Marine Headquarters, Marineford.
The central base of the Marines, the place that claimed to uphold Absolute Justice and maintain order across every sea. All of its command, all of its might, were gathered on this single island.
Across the Four Seas and even along the Grand Line, every marine dreamed of one thing: being transferred here, to Marine Headquarters.
Right now, around Crescent Bay harbor at Marineford, dozens of warships from bases all over the Four Seas and the Grand Line were moored in a loose ring. Packed on their decks were marines who were about to be officially assigned to Headquarters.
"Finally, I can enter Marine Headquarters."
On the deck of one such warship, a vessel from the East Blue's 88th Branch, two officers in justice-cloaks stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the distant harbor.
"Aren Neri, are you not excited at all?"
The one speaking was a rather short, slightly chubby marine lieutenant. He turned to the man beside him, a lean captain with slightly wavy black hair that brushed his ears, and a pair of pitch-black eyes that seemed permanently set in a cold, serious expression.
"Jero, that is the eleventh time you've asked me that since we set sail. And let me remind you, we have to enter the Marine School of Justice and train for a while first. As far as I know, there'll be a final assessment in the end."
Captain Aren Neri pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and glanced sideways at his companion as he spoke.
"Even so, I'm still excited! Come on, the two of us were picked out of more than twenty candidates. And if there's an assessment, I'll just give it everything I've got. Even if I fail, I'll still feel satisfied!"
Jero grinned from ear to ear. As he laughed, his brown eyes never left the harbor ahead, staring at it with a kind of fierce determination while his fists slowly clenched at his sides.
Aren looked at him, then shifted his gaze to the port they were drawing closer to. "Compared to your excitement, the only thing that makes me happy about coming here is the pay raise."
Hearing that, Jero could only pull a helpless face. "That really is just like you."
"If the salary here weren't at least double what we got back at the 88th Base, I wouldn't have come. I've told you that many times already."
As he said this, Aren took a pocket watch from inside his coat and flicked it open to check the time.
Seeing him do that, Jero hesitated, then still spoke up. "Aren, this is Marine Headquarters. They're a lot busier here than at our old base..."
"If overtime is paid at twice the basic salary, I'll consider working extra hours. But only if I feel like it," Aren replied without the slightest hesitation.
"Alright, alright." Jero shrugged his shoulders.
When it came to Aren's attitude, there was really nothing he could do about it. Even their old base commander had given up trying to change him.
With a dull thud as hull met pier, the warship finally came alongside the dock.
"All personnel, take your documents and report over here!"
The harbor was bustling with activity, marines hurrying back and forth with crates and supplies. Yet in the middle of all that chaos, there was a strangely empty patch of ground, a space everyone deliberately avoided while working, as if it had been reserved on purpose.
Standing there was an elderly man with purple hair, flanked by several officers and staff, all lined up straight as spears.
As the warship from the East Blue drew near, the purple-haired old man cast a sidelong glance at the marines disembarking from the ship's gangplank.
Of course, "all the marines" was an exaggeration. Among the Four Seas and even the Grand Line, the East Blue was known to be the weakest. Every year, the number of marines from the East Blue transferred into Headquarters was pitifully small compared to the other seas. In the past several years, that number had been a flat, unforgiving zero.
This year, there were only two.
"That's Black Arm Zephyr, a former Marine Headquarters Admiral. He's now the Chief Instructor of the Marine School of Justice. We're going to be training under him for a while."
As they walked down the gangplank together, Jero lowered his voice to whisper to Aren.
Aren gave a small nod, glanced once at the old man, then walked straight toward the reporting area without any unnecessary pause.
The moment the two of them appeared, however, countless eyes turned their way, and the whispering started almost immediately.
"Those two are from the East Blue. Which one is the special recruit?"
"Must be the tall one. He looks strong."
"Still, I can't believe the East Blue actually produced a special recruit. It's been a long time since we've had one of those."
"There's going to be an assessment later. We'll see what they can do then."
...
All the staring and murmuring left Jero looking a little embarrassed, his cheeks puffing up as if he wished he could hide behind someone.
Aren, on the other hand, simply took out his pocket watch again and checked the time, clearly indifferent to the looks and comments aimed his way.
"Marine, East Blue 88th Base, Lieutenant Jero reporting!"
"Marine, East Blue 88th Base, Captain Aren Neri reporting."
Jero's voice rang out clear and forceful, while Aren's sounded much calmer, almost indifferent in comparison.
Jero's file looked perfectly ordinary, exactly like everyone else's. There was nothing on it that stood out in any way.
Aren's documents were different. On the cover page of his file, there was a separate emblem of Marine Justice stamped alone, bright and unmistakable.
"A special recruit!"
One sharp-eyed marine recognized the form at a glance, and, more importantly, understood exactly what that symbol meant.
Special recruits, also known by another title: Admiral candidates.
In that instant, every new recruit in this training batch turned to stare at Aren Neri, as though they wanted to strip him bare with their eyes and see straight through to the bottom of his strength.
The purple-haired old man, once a Marine Headquarters Admiral known as "Black Arm" Zephyr, lowered his gaze and quietly looked over the file in his hand: the file of Aren Neri.