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One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #93
🕑 Added 2025-07-11 09:52:25 +0000 UTCThe air in Fleet Admiral Sengoku’s office was so thick with silence you could spread it on toast.
Heavy sunlight poured in through the high windows behind the desk, casting long golden beams across the floor, but none of it seemed to reach the three standing in front of the massive desk like schoolkids before the principal—Gale, Poqin, and Isuka.
Sengoku didn’t say a word. Just flipped a page of the report, scratched his beard, and glanced up at them now and then with a face carved from stone and forged in disappointment.
Gale could swear the man had a special talent for making someone feel like they committed war crimes just by breathing too loud.
Poqin looked like he might start whistling out of sheer awkwardness.
Isuka, of course, stood at parade rest, posture perfect, expression unreadable, which just made Gale feel more like an idiot by comparison.
Finally, Sengoku lowered the report with a soft thud, tapped his index finger against the desk once, twice, then said in a tone drier than Sabaody gin:
“You do know… you were sent to stall Admiral Blight. Not defeat him.”
His gaze moved slowly between them.
“Not that I’m complaining, mind you. But I need to understand why one battleship and three rookies felt compelled to engage such a dangerous pirate head-on. And, more importantly… how they managed to pull it off.”
He turned his gaze squarely on Gale.
Gale scratched his head, resisting the urge to fidget.
“Well, sir… it’s all in the report.”
That earned him a slow, deeply unimpressed look from Sengoku over the top of his glasses.
“I know. I’m holding the report. I asked because I’d like to hear it from you, as the assigned leader of the operation.”
Poqin leaned sideways toward Gale, whispering out the side of his mouth,
“Smooth. You’re killing it.”
Gale elbowed him without looking and sighed, finally speaking up properly.
“Right… Okay, well… to be honest, we didn’t intend to face Blight head-on. The original plan was just to hold position in the capital, keep the locals safe, maybe do a little hit-and-run—stall tactics.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“But Blight had other plans… and Vashiri’s situation was way worse than we thought. The place was hanging on by duct tape and noble pride.”
Sengoku arched an eyebrow but remained silent, the subtle twitch of his mustache the only indication he was still listening. His gaze was sharp, patient, and unnervingly blank in that way that made Gale feel like every word he said was being judged by a tribunal of ghosts.
Still, that was as close to a green light as he was gonna get.
Gale cleared his throat and continued.
“Right… so, uh… we arrived at the westernmost island in the archipelago, figured we’d get a read on the situation, maybe sip some tea, find a scenic bottleneck to camp at…”
He paused, catching Sengoku’s neutral expression, and wisely pivoted.
“But it was already under siege. Blight's boys had already set up shop.”
Isuka stepped in smoothly, hands behind her back and voice as sharp as her salutes.
“Of course, at the time, we didn’t know all the outlying islands were already under attack. We thought this was just an isolated force. So we decided to neutralize it—take down the ships around the first island to send a message. Make the rest of the fleet nervous.”
“Which was a good plan,” Gale cut in, “except the rest of Blight’s fleet wasn’t the type to get nervous.”
He scratched his cheek sheepishly.
“They were already busy blockading the other islands like it was a weekend hobby. And by the time we pushed through and got to the capital, we’d already sunk half his fleet.”
Poqin coughed dramatically. “Correction: you sunk half the fleet. I mostly just made sure the gunpowder didn’t explode in our faces.”
Isuka shot him a sidelong glance.
“You also fell asleep in the middle of a cannon barrage.”
“It was a very rhythmic cannon barrage,” Poqin said defensively.
Gale ignored the peanut gallery and turned back to Sengoku.
“Anyway, once we made it to the capital, we found it completely blockaded—other half of the fleet, minus the flagship. They were set up like they were planning a New Year’s Eve siege party.”
He shook his head.
“Still, we got through. Held the line. But we barely had time to breathe, let alone fortify anything, because a couple days later—boom—Blight shows up. Just waltzes up to the walls like he owns the place.”
Gale’s tone dropped, his expression sobering a little.
“They’d already snuck into the central island. No alarms, no fanfare. Just fog. Like a ghost story come to life.”
“The creeping fog was everywhere,” Isuka added. “Visibility dropped to less than a dozen meters. Communication became a nightmare.”
