-Fleet Admiral Sengoku's office.
"So this is what you call 'nothing to worry about'!"
Sengoku snatched up the documents and hurled them toward the sofa. Snow-white pages scattered through the air to the crunch of Garp chewing Senbei.
"Garp! How can you still be eating my Senbei right now!"
Yesterday, they had only received preliminary intelligence. Today, Kizaru's full report had arrived, along with a compilation of findings from the other intelligence departments.
"Don't get worked up, Sengoku. Crunch... mm... crunch. You'll give yourself gray hairs. Crunch..."
"Shut up!"
Sengoku shot to his feet. His cape knocked over a teacup, spilling a dark stain across the cashmere carpet.
He was not truly angry with Garp. They had been comrades for decades, after all. Shouting at Garp's flippant behavior was simply a habit.
"Do you know what those people in the World Government are saying... that the 'Great Angel' is harboring sinister intentions! Even if that angel brat has some scheme, he'd be no more trouble than the Heavenly Yaksha!"
Sengoku was known as a Tactician, and naturally, he knew the Great Angel must have some particular objective. His guess was that the man intended to replace the Heavenly Yaksha...
Although, judged by Sephiroth's experience in his previous life, Sengoku did not quite deserve the title of Tactician.
But this was a world where personal combat strength reigned supreme, and most people had muscles for brains. Politics, intrigue, sociology-they were hopeless at all of it.
In this world, Sengoku really did deserve to be called a Tactician.
"Satellite Shining-that Rumble-Rumble brat poses a threat on par with the Golden Lion. No, considering his age, if we let him grow, he might even become another one of that man."
"Relax, Sengoku. Even if it happens again, we can still win."
Garp's smile