One Piece : Brotherhood

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******

Marineford, GrandLine

The door to Fleet Admiral Sengoku's office creaked open, and a veteran Vice Admiral stepped in, his face shadowed with an expression that Sengoku had come to recognize too well in recent days—one of disillusionment. Without a word, the Vice Admiral placed a thick stack of papers on Sengoku's desk. The tension in the room was palpable.

Sengoku furrowed his brow, his face darkening. He knew what those papers were before even glancing at them.

"What is this supposed to mean?" Sengoku asked, though he already knew the answer.

The Vice Admiral met his gaze with cold resolve. "Resignations," he said flatly.

Sengoku clenched his fists, his frown deepening. This was not the first resignation today. Since the incident at Kano Country—and the sudden bounties placed on Marine officers' heads—more and more Marines had been abandoning their posts.

The weight of it all was becoming unbearable. Sengoku had spent his entire life upholding the ideals of the Marines—Justice, Order, Peace. But now, those very ideals were being questioned, and not just by the outside world, but by his own men.

"Afraid because there's a bounty on your head, Henry?" Sengoku snarled, his voice rising. "Are you really that much of a coward?"

The man standing before him, Vice Admiral Henry, was no ordinary officer. He was a war-hardened veteran, having joined the Marines around the same time as Sengoku and Garp. He had fought on the frontlines of the New World, facing the worst of the worst.

Henry wasn't a man who scared easily, and Sengoku's outburst felt like a desperate attempt to make sense of the chaos unraveling around him.

Henry's lips curled into a sneer. His scarred face—one eye blind, a massive gash running from his temple to his jaw—twisted in disdain. He stepped closer, leaning in, his voice dripping with contempt.

"Afraid?" he spat. "Look me in the eye, Sengoku. Look at me. Do I look like a man who's afraid of death?"

Sengoku, momentarily taken aback, said nothing. Henry wasn't just any officer. He had fought battles most men wouldn't dare to dream of. His body was a testament to the wars he'd survived, and he carried the scars of those battles like medals of honor.

But this was different. This wasn't about fear. This was about something far deeper—something that Sengoku was beginning to realize he couldn't argue against.

"After everything that's happened, if I stay in the Marines, what's the difference between me and those filthy pirate bastards?" Henry growled, his voice heavy with disgust. "They kill for pleasure, and we… we do the same. We just dress it up with words like 'order' and 'justice.'"

Sengoku's face twisted with anger and pain. "We serve justice, Henry!" he countered, his voice sharp. But even as the words left his mouth, they felt hollow.

Henry's response was immediate and brutal.

"Ptui….!" He spat on Sengoku's desk, the action an unthinkable breach of respect, but he didn't care anymore. The Fleet Admiral's eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came. The veteran Vice Admiral leaned in further, his face just inches from Sengoku's, eyes burning with betrayal and fury.

"Justice?" Henry scoffed, his voice low and venomous. "How long are you going to keep lying to yourself, Sengoku? How long are you going to keep calling what we've done 'justice'?"

Sengoku opened his mouth to protest, but Henry slammed his fist onto the desk, making the papers jump. His next words struck Sengoku like a hammer to the chest.

"We've herded human beings like livestock—boxed them in like pigs—so those Celestial Dragons could hunt them for sport. You may have forgotten, but I haven't. Sorbet Kingdom, Sengoku! Twelve million souls! And we did nothing.

We stood by and watched it happen. I should have left the Marines that day, but I didn't. I let myself believe the bullshit you fed us about 'greater good' and 'keeping order.' And for what? To realize I've been a fool for decades?"

Sengoku could only stare, stunned into silence. The room felt suffocating. The weight of Henry's words pressed down on him like an anchor, dragging him into the abyss of guilt he had buried deep within himself.

Henry's voice grew louder, his emotions finally spilling over. "And now Kano Country? What did they do? What was their crime? You, of all people, Sengoku, should have known better!"