“Felt like being stalked by a horror movie villain,” Poqin muttered. “Except the villain brought his own weather system.”
Gale nodded.
“So yeah. At that point, we had two options: sit in the fog and wait to be picked off like idiots, or go in, find Blight, and cut the head off the snake.”
He crossed his arms.
“And, well… here we are.”
Sengoku hadn’t moved an inch since the last word left Gale’s mouth, but the tension in the room had tripled.
His fingers were still steepled before his mouth, his eyes half-lidded in that unreadable way that somehow made Gale feel like he was being measured for a coffin. Maybe two. Poqin and Isuka could share the second one.
He looked like a man doing complex math… or calculating how much paperwork this trio of chaos was about to dump in his lap. Probably both. Definitely both.
Then, finally, Sengoku spoke. Flat. Dry.
“I can’t approve of reckless heroism,” he said, tone like sandpaper on glass. “But… you did a good job. That aside—”
He leaned forward, his voice sharpening into something closer to a blade.
“—what the hell took you so long to get back to HQ?”
Gale smiled. Sheepishly. Like a child who definitely didn’t just break the expensive vase but also definitely did.
“Well, you see… we couldn’t exactly take too much in the way of supplies from Vashiri—could’ve destabilized the whole local economy, very tragic—so we had to stop to resupply. Then we ran into a—”
“A storm,” Sengoku cut in, not even blinking. “Then a pirate ship. Then another storm. Then another pirate ship. With a supply stop after every encounter.”
He picked up Isuka’s report and dropped it back on the desk like it offended him.
“I read it,” he said. “Reads like a pile of half-baked fiction and wishful excuses. So unless one of you spontaneously grew a weather-predicting parrot or a magnet for rookie pirates, I’m going to ask again…”
He locked eyes with Gale. Hard. Cold.
“…were you deliberately dragging your feet to dodge deployment in a time of crisis?”
There was a beat of silence. Poqin stiffened. Isuka swallowed hard.
Gale stared back at Sengoku, expression blank. Then, with the confidence of a man reciting the weather report, he said:
“If by that you mean ‘dodging orders to hunt down Revolutionaries,’ then yeah. I wanted no part in that.”
You could have heard a pin drop.
Or a guillotine blade.
Even the ambient Den Den Mushi in the office seemed to go mute, its eyes wide in horror.
Isuka looked like she wanted to melt through the floor. Poqin stared at Gale like he’d just confessed to stealing food from Akainu’s lunchbox and then flipping him off.
Sengoku, for his part, didn’t move. Not right away. Just stared. For a very long second.
Then his tone dropped like a lead weight into the ocean.
“Explain yourself.”
Gale’s grin didn’t vanish.
In fact, it got bigger. Sharper. The kind of grin that made people instinctively check if their wallets were still in their pockets.
“It’s a thankless job, Fleet Admiral,” Gale said with a theatrical sigh, like he was lamenting the cruel weight of heroism.
He waved a hand vaguely to the side as if gesturing to a cheering crowd only he could see. “Come on, even Admirals are out chasing Revolutionaries right now—and what? Not even a last-page blurb in the papers.”
He clicked his tongue, then jabbed a thumb toward his own chest. “But then a no-name marine beats a pirate in the New World, and bam, front page, heroic pose, flattering lighting and everything. Now that’s what I call public service.”
Poqin let out a wheeze behind him and turned his head to cough into his sleeve. Isuka just facepalmed, quietly mumbling something that might’ve been a prayer.
Gale shrugged, all casual confidence. “I’m here to make a name for myself, sir. Obscure work like chasing Revolutionaries in the shadows?” He raised a brow. “People don’t care about that.”
It was a bare-faced lie. And a bad one, at that—though Gale wore it like a badge of honor. The truth? He hated being in the spotlight. He treated fame like a rash: annoying, hard to get rid of, and occasionally itchy in public.
But even if he hated the fame, he did enjoy the attention. And the praise. And the smug satisfaction that came with being the center of the story.
Still, this wasn’t about that.
He wasn’t dodging shadowy deployments because they were “obscure” or because “glory doesn’t grow in the dark.” No, the real reason was far messier.
