“You might as well speak more clearly.”
Inside the base commander’s office, the Den Den Mushi mimicked the puzzled voice of an operator from Marineford.
Maynard, his chest wrapped in thick bandages, leaned against his hospital bed, the veins on his forehead throbbing.
“Haven’t I made myself clear enough?
The base is haunted!”
“I was lifting a barbell perfectly fine, when my foot slipped for no reason, and I ended up with broken ribs.
The soldiers under me are having it even worse: sprained ankles while walking, accidental discharges while firing, choking while drinking water—half the base is injured!”
“Is it possible that you overtrained, leading to a loss of balance?
Perhaps the soldiers are just having a run of bad luck?”
“Impossible!
Absolutely impossible!” Maynard nearly jumped off the bed, but the movement caused a sharp pain in his wound, making him gasp.
“My body is perfectly healthy.
This is definitely some supernatural force bringing bad luck to our base!
By the way, I just received news that the other three bases in the South Blue are experiencing the exact same bizarre incidents!”
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.
One incident is an accident, two are a coincidence, but four occurring in succession?
That’s not a coincidence.
“The situation has been logged.
I will report this to the higher-ups immediately.
Please wait for further notice.”
With a click, the Den Den Mushi’s eyes slowly closed.
Marineford, Marine Headquarters, Communications Room.
In the massive hall, hundreds of workstations were arranged in rows, with an operator sitting at each one.
The rising and falling “purupuru” sounds of the Den Den Mushi merged into a monotonous hum.
This was the nerve center of the Marine, processing tens of thousands of reports from millions of Marines across the world every day.
The young operator who had just taken the call hung up the receiver, stood up, and walked to the bookshelf behind him.
Right in the center of the bookshelf sat a hardcover tome thicker than a brick, with gold lettering embossed on the spine: “Devil Fruit Encyclopedia: Marine Verified Edition.”
The total number of Marines worldwide exceeded ten million, while those directly under the Headquarters numbered only a few hundred thousand.
With such a massive base, bizarre incidents occurred as frequently as hair on an ox.
Genuine accidents accounted for only a tiny fraction; the vast majority were the work of unknown Devil Fruit users.
This was the experience the Marine had accumulated over so many years.
The operator ran his fingertips across the spine, pulled it out, and flipped through the pages.
There were different versions of the Devil Fruit Encyclopedia; the most simplified version contained only pictures, with no names.
This Marine copy contained hundreds of confirmed Devil Fruit illustrations and their specific abilities; this was the foundation of the World Government.
Even if its actual control over the world wasn’t absolute, and even if the allied nations only accounted for half of the total countries in the world, there were some things that no other organization could produce except for it.
“Found it.”
The operator’s fingertip stopped on a certain page.
“Paramecia: Lucky Lucky Fruit: Can extract the luck of others and convert it into one’s own good fortune.
Those who are drained will continuously encounter bad luck, ranging from minor injuries and financial loss to death.
The ability is highly secretive and difficult to detect by conventional means.”
He closed the encyclopedia, placed it back in its original position, asked a colleague to cover his station, and turned to walk quickly out of the communications room.
Fleet Admiral’s office.
Sengoku stood in front of the filing cabinet, listened to the operator’s report, and nodded faintly.
“Understood.
The Lucky Lucky Fruit, is it?
I will arrange for officers in the South Blue to follow up.”
After the operator saluted and withdrew, Sengoku casually pulled the file folder of ability users in the South Blue jurisdiction from the shelf.
The Marine always prioritized monitoring fruits with such bizarre effects that could easily cause civilian casualties.
Any active ability user was always filed and recorded.
He flipped through a few pages, his eyebrows slightly raised.
“No record?
A new face.”
The unknown meant variables, which meant spending more time and energy to investigate.
Sengoku put down the file folder and tapped his fingers lightly on the desk.
The Lucky Lucky Fruit was too dangerous for ordinary officers; the probability of capsizing in the gutter was too high.
Only by sending someone with solid strength could this be resolved safely.
“Who is the highest-ranking officer currently in the South Blue jurisdiction…”
He muttered to himself and pulled out another file on officer deployments.
After flipping two pages, his gaze stopped on a certain name, and a knowing smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“That kid Kuzan happens to be back home in the South Blue on vacation.
Let it be him.
With his strength, there shouldn’t be any mishaps.”
Sengoku sat back behind his desk, picked up his exclusive Den Den Mushi, and dialed the number.
“Purupuru…
purupuru…”
The Den Den Mushi rang for a long time before it was slowly answered.
“Hello—Fleet Admiral Sengoku?”
A lazy voice came from the receiver, with the faint sound of ice clinking against a glass in the background.
“Why did you decide to call me, old man?
I haven’t finished my vacation yet.”
“Your vacation ends early.”
“There is something I need you to handle.
Four Marine bases in the South Blue have been attacked in succession, suspected to be the work of a Lucky Lucky Fruit user…”
There was a silence on the other end for a few seconds, followed by a helpless sigh.
“Ah…
what a drag.
Fine, I got it.
I’ll head out tomorrow.”