hurried nor slow, a testament to his absolute control.
"My thanks," Issho nodded, his voice a low, polite rumble.
His blind man's cane tapped lightly against the pristine stone floor as he followed, the simple tap-tap-tap echoing in the grand hallway.
He was discreetly using his Observation Haki, feeling his surroundings, and his mind was in absolute turmoil.
It was almost impolite, he knew, to probe so deeply into what was clearly a military fortress, but his curiosity was an overwhelming, driving force.
The Marine Headquarters he sensed now was completely, fundamentally different from the one he remembered from reputation and rumor.
The atmosphere was still heavily guarded, the discipline palpable, but beneath it, there was something new.
Something he'd never felt in a military organization before.
He could feel the soldiers they passed—their inner spirits.
They weren't just following orders.
Their eyes, though he couldn't see them, burned with a bright, vibrant hope.
They were resolute, spirited, and moved with an unshakable conviction.
And the power… his Haki brushed against numerous monstrously powerful auras hidden deep within the fortress, presences that rivaled his own, or even surpassed it.
They had long since noticed his gentle probing, yet not a single one had reacted with hostility.
They were simply… aware of him.
It was clear they were all acting under a single, unified directive.
"Kuro-san," Issho finally couldn't hold back his questions any longer. "I must ask…"
"There's no need to rush, Issho-san," Kuro tilted his head just slightly, his voice as calm and unreadable as the gold-rimmed glasses that hid his eyes.
"All your questions will be answered when you meet Mike-san."
'Answered?' Issho's puzzlement only deepened.
Just who was this Mike, this single individual who could bring about such a profound, earth-shaking change to the entire Marine organization?
He suppressed his curiosity and continued to follow Kuro in silence.
They soon arrived at a building that was, from the outside, surprisingly plain and inconspicuous.
Kuro pushed open a heavy wooden door, and the faint, rich scent of sandalwood and old books washed over them.
If the exterior was plain, the interior was anything but.
It was extravagantly luxurious, but with a refined, masculine taste.
Precious, masterfully painted oil paintings adorned the walls.
Soft, impossibly thick Persian carpets covered the floors, silencing their footsteps.
A massive crystal chandelier, currently unlit, hung from the high ceiling, its thousand facets hinting at the wealth of the owner.
"Please, come in," Kuro stepped aside, gesturing for Issho to enter first.
"Pardon the intrusion," Issho said, tapping his cane as he slowly entered the opulent room.
The building was eerily quiet, as if it existed in its own pocket of reality, completely isolated from the bustling, energetic base just outside its walls.
They reached the top-floor office.
Kuro knocked gently, once, before pushing the door open.
The room was vast, dominated by a single, massive floor-to-ceiling window that framed a breathtaking, panoramic view of the entire Marineford complex.
Soldiers drilled in perfect synchronicity in the plazas below.
Warships, freshly painted with a new insignia, came and went from the docks with disciplined purpose.
Everything was vibrant, orderly, and humming with a powerful new energy.
But the most striking feature of the room was the massive redwood desk positioned before the window.
It was not, as one might expect, piled high with documents and reports.
Instead, it was neatly arranged with two exquisite lacquer dice cups, an opened deck of playing cards, and several tall stacks of colorful, high-stakes casino chips.
"Yo~ Issho, old pal! You made it!"
A cheerful, welcoming voice came from the man standing by the window.
Mike turned, a bright, disarming grin on his face, the sunlight from the window framing him in a golden halo.
"I have come at your invitation," the blind swordsman replied, bowing slightly.
His tone carried a subtle, genuine respect.
This was their first meeting, but his Observation Haki was screaming at him.
The power radiating from this young, smiling man was unfathomable, a deep, calm, limitless ocean of strength that surpassed his own by magnitudes he couldn't even begin to calculate.
"No need for all that formality," Mike waved dismissively, gesturing to the plush chair opposite his gambling-table-desk.
"Have a seat. Let's chat."
Issho complied, his calloused hands resting his shikomizue gently against the side of the chair.
Kuro, his duty done, silently withdrew, the heavy door clicking shut behind him with a soft, final thud.
"That's quite a furrow in your brow, old pal," Mike said, plopping down into his own chair and crossing his legs.
"You've got questions. I can tell."
"Indeed," Issho nodded, deciding that with a man like this, directness was the only path.
"I don't understand why Marine Headquarters has transformed like this. This… this is drastically different from the Marine I once knew."
"How so?"
"The Marine I knew was a place of rigid hierarchy," Issho chose his words carefully, "where soldiers and officers, though many possessed Justice in their hearts, often found themselves constrained. Bound by rules that served… other interests."
