Aboard the Warship
Gern Reginald Sigmar's fingertips lightly traced the edge of the file on Gild Tesoro, the paper reflecting a cold, pale sheen beneath the lamps of the Marine office.
His gaze lingered on a single place name.
"Lilycaya Island."
The West Blue was infamous for its thriving underworld and mafia influence, and that island-city was no exception—a bona fide miniature gambling capital, a glittering den of excess where money vanished like water and temptation ruled the night.
"The West Blue, huh…"The corner of Gern's mouth curved into a subtle, unreadable smile.
He gently closed the file, rose to his feet, and called for the petty officer stationed outside.
"Rear Admiral Gern."The petty officer opened the door at once and snapped to attention.
"Have the communications department submit a navigation request to Headquarters," Gern said, tapping the desk twice with his fingers."For the reason—write: 'Returning Home in Glory.'"
"Returning home… in glory?"The petty officer's eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly before he regained his professional composure."Do you require a detailed itinerary, Rear Admiral?"
"We don't have time for bubble coating, so we'll sightsee at Fish-Man Island on the return trip," Gern replied calmly."First, we pass through Red Port and take the World Government's vertical cable transit back to the Sabaody Archipelago.From there, we enter Paradise—the first half of the Grand Line.Then we return to the Four Blues…"
He walked toward the porthole. The glass reflected his deep, unreadable eyes.
"And while we're at it… we'll conduct an inspection of West Blue Marine Branch 133."
At those words, a glimmer of understanding flashed through the petty officer's eyes.
As Gern's direct subordinate, he knew better than anyone the history his commander shared with Branch 133.
"Understood. In that case, I'll have them proceed at full speed—"Before he could finish, Gern interrupted him.
"Normal cruising speed is fine."
"…But that will add at least two extra weeks to the route."
"That's fine."Gern's voice was unhurried."Some things… can't be rushed."
Just like his plan regarding Tesoro—It required patience, and the right moment.
"That will be all. Execute immediately."His tone softened slightly at the end.
"Yes, sir!"
When the sound of footsteps faded down the corridor, Gern picked up the file once more.
Sunlight streamed through the porthole, turning the paper nearly translucent. Tesoro's scarred photograph glared sharply under the light, painfully vivid.
"The future Golden Emperor…"Gern murmured, his fingertip resting lightly on the face of that destitute young man in the photo.
He then pulled open a drawer.
Inside lay the Gold-Gold Fruit.
He couldn't eat it anyway.And selling it for money?
Sorry—he didn't have some kind of pay-to-win system where throwing cash around made him stronger.
Far better to invest in cultivating his own future "justice"—His personal, loyal fighting force.
Besides, when the time came, Gern was confident of one thing:
Gild Tesoro would obey.
...
The Journey
In the days that followed, Gern's warship first docked at Marine G-1, where he resupplied and briefly spoke with the stationed rear admiral, Stainless—The man with the towering hat who, in the future, would receive the report that led him to pursue Fisher Tiger.
Three days after departing G-1, Gern officially received Headquarters' approval.
The document bore Kong's bold, sweeping signature, with a line scribbled beside it:
"No causing trouble during your leave."
The next morning, the warship arrived precisely on schedule at Red Port, a World Government–controlled base.
Enormous cable transports, protected by bubble coating, slowly lifted the warship as it crossed over the Red Line.
When sunlight bathed the deck once more, they had arrived in the first half of the Grand Line.
"We'll be on a long route next," Gern ordered calmly."Resupply and adjust at Sabaody, then proceed at full speed to the West Blue."
...
Sabaody Archipelago
The harbor lay wrapped in a hazy morning mist. Massive mangrove roots loomed in and out of view, half-hidden in the fog.
Gern stood on the deck, watching as sailors carried out the final stages of resupply.
The sea breeze carried the distinctive scent of resin, brushing against his face.
Truth be told, he had passed through this place twice before—Once upon his promotion to Marine Headquarters,And once while returning to the East Blue with Garp.
But this was the first time he had truly taken the time to look.
"Sir, resupply will be completed within two hours," the petty officer reported with a salute.
Gern nodded faintly, his gaze shifting toward the opposite side of the harbor.
Several pirate ships of wildly different designs were anchored there.
One, in particular, stood out.
A three-masted vessel, gleaming gold from bow to stern.
Its figurehead was shaped like a crocodile with jaws spread wide, radiating danger under the morning sun.
"That is…?"
"That would be the ship of this year's Super Rookie—'Desert Crocodile,' Sir Crocodile," the petty officer replied immediately."Current bounty: 381,000,000 Berries.A Logia-type—Sand-Sand Fruit user.He arrived at Sabaody yesterday and has already wiped out several pirate crews.There's talk he may be the strongest Super Rookie of this generation."
"The strongest…"Gern's brow creased almost imperceptibly.
If he remembered correctly, not long after entering the New World, Crocodile would gain fame by clashing evenly with Douglas Bullet, then challenge Whitebeard, suffer a crushing defeat, and finally accept the World Government's offer to become one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.
But for now—
This future Warlord was still just a brash newcomer, intoxicated by early success.
Gern could have ignored him.After all, he was officially on leave.
But fate had a habit of playing cruel jokes.
Just as Gern turned to head back to the cabin, chaos erupted in the harbor.
Glass shattered. Screams rang out.
A towering figure wrapped in a fur coat burst through the window of a tavern on Grove 24, landing heavily on the dock.
"Out of the way, you worthless trash!"Crocodile spat out the cigar in his mouth as his right arm dissolved into flowing sand.
Behind him, the tavern owner collapsed onto the ground, terror frozen across his face.
Gern stopped walking.
"…What a pain," he sighed softly, already unfastening the clasp of his justice coat."Why cause trouble now of all times?"
At the same moment, Crocodile seemed to sense something.
He snapped his head toward the warship.
When his eyes locked onto Gern, a grin immediately spread across his youthful, arrogant face.
"A Marine…" he chuckled, his right arm fully turning to sand.
The harbor fell deathly silent.
Everyone held their breath.
Gern felt the tension coil in the soldiers behind him, smelled the sudden heaviness of gunpowder in the air.
"Rear Admiral Gern… it looks like he hasn't recognized you," the petty officer whispered.
Gern waved him off and stepped onto the gangplank.
Each step was measured—Neither timid nor overtly aggressive.
"Sir Crocodile," Gern said, stopping ten meters away, his voice frighteningly calm."Leave now, and I'll pretend I didn't see you."
"Pretend you didn't see me?"Crocodile froze for a moment—then burst into wild laughter.
"Are you kidding me?! Who the hell do you think you are?!"
As the words left his mouth, his right arm swelled and formed into a massive blade of sand.
At that instant—
Gern's eyes went cold.
He let out a soft chuckle.
The air around them began to tremble unnaturally.
"Three seconds."
"What?" Crocodile didn't catch it.
"I said—"Gern's figure blurred."You'll only last three seconds."
The next moment—
The entire dock shuddered violently.
Crocodile stared in disbelief as his sand body suddenly refused to obey him.
No—It hadn't failed.
Every grain of sand was being forced into a bizarre, high-frequency vibration, stripping him of all control.
By the time realization struck—
Gern's massive boot was already filling his vision.
"Justice of Vibration—Execution!"
BOOM!
With a dull, crushing impact, the so-called strongest rookie of this generation was sent flying like a kite with its string cut, smashing hard into the trunk of a towering mangrove.