Gern paused slightly as he looked at the wanted poster.
Asahi immediately caught the change in his expression and hurried to add, "Gern, I know you're bound for Marine Headquarters sooner or later! A talent like you staying in the West Blue is nothing but a waste!"
His smile grew a little strained as he spoke.
"It's just… well… you did come out of our Branch 133, after all…"
Gern finally stopped walking and turned to look at Asahi.
Of course he knew what the man was thinking.
The Marines of this era weren't like those of the future. With limited and precious slots at the Marine Headquarters academy, anyone who rose to the Headquarters without exception was a "rising star" from one of the Four Blues.
That was why Marines of this time had a particular attachment to their place of origin—a sense of returning home in glory.
Just like Monkey D. Garp. Even though he graduated from the Headquarters academy, he still frequently returned to his home in the East Blue after becoming famous.
It was protection.
And it was obsession.
Inside the office, the afterglow of sunset slanted through the window, outlining Gern's profile in sharp relief.
"Branch Chief," he said slowly. "I'm from the West Blue."
Just that single sentence—
"I'm from the West Blue."
Asahi's face flushed instantly, beads of sweat forming across his forehead.
He rubbed his hands together, stammered for a long while, then finally blurted out, "That's right! Hahaha! Gern Reginald Sigma belongs to the West Blue!"
Gern watched his excitement and sighed softly, understanding flickering in his eyes.
The West Blue branches had always occupied a marginal position within the Marine system, known bluntly as the "land of exile."
If an elite from Branch 133 were to make it to Headquarters, it would bring enormous political capital to someone like Asahi—who would likely spend his entire career stuck in a branch.
Especially when it came to Headquarters' budget allocations, the Marines were never free of human considerations.
If Gern gained a firm foothold at Headquarters, the West Blue branches would benefit as well.
"Don't worry," Gern said calmly. "This is my starting point, after all."
Asahi looked as though he had been granted a pardon. The fat on his face visibly relaxed.
"That's wonderful! Truly wonderful!"
"Gern, I'm telling you, you're absolutely going to be promoted to Headquarters. What you're missing now is just this one achievement."
As he spoke, Asahi slapped the wanted poster heavily.
"Indeed." Gern nodded and continued walking forward.
Asahi tried to follow, but a single glance from Gern stopped him in his tracks.
"I want to be alone for a while."
"Y-Yes, of course! Please rest! Please rest!" Asahi bowed repeatedly as he retreated, still barking orders at nearby soldiers on his way out.
"What are you all standing around for? Can't you see Ensign Gern is tired? Get back to work!"
...
At the military harbor of Branch 133, Gern walked alone toward the cliff behind the base.
The view here was wide and unobstructed, overlooking the vast West Blue.
The sun had fully sunk beneath the horizon, leaving the sky dyed a deep indigo-purple.
He unstrapped the black blade Eight Desolations from his back, fingers brushing lightly over the bandages wrapped around it.
One year.
In that year, he had wiped out sixteen pirate crews, nearly clearing the West Blue of organized pirate forces.
But Gern knew very well—
In the eyes of the monsters at Marine Headquarters, these so-called "achievements" amounted to nothing.
Whitebeard was roaming the New World, gathering sons.
Golden Lion had already seized dozens of islands.
Roger's fleet moved like a phantom, its whereabouts unknown.
And at Marine Headquarters—names like Sengoku, Monkey D. Garp, and Zephyr represented the true pinnacle of power.
"The West Blue is too small."
Gern raised his hand, a sphere of pure white vibration particles forming in his palm.
The particles glimmered faintly in the night, like a compressed star.
The Heaven-Shaking Fruit was still far from fully developed, and ability growth was far more complex than it seemed. Every technique demanded extreme precision and control.
This past year, he had only mastered the basics: elementalization, defense, offense, vibration waves, short-range movement.
Fortunately, the lower limit of the Heaven-Shaking Fruit was already the Gura Gura no Mi.
As for its upper limit—
In the hands of a man with knowledge from another world, it was virtually boundless.
"As for Haki…" Gern clenched his fist. The light burst between his fingers, cracks forming in the surrounding air.
He had tried imitating various training methods from memory, but achieved nothing.
Without Armament Haki, he couldn't truly contend with other Logia users.
Without Observation Haki, even elementalization wouldn't prevent injury against top-tier opponents.
And Conqueror's Haki…
"Zephyr."
A sharp longing flickered in Gern's eyes.
The man known as "Black Arm" was the very embodiment of peak Armament Haki.
If he could receive guidance from him—
The sea wind howled, snapping Gern's coat behind him.
He turned his gaze toward the direction of Marineford, his resolve solidifying.
Once the Blood Spear Pirates were dealt with and his merits were sufficient, the next step would be there.
...
At the same time, in the shadows near the harbor, Branch Chief Asahi hunched his shoulders, clutching a bag of seaweed rice balls that had long since gone cold.
They were originally meant to be his 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… too similar."
Asahi's pupils trembled as a figure rose unbidden in his mind.
Four years ago, during the battle against the Rocks Pirates, that monster who had shattered an entire island and triggered a tsunami with sheer force.
"If I hadn't confirmed it was a Logia ability, I'd almost think he inherited that man's fruit…"
He had hidden behind a container earlier and seen it with his own eyes—the vibration sphere forming in Gern's palm.
That pure, space-tearing tremor made his instincts scream in fear.
Yet at the same time, a twisted thrill surged up from deep within him, like a gambler who had placed everything on the winning hand.
"This kid, Gern…" Asahi licked his dry lips, his face stretching into an obsequious grin.
"He's only fifteen this year—young even compared to those three monster rookies at Headquarters. He's absolutely going to become someone big."
With that thought, Asahi glanced back toward the cliff at the blurred silhouette, then carefully began backing away.
His leather shoe splashed into a puddle with a sharp slap, echoing loudly in the quiet harbor and freezing him in place.
Only after confirming Gern hadn't noticed did he finally let out a long breath and continue retreating.
"I was the first one to grab onto this thigh."
In his mind, the future was already unfolding.
When Gern became a Headquarters Vice Admiral—no, maybe even an Admiral—
No, by then Branch 133 of the West Blue would surely be upgraded into the West Blue General Branch.
And he, Asahi, would be the General Branch Commander.
The night wind swept past, sending a chill through him.
"No time to waste. I need to dig up every scrap of intel on the Blood Spear Pirates."
"I'll send our 'Star of the West Blue' straight to Headquarters. Hahaha."
Asahi cast one last look toward the cliff.
Gern was already gone.
Only the sound of waves crashing against the rocks echoed through the night.