Sengoku lowered his voice. "Remember, Doflamingo holds too many secrets. If we mishandle this, the entire Grand Line could descend into chaos."
Akainu snorted, magma dripping between his fingers. "Cowardice. Just because he's a Celestial Dragon..."
"Sakazuki!" Sengoku cut him off sharply. "Watch your mouth!"
Kizaru had already strolled over to the window, his body beginning to transform into light. "Then I'll go and meet that 'Heavenly Yaksha'." His figure slowly vanished in the sunlight, his last words drifting through the office. "Hope he doesn't want to know what it feels like to be kicked by light."
Once Kizaru left, Akainu snorted and stormed out as well. Sengoku slumped back in his chair, visibly drained.
He picked up his phone and looked at the unrelenting flood of public outrage—videos of Dressrosa's toy workers, footage of the Tontatta tribe's enslavement, footage of angry protests... each clip stabbed into the Navy's reputation like a dagger.
"Times have changed..." he muttered, his finger absentmindedly scrolling through the screen.
Outside the window, warships were assembling rapidly. Kizaru stood on deck posing, while a Marine PR team filmed a promotional video nearby.
Clearly, they were scrambling to do something to cool down the raging public.
...
The azure sea shimmered with golden sunlight, the surface rippling like a blanket of glittering diamonds.
Ron's ship glided silently across the mirror-like water, trailing a long, clean wake.
Leaning against the railing, Ron traced his finger along his phone screen. Rebecca's tearful plea, still circulating on TikTok, looked particularly bright under the setting sun.
"This girl... pretty gutsy," Ron said softly, a faint chuckle escaping, his tone tinged with admiration.
He closed the video, his expression turning thoughtful. He knew better than anyone, without the protection of Exquisite Culture Media, that innocent little princess would never have dared to do something like this.
Recalling the way Rebecca's hands trembled when she signed the contract that day, the corners of Ron's lips curved up slightly.
He understood—behind her courage was trust. Trust in him, and in Exquisite Culture Media.
That trust gave him a rare warmth, and also firmed up his conviction.
The sea breeze swept across the deck, blowing away the loose strands of hair on his forehead.
Off in the distance, several News Coos skimmed across the water. Their backpacks were no longer full of newspapers, but brand-new smartphones.
These devices would become powerful tools for spreading his influence.
Ron retracted his gaze and tucked the phone into his trench coat pocket.
The journey that Morgans had once disrupted could now resume. In Ron's eyes was a flicker of anticipation—for all the endless possibilities that lay ahead.
"Old man..." He looked toward the horizon, mischief dancing in his eyes. "It's a shame not to debut in this era."
The sails billowed in the wind. Ron's quiet laugh faded into the sound of crashing waves.
...
Three days later, at dusk.
The setting sun dyed the sea gold. The sparkling waves glimmered beneath a golden veil.
Ron's ship slowly pulled into a natural harbor hidden within a remote island. From the island came the sound of synchronized drills, mixing with the rhythm of waves against the rocks.
"Attention!" came a loud command. The Marines training on the beach stopped in unison.
When they saw the man stepping off the ship, their eyes lit up in an instant.
"Greetings, Admiral Ron!" Nearly a hundred Marines stood upright, saluting in perfect sync. Their voices boomed so loudly that the birds in the treetops scattered in alarm.
Ron stepped off the gangway, his white trench coat fluttering in the wind.
He smiled wryly and waved them off. "How many times do I have to tell you—don't call me Admiral?" His voice was laced with helplessness, but his eyes were warm.
He tapped the lead petty officer gently on the forehead. "Especially you, Carl. Time to switch it up."
The young petty officer blinked back tears, lips pursed stubbornly. "To us, you'll always be Admiral Ron!"
The soldiers behind him nodded in agreement. A few of them even discreetly wiped the corners of their eyes.
Just then, a tall figure emerged from the coconut grove.
His short purple hair was especially sharp. His arms were still intact—he hadn't left the Navy yet—but his expression remained perpetually stormy.
Zephyr's booming voice echoed: "You brats! Three more hours of training!" His scolding made the Marines flinch. "Who told you to stop without permission?"
But the very next second, the stern instructor strode up and wrapped Ron in a tight hug.
His powerful hands patted Ron's back with solid thumps. "You old fox! Finally decided to come see me?"
"Easy! These old bones can't take you slamming me around." Ron laughed and coughed twice, slipping free of the hug.
Zephyr grinned broadly and threw an arm over Ron's shoulder, leading him toward a cabin tucked into the forest. "Tonight, unless I get you dead drunk, don't even think about leaving this island!" He turned and barked at the eavesdropping Marines, "What're you lookin' at? Five more sets of physical drills!"
The soldiers groaned and scattered, but couldn't help peeking back as they left.
They knew—tonight in that cabin, their instructor and the legendary Admiral Ron would be up drinking and reminiscing until dawn.
Ron followed Zephyr through dense tropical growth, a rare look of ease on his face.
In a clearing before the cabin, two wicker chairs and a small wooden table had already been set up. Several bottles of aged rum sat waiting—Ron's favorite from his training days decades ago.
"Looks like you were expecting me?" Ron raised an eyebrow, teasing.
Zephyr flexed an arm proudly. "Saw your ship on radar two days ago." He twisted open a bottle cap, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. "So, did you really sail all the way out here just to visit this old man?"
The breeze rustled through the palms.
Ron picked up his glass and clinked it against Zephyr's. "Catching up is part of it..." A glimmer flashed in his eyes. "The other part is trying to convince a certain stubborn old guy to come out of retirement."
"You're still as unserious as ever. Retirement, my ass." Zephyr's hand froze midair, the liquid in his glass swirling silently.
In the distance, the sound of Marines training blended with the crashing waves.
"Not retiring? Then a debut's just fine too." Ron threw back his head and laughed. The sea breeze carried his voice far and wide.
He'd already made up his mind. This legendary admiral, known for his "non-lethal" justice, was being completely wasted in the Navy. He might as well debut on TikTok instead.
It would even help him realize the truth a little earlier... and maybe avoid losing that arm to Edward Weevil.
Ron excitedly pulled out his phone and swiped the screen. "Come on, first follow my—"
He abruptly stopped mid-sentence.
Zephyr was staring blankly at the device in Ron's hand, thick brows furrowed deeply.
"Is this... some new kind of Den Den Mushi?"
Zephyr poked the screen cautiously. Even with considerable force, the phone didn't crack.
Ron's eyes widened. "You... don't know what a phone is?" He looked around in disbelief. The island was hidden, sure, but not that isolated.
(To be continued.)