Sengoku, for the first time in years, hesitated. His lips trembled as he tried to muster a defense, but his voice faltered. "I didn't… I wasn't aware the World Government would deploy such a weapon. If I had known—"

"If you had known?" Henry roared, cutting him off. "What would it have changed, Sengoku? Would you have stopped them? No. Because that's what we've become. Lapdogs. The world is right to call us that.

We are nothing more than the World Government's glorified slaves, bound to them by chains we refuse to see. They use us to do their dirty work, to justify their atrocities with words like 'justice' and 'peace,' and we… we just obey."

He slammed his fist against the desk again, harder this time, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. "Do you have any idea how filthy our hands look to the world right now? How bloody they are?"

Sengoku felt a wave of shame wash over him, but he couldn't show it. He was the Fleet Admiral. He was the face of the Marines. He had to hold the line, had to believe that there was still honor in what they did. But Henry's words had torn through his defenses, exposing a festering truth he could no longer deny.

"Sigh…" Henry exhaled, the anger in his voice ebbing away, leaving only exhaustion. "I don't want to argue anymore. I'm not here to be called a deserter. I'm here to formally submit my resignation. And it's not just me. Three hundred others are leaving, Sengoku. Three hundred Marines who've lost faith. Many of them had families in Kano Country. Families you failed to protect."

He turned his back on Sengoku, his broad shoulders slumping with the weight of his decision.

"Our hands are bloody, Sengoku. No matter how many times you say the word 'justice,' you can't wash that away. Not anymore."

As the door closed behind Henry, Sengoku stood alone in the dim light of his office, staring down at the stack of resignations. His heart felt heavier than it had in years. The papers in front of him blurred, the weight of his own guilt and the crushing reality of his failures settling in. He had spent his life fighting for justice, but now, for the first time, he wasn't sure he knew what that word meant anymore.

The room was silent, save for the ticking of the clock. Each second felt like a lifetime, each tick a reminder that time was slipping through his fingers.

Sengoku stood in the dimly lit office, his gaze fixed on the stack of resignations, his mind heavy with the weight of Henry's words. Serving in the Marines had been his dream since childhood. He had once believed with every fiber of his being in what the Marines stood for—Justice, Order, Protection.

He had worn his title with pride, confident that he was serving the greater good, that the organization he had dedicated his life to truly embodied the ideals of justice. But now, even someone as steadfast as him was beginning to doubt.

The words "glorified slaves" echoed in his mind, reverberating like a death knell to everything he had ever believed. Henry wasn't just angry—he had spoken a brutal truth, one that Sengoku had long tried to suppress, buried beneath layers of duty and loyalty to the World Government.

The Marines had always been seen as the hand of justice, but when had they become little more than pawns in a game they didn't even control?

Sengoku sighed deeply, his heart weighed down by the bitter realization that perhaps the ideals he had fought for had been tainted. The man who had once been unshakable now felt a deep chasm of uncertainty. His gaze fell on the word etched into the back of his coat: Justice.

For decades, that word had defined him. But what was justice if it allowed innocent lives to be sacrificed for the whims of the Celestial Dragons? What was justice if it forced good men like Henry to abandon their posts because their consciences could no longer bear the burden of guilt?

He stood up slowly, his movements deliberate, each step toward his decision feeling heavier than the last. He reached for his coat—the same white coat he had worn with pride for years, the symbol of the justice he swore to uphold.

He hesitated, gripping the fabric tightly in his hand, as if the very act of putting it on was a commitment to either the path he had always walked or the one he was now forced to consider.

The time had come for him to confront the truth he had avoided for too long. If the Marines had truly fallen into the role of lapdogs for the Celestial Dragons, then he had two choices: to leave, as Henry had, or to face the powers that controlled them and fight for the change he desperately believed in.

His decision became clear in that moment. If he was going to lead the Marines the way he had envisioned—if he wanted to restore the honor and integrity of the organization—then there was only one path. He would confront the Five Elders.

He would either change the status quo, tear down the chains that bound the Marines to the Celestial Dragons, or he would leave the Marines for good.

