Chapter 26
The grand hall of Whole Cake Chateau buzzed with an energy not felt in years.
For a moment, they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Galette spoke, her voice hesitant. "Sanjul... there's something we need to discuss. About Smoothie."
Sanjul tensed under her hands. "What about her?"
Galette took a deep breath, steeling herself. "I've been thinking about what we discussed before. About... sharing you. And I think... I think I'm okay with it. If it's Smoothie."
Sanjul turned to face her, his eyes wide with surprise. "Are you sure? Galette, this isn't something to be taken lightly. It would change everything."
She nodded, her expression resolute. "I know. But I've seen the way she looks at you, the respect she has for you. And I think... I think it could work. For all of us."
Sanjul stood, pulling Galette into his arms. "You're incredible, you know that? Most women would be furious at the mere suggestion."
Galette laughed softly, burying her face in his chest. "Oh, I'm still a little furious. But I'm also practical. And if this is what it takes to secure our place in the family, to strengthen our position... then I'm willing to try."
As they held each other, the weight of the future pressing down upon them, neither could shake the feeling that they were standing on the precipice of something monumental. The Charlotte family was changing, evolving into something new and terrifying. And they were at the heart of it all.
Meanwhile, in another part of the chateau, Smoothie sat alone in her quarters, her mind racing with the possibilities Sanjul's plan had opened up. She thought of the young Charlotte pirates returning from the Blues, battle-hardened and ambitious. She thought of the territories they were claiming, the alliances they were forging.
And she thought of Sanjul.
The man who had come into their lives like a whirlwind, reshaping everything he touched. She admired his strategic mind, his calm demeanor in the face of chaos. And yes, if she was honest with herself, she was attracted to him.
But he was Galette's husband. Her sister's partner. And yet...
Smoothie shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. This was dangerous territory she was treading into. But she couldn't deny the thrill that ran through her at the idea of sharing Sanjul, of being part of something greater than herself.
As the night wore on and plans were set in motion, the future of the Big Mom Pirates hung in the balance. The Rite of Passage was reshaping their youngest members, forging them into weapons of unprecedented power. But it was also changing the older generation, forcing them to confront their own ambitions, their own desires.
The dawn of a new era had truly arrived. And with it came challenges and opportunities beyond anything they had ever imagined.
XXX
In the days that followed, the impact of Sanjul's Rite of Passage began to ripple outwards, touching every corner of the New World. Reports flooded in from across the seas - Charlotte pirates claiming new territories, forging alliances with powerful crews, even challenging Marine strongholds.
The World Government, caught off guard by this sudden surge of activity, scrambled to respond. Emergency meetings were called, strategies debated and discarded. How could they counter this new threat? How could they contain the explosive growth of the Charlotte family's influence?
In the heart of Mariejois, the Five Elders gathered, their faces grim as they pored over the latest intelligence reports.
"This is unprecedented," one of them growled, slamming a fist on the table. "Big Mom has always been a threat, but this... this is something else entirely."
"It's not just Big Mom anymore," another pointed out. "These young Charlottes, they're operating with a level of coordination we've never seen before. And at the center of it all..."
"Sanjul Rahmuro," the third Elder finished, his voice dripping with disdain. "The outsider who married into the family. The one who came up with this... Rite of Passage."
The room fell silent as they contemplated the implications. Finally, the eldest of them spoke, his voice heavy with the weight of centuries.
"We cannot allow this to continue. The balance of power in the New World is already precarious enough. If Big Mom's influence continues to grow at this rate..."
"What do you propose?" the youngest Elder asked. "We can't simply wipe them out. The casualties would be catastrophic, and it would likely trigger a war with the other Yonko."
The eldest Elder's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "No, not wipe them out. But perhaps... we can turn their own strategy against them. If these young Charlottes are as ambitious as the reports suggest, perhaps we can sow discord within their ranks."
XXX
As the Five Elders began to formulate their plan, little did they know that across the sea, in the candy-coated halls of Whole Cake Chateau, similar discussions were taking place.
Katakuri stood before Big Mom, his massive form dwarfed by her sheer presence. "Mama," he began, his voice carefully neutral. "We need to discuss the long-term implications of Sanjul's plan."
Big Mom's eyes narrowed, her voice a low rumble. "Oh? And what implications might those be, my sweet boy?"
Katakuri took a deep breath, steeling himself. "The young ones returning from the Blues... they're not content with junior positions anymore. They're demanding more power, more autonomy. And some of the older crew members are starting to feel... threatened."
Big Mom's laughter shook the walls, causing several homies to cower in fear. "Threatened? By a bunch of upstart brats? Katakuri, my boy, you worry too much."
But Katakuri stood his ground. "It's not just about individual threats, Mama. It's about the stability of our entire operation. If we don't manage this carefully, we could be looking at internal conflicts that could tear us apart from the inside."
Big Mom's expression darkened, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And what would you have me do, Katakuri? Clip their wings? Crush their ambitions? That's not the Charlotte way."
"No," Katakuri agreed. "But perhaps... we need to create new opportunities for them. New challenges that will keep them focused outward, rather than turning on each other."
XXX
As Big Mom considered his words, across the chateau, Sanjul was facing challenges of his own. He stood before a group of newly returned Charlotte pirates, their eyes blazing with ambition and barely contained impatience.
"You promised us power," Charlotte Mascarpone growled, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "You said if we proved ourselves in the Blues, we'd have a place at the table. But all we've gotten are glorified babysitting jobs."
