The weather was clear.
On the bustling Sabaody Archipelago, throngs of travelers wove through the vibrant streets. People from all walks of life rubbed shoulders here—vagabonds and nobles, merchants and mercenaries.
And amidst such a chaotic mix, one could always spot the ever-watchful figures of justice—the Navy.
A patrol unit marched down the street, their uniforms gleaming in the sun. But when they occasionally passed by groups of pirates, they merely exchanged tacit glances and moved along, choosing to turn a blind eye.
It was simply beyond their control.
The unspoken rule of the archipelago was clear: as long as pirates kept a low profile and didn't cause trouble, the Navy wouldn't stir the pot either.
Especially now—word had spread far and wide that the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger, had been captured. The very moment that news broke, the seas quieted. The fire that once burned so bright in the hearts of pirates seemed to dim. And for the rank-and-file marines, that was nothing short of a blessing.
"Alright, that wraps up our shift for today! Pack it up, boys—we're heading back to HQ!"
"Yeah!!"
"Finally! I can't wait to get a break and see the wife and kids."
"Why the rush? Let's grab our bonuses and go out in style first!"
"Eh… I don't know if that's such a good idea."
"Oh, cut the crap, you—!"
Beneath the blazing noon sun, a Navy warship set sail from the archipelago, en route to Marineford, the Navy's headquarters. On deck, the low-ranking seamen chatted and joked among themselves, voices loud and carefree.
Inside a side compartment off the main cabin—a small kitchen, more specifically—sat a tall figure in a chair by the table, one leg casually crossed over the other.
The noise outside didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.
Even the occasional lurch of the ship had no effect on his poised, motionless frame.
Draped across his nearly three-meter-tall form was the signature white cape of the Navy, but instead of looking bulky or ill-fitted, it only accentuated his commanding presence. The cape complemented his regulation uniform perfectly, reinforcing the impression of someone both formidable and refined.
The shoulder epaulets were ornate, decorated with intricate embroidery that denoted not just status—but power.
Any soldier with ambitions in the Navy would instantly recognize that mark: the cloak of a Rear Admiral.
"So the guy's actually a Rear Admiral, huh…"
Ozz took another bite of steak.
Beside him stood two young seamen, their backs straight, eyes locked forward in awkward tension. The smell of sizzling meat filled the cramped space, and despite themselves, they gulped involuntarily.
Knock knock knock—
"Come in," Ozz said calmly. His voice was quiet, but carried a natural authority that made it impossible to ignore.
The door creaked open, and a nervous head poked through first—an aged face creased with smile lines and sycophantic charm. The man shuffled in with ingratiating caution.
"Rear Admiral Allen, sir! Sorry to bother you. Just here to give a quick report on our progress."
The speaker was slight and wiry, wringing his hands as he tried to curry favor. Then, turning with sudden sternness, he barked at the two young sailors: "You two are dismissed."
"Yes, Colonel Dick, sir!"
Despite their clear distaste for the man's demeanor, the young marines showed no outward disobedience. They stiffened their expressions and quickly exited the room.
"Is there a problem?"
Ozz felt the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement, but he kept his face composed. In front of this fawning officer, he played his part to perfection—projecting the measured dignity expected of a high-ranking naval officer.
And, as it turned out, that performance lined up perfectly with every preconception Colonel Dick had about the high command.
Dignified. Towering. Imposingly calm.
So much so that Dick had accepted his identity without a second thought. All it took was a fake name, a plausible story about returning from a mission, and a prized cloak looted from a real Rear Admiral years ago.
Rear Admiral Allen—allegedly—had split off from his unit during a covert operation and was now hitching a ride back to HQ.
"Reporting in, Rear Admiral Allen! I've officially announced the end of our patrol shift and made all arrangements for the return voyage!"
Dick stood at attention, giving a stiff report while Ozz calmly continued eating, barely acknowledging him.
But in Dick's mind, that aloof indifference only confirmed his assumptions.
That's the composure of a Rear Admiral…
A man so battle-hardened, even a mission like this must seem like child's play. No wonder he's risen so far.
After all—he was a Rear Admiral.
One step away from Vice Admiral, two from Admiral, and only three from Fleet Admiral.
A position that lofty wasn't something you stumbled into. And in the presence of such a man, Dick knew he had to give it everything he had.
Trying to earn some favor, Dick retreated to the far side of the kitchen, where he unlocked a small safe. From it, he retrieved a carefully wrapped bottle of dark red wine.
"Rear Admiral Allen, sir, this is a rare vintage I happened to acquire from the famed Kingdom of Wine. I do hope you'll find it suitable."
He bent over, obsequiously opening the bottle and pouring its contents into a crystal wine glass.
"Oh… how thoughtful."
The timing couldn't have been better. The steak had been a bit dry.
Ozz took the glass, a faint gleam of red flickering through his eyes. After a pause, he took a sip, seemingly satisfied.
"Very good," he said. "Not bitter like ordinary wines—this one's got a sweet, fruity aroma. Rich and mellow. I like it."
And it wasn't just flattery. Compared to the rum and beer he was used to, this wine truly was something special.
The only downside? The price tag.
Even with his stash back in Sammi's place, he couldn't afford to burn through bottles like this every day. Two or three sips per bottle, and each one cost a million Berries?
Honestly, maybe he should just sack the whole Kingdom of Wine sometime. That'd solve the problem.
Who ever heard of a great pirate actually paying for what he took?
"Hehehe, I'm glad you like it, sir. If you want more, I'd be happy to bring it next time! I'll be counting on your guidance going forward."
Dick beamed, eager to please.
Ozz chuckled. He started handing out promises like candy.
"Don't worry, Colonel Dick. I'll be sure to put in a good word for you with Fleet Admiral Sengoku. And Vice Admiral Tsuru too… With that kind of support, how could your promotion not be just around the corner?"
"Ahahaha!" Dick nearly melted with joy, practically ready to offer up his soul in devotion.
He flitted around Ozz like a loyal servant, bending over backwards to serve.
But Ozz—who was far more accustomed to being pampered by cute maids—had no interest in being doted on by a man as ugly as this. He made up an excuse and quickly dismissed him.
The truth was, if this sycophantic bootlicker had spent even half as much energy hunting pirates as he did brown-nosing superiors and bullying civilians, he might have recognized the man before him.
His most "respected" commanding officer…
Was none other than one of the most wanted criminals in the seas—
"Black Gun" Dotor Ozz!
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