He gestured toward the window, toward the vibrant base below.
"Yet now, the soldiers' eyes… I can feel them. They shine with hope. And the officers… they seem very different from the rumors I've always heard."
"Ha—!" Mike laughed heartily, a genuine, appreciative sound.
He leaned forward, his gaze meeting Issho's sightless one.
"Issho, my friend, you truly live up to your reputation."
This was the man who, in the original timeline, would be drafted as an Admiral.
A man of unshakable principle, who upheld a righteous Justice filled with true benevolence.
A man who detested the unjust actions of the government he served and, most importantly, shared Mike's own deep and abiding love for the thrill of a good gamble.
This was a man who was absolutely worth recruiting.
"Issho," Mike asked directly, his tone shifting from jovial to serious. "What are your thoughts on 'Justice'?"
"Justice?" Issho frowned, his mind turning inward.
After a moment, he spoke, his voice quiet but firm.
"I believe Justice is about protecting the weak. It is about eradicating true evil. And it is about ensuring that all people, common or noble, can live and work in peace, free from fear."
"Hmm!" A satisfied sound from Mike.
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a thick, bound contract, sliding it across the polished redwood.
"Issho, your Haki is incredible. Why don't you 'sense' this for yourself? After you're done, I think you'll understand why the Marines have changed."
"..." Issho took the contract.
His fingers, calloused from a lifetime of swordsmanship, lightly traced the embossed, uneven indentations of the text on the paper.
Simultaneously, he unfurled his Observation Haki, not to scan a room, but to read the document's contents, to feel the intent and meaning behind every clause.
It was a thick contract, and it took him a long time.
Every word, every sentence, was like a pebble dropped into the tranquil lake of his heart, sending ripples across its surface.
Mike waited quietly, not rushing him.
He simply poured himself a cup of tea, gently blowing on the steam, enjoying the peaceful moment.
Issho's expression, as he "read," was a fascinating journey.
It shifted from confusion to shock, then from shock to a dawning, palpable excitement, before finally settling into a deep, profound calm.
He could feel the sincerity woven into the very fabric of the document, a sincere, powerful, and well-funded heart beating for the sake of the people.
At last, he understood.
He understood why Crocodile had become a guardian.
He understood why Alabasta was thriving
. And he understood why the Marines had been reborn.
Everything… everything… stemmed from this contract.
From this young man sitting opposite him.
"The New Marine…" Issho closed the contract, his voice slightly hoarse with emotion.
"Are you… are you trying to completely change this world?"
"Change the world?" Mike chuckled softly.
He stood and walked back to the window, gazing down at the bustling, orderly fortress he had built.
The sunlight spilled over him, making his simple yukata seem to glow.
"No."
He turned back, a small, confident smile on his face. "We simply wish to restore this world to what it was always meant to be."
Issho slowly stood up.
He could feel the sea breeze drifting in through the open window, and with it, he could feel the vibrant, hopeful energy of the soldiers drilling below.
He could feel their smiles, their vitality, their purpose.
These changes, this feeling, stirred an indescribable emotion in his heart. It was like parched, dying land finally receiving a blessed rain.
It was like a lost traveler, weary from an endless journey, finally finding his way home.
He bowed, deeply and respectfully, to the young man before him.
His voice was firm, unwavering, and resonant with a newfound conviction.
"Mike-san."
"Please allow me to contribute my humble strength!"
"No problem!" Mike grinned, walking back to the table.
He picked up the two exquisite dice cups, shaking them with the practiced clack-clack-clack of a seasoned gambler.
"But first, Issho~"
"How about a couple of high-stakes rounds to celebrate?"
....
Meanwhile, in the turbulent waters surrounding the prison of Impel Down.
Two massive, state-of-the-art Marine Headquarters battleships cut through the waves, their hulls painted with the fresh, bright red flag of the "New Marine."
They closed in on the grim, oppressive fortress, their presence a stark contrast to the dark, hopeless atmosphere of the great prison.
As they approached, the older battleships that had been guarding the perimeter, the ones still bearing the old flag, seemed to receive a silent command.
Abruptly, as one, they turned their bows.
Their massive hulls carved white wakes in the sea, executing the maneuver with a chilling, mechanical precision.
Their cannons, which had for so long been pointed outward to protect the prison, slowly, deliberately, raised.
Their cold, dark muzzles swiveled, aiming directly at the heavily fortified gates of Impel Down itself.
A broadcast, cold and absolute, echoed across the water, carrying the voice of a new era.
"From this day forward, Impel Down is under the control of the New Marine!!!"