Marine Headquarters, Fleet Admiral's Office.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the enormous arched windows, casting geometric patches of light across the polished marble floor. The air carried a mixture of printer paper, ink, and faint tea fragrance-the cool, orderly atmosphere unique to the Wise Strategist's office.
Sengoku sat behind the broad mahogany desk, his fingers interlaced on its surface. Three documents lay spread out before him: on the left was Cipher Pol Aigis Zero's "Final Assessment Report on the Connection Between Aaron Ball and the Revolutionary Army"; in the middle was the finance department's "Statistics on Bernia's Trade Tax Contributions in the West Blue over the Past Three Years"; the space on the right was empty-it should have held the draft bounty notice awaiting his decision.
On the office sofas, three people had settled into very different postures.
Garp sat cross-legged on an armchair-yes, cross-legged on the chair again-holding a bag of senbei and crunching noisily. Crumbs fell onto his perpetually unbuttoned Justice Coat, but he paid them no mind.
Vice Admiral Tsuru sat upright on the two-seater sofa opposite Garp, her back straight as a pine. A briefing rested on her knees, but rather than looking at the paper, she gazed thoughtfully at the seagulls flying outside.
Kizaru leaned against the wall beside the window, his hands tucked into the pockets of his yellow-striped trousers. Behind his round glasses, his eyes were half-closed, as though he might fall asleep standing up at any moment.
"So," Sengoku finally began, breaking the long silence, "according to the intelligence Kizaru brought back, Boer explicitly stated that he 'won't initiate attacks on Marine Branches or strike anyone wearing a Justice Coat-unless they shoot first.'"
He looked up at Kizaru. "Those were his exact words?"
"His exact words~" Kizaru drawled lazily. "Word for word. The