Sengoku straightened his back and put on the justice coat, but this time it felt heavier, not just with the weight of the title but with the burden of the decisions ahead. His resolve hardened. He wasn't just going to accept the status quo anymore. This was no longer about loyalty to a flawed system. This was about saving the soul of the Marines itself.

"If we've lost sight of true justice, then it's time we find it again," Sengoku murmured to himself. His eyes narrowed with determination. "I will not allow the Marines to be reduced to mere puppets."

He walked toward the door, every step filled with purpose. The corridor stretched ahead of him, long and quiet, like the calm before a storm. He knew the risk he was taking. The Five Elders were the most powerful figures within the World Government, and challenging them would not only be dangerous—it could cost him everything he had ever built.

But Sengoku was prepared to pay that price. He would stand before them, not as a Fleet Admiral seeking approval, but as a man determined to reclaim the true essence of justice. He would demand change. He would lay everything on the line for the Marines he believed in, for the people they were meant to protect, and for the legacy he wanted to leave behind.

And if they refused him, if they made it clear that the Marines were to remain the enforcers of tyranny, then he would walk away. He would leave the institution that had defined him for so long and let history judge his decision. But at least he would do so with a clear conscience, knowing that he had fought for what was right.

"Henry was right about one thing," Sengoku whispered, the weight of his thoughts heavy on his soul. "The Marines can no longer be lapdogs. If I can't change that... then maybe it's time I go."

With that final thought, Sengoku stepped out of his office, the gravity of his decision settling over him like a storm cloud. His heart was resolute, his spirit unbroken. He was going to meet the Elders, and for the first time in years, Sengoku wasn't just wearing the justice coat. He was justice, and he would see it restored—or watch it burn.

*****

Foosha village, East Blue

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the shoreline of Foosha Village. Little waves lapped at the sand as a group of children laughed and ran, their carefree energy filling the air.

Barely two years old, Ace was determined to keep up, his tiny legs pumping furiously as he chased Makino, who darted ahead with a playful grin. The little boy's black hair stuck to his forehead as he giggled, eyes gleaming with determination.

His chubby arms reached out, hoping to catch her, but Makino always stayed just out of reach, teasing him with every quick step.

Rouge, with her warm smile, was playing alongside the children, her gentle laughter blending in with theirs. She bent down, clapping her hands together to encourage Ace, who stumbled in the sand but quickly picked himself back up.

Other village children had joined them, even some of the mountain bandits' kids, all mixed together in a picture of innocent joy. The sand beneath their feet felt soft, and the evening breeze brought the scent of the ocean, refreshing and light.

A few hundred meters away, sitting on a large boulder that overlooked the scene, was a man dressed in an open, floral-patterned shirt—casual and bright, with large pink hibiscus flowers that stood out against the dark fabric.

His broad, muscled frame seemed out of place in the loose, tropical attire, and his yellow shorts only added to the unusual image. It was none other than Monkey D. Garp, the man currently carrying the highest bounty in the world, though the World Government hadn't officially issued it.

His bounty number matched the one that once belonged to the Pirate King himself—5,564,800,000 berries.

But in this moment, Garp wasn't concerned with the title or the bounty. A warm smile spread across his weathered face as he watched the children play, his gaze lingering on Ace, whose fierce determination reminded him so much of his late friend, Roger.

Life like this, peaceful and simple, wasn't so bad after all. He missed the Marines sometimes, the thrill of the battlefield and the camaraderie of his men, but this—watching Ace laugh, surrounded by friends and family—soothed him in ways that military life never could.

He sighed contentedly, his hand resting on his knee, but the peaceful moment was abruptly interrupted. Garp's brow furrowed, and his smile quickly faded as his observation haki picked up a presence approaching. His jaw tightened in annoyance. That presence. It was him again.

Garp scowled, his mood turning sour. For the past month, this man had been a thorn in his side. Initially, Garp had agreed to let him stay for a week, but the shameless bastard had overstayed his welcome, settling down in Foosha Village as if it were his own private vacation spot.

Only three people on the island knew the truth of his identity: Garp himself, Rouge, and old Naguri. The man's real name was known only to the most infamous circles—the former right-hand man to the Pirate King, Silvers Rayleigh.

