Promotion to Chief Petty Officer

Late at night aboard the warship, the dim glow of an oil lamp cast wavering shadows across the metal bulkheads.

Zephyr sat at his desk, its surface covered with thick battle reports and personnel lists. An ink-stained fountain pen rested beside the inkwell.

The man known as "Black Arm" was not purely a warrior, either. He had something of Sengoku's strategic mind.

"Ah." Zephyr rubbed his temples. The long hours of work had left even this famously iron-fisted Vice Admiral looking a little weary.

The casualties at God Valley had far exceeded expectations. Few had survived, and fewer still had brought back their comrades' bodies.

The pen scratched across the paper. Names were crossed out one after another, merits assigned, and ranks adjusted.

Until...

Gern Reginald Sigma

Zephyr's pen stopped when he saw that name.

"Gern..." He stared at the name, his brow faintly furrowed.

By all rights, it was already a miracle that a seaman apprentice from a West Blue branch had survived God Valley, let alone brought back his superior's remains.

Under normal circumstances, that performance warranted promotion to petty officer third class, the lowest rung of the noncommissioned ranks.

Yet, for some reason, Zephyr felt that something was off.

It was too convenient.

At the very last moment, just before everyone withdrew, Gern had appeared with Derrick's body on his back, drenched in blood and speaking with tragic resolve.

The scene had been too perfect. So perfect... it almost seemed like a carefully staged performance.

Zephyr set down his pen and lightly tapped his knuckles against the desk.

Gern's face surfaced in his mind again, especially that grief-stricken expression.

"Adjutant." After a long silence, Zephyr suddenly spoke.

"Yes, Vice Admiral!" The adjutant standing by the door immediately stepped forward.

"How much do you know about the situation in the West Blue branches?"

The adjutant paused, then lowered his voice. "Corruption is rampant. Officers buy and sell positions, and soldiers commonly bribe their superiors to avoid assignments.

"For a soldier without connections like Gern to take four years just to reach seaman apprentice... he's either too honest or too clever."

Zephyr's gaze darkened.

Someone too honest would never have survived God Valley.

Someone too clever... would know how to turn "tragic heroism" to his own advantage.

"And I suspect that Derrick's body was also his doing..."

"Hm?" Zephyr's expression grew grave at the adjutant's words. "That boy's grief wasn't feigned!"

"I've met many people in my life... treacherous ones, cunning ones...

"I'm no fool, but the grief that boy showed then came straight from his heart!"

"From his heart..." The adjutant faltered, pressed his lips together, and said no more.

After rebuking his adjutant, Zephyr looked at Gern's name again. Following a brief silence, he suddenly gave a cold chuckle.

"Interesting." His pen touched the paper again, making a heavy stroke in the merit assessment column.

Original promotion: petty officer third class (lowest noncommissioned rank)

Revised to: chief petty officer (highest noncommissioned rank)

The adjutant's eyes widened. "Vice Admiral Zephyr, this..."

Zephyr closed the list, his voice low. "The West Blue needs to be put in order, and that requires a blade.

"A blade clever enough and sharp enough."

He rose and walked to the porthole.

Under the moonlight, the sea gleamed coldly, like some silent omen.

"As for whom that blade will ultimately cut..."

The corners of Zephyr's mouth lifted slightly. "That will depend on his own choice.

"That boy has a just heart... he simply hasn't figured out what his own justice is yet."

Several days into the voyage, in the soldiers' sleeping quarters.

Gern reclined in a hammock in the corner, toying with a Marine insignia.

Snores filled the compartment. No one noticed the faint ripples of vibration winding around his fingertips.

"Given how long it's been, we should be reaching the West Blue soon!" Gern gazed through the small round porthole, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "This time, I should be promoted to a noncommissioned rank..."

Suddenly, the compartment door opened, and a messenger announced loudly:

"We will soon arrive at the West Blue 133rd Branch. All soldiers assigned to the West Blue 133rd Branch, prepare yourselves!"

After delivering the announcement, the messenger cast a meaningful glance at Gern's hammock in the corner.

"Also! Gern Reginald Sigma!"

"Present!" Gern jumped down from his hammock.

"A promotion order has been issued. Effective immediately, Gern Reginald Sigma is promoted to branch chief petty officer!"

The compartment instantly erupted.

"What?! Straight from seaman apprentice to chief petty officer?!"

"Th-that's against regulations, isn't it?!"

Gern looked at his new Marine uniform and sat up, accepting the promotion order under everyone's stunned gazes.

The ink on the paper was barely dry, and Zephyr's forceful signature seemed to press right through the page.

He raised his head and looked at the messenger. "Please convey my... thanks to Vice Admiral Zephyr for his 'recognition.'"

The Marine port of Branch 133, West Blue.

After completing the handover and watching the warship depart, Branch 133's commander, Branch Ensign Asahi, turned his attention to the thirty wounded Marines at the port, Gern among them.

"Bastards! When that reinforcement order came through, they demanded two thousand men from me... and now this is all that's left!"

Asahi looked thoroughly displeased, but he soon spotted Gern among the thirty men, a sword on his back.

It was hard not to. Though only fourteen, Gern already stood around six feet two, and the long, bandage-wrapped sword on his back made him stand out even more.

"This guy... hm?!" Asahi's pupils contracted when he saw Gern's rank insignia.

"You went from seaman apprentice to branch chief petty officer? Gern!"

Gern had never expected this branch commander to recognize a nameless seaman apprentice like him. At Asahi's words, he could only give a sheepish smile.

"Just good luck, Branch Commander Asahi. I never expected you to remember my name, either..."

"The rest of you, leave." Asahi dismissed the other Marines, then walked straight up to Gern.

"So, Warrant Officer Derrick..."

"He fell at God Valley. The casualty list should have reached the branch long ago."

"I know he's dead! I mean, weren't you the one who collected his death benefit?" Asahi chuckled and rubbed his fingers together.

"I don't know why he put your name down, but..."

Gern could not be bothered to waste words on corrupt men like these.

But then he remembered that, now that he was a senior branch noncommissioned officer, he could command major assignments independently.

If he wanted a promotion and transfer to Marine Headquarters later, he would certainly need a respectable "proof of loyalty." Building a good relationship would also make it easier to requisition a warship.

Besides, now that he had a Devil Fruit power, this little bit of money meant nothing to him. If he needed cash, he could simply rob the mafia men who had lent him money at exorbitant interest.

With that thought, Gern nodded and said:

"Before Warrant Officer Derrick died, he said that you'd always looked after him at Branch 133, Commander Asahi, so he insisted that I give you his death benefit..."

"Oh, come now!" Asahi smiled, then lowered his voice. "Leave the money in my office. Whenever you go out on a mission, I'll make sure everything goes smoothly."

"Commander..." Hearing how readily Asahi caught on left even Gern a little bewildered.

"What's with that look?! As branch Marines, isn't protecting the people exactly what we should be doing?!"

"Really?"

"No... what did you expect, you greenhorn who's only just become a noncommissioned officer? Ah, I've seen plenty of your kind!

"If a warship gets a little damaged, that makes it easier for me to request funding from Headquarters, doesn't it?

"Of course, if you die, I won't hesitate to help myself to your death benefit, either. Hahaha!"