Chapter 273 - 274

Navy Headquarters — May, Year 1520

The room was silent.

That silence was not comfortable.

It was the silence that descends when seasoned men, none of whom are easily shaken, find themselves genuinely without words.

Fleet Admiral Sengoku stood at the head of the table.

His expression had not changed in the last two hours.

That, to anyone who knew Sengoku, was the most alarming sign of all.

"Read it again," he said.

The officer holding the report did not argue.

"Admiral Fujitora — Issho — status confirmed: deceased. Body not recovered. Last confirmed location: the island designated Kaito Rock, Eastern New World. Island itself—no longer exists."

Another silence.

Vice Admiral Tsuru, who had been leaning against the wall with her arms folded, spoke first.

"El."

It was not a question.

No one disagreed.

There was only one person in the current world who could fight a Marine Admiral at full capability, destroy the island the battle was fought on, and leave no body—because the body had been taken.

The pattern was not new.

It was exactly what had happened to Golden Lion Shiki.

Exactly what had happened to Gecko Moria—still alive technically, but stripped of his Shadow-Shadow Fruit.

Exactly what had happened to three Cipher Pol units who had attempted to surveil El's vessel four years ago and had simply never reported back.

El did not leave witnesses.

El did not leave corpses.

And now—El had killed a sitting Marine Admiral.

Sengoku turned to the window.

Outside, the Navy base stretched in all directions—thousands of soldiers, dozens of warships, the mightiest military force the World Government had ever assembled.

And not one of them could stop El.

He knew this.

The Five Elders knew this.

Even the Celestial Dragons in their golden city above the Red Line had quietly known this for years—though they had refused, collectively, to say it aloud.

"What is the World Government's response?" Sengoku asked.

"The Five Elders have not issued instructions yet," the officer replied carefully.

Sengoku nodded.

That was to be expected.

The Five Elders were powerful men. But they were, fundamentally, politicians.

And politicians did not act until they knew which outcome was survivable.

Sending another Admiral after El would simply produce another dead Admiral.

Sending all three simultaneously—Kizaru, Aokiji, and whoever replaced Fujitora—was the only option that might change the outcome, and even that was uncertain.

El had obtained the Float-Float Fruit from Shiki. That was documented.

His swordsmanship had fought Dracule Mihawk to a draw—that was documented.

His Haki had reached a level where all three types were confirmed at their extreme pinnacle—that was documented.

But Fujitora had known all of that.

And Fujitora was dead.

Which meant El had improved, again, beyond what the existing reports described.

Sengoku turned from the window.

"Suspend all active operations against El's group. Effective immediately."

The room absorbed this quietly.

"Sir?"

"You heard me." His voice was steady. "We will not be sending anyone else to die for intelligence we already have. We know where El is. We know what he's capable of. We know he doesn't pursue conflict unprovoked—he responds to it."

He let that settle.

"Until the Five Elders give us a strategy that doesn't end with more of our people dead—we do not provoke him."

Tsuru unfolded her arms.

"And Fujitora's position?"

"Vacant." Sengoku's expression did not waver. "As it should stay, until we have someone capable of filling it."

The meeting ended.

No one left the room quickly.

—

Twelve thousand meters above the ocean floor, in a palace that had no name on any map, a figure sat alone.

The flowers surrounding the throne bloomed in perpetual, unnatural color.

They had no scent.

There were no windows.

There was no sound except the faint hum of the building's own age.

Im looked down at two items placed before the throne.

One was a Warlord of the Sea bounty poster—defaced, crossed through with deep cuts.

The other was a single piece of parchment.

On it, three words written in measured, formal script:

El — Admiral Fujitora.

Im's gaze did not move from the parchment for a very long time.

An Admiral.

In the eight hundred years since the Void Century, the forces that held this world's shape had faced many threats.

Rocks D. Xebec.

Gol D. Roger.

Even the ancient weapons—though those had been kept safely separated, each fragment of their potential buried under layers of secrecy and geography.

None of them had killed an Admiral.

None of them had been this young while doing it.

Im reached forward.

The parchment was lifted—and held still—in the air between still fingers, reading it one more time as though the words might have changed.

They had not.

Slowly, Im set it back down.

Then the flowers around the throne, which had been perfectly still the entire time—

Withered.

All of them.

At once.

—

In the City in the Sky, El was asleep.

He was lying across a couch that was, objectively speaking, too small for two people, yet somehow fit both him and Carina—who had fallen asleep against his shoulder while waiting for him to finish reading reports—comfortably enough that neither had moved in two hours.

Across the room, Nami sat at the table with a nautical chart spread open, marking sea routes in red ink with the methodical focus she applied to anything involving maps or treasure.

Kuina was at the window, sword resting across her knees, watching the cloud sea shift below with the particular expression she always wore when she was thinking about something she didn't want to say.

The manor was quiet.

No enemies. No missions. No threats.

Just the ordinary afternoon weight of a world that was turning without being asked to, full of people making decisions that would echo forward in time in ways none of them could fully calculate.

Luffy was somewhere in East Blue, probably having already found his first crewmate and eaten something absurd for dinner.

Blackbeard was somewhere in the New World, probably planning the next step of a scheme that would eventually turn the world upside down.

Sengoku was sitting in his office, looking at an empty chair where an Admiral used to sit.

And Im was, presumably, considering options.

El's eyes opened.

Not because of a threat.

Not because of Observation Haki sensing danger.

He had simply woken up.

He looked at the ceiling for a moment.

Then at Carina's head resting against his shoulder.

Then at the window, where the late afternoon light had turned everything a deep amber.

"Nami."

She looked up from her chart.

"What's the fastest route to Minion Island?"

Nami blinked.

Then her eyes sharpened—the quick, instinctive focus of someone who had spent years understanding that when El asked a route question, it was never idle curiosity.

"Three days by Pegasus, if the Calm Belt is cooperative. Why? Is there something there?"

El looked back at the ceiling.

"The Op-Op Fruit."

The room changed.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

Kuina turned from the window.

Nami set down her pen.

Even Carina, still technically asleep, made a small sound that was distinctly not a sleeping sound.

El sat up.

"It's time."

He said it simply.

Three words.

But everyone in the room understood exactly what they meant.

The last step of everything they had built—everything they had planned since the early years in the East Blue, since the island where the orphanage had stood and an eight-year-old boy had cut a pirate ship in half—

Was finally within reach.

Carina raised her head and looked at El.

She was smiling.

Not her usual teasing smile.

Something quieter than that.

"Let's go get it, then."

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