c8 – Konoha Naval Operations Department
Amidst the firelight and spirited conversation, Sengoku and Uchiha Madara engaged in a series of intense discussions. Madara nodding occasionally, his arms crossed, his Rinnegan eyes reflecting the fire's glow. The tone was oddly familiar, almost nostalgic, for Madara was once again drawing up the framework of a new Konoha, much like he had done alongside Hashirama Senju in the Valley of the End.
This time, however, Madara avoided replicating the flawed political complexity of the original Konoha. The experience with Tobirama's centralization and the eventual corruption of the shinobi system left him wary. He laid out a streamlined leadership structure focused purely on military efficiency, while Sengoku beaming like he'd just pulled off a Buster Call without casualties—filled in the administrative gaps.
The proposed location for this new "Konoha" was the Navy Headquarters' former recruit training base.an abandoned facility on an isolated Grand Line island, once used for elite bootcamps. It was ideal: defensible, secluded, and stocked with residual resources. With Aokiji's previous environmental conditioning of nearby waters and Garp's approval, it became the perfect launching ground for a shinobi-based operations unit.
Personnel selection? Uniquely, the Navy granted Madara carte blanche to select one promising recruit per training cycle whether from Smoker's recent batch, or elite CP trainees. This sparked fierce internal competition across Marineford's cadet divisions. Even Garp jokingly told his grandson Luffy still a wild brat "Train hard or Madara won't even look at ya."
Funding, however, was off the table. The World Government wanted distance from anything they couldn't politically sanitize. Instead, Madara accepted the terms with interest: Konoha would self-finance its growth by taking high-risk bounty missions. Notably, any "designated pirate" (e.g., those with government-marked targets such as surviving Rocks remnants or rogue Warlords) would bring in commissions with a 20% increase over standard bounties.
Unlike the Konoha of his past life, this iteration would reject mass recruitment and academy-standardization. Instead, Madara chose to focus on quality over quantity. With the loss of the Uchiha clan in his old world, he saw no value in repeating old mistakes. This time, the shinobi would be elite, raised and forged in real battle, like the ANBU or Kirigakure's Seven Ninja Swordsmen.only without the political rot.
By dawn, Naval Reserve Admiral Sengoku had officially signed off on a mutually beneficial alliance with the new Konoha Naval Operations Department—led by none other than Hokage Uchiha Madara, the Navy's first external cooperative unit leader. It was an unprecedented move, blending the structured justice of the Marines with the covert edge of shinobi warfare.
In commemoration, Sengoku immediately drafted Konoha's first mission: to support Admiral Zefa and Vice Admiral Garp during the public execution of Pirate King Gol D. Roger. Officially, Konoha's task was to "support crowd control and emergency response." In reality, it was surveillance—to ensure Madara didn't dance in the rain, as Sengoku often put it privately.
"Hahahahaha! Brother Ban! Welcome to the Navy, then! From now on, we're comrades!"
Garp slapped Madara's shoulder with enough force to crack normal bones. Madara didn't flinch. In Garp's mind, this was less a partnership and more the formal recruitment of a tsundere powerhouse who just didn't like the title.
Everyone, from the lowest recruits to the veteran officers, felt the energy shift. Madara had found a temporary purpose in this world. Sengoku had gained a living weapon. And the Navy, for the first time in decades, felt like it was truly prepared for the coming storm—the one Whitebeard, Kaido, and even the World Government couldn't yet see.
That night, as the campfire burned low, Gion attempted a late-night meeting with Sengoku, citing "battle strategy discussions." Sengoku rejected her firmly, using the full weight of his authority. "Strategy can wait. Discipline cannot," he said with crossed arms.
Gion's eyes widened in betrayal. This was the same Warring States who once promised to help her get revenge on Madara through apprenticeship schemes and official training. Now that Madara had practically joined them, all those old promises were ash in the wind.
Worse still, Sengoku had completely dropped the idea of mentoring Gion for future command. His entire focus had shifted to smoothing relations with Konoha and ensuring Madara remained aligned. The mentorship plan was conveniently forgotten.
That night, Garp, Zefa, Sengoku, and Madara stayed by the fire, exchanging stories and strategy until the stars faded. Gion, meanwhile, stared into the dark, her eyes sunken with rage and exhaustion. She scrawled out a two-sheet-long complaint report in the morning—one part grievance, two parts vengeance.
The next day, with massive dark circles under her eyes and a mission folder in hand, she stood silently beside Garp and Zefa, watching Roger's execution platform being reinforced. No one mentioned the firelight betrayal. But in her heart, she vowed: One day, I will surpass you, Uchiha Madara—even if I have to steal your fire to do it.
...
Year 1499, the Eve of the Pirate King's Execution
On the eve of Gol D. Roger's execution, three of the most formidable warriors in the world Vice Admiral Garp, former Admiral Zefa, and Uchiha Madara were tasked with defending the perimeter of Loguetown's execution plaza. Among them, Madara, ever the tactician and seeker of truth, showed great interest in the infamous "One Piece" and its enigmatic owner. Yet, like a curtain drawn over fate, they could only see Roger's grand entrance not the moment of his death.
