-Real World-
Fleet Admiral Sengoku—very much alive and functional in the present timeline—felt a peculiar melancholy watching his future self reduced to a vegetative state on the Sky Screen.
That could have been me, he thought, staring at the broadcast. Will be me, if I'm not careful.
At least one immediate problem demanded his attention: Monkey D. Garp had left Marine Headquarters without permission. Again.
The Hero of the Marines had been stripped of that prestigious title as punishment—though he retained his Vice Admiral rank because demoting him further would be politically catastrophic. Sengoku had employed his usual disciplinary method: financial penalties.
Half a year's salary, deducted in one stroke.
The Marine's budget was expected to tighten dramatically in coming years anyway. Might as well save money wherever possible.
Of course, Garp—the notorious freeloader—had immediately sought ways to compensate for his lost income. Which meant raiding Sengoku's personal snack stash.
The Fleet Admiral returned to his office after a strategy meeting to find his best friend lounging in the guest chair, surrounded by a mountain of senbei wrappers. The old bastard was munching rice crackers with obvious satisfaction, completely unconcerned about theft or propriety.
He found them AGAIN, Sengoku thought, a vein pulsing on his forehead. I hid those specifically to prevent this exact scenario!
No matter where Sengoku concealed his snacks—behind files, inside locked drawers, beneath floorboards—Garp always located them through some mysterious sixth sense. The man was obsessed with acquiring free food. Never spent his own money if theft remained an option.
"Garp," Sengoku said through gritted teeth. "Wasn't fining you half a year's salary punishment enough? Don't you need money for the second half of the year?"
The old man simply continued eating, completely unbothered by the threat implicit in his friend's tone. Money was useless when you had access to the Marine mess hall anyway. The organization couldn't let a Vice Admiral starve—it would be terrible optics.
Watching Garp's methodical demolition of his snack supply, Sengoku felt his wealth evaporating in real-time. The man was a rat. A greedy, shameless rat who could empty any pantry given sufficient time.
But I can't kill him, Sengoku admitted with resignation. If the Marines lost Garp, our combat strength would drop twenty percent minimum.
"All you do is eat!" Sengoku snapped, stomping over to grab several senbei before they disappeared forever. "Your overflowing sympathy for criminals constantly causes problems for me!"
He stuffed the rice crackers into his own mouth aggressively. At least what he consumed personally wouldn't feed this troublemaker.
The two old men bickered like children, decades of friendship allowing complete informality.
The office door opened, interrupting their argument.
Vice Admiral Tsuru stepped inside, immediately recognizing the familiar voices mid-dispute. She smiled and shook her head with fond exasperation.
At least in the present timeline, nothing catastrophic has happened yet, she thought. All the Sky Screen's predicted tragedies can still be prevented.
Women remained emotional creatures even after decades of military service. Tsuru had a happy life but age had made her increasingly sentimental.
Seeing her future self caring for paralyzed Sengoku alone in that sterile hospital ward had been... difficult. Watching decades of friendship reduced to bedside vigils and one-sided conversations.
They'd grown up together. Been comrades-in-arms for over fifty years. Friends who'd fought side-by-side through countless battles.
In the future broadcast, one old friend had become a living corpse confined to bed. The other—Garp—had never appeared. No explanation provided regarding whether he was dead or alive.
That absence is deeply abnormal, Tsuru analyzed with tactical precision.
Logically, even after Artoria assumed command as Acting Fleet Admiral, Garp should maintain significant influence within the organization. His protégé Kuzan remained among the Marines' Admirals—that loyal boy would never abandon his mentor completely.
Yet Garp had been conspicuously absent from all future Sky Screen broadcasts showing Marine activities.
I'm afraid something happened to him as well, Tsuru concluded grimly.
Sengoku had paid a catastrophic price during the Battle of Marineford. With Garp's hot temper and protective instincts, he definitely wouldn't have stood idle while his best friend faced mortal danger. He would have fought alongside the Fleet Admiral—the two of them cooperating with their decades-refined coordination.
They even captured Golden Lion Shiki together when he attacked Headquarters, Tsuru remembered. That legendary pirate, subdued by their combined strength.
She believed—had always believed—that as long as these two Marine leaders fought together, no rival on the seas could defeat them. That was Tsuru's experience accumulated over decades of observation.
