Order returned to the square—at least on the surface.
Below the platform, Marines sat stiff-backed, shoulders twitching, lips pressed thin as they struggled to keep straight faces.
Up on the high stage, Zephyr stood breathing hard, a storm of emotions darkening his expression. A vein pulsed visibly at his temple.
Kong rubbed at his temples, grimacing. Leaning toward Sengoku, whose mouth twitched with barely contained exasperation, he muttered darkly, "Contact every news outlet the second this is over. That entire segment—cut it."
Sengoku nodded. "Already done, Fleet Admiral."
Only then did Kong exhale.
"Next!" Zephyr barked.
From the ranks below, Yamakaji ran a hand over his buzz cut, gulped hard, and stepped forward. "Z–Zephyr-sensei!"
The sheer force of Zephyr’s glare made him flinch before snapping to a rigid salute. Zephyr took him in—earnest, solid, dependable—and forced a faint smile.
He flicked a glance toward Kuzan, who sat in a crouch yawning, and Tokikake, whose swollen, purpled face winced at every breath. A dull ache tugged in Zephyr’s chest.
Taking the justice coat from a guard, he settled it over Yamakaji’s broad shoulders with solemn dignity.
"Captain Yamakaji distinguished himself in the Marineford War, protecting civilians and rescuing the wounded without rest. You embody the very spirit of the Marine ideal."
His voice carried strong and clear: "On behalf of Marine Headquarters, I hereby promote you to Commodore!"
He clasped Yamakaji’s shoulder. "Keep striving. Uphold the justice you believe in."
"Yes, Zephyr-sensei!" Yamakaji straightened even further, chest swelling with pride.
"Go," Zephyr said warmly, waving him off.
After Kuzan and Tokikake’s public disasters, he wasn’t risking another speech. His heart—and the Marines’ dignity—couldn’t take a third hit. The rest would receive their honors in silence.
And so the ceremony found its rhythm again.
One by one they came: Onigumo. Doberman. Dalmatian. Strawberry. Resolute, steady, proud. The applause swelled with each name. The smiles of Zephyr, Sengoku, and the other senior officers grew steadily wider.
In under half an hour, all had been decorated—save for one conspicuously absent name.
They now stood in a neat row behind Zephyr, their justice coats—white as the seagull flags snapping above them—billowing in the sharp sea wind. Each young officer radiated the bright, unyielding spirit of ambition.
From the front row, Kong’s mood soured again. He leaned toward Sengoku. "Where’s that brat Darren? What’s he pulling now?"
Sengoku dabbed at his brow. "Any moment, Fleet Admiral. In the meantime... shall we handle Sakazuki and Borsalino?"
Kong scowled. "Fine."
The two men rose abruptly, drawing every gaze. The media shifted forward; camera lenses gleamed.
Kong strode to the podium, his deep voice rolling over the assembly. "In the Marineford War, Headquarters stood unshakable. Among the brightest of our young generation..."
He let the words hang. Then: "Sakazuki. Step forward!"
From the far end of the plaza, a crimson silhouette advanced.
His sharp features were cut in stone, black boots gleaming. A scarlet rose bloomed against his chest like a drop of fresh blood.
Rear Admiral Sakazuki—the "Monster" of the Marines.
A chill swept the crowd as he passed. His tread was measured, relentless—each step identical, like the ticking of an ancient clock.
"Zephyr-sensei." He saluted with the precision of a blade’s edge.
Zephyr’s smile was faint but approving. "It’s your day at last, Sakazuki. Well done."
"I am grateful for your guidance," came the low, deliberate reply.
Kong stepped forward, taking the coat from a guard. "I look forward to the day I place the Fleet Admiral’s mantle on your shoulders."
With solemn weight, he settled the Vice Admiral’s coat over Sakazuki. "In the name of the Fleet Admiral, I promote you to Vice Admiral of Marine Headquarters."
Sakazuki stepped aside.
"Borsalino. Step forward!"
"Borsalino!" Kong barked again.
Light shimmered in the air. Countless golden motes spun together into a lanky figure, hands raised in mock surrender.
"Coming, coming..." Borsalino drawled, his face a picture of feigned innocence. "Almost missed my turn."
Kong’s jaw flexed. For one heartbeat, he understood—deeply—why Zephyr had almost throttled Kuzan and Tokikake.
Suppressing the urge to swing, he pushed through the formality. "By my authority as Fleet Admiral, I promote Borsalino to Vice Admiral of Marine Headquarters."
He all but shoved the coat at him.
The crowd sensed it—the pause before the storm. All heads turned toward the plaza entrance.
Short, unruly black hair framed a face sharpened by sunlight. A cigar clenched in his teeth sent a thin curl of smoke drifting upward. Tall and broad-shouldered, a silver-white longsword hung at his side. The knot of his black tie sat crooked, but on him, it only deepened the impression of a man who refused to be tamed.
Beneath the afternoon sun, that striking face—handsome yet dangerous—lit with a glint of wild defiance.
Cheers surged like a breaking wave. Civilians and Marines alike shouted themselves hoarse; reporters’ flashes sparked like gunfire; women’s voices rose in a chorus of shrill excitement.
Marine Headquarters Commodore—Rogers Darren.
The King of the North Blue. The man who had cast off the name "monster" and carved his own legend.