Sanjul met his gaze calmly, his voice level. "You have proven yourselves, Mascarpone. But true power isn't just about strength or conquests. It's about understanding the bigger picture, about knowing when to strike and when to bide your time."
"Pretty words," Charlotte Joscarpone scoffed, her twin's disdain evident in her voice. "But they don't change the fact that we're being held back. We've tasted real power out there in the Blues. We're not content to just sit on the sidelines anymore."
Sanjul's eyes hardened, a hint of steel entering his voice. "And you won't have to. But if you think you can just waltz in here and demand top positions without earning them, you're in for a rude awakening. You've proven yourselves capable. Now you need to prove yourselves loyal."
As the tension in the room rose, Sanjul couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. He had set all of this in motion with his Rite of Passage. He had given these young pirates a taste of true power, of what it meant to be a force to be reckoned with. And now... now he had to find a way to channel that ambition, that hunger, before it tore the family apart.
As he made his way back to his quarters, his mind racing with potential solutions, Sanjul couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking a tightrope. One misstep, one miscalculation, and everything he had built could come crashing down around him.
But as he opened the door to find Galette waiting for him, a small smile on her face, he felt a surge of determination. They had come too far to falter now. The New World was changing, and the Charlotte family was at the forefront of that change.
Together, they would find a way to navigate these treacherous waters. To harness the power of this new generation without losing control. To build an empire that would stand the test of time.
The game was far from over. In fact, it was only just beginning.
XXX
Vice Admiral Doberman stood on the bridge of his flagship, the Iron Justice, his scarred face set in a grim scowl as he surveyed the battlefield before him. The sea was a chaos of fire and smoke, the deafening roar of cannonfire punctuated by the screams of the wounded and dying.
"Status report!" he barked, his eyes never leaving the swirling melee of ships locked in mortal combat.
Captain Hina, her pink hair matted with sweat and gunpowder, stepped forward. "Sir, we've lost contact with the 7th and 9th Divisions. The Black Cage Corps is holding the line, but we're taking heavy losses."
Doberman cursed under his breath. This was supposed to be a simple operation - a show of force to push back against the Big Mom Pirates' expansion into the East Blue. Instead, they'd walked right into a trap. And at the center of it all was the man who'd orchestrated this disaster: Sanjul Rahmuro, the newly minted Grand Admiral of the Big Mom Pirates.
"That bastard," Doberman growled, his fists clenching at his sides. "He's not fighting like a pirate. This is... this is something else entirely."
And it was. The battle unfolding before them was unlike anything Doberman had seen in his long career. The Big Mom Pirates moved with a coordination and discipline that was frankly terrifying. Ships maneuvered in perfect formation, supporting each other and exploiting every weakness in the Marine lines.
"Sir!" a young ensign called out, his voice cracking with panic. "We're detecting massive gravitational disturbances in sector 7!"
Doberman's blood ran cold. He'd heard rumors about Rahmuro's Devil Fruit powers, but this... this was beyond anything he'd imagined. As he watched, three Marine battleships suddenly lurched upwards, their hulls groaning under the strain of unnatural forces. Then, with a sickening crack, they came crashing back down, splintering into kindling as they hit the water.
"My God," Hina whispered, her usual composure shaken. "He's not just a strategist. He's a monster."
Doberman couldn't argue with that assessment. Rahmuro was proving to be a threat on a level they'd never anticipated. He fought with the tactical brilliance of a seasoned Marine officer, but with the ruthlessness and unpredictability of a pirate. It was a combination that was tearing their carefully laid plans to shreds.
"We need to regroup," Doberman said, his mind racing to find a way out of this catastrophe. "Signal the fleet to fall back to-"
His words were cut off by a deafening explosion. The Iron Justice shuddered violently, nearly throwing them off their feet. Alarms blared as smoke began to fill the bridge.
"Direct hit to the engine room!" an officer shouted over the chaos. "We're losing power!"
Doberman gritted his teeth, fury and frustration warring within him. How? How had Rahmuro anticipated their every move? It was like fighting a damned Admiral, not some upstart pirate.
As if in answer to his unspoken question, a Den Den Mushi on the command console crackled to life. A calm, measured voice filled the bridge, sending chills down Doberman's spine.
"Vice Admiral Doberman," Sanjul Rahmuro's voice was almost conversational, as if they were discussing the weather over tea. "I must say, I expected better from a man of your reputation. Perhaps if you'd brought a full Admiral, this might have been a fair fight."
Doberman snatched up the receiver, his knuckles white with rage. "Rahmuro! You treacherous dog! When I get my hands on you-"
"Please, spare me the empty threats," Rahmuro cut him off, his tone cooling. "You're outmatched, outgunned, and quite frankly, outclassed. I'm offering you a chance to surrender. Save what's left of your fleet and your men."
The bridge fell silent, all eyes turning to Doberman. The Vice Admiral's mind raced, weighing his options. Pride warred with practicality, duty with the reality of their situation.
"And if we refuse?" he asked finally, his voice tight with suppressed fury.
There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Rahmuro spoke again, there was a hint of something almost like regret in his voice. "Then I'll have no choice but to finish what we've started here. And I promise you, Vice Admiral, it won't be quick, and it won't be painless."
Doberman closed his eyes, the weight of command pressing down on him like a physical force. He thought of all the lives under his command, of the men and women who'd followed him into this ill-fated battle. Could he really sacrifice them all for his pride?
"You have one hour to make your decision," Rahmuro continued, his voice maddeningly calm. "I suggest you use it wisely."