Talented pirates emerged endlessly from every generation. But the Marines always had the last laugh. No pirate organization had existed for centuries, but the Marines had stood firm for over eight hundred years with the World Government's backing.
The revelation about Corazon's identity—former Celestial Dragon, adopted son of the Fleet Admiral—had caused some criticism throughout the organization. Radical elements who despised World Nobles had naturally extended that hatred to anyone connected with them.
But the mainstream faction had quickly suppressed such talk. Rosinante Donquixote had been a minor character, dead for nearly two decades. Making him a political issue now served no purpose except creating internal division.
Even if radicals hated Celestial Dragons enough to condemn everyone associated with them, they couldn't overthrow Fleet Admiral Sengoku. Not yet. The seas were entering turbulent times—internal strife would be suicidal.
Besides, Tsuru thought, other matters demand more immediate attention.
Several factions had already noted Trafalgar Law's Ope Ope no Mi (Op-Op Fruit) value. Even though Golden Lion Shiki had claimed him, that wouldn't stop other forces from attempting theft.
Carbon-based creatures inevitably suffered injuries eventually. A talented doctor was valuable to every faction. Trafalgar Law would be a honored guest wherever he went—if he survived long enough to choose his allegiances.
-Broadcast-
The rain finally dissipated completely overhead. The storm Admiral Gin had summoned for combat purposes scattered, clouds breaking apart to allow sunlight through.
The Founding Titan continued its slow march across the ocean, bone-feet churning water into foam with each titanic step.
Luffy and Gin stood on the titan's spine, emotions settling after the intense battle. Doflamingo's corpse lay motionless in a nearby puddle. Law's covered body rested several meters away, dignity preserved under Gin's white coat.
Now they faced a new problem: what to do about Eren Yeager.
The Ancient Weapon Terra was a massive liability. No one could feel comfortable with such destructive power in anyone's hands—not pirates, not Marines, not any nation.
When it came to Eren's fate, Luffy and Gin held completely opposite opinions. They each approached the issue from their own perspective, making decisions aligned with their respective interests and ideologies.
"Luffy," Admiral Gin said, his voice carrying absolute conviction. "I won't hand Eren over to you. He's a dangerous individual. I don't know the exact body count, but countless creatures have died because of his actions." His perpetually-tired eyes hardened. "He must pay the price. He must face trial before the Marines."
Gin maintained good personal relationships with the Straw Hat Pirates. Had fought alongside them. Had saved Luffy from the Birdcage.
But when Marine principles were at stake, he wouldn't compromise. Couldn't compromise. He owed that much to Acting Fleet Admiral Artoria, who'd given him this position despite his pirate past.
The word "Marine" triggered immediate negative reactions in Luffy.
He'd encountered Marines his entire life. His grandfather—who hammered grandsons with his "Fist of Love"—was a Marine. Morgan, who'd framed Zoro and terrorized his own base—Marine. Captain Nezumi, who'd colluded with Arlong to exploit Nami's village—Marine. Smoker, that obsessive lunatic who'd chased them halfway across the Grand Line—Marine.
Laying out the facts one by one, Luffy had traveled extensively. The moral standards of most Marines he'd encountered fell far below ordinary citizens' baseline decency.
Don't blame me for wearing tinted glasses, Luffy thought with justified bitterness. The old Marine system earned this reputation.
But the word "trial" made something snap inside him.
"The Marines want to hold a TRIAL?!" Luffy's voice rose to a shout, fists clenching involuntarily. "Want to hold another public EXECUTION?!"
The memories crashed over him like waves. Marineford. The execution platform. Ace's final moments.
"Ace died at the hands of Admiral Sakazuki!" Tears pricked Luffy's eyes—rage-tears rather than grief. "I'll never forget that! NEVER!" He stepped forward aggressively. "Even if Eren committed terrible crimes, I'm keeping him by my side! Because he's my FRIEND! And I don't hand friends over to Marines!"
The word "friend" carried immense weight in Luffy's value system. Once someone entered his circle—once he accepted them as nakama—their previous actions became irrelevant. Past sins were forgiven. Past mistakes were ignored.
What do strangers' lives matter to me? Luffy's philosophy was brutally simple. Why should I care about people I've never met?
The lives of ordinary citizens were naturally less important than friends' lives. Luffy sometimes felt pity for innocent victims. Sometimes. But whether he'd actually help them was an entirely separate question.
He did things based on personal preference. On instinct and emotion. Consequences were someone else's problem.
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