Marine Headquarters, Marineford.
The suffocating pressure inside the Fleet Admiral's office didn't last very long…
After completely emptying Sengoku's stash of senbei, Garp laughed it off and slipped out under a glare sharp enough to kill. With his pockets stuffed full of crackers, he wandered around the headquarters building for a while—only to find himself oddly bored.
Aokiji was half-asleep in his office. Kizaru had vanished somewhere again to slack off. Sengoku was still in a towering rage…
Garp scratched his head, changed direction, and headed toward the elite training camp of Marine Headquarters.
At this hour, that old man should be there.
On the main training grounds of Marineford, thunderous chants and the dull thuds of bodies colliding rang out without pause.
Despite Sengoku's recent, subtle efforts—driven by various concerns—to scale back the training camp's size and resources, this place remained the cradle of the Marines' future.
Zephyr stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, watching the young Marines drenched in sweat with the stillness of an iron tower. His gaze was sharp, his voice booming as he issued commands or corrected stances from time to time.
Though he had long since stepped down from the rank of Admiral, his passion for nurturing the next generation of Marines had never faded.
"ZEPHYR!!"
Garp's booming voice carried over from afar as he strode up with a wide grin, casually shoving a handful of senbei toward his old friend.
"Here—swiped these from that stingy bastard Sengoku. Thought I'd share."
"You went and poked Sengoku again, didn't you?" Zephyr shot him a sidelong glance but didn't refuse. He popped a few crackers into his mouth, eyes never leaving the training field as he muttered around the crunch, "Judging by the noise earlier, his office was practically about to explode."
"Hahahaha! Nothing much—just that kid Gern sent him another 'big gift.'" Garp laughed without a care, brushing crumbs off his hands.
At the mention of Gern, Zephyr's brow twitched ever so slightly.
He fell silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the young faces on the field—earnest and hardworking, yet ultimately lacking that final spark of brilliance.
Then he let out a soft sigh. His tone carried a trace of dry humor… and something deeper, more troubling.
"Speaking of it… that brat Dragon.
If he keeps going like this—making bigger and bigger waves—
the World Government… is eventually going to stop holding back.
They'll strike with everything they have."
Garp's chewing paused for a split second. The grin on his face dimmed, just a little, though it quickly returned. Still, something complicated flickered deep in his eyes.
He didn't respond to the topic of his son. He simply grunted an indistinct "Mm," then abruptly shifted the conversation.
"Compared to that troublesome idiot, Gern's the real headache right now.
That kid just picked up another seriously dangerous subordinate."
"I've heard," Zephyr's voice lowered. "Dracule Mihawk—the world's greatest swordsman.
Even so… I never expected Gern to actually pull in someone like him.
To bring a new-era loner of the seas under his banner."
After all, the last generation's solitary monster who answered to no one had been the Red Count.
Turning fully toward Garp, Zephyr's expression beneath his sunglasses grew solemn.
"Garp… to be honest, I'm starting to worry too.
Gern's strength and achievements are beyond reproach—but the way he's moving now…
He's clearly gathering nonstandard top-tier forces.
He's building a power base completely independent of the Marines' traditional structure.
G-10 is less a Marine base and more his personal 'Calamity' headquarters."
In any large organization, signs of amassing personal forces and forming independent factions were extremely sensitive.
Of course, Zephyr would only ever voice such thoughts to Garp.
Hearing this, Garp finally dropped his usual carefree grin and sighed.
"Sengoku's probably not sleeping tonight either.
At this point, it's not just Gern giving him a headache—he's starting to look sideways at you, too."
Zephyr gave a bitter, faintly mocking smile.
"Of course he is. He's worried that the promising recruits I train will end up drifting toward G-10 in the future instead of staying within headquarters' system.
That's why—look," he gestured toward the field,
"resources are being cut, and true talent is getting harder to find.
Sengoku's even secretly reviewing the backgrounds of everyone entering the elite camp…
all to make sure another 'Gern faction' doesn't appear."
The two veterans fell into silence together.
Both of them could clearly feel it—Marine Headquarters seemed to be entering an indescribable period of fatigue.
Their own generation—Garp, Sengoku, Tsuru, and even back to Fleet Admiral Kong's era—along with the four Admirals they had cultivated and the many Vice Admirals and elites beneath them, formed the unquestionable backbone of the Marines today, holding aloft the banner of justice.
And yet, after that…
Despite the Marines' ever-expanding size, truly exceptional new blood—monsters with top-tier talent and unshakable will, capable of carrying an era—had all but vanished, as though an entire generation were missing.
The current training camp was full of diligent strivers, but it lacked that unmistakable edge—the brilliance destined to define an age.
Put another way, Sengoku himself desperately wanted to shape a set of Four Admirals that belonged to his era—a military hallmark, a symbol of power that would define his tenure as Fleet Admiral.
Yet even amid what should have been a boom in talent, the rise of the Great Pirate Era—with its chaos and seductive freedom—had drawn countless individuals of extraordinary potential out to sea instead, into the raging currents of lawlessness…
"The tide of the era…" Zephyr murmured, gazing out toward the vast, rolling ocean in the distance.
"It feels like it's starting to change direction."
Gern's rise.Dragon's revolution.The Emperors holding their ground.The strange equilibrium of the Seven Warlords.And the awkward gap now plaguing Marine Headquarters itself…
All of it pointed toward an immense upheaval on the horizon.
Garp didn't answer.
He simply stuffed the last senbei into his mouth, crunching loudly.
Even on that face so often brimming with optimism and raw vitality, a rare, indistinct shadow crept in—one cast by an uncertain future.
On the training grounds, the young Marines' shouts still rang with youthful vigor.
But to the ears of two old soldiers who had witnessed the Marines' greatest age, those cries seemed to lack just a little conviction… a little strength.
At the very least, the road ahead for the Marines no longer seemed as bright as the sun shining over Marineford.