The midday sun hung high above the 321st Branch as the harbor buzzed with motion. Crates of supplies were being carried by handcarts and shoulder-loaded by Marines, then stacked neatly aboard the Marine warship. Everything was happening under direct orders from headquarters.
Laughter rang out from both the local Marines and the Headquarters crew. They worked side by side, hauling wooden boxes full of everything from fresh fruits and dried meats to rare cigars and imported whiskey.
To the Marines from HQ—used to rationed meals and rigid inventory—this felt like a luxury cruise. Many of them had never seen a branch as well-stocked and lively as this one. North Blue was colder than expected, but its people burned with warmth.
On the deck, Rear Admiral Monkey D. Dragon stood with a wide grin, taking it all in.
"North Blue hospitality is... something else," he mused.
He reached into a crate, pulled out a bag of senbei, and tore it open with his teeth. Loud, satisfying crunches followed as he munched openly.
"Dragon-nii, don't let that scheming bastard Darren get to you," Gion muttered, arms crossed, brows knitting in disapproval.
Dragon chuckled without a hint of shame. "Me? I'm the model of Marine integrity."
Still chewing, he reached into another crate and pulled out a box of premium cigars. He plucked one, lit it, and leaned back with a satisfied sigh.
Gion watched in quiet horror.
"Damn that Darren... corrupting even the best of us."
To her, Dragon was more than a leader. He was a beacon—the son of the Hero of the Marines, born with both legacy and virtue. If someone like him succumbed to Darren's shameless ways, what hope was there for anyone?
"Gossiping behind a superior's back isn't very Marine-like, Lieutenant Commander."
Darren's voice cut through the wind as he climbed aboard with his usual easy swagger.
Gion turned away with a scowl but said nothing.
"No salute for your superior? That's not regulation, you know."
Grinding her teeth, Gion turned, saluted stiffly. "Commodore Darren."
Then walked off without another word.
Dragon scratched his chin, eyes twinkling.
"She's feisty, but she respects you more than she lets on."
Darren shrugged. "Doesn't bother me."
"How are you feeling? Leaving the North Blue after so many years."
Darren lit a cigar, exhaling slowly. His gaze drifted out to sea.
"It's time. A man has to keep moving forward. Besides... I'm not gone forever."
Dragon nodded. "Spoken like a man ready for his next storm."
A booming voice echoed from the docks:
The great anchor groaned as it rose from the depths, dripping with seawater. The sails unfurled with a snap, catching the wind. Ink-black kanji reading "Justice" billowed across the fabric.
The warship groaned as it began its slow, steady departure.
At the railing, Tokikake collapsed in exaggerated despair.
"Farewell, Maria! Yui! Natsume! Ayaka! Madame Lorelle! Madame Skully! Madame Ficks! Don't forget me!! Write me letters!! I'll never forget your kindness!!"
"Is he always ?" Dragon asked slowly.
Darren rubbed his temples, exasperated. "Worse, actually."
Gion stormed past and grabbed Tokikake by the collar, dragging his lovesick form away like a sack of rice.
The ship left the dock, gliding toward open sea.
Darren stood tall at the bow, back to the base, cigar smoldering between his fingers.
"You're not going to say goodbye?" Dragon asked.
Darren had always lived by one principle—never look back.
For years, he'd marched forward without regret, and he had no intention of changing that now.
Dragon placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Maybe not for you. But they're not the same."
And with that, he turned and headed below deck.
"Oh, and Darren? The rest of the journey's yours."
Darren blinked. "Wait, what do you—"
A shout rang from the shore, powerful and commanding.
A symphony of cannonfire roared into the sky.
Darren turned, stunned.
The entire 321st Branch was assembled at the dock—shoulder to shoulder in perfect formation. Thousands of Marines. Thousands of salutes.
They stood like a wall of blue and white. Some had tears in their eyes. Others trembled with pride.
At the front stood Captain Momonga, his uniform crisp, his bearing unshakable. He removed his hat, lifted his chin, and bellowed:
The army responded like thunder.
A wave of arms rose in flawless unison, each salute carrying the weight of years served and bonds forged.
A breath caught in his chest.
He turned slowly, tears threatening but never falling.
Straightening, he raised his arm.
Behind him, the cannons fired again.
Colors burst into the sky—crimson, gold, sapphire.
"Farewell, Commodore Darren!!"
"Farewell, Commodore Darren!!"
The sound echoed across the sea, crashing like waves against the hull.
The ship slipped into the horizon.
Only when the port was a speck in the distance did Darren lower his arm.
He took one last drag on his cigar, steeling his expression.
He stepped into the cabin.
"Rear Admiral Dragon, about our naviga—"
Dragon was fast asleep on the floor, limbs sprawled, snoring like a bear. A bubble formed and popped at the edge of his nose.
"So that's what you meant."
He shook his head, walked to the nearest window.
Outside, the ocean stretched endlessly. Seagulls rose from the mast, wings slicing the sky.
Darren clenched his fist.