The Den Den Mushi went silent, leaving the bridge in a state of shocked disbelief. Doberman looked around at his officers, seeing the fear and uncertainty in their eyes. These were seasoned veterans, hardened by years of combat against the worst the Grand Line had to offer. And yet, in the face of Rahmuro's cold efficiency, they looked like raw recruits.
"Sir," Hina said softly, breaking the silence. "What are your orders?"
Doberman took a deep breath, straightening his back. He was a Marine, damn it. He'd sworn an oath to protect the innocent, to uphold justice. But what justice was there in throwing away the lives of his men in a hopeless battle?
"Signal the fleet," he said finally, his voice heavy with resignation. "We're accepting Rahmuro's terms. May God forgive us."
As the orders went out, Doberman turned back to the viewport, watching as the smoke cleared to reveal the full extent of their defeat. The sea was littered with the broken remains of Marine ships, while the Big Mom Pirates' fleet stood virtually unscathed.
And at the center of it all, barely visible in the distance, was a single ship. The Ghostly Gale, Rahmuro's personal vessel. Doberman could almost imagine the pirate standing on its deck, surveying the carnage with that infuriatingly calm expression.
It was in that moment that Doberman truly understood the gravity of what they were facing. Rahmuro wasn't just another pirate captain. He was a force of nature, a strategic genius with the power to reshape the balance of power in the New World.
And God help them all if they couldn't find a way to stop him.
As the surrender orders went out, the reality of their situation began to sink in. Doberman watched with a mixture of relief and shame as white flags were raised across what remained of his fleet. The cacophony of battle gave way to an eerie silence, broken only by the creaking of damaged ships and the distant cries of the wounded.
"Begin rescue operations," he ordered, his voice hoarse. "I want every able-bodied man helping with the injured. And someone get me a damage report!"
As his crew scrambled to carry out his orders, Doberman's mind raced. How had it come to this? They'd underestimated Rahmuro, that much was clear. But it was more than that. The man fought like... like a Marine. His tactics, his strategies - they were textbook Naval Academy, but executed with a ruthless efficiency that bordered on the inhuman.
"Sir," Captain Hina approached, her face grim. "Preliminary reports are coming in. We've lost over 30% of our fleet. Casualties are... significant."
Doberman nodded, feeling every one of his years weighing down on him. "And the enemy?"
Hina's expression tightened. "Minimal losses, sir. Early estimates suggest less than 10% casualties on their side."
The Vice Admiral felt his stomach churn. It wasn't just a defeat - it was a massacre. And the worst part was, he knew exactly how Rahmuro had done it. Every move, every tactic... it was like looking in a mirror, but one that reflected a darker, more efficient version of themselves.
"Sir," a young lieutenant interrupted, his face pale. "We're receiving reports from the other sectors. It's... it's not good, sir."
Doberman braced himself. "Out with it, son."
"The 7th Division has been completely routed. The 9th is... sir, there's no easy way to say this. They've been wiped out."
The words hit Doberman like a physical blow. The 9th Division - over 5,000 men and women, gone. Just like that. And for what? A failed attempt to check the expansion of a pirate crew?
As the full scale of their defeat became clear, Doberman couldn't shake the feeling that they'd crossed a threshold. This wasn't just another skirmish in the endless war between Marines and pirates. This was something new, something terrifying.
Rahmuro had proven himself to be more than just a pirate captain. He was a military leader of the highest caliber, with the backing of one of the most powerful crews in the New World. The implications were staggering.
"Sir," Hina's voice broke through his dark thoughts. "The enemy is approaching. They're... they're requesting permission to board."
Doberman nodded, steeling himself. "Grant it. And Hina... prepare the men. I have a feeling this is going to be a long, unpleasant conversation."
As they waited for Rahmuro's arrival, Doberman couldn't help but wonder what the future held. If this was what the man could accomplish in just a month as Grand Admiral, what would he be capable of in a year? In five?
The thought sent a chill down his spine. For the first time in his long career, Doberman found himself genuinely afraid for the future of the Marines, for the balance of power in the world.
Rahmuro wasn't just a threat. He was a harbinger of change, a force that could reshape the very foundations of their world.
And as the Ghostly Gale drew alongside the Iron Justice, Doberman knew that nothing would ever be the same again.
The deck of the Iron Justice was eerily quiet as Sanjul Rahmuro stepped aboard, flanked by a small contingent of his officers. Doberman watched the man approach, studying him with a mixture of grudging respect and simmering anger.
Rahmuro cut an imposing figure, his dark eyes scanning the assembled Marine officers with cool detachment. There was no hint of gloating in his expression, no sign of the savage joy that Doberman had come to expect from victorious pirates. Instead, there was only a calm professionalism that was, in its own way, far more unsettling.
"Vice Admiral Doberman," Rahmuro greeted him with a small nod. "I appreciate your decision to accept my terms. It will save many lives on both sides."
Doberman felt his jaw clench. "Spare me your false concern, pirate. Just state your demands and be done with it."
A flicker of something - amusement? irritation? - passed across Rahmuro's face. "As you wish. My terms are simple. You and your men will be allowed to leave, with enough supplies to reach the nearest Marine base. In exchange, you will surrender all intelligence documents, navigation charts, and any other strategic information you have on board."
"And if we refuse?" Doberman growled, though he already knew the answer.
Rahmuro's expression hardened. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to consider this surrender null and void. And I assure you, Vice Admiral, you won't enjoy the consequences."
