In the Grand Line, a crescent-shaped island lood over the sea, crowned by an enormous Marine fortress. At its front, the bold characters for "MARINE" flanked the iconic seagull emblem at the center—an unmistakable symbol of the World Governnt's naval power.
Surrounding the island, a dense formation of warships floated on the waves—no fewer than two hundred vessels, each one at least a third-class battleship (over 80 ters in length). Nearly half were second-class or higher, surpassing 100 ters in size—massive ships, fully battle-ready.
This was Marine Headquarters—Marineford.
At the very top of the fortress sat the primary conference chamber, a room spanning more than 300 square ters. Around a sakura-wood table stretching dozens of ters long, a hundred or so Marine officers were seated in solemn order.
At the head of the table sat a man with wild, bushy hair hidden beneath his officer's cap, a pair of thick-rimd frog-eye glasses perched on his face. A long braided beard hung from his chin, and the chest of his Justice coat glead with nurous high-rank dals.
He was none other than the forr Admiral—Sengoku, now Fleet Admiral of the Marines and its supre authority. Known as the "Strategist Buddha," he was a user of the Mythical Zoan-type Human-Human Fruit, Model: Buddha.
Seated imdiately to Sengoku's right was a burly man holding a rice cracker in one hand, his nose bubbling with snot—he had dozed off in his chair.
That was Monkey D. Garp, fad as the "Hero of the Marines" and Sengoku's longti comrade-in-arms. At 64 years old, he had once driven the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger, to the brink on multiple occasions. And still, he slept like a log.
Across from Garp, to Sengoku's left, sat a muscular man with purple hair, triangular sunglasses, and a Justice coat draped over his broad shoulders. Despite countless battles against pirates, he had never taken a single life.
He was "Black Arm" Zephyr, the Marine Headquarters' forr Admiral and current Chief Instructor. Also 64 years old, Zephyr was revered for his unyielding principles—and was once called "the man who never kills."
Next to Zephyr, to the left again, sat a slender older woman with fine wrinkles marking her face. Though her fra had grown frail, her posture remained poised. Eyes closed in contemplation, she seed deeply focused.
She was Vice Admiral Tsuru, aged 60—the Marines' Chief Strategist and a user of the Wash-Wash Fruit, a Paracia-type Devil Fruit.
Facing Tsuru, seated to the right of Garp, was a man in a red suit with a rose pinned to his chest and a Marine cap pulled low over his face, hiding his expression.
He was Sakazuki, known by his codena Akainu, one of Zephyr's first-generation students. At 45, he was among the most formidable forces in the Marines—a current Admiral, and wielder of the Magma-Magma Fruit, a Logia-type Devil Fruit.
Beside Sakazuki, in the third seat to the right, was a tall, lanky man in a yellow-striped suit. Curly black hair frad his face, a lazy smile played on his lips beneath a round beard, and his eyes hid behind a pair of sunglasses. His presence oozed a sowhat sleazy vibe.
This was Borsalino, codena Kizaru, also from Zephyr's first graduating class and another current Admiral. A fellow "monster" of that era, he possessed the power of the Glint-Glint Fruit, a Logia that let him move at the speed of light.
Directly across from Kizaru, third seat to the left, sat a tall man dressed in a white waistcoat over a navy-blue shirt. A green visor hung low on his forehead, his long face perpetually drowsy.
He was Kuzan, codena Aokiji, a student from Zephyr's third class. At 39, he too was an Admiral, commanding the power of the Ice-Ice Fruit, another Logia-type Devil Fruit.
These seven—Fleet Admiral Sengoku and the three Admirals alongside Marine legends like Garp, Tsuru, and Zephyr—comprised the core leadership and military might of the Marines.
Lining the long table to their left and right were more Vice Admirals—high-ranking Marine elites. Had Aeridar been present, he would've recognized many of them instantly.
There was Vice Admiral Momonga, dressed in a lavender-striped suit with a dark blue shirt and a katana at his waist. Sporting a punk-style haircut and matching dark purple hair and beard, he had been the one sent to summon Boa Hancock, the Pirate Empress and one of the Seven Warlords, just before the Summit War.
Near him sat Vice Admiral Onigumo, his expression fierce beneath a helt adorned with a twin-dragon emblem. He was known as one of the most aggressive hawks among the Marine ranks.
Then there was Vice Admiral Doberman, another hawkish figure, easily recognized by the many cross-shaped scars slashed across his face and his thick handlebar mustache.
Vice Admiral Yamakaji grinned broadly, a cigar clenched between his teeth beneath his thick beard.
Finally, Vice Admiral Strawberry sat stoically, his most distinctive feature being a shockingly elongated skullcap that stretched far beyond the norm.
These were the Marine Headquarters' top Vice Admirals—elite, seasoned, and deadly. A total of twenty Vice Admirals were seated here, among them several won.
Behind them, ranks of Rear Admirals filled the remaining seats, all clad in white Justice coats. Nearly every high-ranking officer above the ninth level of Marine HQ was present.
Should a catastrophe strike this room—if it were wiped out in one fell swoop—the Marine organization wouldn't just be crippled. It would be shattered beyond repair. Not even one or two Emperor-level pirates could eliminate them all without suffering devastating losses... short of an Emperor's personal intervention.
"Ahem."
Two light taps on the table silenced the room.
Sengoku's expression darkened as he addressed the assembled leadership.
"This ergency summit has been convened to address the escalating crisis posed by the surge of pirates."
He paused to let the weight of his words sink in.
"Fourteen years have passed since the Pirate King—Gol D. Roger—ushered in the Great Pirate Era. In that ti, the number of pirates across all four seas and the Grand Line has exploded to an unprecedented scale. Even the second half of the Grand Line... once a domain of balance and order... has now descended into chaos. It's no longer a sea—it's a pirate empire."
Boom!
The entire table shuddered as Sengoku slamd his fist down.
"This... is a disgrace to the Marines!"
And no one could bla Sengoku for his fury.
The ballooning number of pirates had drastically shrunk the Marines' jurisdiction. Their grip on the seas weakened day by day. Repeated losses in the New World had pushed their forces there to the brink of collapse.
Were it not for the Red Line, which allowed the World Governnt to quickly reinforce the New World garrisons, the tens of thousands of Marines stationed there would've long been overrun—surrounded and suffocated by the Emperors and their forces.
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