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Chapter 1093: You Can Be a Kindergarten Principal
Chapter 1093: You Can Be a Kindergarten Principal
The Admiral—symbol of the World Government’s Navy’s ultimate combat power—Admiral.
With Borsalino stepping down and Kuro taking over, the news sent shockwaves across the world.
As the Grand Line’s most formidable hegemon, every move he made was naturally under the scrutiny of global powers.
After the Marineford-scale upheaval that saw Sengoku’s retirement and Sakazuki’s ascension, the two Admirals who rose from the World Recruitment—Kuzan and his successor—had already etched their legacies into history.
This time was no different. A new Admiral’s appointment meant renewed global attention.
Meanwhile, whispers of fear spread among pirates.
Unlike his predecessor Lucius Kro, Golden Lion’s reputation was chillingly clear. While Kro, though an Admiral, had a lenient nature—letting pirates escape if they fled—Golden Lion’s command saw few survivors. Those who crossed paths with him rarely left the Grand Line alive.
His approach contrasted sharply with the early days of Admirals Vegapunk and Tatsumaki, whose unproven combat prowess left many pirates guessing. But Golden Lion’s record was brutally tangible. If he became an Admiral, their lives would grow exponentially harder.
At that moment, on the mountaintop of a remote island in the Grand Line, a shadowy figure read the latest newspaper, baring his teeth in a gruesome grin. “Borsalino…” he muttered.
…
While pirates trembled at Golden Lion’s rise, Kuro now sat in the Admiral’s new office at Headquarters. He tilted his head, eyeing the plaque above him—engraved with “Justice of Safety”—and raised an eyebrow. “This doesn’t feel right.”
The seven-day celebration banquet had long ended: gifts given, feasts devoured, and everyone had returned to their duties as if nothing happened.
Kuro’s promotion meant his new office was swiftly prepared. The old plaque was discarded, replaced with a new one penned by the renowned calligrapher Sengoku.
Yes, the old man himself had written it. Sengoku’s handwriting was passable—his childhood obsession with calligraphy showed.
Yet no matter how Kuro stared, the characters screamed “overbearing” to him. The plaque seemed to exude the same domineering aura as Sengoku’s past deeds. The phrase “Justice Ruling Worldwide” had always carried that tone.
Kuro wanted something timid, safe—a style like “Gramps” Sengoku, but with a freer, more personal flair. Instead, Sengoku’s “Safety” felt like a threat: “Kill you, and I’ll be safe.” Stubborn, even.
Lucius Kro sat at the other end of the sofa, sipping tea leisurely. “Don’t like it? Sengoku rarely writes for others, you know.”
“It’s too overbearing. Doesn’t match my style,” Kuro grumbled, then shrugged. “Still, it’s a kind gesture. I’ll keep it—doubt anyone else’s words carry more weight.”
He lit a cigar, grinning at Lucius Kro. “Gramps, what’s next for you? Gonna retire to my Pegasus Island? You look bored. If you’re free, help me manage the surrounding areas. You know how pirates grow like weeds—neglect them, and they’ll sprout again. Needs proper cleansing.”
“Old man’s retired, remember? Not my problem anymore.” Lucius Kro shrugged.
“Cut it out. You’re just Supervision now. I’m the Admiral.” Kuro smirked. “Admiral’s orders—get moving.”
Finally, the tables had turned. Once, he followed orders; now, he commanded. Time to settle old scores!
“Just became Admiral and already bossing old superiors around? Scary, Kuro,” Lucius Kro teased, raising an eyebrow.
“Decided. And once you’re done, do whatever you want. Just… weed out the pirates. Easy, right?” Kuro grinned, adding playfully, “If you’re really stuck, become a kindergarten principal! The world’s full of orphans. You’ll stay busy.”
“Kindergarten? Orphanage?” Lucius Kro’s eyes gleamed with suspicion. “Your idea?”
“Huh? What idea? Just a joke,” Kuro stammered.
Lucius Kro chuckled. “Old man understands.”
He drained his tea, sighing. “Being Admiral really changes you—ordering old men around now.”
“Want me to take it back? Ask the Five Elders to hand the title back to you? I’ll gladly return as Vice Admiral under your command,” Kuro offered, half-serious.
Lucius Kro stood, smiling, and stepped outside. Glancing at the sky, he murmured, “Kindergarten, huh…”
“Lucius Kro, Supervision,” Klah greeted at the door, correcting himself hastily.
He’d almost called him Admiral—old habits died hard.
“You’re too formal. Call me Borsalino. Old man’s retired,” Lucius Kro laughed.
“Yes, Admiral Kuro.” Klah stood stiffly.
Rank-wise, Klah’s Vice Admiral role outranked Supervision—but Lucius Kro was the man who made Kuro. He’d abdicated willingly, passing the torch. To the World, he was a “former king” of the same bloodline. His words carried equal weight.
“You’re Kuro’s chief steward, right? He assigned me to find a kindergarten… orphanage. Hand me the details later,” Lucius Kro said, patting Klah’s shoulder before leaving.
Kindergarten? Orphanage?
Klah blinked rapidly. What signal was this?
He entered the office, saluting Kuro. “Admiral Kuro.”
“Finally! Come, handle this.”
Kuro gestured to a mountain of documents on his desk. “New stuff. Finish processing it today—or take it home. Overtime.”
Klah: “….”
He’d expected nothing less. When did Admiral Kuro ever do paperwork personally? From managing G-3’s affairs to nearly half the Navy, Klah handled it all.
But after just a few days in office, was this really Kuro’s top priority?
At least he’d grown accustomed to it.
Klah stacked part of the documents onto the coffee table, sat down, and casually asked, “Admiral Kuro… Supervision Borsalino mentioned something about a kindergarten. What does he mean?”
“Just a kindergarten. Probably bored, so I told him to take care of some orphans. Told him, didn’t I? Just do it. Gramps says jump, he jumps.” Kuro waved dismissively.
Klah nodded, then froze mid-pen. His grip tightened.
Something’s wrong here…
(End of Chapter)
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