"Sorry..."
"Heh... hehehe!"
"Garp, I'm so tired!"
Sengoku let go and shoved Garp heavily back onto the sofa, as though he had exhausted every last ounce of strength.
He staggered half a step backward himself, only managing to steady himself by gripping the edge of his desk.
Lately, he... had truly grown weary.
Garp slumped on the sofa with his head lowered, his hands clenched tightly around his knees, his knuckles white. The dog-head hat he usually wore sat crooked to one side.
He did not argue, nor could he.
Every word Sengoku had just spoken was like a dull knife cutting into his already battered heart.
Just like his wavering sense of justice.
Sengoku stopped looking at Garp. Instead, his unfocused gaze drifted out the window toward Marineford's harbor, that symbol of the Marines' justice and order.
At last, he truly understood the words Fleet Admiral Kong had spoken all those years ago, when Sengoku first began gradually taking over his duties, patting his shoulder with solemn earnestness.
[The position of Fleet Admiral is far heavier than you imagine.
It is not a throne, but a stake bound in countless chains.]
Now, those flames were scorching his reason and his soul.
Internally, he had to dance on a tightrope.
He had to carefully maintain the delicate balance between Marine Headquarters and Gern's G-10, which was practically an independent kingdom.
He needed to use its sharp fangs and claws to intimidate the New World while preventing that beast from slipping entirely out of his control.
At headquarters, he had to strain every nerve to reconcile Akainu's increasingly radical "absolute justice" faction with Aokiji's more conservative faction,
which questioned the existing order, easing their bitter conflicts to prevent an irreparable rift within the Marines.
Externally, he walked on thin ice.
The