Chapter 90: A New Admiral's Burden
Those who truly understood Satoru's power—the top brass at Marineford, the Emperors, the veterans of G-8—were not shocked by his promotion. To them, it was an inevitable, logical step.
But for the vast, uninformed world, the white-haired boy in the Admiral's coat was a glaring target. An Admiral whose strength presumably didn't match his rank? He was seen as the easiest path to notoriety, a stepping stone made of what they assumed was fool's gold.
At the G-8 base, the news sparked a different kind of fire.
"The Commander… is an Admiral?!"
Soldiers clustered around the bulletin, staring at the official proclamation. They knew he'd been recalled to Headquarters for something important, but this… this was beyond their wildest expectations.
A wave of fierce, blazing pride swept through the ranks. Their commander. The one who'd trained them, fought alongside them, rebuilt their fortress. He'd climbed to the very summit, and his triumph was theirs. They walked a little taller, their chests puffed out. The men of G-8 now served directly under one of the Navy's four ultimate powers.
Commander Claire read the report with a sharp intake of breath. Satoru's cryptic comment about returning as an Admiral made sense now. It wasn't a replacement; it was an expansion. Three Admirals had become four.
"I can't afford to fall behind," Claire muttered to himself, his resolve hardening. As the adjutant to an Admiral, weakness was not an option. Seeing the excited crowd outside, he made a decision. Their training regimen, already brutal, was about to intensify. They were now the personal troops of Admiral White Dragon. Their strength had to reflect that honor.
Back at Marineford, Satoru lounged in a chair in Sengoku's office, reviewing the global feedback. The reports were a mix of ridicule, disbelief, and blatant challenge.
"Seems I'll be having a lot of uninvited guests," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"It's unavoidable," Sengoku said, not looking up from his own paperwork. "You ascended too quickly. You lack the established reputation the other three built over years of campaigns. This… scrutiny is the price of your seat."
"Scrutiny?" Satoru grinned, tilting the chair back. "I call it target practice. I just hope they're strong enough to be interesting. It'd be a shame if they were all boring."
Sengoku shot him a withering look. Satoru's definition of 'interesting' was narrow: opponents who could bypass Infinity with Advanced Conqueror's Haki. There were precious few of those in the world.
"If you have nothing better to do, return to your command," Sengoku grumbled. "I'm sure plenty of fools have already set their course for G-8."
Satoru's official posting remained Commander of Marine Base G-8. However, his authority had expanded exponentially. He was now the de facto supreme commander of all Marine operations in the New World—a true warlord of the sea.
"Wow, Marshal. Use me to score a political win, then ship me off to the front lines the second it's done? That's what I call efficiency. Or heartlessness." Satoru smirked.
Sengoku's eye twitched. He snatched a report from his desk and hurled it at the smirking Admiral. "Get out of my office!"
The papers froze in mid-air an inch from Satoru's face, suspended by Infinity. With a lazy wave, Satoru stood up. "Fine, fine. Don't work too hard, old man." In a flicker, he was gone. The documents clattered to the floor.
After brief, more respectful farewells to Zephyr and Garp, Satoru boarded a warship destined for the New World. The vessel and its crew were now under his direct jurisdiction.
The Marines on board regarded him with a mixture of awe and intense respect. In the days since his promotion, Satoru hadn't been idle at Headquarters. He'd dealt with the internal dissent swiftly and decisively. Any Vice Admiral or senior officer who doubted his qualifications had been invited to "discuss" the matter. The discussions were short, one-sided, and ended with the doubters thoroughly convinced of his power. Even the handful of Admiral candidates had been soundly put in their place. His authority was now unchallenged from within.
"Admiral White Dragon," the sailors greeted him in unison as he stepped onto the deck.
He was still getting used to the title. The first few times he'd heard it, he hadn't even registered they were talking to him. Now, he gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.
"Set course for the New World," he instructed the ship's captain, a seasoned Vice Admiral. "Carry out your assigned mission. Drop me at G-8 along the way."
"Admiral," the Vice Admiral said, stepping forward, a note of concern in his voice. "Regarding our mission… the target is the Tyrant's Fist Pirates. They're an old, established crew in the New World. Their captain is notoriously powerful. My men and I… we may not be a match for them."
Satoru raised an eyebrow. "And they assigned this mission to you anyway? This doesn't smell like standard procedure." He looked at the Vice Admiral's slightly sheepish expression and understood instantly. A slow smile spread across his face. "Ah. I see. This is the Fleet Admiral's idea, isn't it?"
The Vice Admiral could only offer an embarrassed, confirming silence. It was a transparent ploy. Sengoku was sending his new Admiral right into the path of a powerful enemy, using the routine mission as bait. It was a test, a message, and a cleanup operation all in one.
Satoru chuckled, leaning against the ship's railing and looking out at the open sea. The game was on. Let the challengers come. Let the Tyrant's Fist Pirates try their luck. They would be the first public demonstration of why the title "White Dragon" was not given, but earned. The voyage to the New World suddenly promised to be anything but boring.
(End of Chapter)
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