After finishing that little backroom power deal in his office, Sengoku finally motioned for one of his aides to bring over a data form.
He handed it to Tachibana Kyūjō—his "newest recruit"—to begin the process of official registration into the Marines.
Once Kyūjō had filled it out, Sengoku took the form back and casually glanced over it.
But then… his brow twitched sharply.
Name: Tachibana Kyūjō
Date of Birth: Year 1488 – Sea Calendar
Sengoku's eyes widened.
"Wait… 1488? It's already 1503 now..."
Hold up—does that mean this kid is… fifteen?
He squinted suspiciously at the calm young man standing across from him.
"You sure this isn't a mistake? If you were born in 1488, that makes you fifteen. Not even sixteen yet!"
Kyūjō just shrugged casually. "No mistake. I was born in 1488. I'm fifteen."
His tone was light, matter-of-fact. No secrets, no hesitation.
He had nothing to hide. This was simply the truth of his natural talent. Give him a few more years, and he wouldn't fear anyone short of the mysterious Imu-sama himself.
But Sengoku couldn't accept it.
A fifteen-year-old… standing over two and a half meters tall?
Sure, this was the world of pirates and sea monsters—physical anomalies weren't rare.
But a fifteen-year-old Greatsword user? Someone who already mastered both advanced Kenbunshoku and Busoshoku Haki?
That wasn't just rare—it sounded like someone was pulling a prank on him.
He recalled the reports from East Blue: "Skilled swordsman," "high-level Haki user"...
Still, this? This was insane.
Not a single trainee in the current Marine Academy was under seventeen. And now he had a fifteen-year-old who supposedly had the strength of a Rear Admiral?
If he's already this strong at fifteen… what's he going to be like at twenty?
Of course, if Kyūjō had eaten a crazy-powerful Devil Fruit, Sengoku might've understood. But the boy was a pure swordsman. No fruit. No gimmicks.
Sengoku fell silent, caught in thought. He tried to recall when he himself had reached his peak.
He was sixty-two now, and if memory served, his prime didn't truly arrive until his early fifties.
With a long sigh, Sengoku looked back down at the form, then over at Kyūjō.
No more arguing. He accepted it.
Instead, he picked up his Den Den Mushi and calmly requested a representative from the Marine Science Division to report to his office immediately.
While waiting, Sengoku glanced back at the form and narrowed his eyes again.
"You say you're from East Blue, but there's no specific address listed."
"And what about your parents? Who taught you to fight ?"
"I'm from East Blue, yes. Loguetown, specifically. My parents were killed by pirates when I was little. After that, I spent most of my time near the Marine branch in town, collecting info and hunting pirates."
"As for my teacher… sorry, but I can't tell you."
His tone didn't waver—not even a bit.
"I don't want anyone disturbing their life. But I can promise you this—they have zero connection to the pirate world."
"And if you insist on digging into it... I'll walk away from the Marines right now."
He knew it already: if this data was true—if Kyūjō really was only fifteen—then it was only natural that someone this gifted would never submit easily to the military.
In fact, Kyūjō didn't even volunteer to join. If anything, he'd been dragged into the Marines through something resembling a "legal arrest."
Sengoku's mind raced with calculations.
If he was this strong at fifteen... could he hit Admiral level by twenty?
If not twenty, then maybe twenty-five?
And if that was the case… what about thirty? Or forty?
Could this boy become the second coming of Rocks D. Xebec?
Or beyond that—could he surpass every generation of sea emperors?
If Kyūjō's growth continued at this pace—or even accelerated—then he might very well be the one to bring the current era to an end.
The Supreme Commander of the Marines stared deeply, letting his thoughts spiral.
Even he wasn't immune to the allure. The mere idea of someone like Kyūjō gaining too much attention from the wrong people… it was terrifying.
Finally, Sengoku spoke, his voice low and serious.
"Give me a strand of your hair."
Kyūjō raised an eyebrow, clearly understanding the implication. But he didn't resist. Silently, he pulled out a single strand and handed it over.
Sengoku took it, then said simply, "Wait here."
He left the room without another word. This content belongs to novel·fire.net
Roughly thirty minutes later, Sengoku returned.
His expression was… radiant.
He tossed a printed document toward Kyūjō.
"Memorize this. It's your new identity. You're still from East Blue."
"But starting now… you're twenty-five years old."
"Never let anyone know your real age. If this gets out—it could cause serious trouble down the line."
His voice was deadly serious now.
Kyūjō's sheer potential was a double-edged sword. If the World Government ever caught wind of just how young he was, and how strong he was… they might react with fear. With force.
Kyūjō nodded quietly.
Then he muttered, half-jokingly, "I fought my way to Marine HQ… and I still don't even have a place to stay."
Sengoku slammed a palm down on the desk with a sudden burst of energy.
"Starting today, you'll live at my house! You're my long-lost nephew from East Blue!"
Kyūjō blinked, stunned. "…You really switch faces fast, huh?"
But deep down, he got it.
Sengoku wasn't just giving him free housing. He was taking him under close watch—to study him, to see what kind of person Kyūjō truly was.
Because no matter how promising someone looked…
You only ever saw their real self through time and pressure.
That night, in the luxurious estate of Fleet Admiral Sengoku at Marineford…
Sengoku stood frozen at the doorway, staring at Kyūjō in disbelief.
He watched as the young man casually peeled off the cast from his leg, then hopped up, stretched lightly, and moved around like he'd never been injured at all.
Kyūjō turned toward him with a small grin. "I've been fully recovered for a while now."
Sengoku didn't respond.
The very next day, the entirety of Marineford was buzzing with gossip.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku had finally been reunited… with his long-lost nephew from East Blue.
And just like that, the rumors began to swirl—stories spun from half-truths and wild guesses, each version more ridiculous than the last.
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