The threat hung in the air, all the more chilling for its calm delivery. Doberman looked around at his officers, seeing the fear and resignation in their eyes. They all knew they had no choice.
"Fine," Doberman spat. "We'll comply. But mark my words, Rahmuro. This isn't over. The Marines won't stand for this outrage."
Rahmuro nodded, his expression unreadable. "I would expect nothing less. But perhaps, Vice Admiral, you should ask yourself why you're here in the first place. The East Blue has been under the protection of the Big Mom Pirates for months now. Your presence here is an act of aggression, not defense."
Doberman felt his blood boil at the pirate's audacity. "Protection? You call extortion and tyranny protection?"
"I call it stability," Rahmuro countered smoothly. "Ask the people of these islands who they prefer - Marines who show up only when it suits them, or pirates who offer consistent protection and fair trade?"
The words stung, not least because Doberman knew there was a kernel of truth to them. The World Government's neglect of the Blues was an open secret among the higher ranks of the Marines. But to hear it thrown in his face by a pirate...
"Enough," Doberman growled. "You've made your point. We'll gather the documents you've demanded. Now get off my ship."
Rahmuro nodded, seemingly satisfied. But as he turned to leave, he paused, looking back at Doberman with an expression that was almost... sympathetic?
"For what it's worth, Vice Admiral," he said quietly, "I take no pleasure in this. We're both soldiers, in our own way. Perhaps in another life, we might have fought on the same side."
With that, he was gone, leaving Doberman to grapple with the implications of his words. As he watched the Ghostly Gale pull away, its chameleon-like hull shimmering in the fading light, Doberman couldn't shake the feeling that he'd just witnessed the beginning of a new era.
An era where the lines between pirate and Marine, between lawless and lawful, were blurring in ways he'd never imagined possible.
And at the center of it all was Sanjul Rahmuro, the pirate Admiral who fought with the precision of a Marine and the ruthlessness of a conqueror.
God help them all.
XXX
Vice Admiral Cancer stood on the deck of his flagship, the iron taste of blood in his mouth and the acrid smell of gunpowder filling his nostrils. Around him, the remnants of his once-proud fleet lay scattered across the churning waters of the New World. Smoke billowed from burning ships, and the screams of wounded Marines pierced the air.
"How?" he muttered, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the Big Mom Pirates' fleet was regrouping. "How did it come to this?"
Rear Admiral Nuna approached, her usually immaculate uniform torn and stained with soot. "Vice Admiral," she said, her voice hoarse from shouting orders. "The casualty reports are coming in. It's... it's not good."
Cancer turned to her, noting the haunted look in her eyes. "Tell me."
Nuna swallowed hard before continuing. "Out of our original force of 43 ships, we've lost 27. Another 11 have surrendered. We have over 6,000 injured and..." she paused, her voice cracking, "1,244 confirmed dead."
Cancer felt his knees go weak. He gripped the railing to steady himself, his mind reeling from the numbers. "And the enemy? What are their losses?"
Nuna's expression darkened further. "According to our estimates, they've lost only 5 ships. Their casualties are... minimal. Less than 6% of their total force."
"Impossible," Cancer breathed, but he knew it wasn't. He had seen it with his own eyes. The way the enemy fleet had moved, the precision of their attacks, the ruthless efficiency of their tactics. It was unlike anything he had ever encountered in his decades of service.
"Sir," a young ensign called out, his voice trembling. "We're receiving a transmission from the enemy flagship."
Cancer nodded grimly. "Put it through."
The Den Den Mushi crackled to life, and a calm, measured voice filled the air. "Vice Admiral Cancer. This is Grand Admiral Sanjul Rahmuro of the Big Mom Pirates. I trust you've had time to assess your situation?"
Cancer gritted his teeth, fighting back the urge to smash the snail. "Rahmuro. I should have known it was you behind this... this massacre."
A soft chuckle came through the speaker. "Massacre? Come now, Vice Admiral. This was a battle, plain and simple. One you chose to engage in, I might add."
"We had no choice!" Cancer snapped. "Your expansion into the New World couldn't go unchallenged. The balance of power-"
"The balance of power," Rahmuro interrupted, his voice taking on a harder edge, "is shifting, Vice Admiral. The sooner you and your superiors accept that, the fewer lives will be lost in futile gestures like this one."
Cancer felt a chill run down his spine. There was something in Rahmuro's tone, a certainty that went beyond mere bravado. This wasn't just another pirate drunk on his own success. This was a strategist, a tactician of the highest caliber.
"What do you want, Rahmuro?" Cancer asked, suddenly feeling every one of his years.
"What I want," Rahmuro replied, "is for you to surrender. Completely and unconditionally. In return, I will spare the lives of your remaining men and allow you to return to Marine Headquarters with a message."
Cancer's eyes narrowed. "What message?"
"That the New World is changing. That the era of the Four Emperors is evolving into something... new. And that those who fail to adapt will be left behind. Or buried beneath the waves."
The line went dead, leaving Cancer standing in stunned silence. He turned to Nuna, seeing his own shock and disbelief mirrored in her eyes.
"Sir," she said softly, "what are your orders?"
Cancer closed his eyes, the weight of command pressing down on him like a physical force. He thought of the men and women under his command, of the oath he had sworn to uphold justice and protect the innocent. But he also thought of the devastation around him, of the lives already lost in this ill-fated campaign.
"Signal our surrender," he said finally, each word tasting like ash in his mouth. "And may God have mercy on our souls."
