For a long while, after barely forcing himself through the last of his paperwork, Gern Reginald Sigmar flicked the pen from his fingers.
That final motion seemed to drain the last shred of energy he had left for official duties.
His entire body collapsed backward into the Fleet Admiral's chair, which let out a strained creak under the sudden weight, the backrest bending as though on the verge of surrender.
Then, without even looking, he reached out, grabbed the cap that symbolized the highest authority of the Marines—and dropped it straight over his face.
"…Haaah…"
A long, exhausted sigh seeped out from beneath the brim.
He was done.
The posture wasn't dignified, but at this moment, Gern wanted nothing more than to empty his mind—even if only for a single minute.
The chain reaction triggered by the Marines' declaration of independence had far exceeded all initial expectations.
This wasn't merely a military or political rupture.
It was a tsunami sweeping across everything—organizational structure, logistics, diplomacy, economic lifelines, even ideology itself.
Every single document on his desk represented a problem that had to be solved, a contradiction that had to be reconciled, a dissenting voice that had to be suppressed, a resource that had to be secured.
The restructuring and redeployment of the New World's G-series bases.
The painstaking negotiations—line by line—of taxation agreements and security treaties with allied nations across the Four Seas and the first half of the Grand Line.
The reconstruction of the Marines' financial system after independence, and the redistribution of budgets.
The cleanup and confrontation with remnants of the World Government.
The internal propagation of a unified concept of "Marine justice."
The delicate handling of special requests from veteran figures like Monkey D. Garp.
The surveillance and contingency planning for unstable internal factions like SWORD…
And beyond that—
An endless flood of intelligence reports from across the world:
The possible next moves of the Blackbeard Pirates after gaining Kuzan.
The subtle shifts among the other Four Emperors.
The seemingly quiet—but deeply turbulent—movements of the Revolutionary Army.
And the unnerving silence of the World Government.
Countless threads of chaos…
All reduced to these cold stacks of paper on his desk, pressing heavily upon his shoulders.
"…Being Fleet Admiral… really isn't a job for humans," Gern muttered under the cap, his voice muffled.
For a moment, he found himself deeply missing the days when Sengoku was still in office.
Back then, most of the tedious administration and diplomatic headaches had been handled by that "Buddha of Strategy."
Gern, though powerful, had been freer—more of a deterrent, a supreme combat force.
Now?
A single scramble over the "Mother Flame" had shoved him onto the throne.
His authority had grown—but so had the endless responsibilities threatening to swallow him whole.
"I need to find a few reliable 'workers'… no—'comrades in struggle'… to share this burden…"
His thoughts drifted hazily.
Gild Tesoro was now serving as Chief of Staff—excellent with finances and internal affairs.
But when it came to military strategy?
Still lacking.
Douglas Bullet only cared about fighting.
Dracule Mihawk preferred solitude.
Enel was still recovering from severe injuries.
And Torritoma… specialized in… other fields.
Tsuru had already retired after Tesoro took over.
She was seventy-six—but honestly? Perfect age to get back to work.
Fujitora held firm in principle, but he needed to remain deployed in the field.
As for Borsalino…
"…Yeah, let's not even go there."
In the end—
Aside from Sengoku, a rare blend of administrator and strategist…
There was no one capable of handling this mountain of documents.
Gern shifted irritably. The cap slipped slightly, revealing one eye filled with pure existential despair.
And this was just the beginning.
There were still external matters that required his personal intervention.
Foremost among them—
Wano Country.
A closed nation, easy to defend and difficult to invade—yet rich in Seastone resources and rumored to hold clues to the ancient weapon "Pluton."
He had long regarded it as something already within his grasp.
Kozuki Momonosuke. Kin'emon. Their struggles were mere footnotes.
The real objective was the Beasts Pirates.
And their captain—
Kaido.
To bring Wano fully under Marine control.
To seize resources and technology capable of shifting the balance of the world.
According to the original timeline—if such a thing still existed—
Monkey D. Luffy and his crew should have been forming an alliance on Zou.
But Gern's existence had already disrupted everything like a butterfly beating its wings.
Doflamingo's fall.
Dressrosa's altered aftermath.
And now—
Straw Hat had appeared in Whole Cake Island instead.
Gern frowned beneath the cap.
"Taking on Big Mom's territory, huh… Not necessarily a bad thing."
"With Luffy stirring chaos… if I don't have time for Wano…"
"…I might just swoop in and reap the benefits."
Then there was another name—
Spoken inadvertently by Imu during the descent of "Saint Nasujuro."
Elbaf.
The land of giants.
Gern's focus sharpened slightly.
Imu's words still lingered:
If Harald had not made that foolish mistake… if Elbaf had been fully transformed into a military power of the World Government… then the Marines themselves would have been expendable.
That implication—
Was terrifying.
It revealed several truths:
The World Government had once attempted to fully control Elbaf.
They had nearly succeeded.
And the military potential of the giants…
Was so immense that it could replace the Marines entirely.
Gern understood the power of giants well.
The Marines themselves had giant vice admirals.
Their massive physiques. Their monstrous strength. Their long lifespans.
Each trained giant warrior could rival a human officer—or even a vice admiral.
More importantly—
This wasn't power dependent on rare Devil Fruits or elite Haki.
It was racial.
Replicable.
Scalable.
A single giant could outperform three fully equipped warships on the battlefield.
And if an entire army of giants could be formed—
Disciplined.
Commanded.
Unified—
The result would be a force capable of crushing fortifications and dominating land warfare.
For Gern—
Who sought to make the Marines truly independent, powerful enough to overturn the old world order—
Elbaf was not optional.
It was essential.
"Wano… Elbaf…"
He marked both silently in his mind.
Places he had to personally visit.
Being Fleet Admiral was both shield and shackle.
He couldn't leave the center of power for too long—or internal instability would follow.
He needed to plan carefully.
Delegate authority.
Advance these long-term strategies step by step.
"And Blackbeard's side… Garp's already gone…"
Gern exhaled.
Without his own involvement—
Garp would probably end up staking everything on Koby at Hachinosu.
"…Ah, hell…"
Suddenly—
Gern shot upright.
The cap slid off his face as he clutched his head, staring at the towering pile of documents that seemed to have grown even taller.
"My goddamn life—this is impossible!!"
"Sengoku!!!"
His voice echoed through the vast office, filled with raw regret.
"My Buddha Sengoku!! I never should've approved your leave!!"
"Get back here!!"
"This Fleet Admiral job—this is inhuman!!"
"Come back and take over—no, guide the work!!!"
After shouting himself hoarse—
He slumped back into the chair.
Staring blankly at the ceiling.
Eyes hollow.
Like a salted fish that had long since lost all dreams.