Chapter Sixty-Five: Justice

In the underground tavern, where the atmosphere was tinged with gloom, an elderly man sat alone behind the bar, shrouded in a sense of decay. The tavern was called "Gol D. Roger," and Rowan felt a faint familiarity with the place, though he couldn't quite recall which storyline had featured this scene. After all, it had been ten years since he'd crossed over into this world. Aside from the main cast and major events, much of the original work had faded from his memory.

"You handled the matter in Cocoyasi Village well," Smoker remarked after a long silence, puffing on his cigar as he sat at the table.

"It was only a minor fish-man pirate crew, nothing significant," Rowan replied, shaking his head.

"You know I'm not referring to the fish-men," Smoker continued. He couldn't fathom why Rowan pretended not to understand, but chose to spell out his meaning directly.

"Colonel Mouse, then? What do you plan to do with him—and with those sycophantic marines in the Sixteenth Branch?" Rowan's lips curled into a faint, mocking smile as he posed the question.

Smoker said nothing, inhaling deeply and finishing his cigar in one breath. When he finally exhaled a long plume of smoke, he sighed, "You know, even when it comes to pirates, unless they die in battle, the navy usually only locks them up in Impel Down."

Because of Rowan's identity, Smoker didn't bother with pretenses, stating the truth outright. To be honest, he despised corrupt officers like Mouse and Morgan, who tarnished the navy's reputation. But the rules within the navy were unyielding, and as a mere colonel, he had no power to change them.

Rowan nodded; he still remembered this aspect of the Pirate King world. "So, can you tell me—when you acted against Morgan and Mouse, what were you thinking?"

Smoker lit another cigar, as if unable to bear having an idle mouth. "What was I thinking?" Rowan glanced at the eavesdropping barkeep, chuckled softly, and asked, "Smoker, how do you define the word 'justice'?"

"Justice?" Smoker paused, then laughed at himself. "Even someone like Colonel Mouse doesn't believe in that word—do you?"

What did justice mean? Smoker understood better than most. It was precisely because his ideals clashed with those of some senior officers that, despite being a gifted natural-type ability user and an outstanding recruit, he had been relegated to Loguetown as a branch commander.

What did justice mean? Smoker never believed that simply sewing the word onto one's cloak and wearing it daily constituted justice. Nor did he think branding it onto the base in Headquarters amounted to justice. He might not be able to articulate it, but when it came to action, he clearly distinguished between what was truly just and what was mere formality.

For instance, the little girl who spilled ice cream on his trouser leg today—any other officer would have at best given her a cold look before walking away. He, however, did not act so indifferently.

"I believe in it—and so do you, don't you?" Rowan smiled as he answered.

Smoker smiled quietly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "So tell me—what's your real purpose? I doubt you came here just to drink with me."

Rowan's words served a double purpose: they answered both Smoker's question about justice and the earlier inquiry. Because he believed in justice, he dared to go against the grain and act against unjust marines.

In this world, aside from lawless pirates, the World Government reigned supreme, with the navy as its military arm extending its influence globally. To take action against the navy—one had to be either utterly lawless or hopelessly foolish.

"I want you to recommend me. I want to join Headquarters as a marine," Rowan said directly, seeing that Smoker was ready for the truth. He trusted Smoker's character—Smoker was the first in the anime to openly rebuke the higher-ups for their misdeeds.

During the Alabasta incident, Smoker was anything but pleased when the credit was placed upon him by the higher-ups; instead, he argued with them over it. How many such officers could the navy boast?

"Join Headquarters? You have no shortage of ambition," Smoker was momentarily stunned, then broke into a laugh. He naturally supported Rowan joining the navy, but aiming for Headquarters was another matter. Given Rowan's age and his strength—enough to defeat branch colonels—he would surely draw attention in Headquarters, perhaps even be trained as a candidate for admiral.

"Recommending you is no problem, but with the incidents involving Mouse and Morgan, the hardliners among the senior staff might not view you favorably," Smoker admitted, having little hope given his own demotion to Loguetown—he understood those stubborn officers better than anyone.

"Morgan's case can be resolved. Here is a petition from the citizens of Shells Town and the marines of Branch 153; the hardliners won't ignore it," Rowan said. "As for Mouse, I don't want him to remain alive."

He then recounted the morning's unexpected events to Smoker. After what happened at dawn, Rowan felt Morgan was redeemable. Mouse, however, was different—the hateful look in his eyes was unforgettable, and his incorrigible nature meant he'd surely sabotage Rowan if allowed to live.

Rowan didn't intend to stay in the navy forever, but he planned to spend a few years there. With a sycophant like Mouse lurking about, he couldn't rest easy.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do," Smoker agreed after hearing Rowan's account. He, too, found Mouse irredeemable and felt the urge to eliminate him. If Mouse returned to Headquarters, Rowan would inevitably be forced into the navy's opposition—a prospect Smoker didn't want. Better a comrade like Rowan than a branch colonel colluding with pirates.

"That settles it. I think this letter my father left me will also make Headquarters take this matter more seriously," Rowan added, producing not only the petition but also the letter his father had left him.

Seeing the two letters, Smoker felt much more confident. For the face-conscious higher-ups, a petition from the townsfolk and the identity of a navy undercover agent's orphan were assets not to be ignored.

The conversation concluded, Rowan glanced at the untouched vodka before himself and Smoker, and couldn't help but smile wryly—they'd spoken of drinking, but neither had touched a drop.

Leaving the tavern, Rowan and Smoker returned to the navy base; one headed to his office, the other, escorted by a marine, went to the guest quarters.

"Captain Bell, I need you to carry out a task," Smoker said sternly in his smoke-filled office.