As the white flags were raised and the remaining Marine ships prepared to be boarded, Cancer couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a defeat. It was the beginning of something new, something terrible and awe-inspiring in equal measure.
Sanjul Rahmuro, the upstart pirate from Port Zafar, had become a force to be reckoned with. A Grand Admiral in all but name, with the tactical brilliance of a Tsuru and the raw power of an Issho. And he had the full might of the Big Mom Pirates behind him.
The New World would never be the same again.
XXX
Back at Marine Headquarters, Fleet Admiral Sakazuki stood before a room full of grim-faced officers, the air thick with tension and barely suppressed fear. The reports from the New World had been trickling in for weeks, each one more alarming than the last.
"Gentlemen," Sakazuki began, his voice a low growl, "we find ourselves facing a threat unlike any we've encountered before. The Big Mom Pirates have always been a formidable enemy, but under the leadership of this... Sanjul Rahmuro, they've become something else entirely."
He gestured to the large map spread out on the table before them, dotted with markers indicating recent pirate activity. "In the past month alone, Rahmuro has led no less than five major operations against our forces. Each one a resounding success for the pirates, each one leaving our troops demoralized and our territories vulnerable."
Admiral Kizaru leaned forward, his perpetually lazy expression replaced by one of genuine concern. "Oooh, scary stuff. But surely one man can't make that much of a difference, can he? Even if he is some kind of tactical genius?"
Sakazuki's eyes flashed dangerously. "One man? No. But Rahmuro isn't just one man anymore. He's the Grand Admiral of the Big Mom Pirates, with all the resources and manpower that entails. And he's using them with a level of strategic acumen we haven't seen since..."
He trailed off, but the unspoken name hung in the air. Gol D. Roger. The Pirate King himself.
"What do we know about his capabilities?" Admiral Fujitora asked, his blind eyes seeming to stare right through Sakazuki.
"Too much and not enough," Sakazuki replied grimly. "He's a master of the Gravity-Gravity Fruit, with abilities that rival your own, Fujitora. But it's his mind that's the real threat. He's outmaneuvering our best commanders at every turn, predicting our moves before we even make them."
He picked up a report from the stack on the table. "This is from Vice Admiral Cancer's last transmission before his capture. He describes Rahmuro's tactics as 'a perfect blend of ruthless efficiency and strategic brilliance.' The man doesn't just win battles, he reshapes the entire battlefield to his advantage."
"And what of his loyalty to Big Mom?" Kizaru asked, a hint of his usual lackadaisical tone creeping back into his voice. "Surely a man of his ambition won't be content playing second fiddle forever?"
Sakazuki shook his head. "For now, his goals align perfectly with Big Mom's. He's expanding her territory, solidifying her power base, and eliminating threats. But you're right, Borsalino. A man like that... he's not going to be satisfied being anyone's subordinate for long."
"So what do we do?" Fujitora asked, voicing the question on everyone's mind.
Sakazuki's expression hardened, his fists clenching at his sides. "We adapt. We evolve. And we hit them with everything we've got before Rahmuro can consolidate his power any further."
He turned to the assembled officers, his voice rising with barely contained fury. "I want every available resource redirected to the New World. Every ship, every soldier, every scrap of intelligence we can gather. We are going to find a way to neutralize this threat, even if we have to burn half the Grand Line to do it."
As the meeting adjourned and the officers filed out, each lost in their own thoughts about the challenges ahead, Sakazuki remained behind. He stood before the map, his eyes tracing the patterns of Rahmuro's conquests.
"What are you planning, you bastard?" he muttered, as if the map itself might yield answers. "What's your endgame?"
But the map remained silent, its markers a stark reminder of how quickly the balance of power could shift in the treacherous waters of the New World.
XXX
Thousands of miles away, on the deck of the Ghostly Gale, Sanjul Rahmuro stood watching the sun set over newly conquered territory. He could feel the weight of his crew's eyes on him, their mix of awe and trepidation palpable.
"Sir?" Marlowe approached, his weathered face creased with concern. "The men are wondering... what's our next move?"
Sanjul turned to his first mate, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Tell them to rest up, old friend. We've got a long road ahead of us."
As Marlowe nodded and moved to relay the orders, Sanjul's gaze drifted back to the horizon. He thought of the battles won, the territories gained, the enemies vanquished. But more than that, he thought of the future stretching out before him, filled with possibilities he had never dared to imagine.
"Watch out, World Government," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the sound of the waves. "The game is changing, and I intend to rewrite all the rules."
The New World held its breath, waiting to see what the Grand Admiral of the Big Mom Pirates would do next. And Sanjul Rahmuro, the boy from Port Zafar who had become one of the most feared men on the seas, allowed himself a moment of quiet satisfaction.
The pieces were in place. The board was set. And he was just getting started.
XXX
Back on Whole Cake Island, Big Mom sat in her throne room, surrounded by her Sweet Commanders and highest-ranking children. The atmosphere was tense, a mix of excitement and apprehension.
"Mamamama!" Big Mom's laughter shook the walls. "That Rahmuro boy has certainly proven his worth, hasn't he? Who would have thought our little debt collector would become such a force to be reckoned with?"
Katakuri nodded, his usual stoic expression betraying a hint of respect. "His tactics are... impressive. The Marines haven't been this off-balance since the days of Whitebeard."
"But can we trust him?" Perospero interjected, his candy cane tapping an agitated rhythm against the floor. "He's risen through our ranks at an unprecedented rate. What's to stop him from turning that brilliant mind of his against us?"
Big Mom's eyes flashed dangerously. "Are you questioning my judgment, Perospero?"