As if sensing Garp's irritation, Rayleigh strolled up to the boulder with his usual carefree grin. He looked completely at ease, as though the threat of Garp's fists didn't concern him in the slightest.

Dressed in his worn-out coat and simple trousers, Rayleigh held a bottle of rum in one hand and a small bag of crackers in the other. He hopped up onto the boulder, taking a seat beside Garp without invitation, as if they were lifelong friends meeting for a casual evening.

"Ah, Garp," Rayleigh greeted cheerfully, ignoring the glare sent his way. "You're still sitting here sulking, I see. Have a cracker?" He passed the bag over, chuckling as he popped one into his mouth and took a swig of rum.

Garp growled low in his throat as he snatched the bag of crackers, stuffing a few into his mouth. "Rayleigh, you bastard," he grumbled between bites, glaring at him. "It's been more than a month now. Why the hell haven't you left yet? You said a week!"

Rayleigh just laughed, leaning back comfortably against the boulder. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he watched the kids play down below, Makino now helping Ace back to his feet after another tumble.

"What's the rush? You've got such a lovely view here, Garp. And besides, where else am I supposed to go? You know how dull the rest of the world is compared to this place. Nothing beats a peaceful village and some good company." He took another sip of rum, smirking knowingly.

"Good company?" Garp spat out, almost choking on his cracker. "More like pestering company! You're a pain in my side, Rayleigh. I let you stay for one week, and here you are, mooching off me for a damn month! I should've thrown you into the sea the first day you showed up!"

Rayleigh let out a hearty chuckle, unfazed by Garp's bluster. "Come now, old friend. You didn't mind it when we had that drinking contest last week." He gave Garp a teasing nudge with his elbow, causing the older man to grunt in annoyance. "You're just upset because I drank you under the table."

Garp's face flushed red with irritation, but he didn't argue. "Tch. That's because you cheated, you pirate scum!"

"Pirate scum, am I?" Rayleigh grinned slyly. "Well, this 'pirate scum' brought you some crackers, didn't he?"

As the two bickered, the sound of children's laughter carried up to them, softening Garp's mood just a little. His gaze softened as he looked back toward the shore, watching Ace try again to catch up to Makino, while Rouge gently scolded one of the bandit kids for pushing too hard.

"Look at them," Rayleigh said quietly, his tone shifting to something more thoughtful. "They're so carefree, playing without a worry in the world. They don't know the hell that's happening out there."

Garp's expression grew serious as he watched Ace, his grandson, running around without a care. "Aye," he murmured.

Rayleigh's tone was unusually serious, dusting the sand off his coat. His piercing eyes, usually filled with mirth and mischief, now reflected the weight of years and responsibilities.

He gazed out at the horizon, where the sun had just slipped below the ocean, leaving a faint golden hue on the waves. The children's laughter still echoed in the distance, but the air between him and Garp had grown heavy with unspoken concerns.

"Take care of them while I'm away, Garp," Rayleigh spoke firmly, his voice uncharacteristically solemn. "Don't you dare let Roger down. If he chose to leave his son under your care, then you should understand how much he trusted you."

Garp looked up at Rayleigh, startled. For weeks now, Rayleigh had been like an annoying leech, refusing to leave despite Garp's many attempts to kick him out.

But suddenly, out of nowhere, Rayleigh was preparing to go. Something was up. Garp had known Rayleigh long enough to sense when the man was hiding something serious.

"What's going on?" Garp asked, his brows knitting together, suspicion clear in his voice.

Rayleigh paused, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly weighing his next words. "I got a call from Ross," he said finally, his tone grave. "It seems like someone's on the hunt for information regarding my old crew. Ross thinks their intentions are…" Rayleigh trailed off, letting the ominous implications hang in the air.

Garp's jaw tightened, and his frown deepened as he processed Rayleigh's words. He didn't need the former first mate to finish the sentence. Garp knew the history. After Roger's execution, the World Government had hunted down several members of Roger's crew relentlessly.