He didn’t want to go after people he half-agreed with. Especially not after what he saw at the Reverie. And especially not when one of those Revolutionaries might just be the daughter of his dead mentor—the same daughter he’d sworn didn’t exist.
So yeah. Letting Sengoku believe he was a vain, shallow glory hound?
Way better than explaining that.
Sengoku’s eyebrow twitched. A single twitch. But on a man like Sengoku, that might as well have been a full-body scream.
He was silent for a long time, staring at Gale like he was trying to figure out if he could file “attitude problem” as a separate report to HR.
Then, with a heavy sigh that could’ve put out a fireplace, Sengoku muttered, “I’m greatly disappointed.”
Gale’s grin dimmed a millimeter. Not a full drop—but enough to register.
“Your actions,” Sengoku continued, tone colder now, “will directly affect what rank you’re assigned going forward.”
Gale pressed a hand dramatically to his chest, eyes wide in mock distress. “Oh no,” he said, voice trembling with the fake grief of a bad stage actor. “Whatever will I do?”
He barely stopped himself from adding, “What a tragedy…” in his most sarcastic tone. That was too much, even for him.
Sengoku stared at him like a man trying to determine whether it was legal to demote someone twice in the same sentence.
Oddly enough, the Fleet Admiral looked… pleased. Not happy, but that quiet sort of “I knew it” satisfaction older men get when the youth prove exactly as annoying as expected.
“Ahem,” Sengoku cleared his throat, resting his hands on the desk again. “In any case. The two of you have remained recruits long enough. It’s time to officially welcome you into the Marine Corps, and Ensign Isuka has earned a promotion as well...”
Gale straightened slightly, if only to avoid an elbow jab from Isuka.
“First, Harlow Gale,” Sengoku said, voice sharp as a whetstone. “You’ve accomplished your mission. Splendidly… and foolishly. In many ways, you both exceeded and failed expectations.”
Gale raised a brow. He’d take it.
“Originally,” Sengoku went on, “I intended to assign you the rank of commodore.”
Gale blinked. Commodore? That was—actually kind of impressive.
“But,” Sengoku said, and there it was—the but—“due to your reckless tactics, undisciplined attitude, and extended absence following your mission’s conclusion…”
Gale visibly winced, sensing the incoming slap of justice.
“…you will be assigned the rank of Captain instead.”
“Fair,” Gale said, before standing up straight and giving a proper Marine salute. “Sir, yes sir.”
Sengoku nodded, then turned his attention to Poqin, who had, at some point, begun balancing a marine cap on his nose like a circus seal.
“Now,” Sengoku muttered, “as for you…”
Poqin blinked, hat still wobbling. “Me?”
“You demonstrated exceptional strength and ability during your mission,” Sengoku said. “By all accounts, your achievements didn’t pale much in comparison to Gale’s. However—”
Here, he squinted.
“—you did not take the leadership course.”
Poqin gave him a flat, unimpressed look, the kind that said neither did most pirates and they’re doing just fine, but wisely kept it to himself.
“You are assigned the rank of Ensign.”
Poqin scratched his nose. “Cool.”
Two elbows jabbed into his ribs at the same time—one from Gale, the other from Isuka.
“—Sir,” Poqin added quickly, snapping off the world’s most casual salute. “Yes, sir.”
Sengoku turned at last to Isuka. His expression softened ever so slightly. “And you, Ensign Isuka…”
“Sir,” she said, back straight, voice clear.
“You handled command when your superior was incapacitated, took initiative where it was needed, and filed a report that wasn’t scribbled on the back of a tavern napkin.”
Gale looked mildly offended.
“I’m promoting you to the rank of Lieutenant.”
Isuka allowed herself a small smile and bowed slightly. “Thank you, sir.”
Sengoku folded his hands again, tone final. “The three of you are to rest and remain stationed here at HQ until your next assignment is issued.”
That sounded great to Poqin, who was already fantasizing about napping on the sunny steps of Marineford’s main courtyard.
“Understood,” Gale said, but even as he saluted again, his thoughts were already wandering.
'Captain Gale… huh.'
That didn’t sound half-bad.
Still, it meant more eyes on him. More expectations. More ways to screw up gloriously in front of important people.
He could already feel the headache blooming.