The eldest son quickly backpedaled. "Of course not, Mama. I'm merely expressing concern for the family's wellbeing. Rahmuro's ambition is clear. We must be prepared for all possibilities."
"Pah!" Big Mom waved a massive hand dismissively. "Rahmuro knows where his bread is buttered. As long as we continue to provide him with the resources and freedom he needs, his goals will align with ours."
Smoothie, who had been quietly observing the discussion, finally spoke up. "There's something else to consider. Rahmuro's methods... they're changing the very nature of how we operate. We're no longer just feared. We're respected. Even admired in some quarters."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the assembled siblings. It was true. Under Rahmuro's leadership, the Big Mom Pirates had begun to cultivate a different kind of reputation. Still feared, yes, but also seen as a force for stability in an increasingly chaotic world.
"And what of the other Yonko?" Cracker asked, his biscuit armor crunching as he shifted in his seat. "How are they reacting to our... expansion?"
Katakuri's eyes narrowed. "Cautiously. For now. Kaido seems content to focus on Wano, and Shanks... well, who can ever tell what that red-haired bastard is thinking? But Blackbeard..." He trailed off, a note of concern in his voice.
"Blackbeard is a problem for another day," Big Mom declared. "For now, we focus on consolidating our gains and preparing for the Marines' inevitable counterattack."
As the meeting continued, strategies were discussed and plans were made. But throughout it all, one thing was clear - the Big Mom Pirates were no longer just a powerful crew. Under Sanjul Rahmuro's guidance, they were becoming an empire.
And empires, as history had shown time and time again, had a way of changing the world.
XXX
Miles away, in the heart of the New World, a Marine battleship cut through rough waters. On its deck, Vice Admiral Smoker stood with his arms crossed, his ever-present cigars clenched between his teeth.
"Tashigi," he called out, his gruff voice carrying over the sound of the waves. "Any word from HQ?"
His second-in-command approached, a stack of papers in her hands. "Yes, sir. We've received new orders. We're to rendezvous with Vice Admiral Momonga's fleet and..."
She trailed off, her eyes widening as she read the next line. Smoker raised an eyebrow. "And what, Tashigi?"
"Sir," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "we're to engage the Ghostly Gale directly. Fleet Admiral Sakazuki wants Rahmuro's head, no matter the cost."
Smoker's expression darkened. "Does Sakazuki have a death wish for us all? Going after Rahmuro with anything less than an Admiral-level force is suicide."
Tashigi nodded grimly. "The orders acknowledge the risk, sir. But they're clear - Rahmuro's threat level has been upgraded to that of a top-tier Vice Admiral. We're to treat any encounter with him as we would an engagement with Fujitora or Tsuru."
Smoker turned back to the sea, his mind racing. He had faced powerful enemies before, had even gone toe-to-toe with some of the most infamous pirates in the world. But this... this was different.
Rahmuro wasn't just a powerful fighter or a charismatic leader. He was a strategic genius with the resources of a Yonko at his disposal. And he was reshaping the very nature of piracy in the New World.
"Sir?" Tashigi's voice broke through his thoughts. "What are your orders?"
Smoker was quiet for a long moment, weighing their options. Finally, he turned back to his second-in-command, his expression grim but determined.
"We follow orders, Tashigi. But we do it smart. I want every scrap of intelligence we can gather on Rahmuro's movements, his tactics, his weaknesses. If we're going to face this bastard, we're going to be prepared."
As Tashigi hurried off to relay his commands, Smoker turned his gaze back to the horizon. Somewhere out there, Sanjul Rahmuro was plotting his next move, reshaping the balance of power in ways that would be felt for generations to come.
And Smoker, like every other Marine in the New World, could feel the ground shifting beneath his feet. The age of the Yonko was ending, replaced by something new and terrifying.
The question was, would the World Government be able to adapt in time? Or would they be swept away by the tide of change that Sanjul Rahmuro and the Big Mom Pirates were unleashing upon the world?
Only time would tell. But one thing was certain - nothing would ever be the same again.
XXX
Fleet Admiral Sakazuki stood at the window of his office in Marine Headquarters, his face a mask of barely contained fury as he read the latest report from the New World. The crisp white paper crumpled in his fist, wisps of smoke rising from where his magma powers threatened to ignite it.
"Impossible," he muttered, his eyes scanning the casualty figures for the third time. "This can't be right."
But the numbers didn't lie. Three Vice Admirals, twelve Rear Admirals, and a fleet of over thirty ships - all thoroughly trounced by the Big Mom Pirates under the command of their new Grand Admiral, Sanjul Rahmuro.
A knock at the door interrupted his brooding. "Enter," he barked, not bothering to turn around.
Vice Admiral Tsuru stepped into the office, her weathered face etched with concern. "I take it you've seen Doberman's report?"
Sakazuki snorted, tossing the crumpled paper onto his desk. "Report? More like a confession of incompetence. How the hell did we let this happen, Tsuru?"
The old woman sighed, settling into a chair. "We underestimated him, Sakazuki. We all did. Rahmuro's not just another pirate captain playing at being an admiral. He's..."
"A goddamn bureaucrat with a battleship," Sakazuki finished, finally turning to face her. "I remember him, you know. From that standoff last year. Didn't think much of him then. Just another upstart in Big Mom's crew."
Tsuru nodded, her eyes distant. "I remember. He seemed... unremarkable. Competent, yes, but nothing special."