Only Rayleigh's return and his decision to lie low had stopped the manhunt for a time. But there had been other incidents—too many to be coincidences. Like the mysterious destruction of the island where one of Roger's old shipwrights had lived.

The entire place wiped off the map, and the shipwright along with it. Garp didn't believe in coincidences, especially not when it came to anything related to Roger's crew.

Now, another party was on the move, searching for Roger's men. And if Rayleigh had decided to act, Garp knew it wasn't some random rumor. It was serious.

"You think they're after more than just information, don't you?" Garp said, his voice low, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone.

Rayleigh's eyes met Garp's, and there was no longer any hint of the playful pirate in them. "I do. Whoever they are, they're methodical. We've already lost two of our own, Garp. It's no accident. And Ross…well, he doesn't spook easily. If he's worried, then it means something bigger is in motion."

Garp sighed deeply, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He shifted slightly, resting his arms on his knees, watching Ace in the distance, still chasing Makino and stumbling over the sand.

The little boy had no idea of the storm brewing around him, and for that, Garp was grateful. But the reality of the world was cruel, and Ace's future was tied to a legacy that would never let him rest.

"Rayleigh, you know I've done everything in my power to keep that boy's identity a secret," Garp said, his voice rough but earnest. "I won't let Roger's son fall into the hands of those bastards, not ever. But I don't want the World Government to catch wind of what's happening. They're already suspicious enough as it is with your movements."

Rayleigh nodded, his expression softening just a little. "I know you'll protect him, Garp. You've done more than anyone could have asked. But we both know it won't be long before the boy's true parentage comes to light. And when that day comes, the world will come hunting for him, just like they hunted for Roger."

"Let 'em try," Garp growled, clenching his fists, his voice filled with defiance. "If they come for Ace, they'll have to get through me first. And I'll make sure they regret it."

Rayleigh chuckled lightly, though it was tinged with sadness. "That's the Garp I know," he said, offering a small grin. "But remember, you're not just dealing with the World Government anymore. There are other forces out there—ones we haven't seen in a long time. And some of them might have reasons to want Roger's legacy erased from history entirely."

Garp's scowl deepened, his instincts screaming that something dangerous was on the horizon. "I'll handle it. But you—you're planning on tracking them down, aren't you?" He eyed Rayleigh suspiciously, already knowing the answer.

Rayleigh's silence was answer enough. He stood up from the boulder, dusting off his coat and adjusting the bottle of rum in his hand. "Someone's got to figure out who's pulling the strings, Garp," Rayleigh said, his voice steady and resolute. "And I'm not the kind of man to sit around while my friends are being hunted."

Garp watched him for a moment, then sighed. "You're still as reckless as ever, Rayleigh. But if anyone can figure out what's going on, it's you."

Rayleigh grinned again, the old spark of adventure returning to his eyes. "Reckless? Coming from you, that's a compliment."

Garp rolled his eyes, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Just don't get yourself killed, you bastard. You're a pain in my ass, but I'd rather not have to explain to Rouge why Ace's Godfather got himself caught like a fool."

Rayleigh laughed, his hearty voice filling the air. "Don't worry, Garp. I've managed to stay alive this long. What's a little more danger?"

As Rayleigh turned to leave, Garp called out to him one last time. "Hey, Rayleigh."

Rayleigh paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Take care of yourself out there. The world's gotten a lot uglier since the old days."

Rayleigh smiled, tipping his head in acknowledgment. "You too, old friend. And take care of that boy. He's going to need you more than ever soon."

With that, Rayleigh walked off into the evening, his figure slowly fading into the distance. Garp watched him go, the weight of the world suddenly feeling much heavier on his shoulders. He glanced back at Ace, who had finally caught up to Makino, laughing triumphantly. The boy had no idea of the burdens he carried.

"Roger," Garp muttered under his breath, staring out at the horizon. "You damn fool… you really did trust me with something big."

But as Garp watched Ace's innocent smile, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. He would protect the boy with everything he had, even if it meant standing against the world itself.

Because that was what a true Marine did—protect the innocent, no matter the cost.