The Navy Headquarters had announced it would be sending an Inspector to the North Blue.
The local branch commanders had long since caught wind of this news, but the identity of the Inspector remained a closely guarded secret. Headquarters revealed nothing.
This silence made the North Blue commanders uneasy. They couldn't read Headquarters' intentions, nor did they know what kind of man this Inspector might be.
After some discussion, they decided to wait along the most common route ships from the Grand Line used to enter the North Sea, hoping to stage a grand welcome for this emissary of sorts.
And, as expected, their patience was rewarded.
But the Inspector did not seem pleased with their lavish reception. His warship halted at a distance, dispatching only a small boat to inquire about the situation.
Realizing that some kind of misunderstanding had occurred, the eight branch commanders, after a quick exchange, decided to board the Inspector's ship alone.
They hurried through the dim corridors of the vessel, only to be met by a blinding burst of sunlight as they stepped onto the deck.
There, two rows of grim-faced marines stood in perfect formation, their presence radiating a suffocating killing intent. The eight commanders stiffened instinctively, swallowing hard.
At the head of the formation, a white cloak fluttered in the sea breeze. On its back, written in bold strokes, were two characters—"Buddha." The meaning was obscure, yet it carried a strange sense of awe.
Unconsciously, the commanders slowed their steps, treading carefully past the two ranks of soldiers as though walking between sharpened blades.
When they finally reached the man in the cloak, they stamped their boots in unison, saluted sharply, and spoke with military precision.
"Captain of the North Blue Branch XXX, reporting to the Inspector!"
To their surprise, the response came not from some grizzled veteran, but from a young, clear voice beneath the cloak.
"Report? Report what—your reason for blocking my way here?"
"Gulp."
The voice wasn't loud, nor particularly stern. In fact, it was calm, almost casual. Yet the eight commanders, each of them lords of their own waters, felt their throats tighten. None dared answer.
The man—Yahn—slowly turned to face them. His eyes swept over their nervous faces.
"Tell me—how long have you been waiting here?"
Silence lingered, until at last a colonel in the middle broke under the weight of it.
"...About a month."
"A month?"
Yahn's voice suddenly thundered.
"Do you have any idea what you've been doing?!"
"Do you think the pirates of the North Blue took a holiday this past month? That you can all gather here, waiting for me, while your seas go unchecked?!"
"Or is it that currying favor with your superiors is more important than hunting pirates, more important than maintaining peace on these waters?!"
His words struck like whips. The eight commanders froze, pale and silent.
Yahn jabbed a finger toward the ugliest of the group.
"You. How many pirates did your branch arrest in the past month? How much bounty did you bring in total?"
The captain turned crimson, unable to utter a word.
Yahn hadn't planned on losing his temper. He only meant to rattle them a little, to establish some authority, and then take things easy, playing the figurehead while he quietly pursued his own goals.
But when he learned they had waited an entire month, abandoning their seas in the process, his patience snapped.
A North Blue branch base was small—usually just a ship or two to patrol a vast stretch of ocean. Whether or not marines kept to their duties made a world of difference to the common folk living under their shadow.
Yahn never sought glory. His plan was to live quietly, keep to a "Buddha" path, and wait until his strength grew enough to pursue his true vision of justice. He knew pirates could never be eradicated entirely; even a Navy many times stronger could not wipe them all out. But the presence of the Navy—that deterrent alone—meant everything to the people.
And these men had thrown that away just to flatter him.
At that moment, the burly captain at the front finally sneered, unable to hold his tongue any longer.
"Listen, brat. I've been commander of the 854th branch for nearly ten years. I don't need some greenhorn lecturing me on how to do my job."
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with disdain as he sized up the Inspector's lean frame.
"I came here out of courtesy to Headquarters, to see what kind of fool they'd send us. Not to get scolded. If you don't know your place—believe it or not, I'll have you dropped into the sea right now."
Yahn narrowed his eyes.
"Oh? Sounds like you're quite familiar with drowning."
The captain barked a laugh.
"Ten years as a Navy officer. I've sent more pirates to the depths than you've eaten hot meals. Of course I'm familiar."
"Is that so?"
Yahn nodded lightly, then turned his gaze past the blustering man, toward the other officers.
"And you all? Do you share his thoughts? Are you just as practiced at drowning?"
His words hung in the air like a challenge, a subtle demand to pick a side. The other commanders faltered, hesitation flickering on their faces.
Even in this far-flung sea, so distant from Headquarters' eye, Yahn's calm bearing and the mystery of his appointment gave them pause.
"What are you all afraid of?" the burly captain scoffed.
"This is the North Blue—our territory. And this brat? He's nothing more than a Headquarters lieutenant. By rank conversion, we'd be equals if we transferred to Headquarters. Eight of us against one of him—what's there to fear?"
He gave a derisive snort.
"And besides, he's only got one warship. We have eight. With a single order, we could blow them all into the sea. And if Headquarters never finds the bodies? They'll just write it off as an unfortunate accident."
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