"And now look at him," Sakazuki growled. "Outmaneuvering our best tacticians, decimating our fleets. It's like he's playing chess while we're still learning checkers."
He paused, a thought striking him. "Tsuru, didn't you write a book on naval tactics a few years back?"
The old woman's eyes widened slightly. "Yes, under a pseudonym. 'Naval Tactics and Strategy: Lessons from the Grand Line' by Admiral Oda Nobunari. Why do you ask?"
Sakazuki's scowl deepened. "Because according to our intelligence, Rahmuro's been spotted with a copy. Along with about a dozen other strategic texts. Including, if you can believe it, my own 'Justice Incarnate'."
Tsuru's eyebrows shot up. "He's... studying us?"
"Studying, learning, adapting," Sakazuki confirmed. "It's like he's cramming for some twisted version of the Admiral's exam, but he's using it against us."
He began to pace, his agitation palpable. "Do you know what Doberman said in his report? He said facing Rahmuro was like 'playing chess against a computer that cheats'. The man's strategies are... well, they're boring, frankly. Practical. Efficient. He fights like a bureaucrat with a battleship fleet."
Tsuru leaned back, her mind racing. "It's almost admirable, in a way. He's not trying to make a name for himself. He's not interested in glory or infamy. He just wants to win, by any means necessary."
"Admirable?" Sakazuki spat. "It's infuriating! How do you fight an enemy who treats warfare like... like a goddamn spreadsheet? It's like he got a crash course in flag officer training and tactics, but he's using them for the other side."
He stopped pacing, turning to face Tsuru with a grim expression. "And the worst part? He's getting better. Every engagement, every skirmish - he's learning, adapting. It's like watching a machine evolve in real-time."
Tsuru nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. "We need to change our approach, Sakazuki. We can't keep treating him like just another pirate captain. For all intents and purposes, we're dealing with..."
"A Vice Admiral of an enemy power," Sakazuki finished, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "God help us all."
As if on cue, a young ensign burst into the office, his face pale with panic. "Fleet Admiral! We've just received word from our outpost in the New World. The Big Mom Pirates have launched a massive offensive. They're... they're taking our bases, sir. One after another."
Sakazuki and Tsuru exchanged a look of grim understanding. This was it - the other shoe dropping. While they'd been focused on the East Blue, Rahmuro had been setting up his real play.
"How many?" Sakazuki demanded, already reaching for his coat.
The ensign swallowed hard. "Seven bases so far, sir. And... and there are reports of allied kingdoms switching sides. They're saying the Big Mom Pirates offer better protection."
Sakazuki felt a vein throb in his forehead. "Better protection? From a crew of murderers and thieves?"
"From Rahmuro's perspective, it makes perfect sense," Tsuru mused, her voice maddeningly calm. "He's not just conquering territory. He's building a network. Offering stability in exchange for loyalty."
"It's textbook empire-building," Sakazuki growled. "And we're letting him do it right under our noses."
He turned to the ensign, his voice sharp with command. "Sound the alert. I want every available ship mobilized. We're going to put an end to this here and now."
As the young man scurried off to carry out his orders, Sakazuki turned back to Tsuru. "I want you to head up a task force. Your mission is simple: find a way to counter Rahmuro's strategies. I don't care how you do it, just get it done. "
Tsuru nodded, a hint of her old fire gleaming in her eyes. "I'll need access to all our intelligence on him. Every report, every scrap of information we have."
"You'll have it," Sakazuki promised. "And Tsuru? We can't afford to underestimate him again. Treat this like you're facing... well, like you're facing yourself."
As Tsuru left to begin her work, Sakazuki turned back to the window, his mind racing. The world was changing, faster than he'd ever imagined possible. And at the center of it all was Sanjul Rahmuro, the pirate who fought like a Marine.
The irony wasn't lost on him. For years, he'd preached about the need for absolute justice, for unwavering dedication to the cause. And now, here was a pirate who embodied those very principles, but twisted to serve the other side.
It was almost enough to make him laugh. Almost.
Instead, he felt a grim determination settle over him. This was no longer just a battle against pirates. This was a war for the very soul of justice itself.
And God help them all if they lost.
XXX
Meanwhile, aboard the Ghostly Gale, Sanjul Rahmuro sat in his quarters, surrounded by stacks of books and reports. His eyes scanned the pages of "Justice Incarnate: The Doctrine of Absolute Justice and Naval Warfare in the Pirate Era" by Admiral Akainu, his mind dissecting each strategy, each tactic.
A knock at the door interrupted his study. "Enter," he called, not looking up from the book.
Galette stepped in, a bemused expression on her face as she took in the chaos of papers and texts. "Still at it, I see. You know, most men would be celebrating after a victory like that."
Sanjul finally looked up, a small smile tugging at his lips. "There's no time for celebration, my dear. This was just the opening move. The real game is only beginning."
Galette shook her head, settling into a chair across from him. "You and your games. Sometimes I think you see the whole world as one big chessboard."
"Not a chessboard," Sanjul corrected gently. "A shogi board. More pieces, more complexity. It's a better analogy for what we're doing here."
He stood, stretching muscles stiff from hours of reading. "The Marines made a critical error today. They underestimated us - underestimated me. They won't make that mistake again."
Galette's eyes narrowed slightly. "And what makes you so sure?"
Sanjul's smile widened, a hint of something almost predatory in his expression. "Because I wouldn't. If I were in their shoes, I'd be mobilizing every resource, analyzing every scrap of intel. They'll be coming for us, and they'll be coming hard."
"And that doesn't worry you?" Galette asked, a note of concern in her voice.
