Gern paused slightly as he looked at the wanted poster.
Sensing his reaction, Asahi immediately spoke up, reading the room with practiced ease.
"Gern, I know it's only a matter of time before you're promoted to Headquarters!
Someone with your talent staying in the West Blue would be an absolute waste!"
As he spoke, the smile on his face grew a little strained.
"It's just… well… after all, you did come from our Branch 133…"
Gern finally stopped walking and turned to look at him.
Of course he understood what Asahi was thinking.
The Marines of this era weren't like those of the future. Seats at Marine Headquarters—and especially the Marine Academy—were precious beyond measure. Anyone who made it to HQ was, without exception, a "rising star" cultivated by one of the Four Blues' branches.
Because of that, the Marines of this age held an almost obsessive attachment to one's place of origin.
Just like Garp—even though he graduated from the Headquarters academy, after becoming famous, he still frequently returned to his hometown in the East Blue.
It was protection.
And it was pride.
Inside the office, the last light of sunset filtered through the window, outlining Gern's profile in sharp relief.
"Branch Commander," he said calmly,
"I'm from the West Blue."
Just that one sentence—
I'm from the West Blue—
made Asahi's face flush bright red. Fine beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
He rubbed his hands together nervously, stammered for a moment, then finally blurted out,
"That's right! Hahaha! Gern Reginald Sigma is ours—from the West Blue!"
Gern watched his excitement with quiet understanding.
The West Blue branches had always existed on the fringes of the Marine system, labeled the 'land of exile.'
If an elite from Headquarters were to emerge from Branch 133, it would bring enormous political capital to someone like Asahi—who would likely spend his entire career stuck in a branch post.
Especially when it came to future budget allocations from HQ.
The Marines were nothing if not human when it came to favors and prestige.
If Gern managed to establish himself at Headquarters, the West Blue would inevitably reap the benefits.
"Don't worry," Gern said lightly.
"After all… this is my starting point."
Asahi looked as though he'd just been pardoned from execution. The tension melted from his face.
"That's great! Truly great!"
He laughed loudly.
"Gern, I'm telling you, you're guaranteed to make it to Marine Headquarters!
Right now, you're only missing this one final achievement!"
He slapped the wanted poster hard.
"Indeed." Gern nodded and continued walking.
Asahi tried to follow, but one glance from Gern stopped him cold.
"I'd like some time alone."
"Of course! Of course!"
Asahi bowed repeatedly as he backed away, then turned to bark at the nearby Marines.
"What are you all standing around for?! Can't you see Ensign Gern is exhausted? Get back to work!"
…
Branch 133's military harbor.
Gern walked alone toward the cliff behind the base.
From here, the view opened up, overlooking the vast West Blue. The sun had fully sunk beneath the horizon, leaving the sky awash in deep indigo and violet.
He unstrapped the black blade Eight Desolations from his back, fingers brushing gently over the bandages.
A full year.
In that time, he had wiped out sixteen pirate crews, nearly cleansing the West Blue of organized pirate forces.
And yet, Gern knew better than anyone—
These so-called "achievements" meant almost nothing in the eyes of the true monsters at Headquarters.
Whitebeard was roaming the New World, gathering sons.
Golden Lion had already seized dozens of islands.
Roger's crew moved like a phantom, their whereabouts unknown.
And at Marine Headquarters—
Sengoku.
Garp.
Zephyr.
Those names represented the true pinnacle of power.
"The West Blue… is too small."
Gern raised his hand. A sphere of pure white vibration particles bloomed in his palm, glowing faintly in the night like a compressed star.
The Heavenly Tremor Fruit was nowhere near its limits.
Devil Fruit development was never simple—every technique demanded extreme precision and control.
This past year, he had only mastered the fundamentals:
elementalization, defense, direct offense, vibration waves, short-range displacement…
Fortunately, the Heavenly Tremor Fruit's floor was already the Tremor-Tremor Fruit itself.
As for its ceiling—
In the hands of a man who possessed knowledge from a future era?
The potential was limitless.
"As for Haki…"
Gern clenched his fist. The light burst between his fingers, faint cracks rippling through the surrounding air.
He had tried mimicking various training methods from memory—but all had failed.
Without Armament Haki, he couldn't truly contend with Logia users.
Without Observation Haki, even elementalization wouldn't save him from top-tier fighters he couldn't anticipate.
As for Conqueror's Haki…
"Zephyr…"
A sharp glint of longing flashed through Gern's eyes.
The man known as Black Arm stood at the pinnacle of Armament Haki.
If he could receive even a little guidance—
The sea wind howled, snapping Gern's cloak behind him.
He turned and looked in the direction of Marineford, his gaze firming.
Once the Blood Spear Pirates were dealt with… once his merits met the threshold—
That would be his next destination.
…
At the same time, in the shadows near the harbor, Branch Commander Asahi was hunched over, clutching a bag of seaweed rice rolls that had long since gone cold.
They were supposed to be a personal "care package" for Gern.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, glistening under the dim lights as his fingers unconsciously tightened around the bag, producing a faint rustling sound.
"Too similar… far too similar…"
Asahi's pupils trembled as an image surfaced uncontrollably in his mind.
Four years ago—during the campaign against the Rocks Pirates—
A monster who had shattered an entire island by himself, triggering a tsunami.
"If I hadn't confirmed he's a Logia user…" Asahi muttered,
"I'd swear he inherited that man's Devil Fruit…"
Hidden behind stacked cargo containers, he had personally witnessed the tremor light forming in Gern's palm just moments ago.
That pure, space-rending vibration made his instincts scream danger.
And yet—
Alongside the fear came a twisted thrill.
The exhilaration of a gambler who had just bet everything on the winning hand.
"This kid Gern…"
Asahi licked his dry lips, his fleshy face stretching into an obsequious grin.
"He's only fifteen this year—still younger than those three monster rookies at Headquarters."
"He's going to become someone huge."
With that thought, Asahi glanced once more toward the cliff where Gern stood silhouetted against the night sky, then carefully backed away.
Splash.
His leather shoe stepped into a puddle, the sharp sound echoing far too loudly in the quiet harbor.
Asahi froze.
Only after confirming Gern hadn't noticed did he finally exhale, retreating on tiptoe.
"I was the first one to grab onto this leg!"
His mind was already racing ahead—
When Gern became a Headquarters Vice Admiral… no, perhaps even an Admiral…
Then Branch 133 would surely be upgraded into the West Blue's main branch!
And he, Asahi, would be its commander!
A chill ran down his spine as the night wind blew.
"No time to waste," he muttered.
"I need to get every last scrap of intelligence on the Blood Spear Pirates."
"We have to send our 'West Blue Star' to Headquarters as fast as possible—hahaha!"
When he looked back one last time, the cliff was empty.
Only the sound of waves crashing against the rocks echoed through the night.
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