With a crisp crack, Uchiha Madara's hand snapped the neck of a pirate who attempted to disrupt the perimeter, his face calm and eyes flickering with disinterest.
"Do you want to witness Roger's final moment?" Madara asked, turning to Garp and Zefa.
Garp casually knocked out a scrawny pirate with a flick of his fist, picked his nose with zero decorum, and said, "That's my old friend. If not for this post, I'd be hiding in a rooftop somewhere, saying goodbye in my own way."
Zefa, ever stern and upright, shrugged. "I don't share your sentimental view, Garp. He's just a pirate."
Madara's lips curled upward. "Two in favor, one abstention. Majority rules. Let's go."
As Madara took a step toward the execution stand, Garp grabbed his shoulder. "Deserting your post during a major operation is a court-martial offense. Sengoku will have my head."
Madara's smirk deepened. "Who said we were leaving?"
In a blur of motion, he pressed his palms together—Ram → Shadow Clone Technique. Three exact replicas formed beside him, perfectly mimicking his allies: one as Garp, one as Zefa, and one as himself. The originals slipped into the shadows, while the clones returned to their watch positions like obedient soldiers.
Garp blinked, then broke into thunderous laughter. "Brother Ban, your tricks are too damn useful! Hahahaha! Let's just make it back before Sengoku smells something fishy."
"Yo~ Master! That's three votes now!"
Madara's face dropped. On the second floor of a nearby tavern, perched like a hawk with popcorn, was Gion. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. She'd caught them red-handed.
"Oh no…"
"Hey, hey~ Master, look at my Will of Fire!!!"
Before Madara could react, Gion leapt from the second floor and landed on his shoulders, giggling as if she were riding a war horse. Her high ponytail bounced with pride.
Madara froze.
He, Uchiha Madara the Ghost of the Uchiha, the man who forced the Five Kage into submission, the orchestrator of the Fourth Great Ninja War, the wielder of the Rinnegan and the Ten Tails was now… a ride.
He thought back. He'd walked through Hashirama's Mokuton forest, fought Bijuu barehanded, revived himself through forbidden arts but this?
This was new.
Madara's body visibly trembled. A deadly, suffocating aura erupted from him, laced with killing intent so thick it distorted the air. Garp and Zefa stiffened. Gion's life hung in the balance.
"Don't kill her. Don't kill her. She's half a disciple… half a benefactor… we've both died before… control yourself…"
Karp whispered to Zefa, "The monster's about to snap. If he does, we're not stopping him."
Unbothered, Gion swung her legs like a carefree child, still bouncing on Madara's shoulders.
"Wuhu~ Let's gooo! Charge, charge!"
With mechanical slowness, Madara lifted her off his neck like she was a cursed scroll, set her down, and said flatly:
"Walk. Yourself."
Then he turned away, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be hiding.
Elsewhere, in the shadows of a bell tower, Sengoku lowered his binoculars and grinned devilishly.
"Hook, line, and sinker."
At last, Madara, Gion, Garp, and Zefa arrived at the rear corner of the execution plaza. Blending into a shaded alley between vendor stalls, they waited in silence.
As the crowd thickened, Gion, too short to see clearly, leapt once again onto Madara's shoulders. This time, he froze but didn't resist. His eye twitched.
The horns of fate blared.
From one side of the square, two lines of World Government guards marched out, their capes fluttering like banners of absolute justice. Between them walked a shackled man.
Madara's Rinnegan narrowed.
No… this wasn't a man being escorted to death. This was no prisoner awaiting execution.
This man commanded the square.
Even in chains, his presence dwarfed that of the armed guards at his side. He didn't walk like a captive—he strode like a monarch returning to his people. His aura was not that of a condemned man. It was that of a victor who had already chosen his stage.
Gol D. Roger.
Uchiha Madara inhaled slowly. There was no fear, no shame, no weakness. This wasn't the air of a defeated man. Roger's presence pulled Madara in like gravity itself.
"A king… no—the King of Heroes," Madara murmured.
The shackles glittered like royal regalia. Roger turned his head, surveying the sea of faces not as a man begging for mercy, but as a ruler addressing his kingdom.
Finally, his eyes stopped right where Madara stood.
For a second, Madara thought Roger was looking at Garp, his old sparring partner. But no… Roger's gaze bore straight into his own.
There was no fear. Just recognition.
A smile touched Roger's lips.
Madara couldn't name it: pride? confidence? freedom?
That smile embodied everything Madara had once sought to suppress hope, choice, individuality. Yet here it was, alive, in the face of death.
They were both men who stood at the peak. Madara, the godlike tyrant who tried to mold the world through force; Roger, the king who shaped the world through freedom and legend.
And suddenly, the words that echoed across the sea rose in Madara's mind:
"The man who conquered everything—wealth, fame, power the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger!"
Madara smiled, too—but his was different. It was not warm or welcoming. It was the smile of a warrior recognizing another at the pinnacle. It was the sneer of a devil watching the last dance of a god.
Two conquerors. Two ideologies. Two legacies.
The collision of the vertices of two worlds Shinobi no Kami and King of the Seas.
And this was only the beginning.
---