Sanjul shook his head, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that sent a shiver down Galette's spine. "On the contrary, my dear. I'm counting on it. Every move they make, every strategy they employ - it's all data. Information I can use, adapt, improve upon."
He turned back to his desk, his fingers tracing the spine of Akainu's book. "They think they're dealing with just another pirate captain. They have no idea what's coming."
Galette stood, moving to embrace him from behind. "And what is coming, my love?"
Sanjul's voice was soft, but filled with an unwavering conviction that made Galette's heart race. "A new world order, Galette. One where the lines between pirate and Marine, between lawless and lawful, are redrawn. And we'll be the ones holding the pen."
As Galette left him to his studies, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was witnessing the birth of something truly extraordinary. Sanjul Rahmuro wasn't just changing the game - he was rewriting the rules entirely.
And God help anyone who stood in his way.
XXX
Back at Marine Headquarters, the war room was a hive of activity. Maps covered every available surface, dotted with pins and markers representing troop movements and territorial control. At the center of it all stood Fleet Admiral Sakazuki, his face a mask of grim determination as he listened to the latest reports.
"Sir," a harried-looking intelligence officer approached, clutching a stack of papers. "We've completed our analysis of Rahmuro's recent operations. The results are... well, they're unprecedented."
Sakazuki's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
The officer swallowed hard, clearly uncomfortable being the bearer of bad news. "In the past month alone, Rahmuro has overseen 7 skirmishes or border clashes, 5 interception operations, dealt with 2 instances of internal dissent, executed 1 major raid against our installations, managed 2 alliance disputes, and led 1 strategic expansion campaign."
He paused, his voice dropping slightly. "And sir... his success rate is staggering. We're looking at casualty ratios of 4:1 in his favor, sometimes even higher."
Sakazuki felt his jaw clench, the temperature in the room rising noticeably as his Devil Fruit powers reacted to his anger. "How? How is one man accomplishing all this?"
Vice Admiral Momonga stepped forward, his expression grave. "It's his approach, sir. Rahmuro isn't fighting like a typical pirate. He's employing advanced military tactics, the kind we teach at the highest levels of the Academy. But he's combining them with a pirate's ruthlessness and unpredictability."
"It's like he's read every book on naval strategy ever written," another officer chimed in. "And not just read them - he's internalizing them, adapting them to his needs."
Sakazuki's mind raced, pieces falling into place. "The books. Of course. Intelligence reported he's been collecting strategic texts, including some written by our own people. We thought it was just a hobby, but..."
"But he's been studying us," Tsuru finished, entering the room with a stack of her own reports. "Learning our tactics, our thought processes. And now he's using them against us."
The room fell silent as the implications sank in. They weren't just dealing with a pirate anymore. They were facing an enemy who knew them, perhaps better than they knew themselves.
"It gets worse," Tsuru continued, her voice heavy. "According to our latest intelligence, Rahmuro is already planning his next moves. He's not content with just defending Big Mom's territory. He's looking to expand, to reshape the entire balance of power in the New World."
Sakazuki felt a headache building behind his eyes. "Recommendations?" he asked, his voice tight with suppressed fury.
Tsuru met his gaze steadily. "We need to change our approach. Radically. Everything we've been doing up until now - it's all in those books Rahmuro's been studying. We're playing into his hands."
"So what do you suggest?" Sakazuki demanded. "We can't just throw out decades of naval doctrine overnight!"
"No," Tsuru agreed. "But we can adapt. Innovate. We need to start thinking like Rahmuro - anticipating his moves, understanding his mindset."
She paused, a hint of irony in her voice. "In a way, we need to become more like pirates ourselves. Unpredictable, adaptable, willing to bend the rules when necessary."
The room erupted in a chorus of protests and arguments. Sakazuki held up a hand, silencing them. "Enough! I don't like it any more than you do. But Tsuru's right. We can't keep fighting this war the same way and expect different results."
He turned to the assembled officers, his voice ringing with authority. "As of this moment, we're implementing a new strategy. I want every officer, from Rear Admiral up, to form think tanks. Your job is to come up with tactics that Rahmuro won't see coming. Anything goes - the crazier, the better."
The officers exchanged uncertain glances, clearly uncomfortable with this departure from established protocol. But Sakazuki wasn't finished.
"And one more thing," he added, his eyes sweeping the room. "I want a task force assembled. Top strategists, intelligence analysts, the best minds we have. Your mission is simple: get inside Rahmuro's head. I want to know what he's reading, what he's thinking, what he's planning. I want to know him better than he knows himself."
As the room burst into activity, officers rushing to carry out their new orders, Sakazuki turned back to the map. His eyes fixed on the expanding territory of the Big Mom Pirates, a territory now shaped by the strategic mind of Sanjul Rahmuro. A grim smile graced his face realizing he had just created two task forces ... for one single Pirate. But then again Rahmuro wasn't any single pirate.
"You want to play games, Rahmuro?" he muttered, his fists clenching at his sides. "Fine. Let's play. But remember - in chess, the pawns go first, but it's the king who decides the game."
XXX
Little did he know, on a ship far away, Sanjul Rahmuro was having similar thoughts. As he closed the last page of "Justice Incarnate," a small smile played on his lips. The game was indeed afoot - but it was a game whose rules he had already begun to rewrite.
The New World was changing, faster than anyone could have predicted. And at the center of it all stood two men, each convinced they held the key to victory.
Only time would tell which of them was right. But one thing was certain - the world would never be the same again.