Pluto Rayleigh

BANG!

The office door was shoved open, and Staff Officer Tsuru strode in, her face ashen.

She clutched a freshly received telegram in her hand, her fingers trembling faintly.

For the famously cool-headed and sharp-witted chief strategist, this was almost unheard of.

"Sengoku!"

Tsuru's voice carried a rare urgency.

Sengoku's heart sank. He shot to his feet. "What's wrong?"

Tsuru slapped the telegram onto his desk. The ink on it was still damp:

"Thirty minutes ago, near Sabaody's 12th District, a violent clash erupted! Saint Charlos... was attacked in public, gravely wounded!"

"What?!"

A chill shot from Sengoku's soles straight to his crown, and his vision even went dark for a moment.

The very thing he'd dreaded had come to pass—and in the worst possible way!

He snatched up the telegram, his eyes racing across the lines. The more he read, the paler he grew.

Finally, his face turned livid, veins bulging on the hand gripping the paper.

"CP0's White Mask Leader and all his guards were defeated. Celestial Dragon Saint Charlos is severely injured and unconscious."

BAM!

He slammed his fist into the thick solid-wood desk. The sturdy surface instantly spiderwebbed with cracks!

A terrifying wisp of Conqueror's Haki leaked out uncontrollably, freezing the air in the entire office!

"Bastard!!"

Sengoku's roar filled the room and spilled into the hallway beyond:

"How dare he?! How dare he?!!"

Attacking a Celestial Dragon—and crippling him in public!

This was a earth-shattering crime rarely seen in the eight hundred years since the World Government's founding.

This wasn't just swatting a fly on a tiger's head; it was punching a hole straight through the sky!

Tsuru waited for him to calm slightly, then added in a low voice:

"On-site intelligence indicates the one who injured Saint Charlos was a youth with only one eye—a sinister blood-red left eye.

It should be one of the Uchiha clan Momonga mentioned. They've certainly stirred up quite a storm."

"I don't care who he is! Kicking a Celestial Dragon into critical condition is worse than killing a hundred Marine officers!

Right now, the pressure from the Five Elders and the fury of the World Nobles are all going to crash down on us Marines!!"

Sengoku panted heavily, forcing himself to calm down.

It was done. Anger was useless. He had to act immediately to contain the damage.

"Is Akainu there? Hasn't he reached Sabaody yet?" Sengoku asked urgently.

"Fleet Admiral Sakazuki is about to arrive at Sabaody, but intelligence suggests the enemy possesses extreme speed. Akainu may not be able to intercept him in time—especially if they're determined to flee."

Tsuru analyzed coolly.

Sengoku paced rapidly around the room, his mind racing.

Akainu's strength was beyond doubt; he never worried about a loss in combat.

But since things had reached this point, he couldn't afford even a single misstep.

If the enemy slipped through Akainu's fingers, the Marines would be in a tight spot.

He stopped abruptly, a flash of resolve in his eyes.

"Not enough! Relying on Sakazuki alone leaves a chance for escape!"

Sengoku's tone was ironclad. He grabbed the golden Den Den Mushi again. "We need another layer of insurance!"

He quickly dialed another number.

This line didn't connect to a fixed Marine base, but to a specific signal channel.

The Den Den Mushi rang seven or eight times before it was picked up lazily.

"Moshi moshi~ This is Borsalino here~

How scary, Sengoku-san, calling me so late. You wouldn't be making me work overtime again, would you~"

Kizaru's signature drawling voice came through.

Background noise was faint—waves and distant music.

Sengoku had no patience for his nonsense. His tone was harsher than ever:

"Borsalino! Drop everything you're doing in the New World immediately. Move at your top speed to Sabaody Archipelago. Now! Right now!"

The noise on the other end of the Den Den Mushi seemed to quiet down a bit, and Kizaru's voice turned slightly more serious:

"Oh my~ sounds serious~ Sabaody? What's happened over there now?"

"Someone has gravely wounded the Celestial Dragon, Saint Charlos, in public! They've crushed all the guards, including CP0, and fled!"

Sengoku's words came fast, each one hitting like a cannonball:

"I've already ordered Sakazuki to head there, but the target is skilled at rapid movement!

I need you to get to Sabaody immediately, coordinate with Sakazuki, and suppress them at all costs!

If necessary, execute them on the spot!"

On the other end of the Den Den Mushi, there was a brief silence.

A few seconds later, Kizaru's voice rang out again, most of his usual laziness gone:

"Gravely wounding a Celestial Dragon... now that's really poking a hole in the sky~"

He paused.

"Understood, Sengoku. But I'm a fair distance from Sabaody right now~"

"Get there as fast as you can! Hurry!"

Sengoku nearly shouted.

"Roger~" Kizaru's voice drawled, and the Den Den Mushi clicked off.

Setting down the Den Den Mushi, Sengoku slumped back into his chair as if drained, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

One Akainu, plus one Kizaru.

Two Navy Admirals, mobilized at once, just to deal with some suddenly appearing Uchiha clan!

In all of Navy history, this was extremely rare.

This should finally be foolproof.

Meanwhile, at Sabaody Archipelago's Grove 50, the ship coating area.

Uchiha Yoru was happily munching on a massive Bubble Island special mille-feuille, its outer layer coated in frosting and nuts, with ice cream and fruit inside.

Because the mille-feuille was so huge, a bit of cream clung to the corner of Yoru's mouth.

He sat cross-legged on a pile of discarded bubble car parts, his posture as relaxed as if he were sunbathing in his own yard.

In front of him stood an old man with graying hair, round-framed glasses, and wearing ordinary worker's suspenders.

The old man was currently puffing on a cigarette, leisurely applying a special resin to the keel of a small sailboat.

His movements were practiced, seemingly casual, but every brush stroke—its force, angle, and the thickness of the resin—was perfectly precise.

The air carried the faint sweetness of resin and the sharp bite of tobacco.

"Tch, this thing's high in calories, but it tastes good."

Yoru finished off the remaining mille-feuille in a few bites, licked his fingers, but kept his eyes fixed on the old man's hands.

The coater glanced up at him, chuckled, and said:

"Heh, young folks sure have an appetite. What, interested in coating? This work ain't easy—without a dozen years of practice, you can't spread it evenly, and the bubble'll pop before you're even halfway down."

"A bit of interest, yeah."

Yoru patted the crumbs off his hands and hopped down from the pile of parts.

He walked over to Rayleigh, crouched down, and looked at the evenly applied resin film shimmering with rainbow colors in the sunlight:

"It's really beautiful, but instead of teaching me coating, why not teach me swordsmanship!"

Rayleigh's brushwork didn't pause at all, not even the ash on his cigarette budging:

"Young man, you've got the wrong person, haven't you? What swordsmanship would an old geezer like me know?"

"The former vice-captain of the Roger Pirates, the man called the Right Arm of the Pirate King, Pluto Rayleigh—that's no old geezer!"

It was Yoru's style, no beating around the bush.

He just liked to call out someone's identity directly.

Rayleigh's brushwork paused, so faintly it was almost imperceptible.

The ash finally fell, landing on the wet resin with a faint sizzle.

He took off his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, and put them back on.

Only then did he carefully size up the young man in the strange black clothes before him.