The Gravely Wounded Sengoku

On a secluded island in the latter half of the Grand Line, dense jungle and rocky cliffs screened it from view across the sea.

Far from civilization, it seemed like a refuge cut off from the outside world.

Sengoku staggered into a makeshift camp, gasping for breath. Sweat mixed with blood on his forehead and dripped down his cheeks.

He pressed a hand to his chest, his face etched with pain and bitter frustration.

Every cough felt as though it tore open the wound in his chest, sending waves of agony through him.

"Cough... cough..."

Sengoku struggled to control his breathing, but blood spilled from his lips, staining his fingers red.

He had suffered obvious internal injuries that could not heal right away. Fractured bones and damaged organs left him in almost unbearable pain.

Bracing himself, he slowly sank onto a rock, breathing heavily. A tangle of emotions flickered in his eyes: pain, anger, and even helplessness.

I never thought... it would turn out like this...

He murmured inwardly, staring blankly at the hazy sea ahead.

He recalled everything that had happened in the battle—the betrayal, the sudden rebellion...

It had not been just one or two Marines who had turned against them, but an entire corrupt faction that had long since sown the seeds of rebellion.

Sengoku clenched his teeth, struggling to contain the emotions churning within him. He could not accept that his former comrades, the men he had fought alongside, had betrayed the Navy. Nor could he accept seeing his loyal troops trampled so mercilessly.

I've carried this conviction my entire life. How could it end like this...

His gaze was fierce, but every breath seemed to drain the last of his strength.

Outside, Garp and Tsuru stood at the edge of the camp with several wounded