Graveyard of Ships, New World
The Marine battleship cut steadily across the waves, its great dog-headed figurehead glaring forward with sharp wooden teeth. The sea was unnaturally calm, the kind of silence that made lesser men's guts twist. The horizon ahead shimmered faintly, marking the invisible line into Donquixote waters — a stretch of sea whispered of in hushed tones as a graveyard of ships.
"Garp-Chūjō…!" one of the officers stammered, sweat dripping down his temple as his knuckles clenched the railing. "We—we've already crossed into Donquixote family territory. Should we… proceed?" His words trembled in the salty air, but the reply he received was a resounding snore.
On the main deck, Vice Admiral Garp lay sprawled in a ridiculous beach chair, his massive frame folded into it as though he had dragged half a resort with him. His nose whistled with every breath, the rumble of his snores loud enough to rattle the deck planks. Beside him sat a half-finished bag of senbei crackers, crumbs scattered like fallen shells around his chair.
And right next to him — as if it were the most natural thing in the world — lay Admiral Aokiji. The man who froze oceans was stretched out flat on the deck, wearing a sleep mask that covered half his face, his arms folded under his head as though he hadn't a care in the world. Every rise and fall of the waves rocked his long frame into a deeper nap. Between the two of them — mentor and student, legend and admiral — the so-called "spear and shield" of the Marines looked more like a pair of drifters on vacation than humanity's greatest weapons.
The poor officer's throat went dry. Here they were, approaching on the doorstep of a Yonko's dominion, a place where entire fleets vanished without so much as a splinter left behind… and their strongest men were asleep.
The crew was a bundle of nerves — hands fidgeting on rifles, cannons already primed, eyes darting to the skies for the rumored glow of Donquixote energy weapons. To them, every creak of the waves sounded like a death sentence.
"Chūjō…" the officer whispered again, almost pleading.
"Graaaahhh—snrk!" Garp's reply was another earth-shaking snore.
The man swallowed hard. What kind of monsters sleep this deep in the lion's den?!
Finally, salvation came — in the form of a groggy yawn. Aokiji stirred, his hand lifting the edge of his sleep mask just enough to reveal one half-lidded eye. He didn't look at the officer, who was trembling at attention. Instead, he tilted his head lazily toward the only other figure on deck who carried himself with absolute composure.
"Bogard san…" Aokiji's voice was slow, a rolling tide that barely ruffled the air. "…let's weigh anchor here. No need barging in uninvited."
He stretched once, bones cracking, before sinking back into his makeshift pillow. "They've must have already noticed us. If we're welcome, we'll know soon enough. If not… well." His mask slid back over his eyes. "…better to face their weapons on a full stomach."
And with that, the Admiral of the Marines went back to sleep. The officer blinked, slack-jawed. Full stomach?!
Bogard, ever the quiet shadow beside Garp, adjusted his sword at his hip and gave a single nod. No fuss, no theatrics. He relayed the orders with calm precision, his voice steady enough to cut through the crew's panic.
"Drop anchor."
Within minutes, chains rattled and the dog-headed battleship groaned to a halt in the middle of the ocean — motionless, vulnerable, waiting. The crew obeyed, though their hands shook, their gazes darting nervously across the horizon.
Garp shifted in his chair, smacked his lips, and rolled over, muttering in his sleep. "Mm… another bag of crackers…"
The officer pressed a hand to his face, despair gnawing at his chest. To stand in forbidden waters under the protection of two legends should have been reassuring… yet watching those same legends nap through certain death only made the whole ordeal feel like a nightmare.
Minutes stretched into hours.
The dog-headed battleship sat still in the water, its sails fluttering lazily in the salted wind. The tension that had once gripped the crew like a vice had softened into uneasy silence. For the Marines, silence itself was strange comfort. According to all reports, any ship foolish enough to trespass Donquixote waters without sanction was annihilated within moments — cut apart by unseen weapons, swallowed whole by the sea, reduced to splinters and silence. And yet, here they floated, untouched, unburned.
Still, the anxiety lingered.
Eyes darted nervously across the horizon. Hands clutched rifle stocks tight enough to turn knuckles white. The men and women on board knew well where they stood — in the domain of a Yonko, a graveyard of ships.
And their supposed pillars of safety?
Vice Admiral Garp was still sprawled in his ridiculous beach chair, drooling slightly, snoring like the world itself could never wake him. Admiral Aokiji lay beside him with his blindfold still on, appearing fast asleep though his chest rose and fell with a deliberate slowness that suggested otherwise. To the crew, their leaders looked less like saviors and more like lazy old cats basking in the sun.
Then, without warning, Garp's snoring stopped.
The Marine Hero shifted, grunted, and with a casualness that defied the tension around him, rolled to his feet. He stretched, joints popping like gunfire, and lumbered toward the railing. His heavy footsteps thudded against the deck, each one drawing the eyes of the crew.
"…Tch." Garp's voice was gravel, amused and irritated all at once. He scratched his ear as though waking from a nap. "The brat still can't help himself… after all these years, still showing off with these flashy little stunts."
His eyes narrowed, distant yet sharp. His observation haki swept the horizon like a stormfront. Even someone of his monstrous caliber had almost missed it — the presence hiding just below the calm surface of the sea. Subtle. Refined. Sharpened to the point where even Garp's instincts had almost been deceived.
Behind him, a soft shuffle. Aokiji rose, slipping off his sleep mask. His long frame straightened, shadows sliding away from his face to reveal the sharp calm of a man who had not been asleep at all. His gaze, lazy as ever, tracked the sea.
The calm water heaved. The ship that had drifted gently moments ago suddenly rocked violently as the ocean split open like a wound.
FWOOM!
A massive pillar of seawater erupted skyward, towering over the battleship like a titan's spear. The crew screamed and clung to ropes and railings as the wave threatened to crush the ship beneath its weight. The deck groaned, masts tilted, panic flared — but at the railing, Garp merely snorted through his nose, unimpressed, as if watching a child's tantrum.
Aokiji walked forward, boots clacking on the swaying deck, calm as though the ship weren't seconds from capsizing. His presence was cool, collected, a counterweight to the chaos around them. He joined Garp at the railing, eyes following the explosion of seawater.
And from the heart of the torrent… a figure burst forth.
The sea itself seemed to bend to his will, carrying him aloft like a throne of water. He rode the pillar skyward before twisting through the spray, his cloak billowing as he landed with bone-cracking force atop the massive dog-headed figurehead of the battleship.
THOOM!
The shock of his landing rattled the entire ship, scattering loose crates and nearly toppling a few sailors. The figure stood tall, droplets streaming down his form, the sun catching on his outline like a halo. An aura of oppressive weight pressed over the deck — not killing intent, but authority, the kind that made weaker wills tremble without reason.
Behind him, a fishman surfaced, keeping his distance making no attempt to board the marine ship. His broad chest heaved, his face grim, but he made no move to attack. The great whale shark fishman had not been harmed — but the weight of invisible chains hung on him, clear to anyone watching. He was not free. All eyes locked on the man standing on their prow.
"Ah… Garp-sensei." My voice cut cleanly across the crashing waves, smooth yet edged with iron. "Did you lose your navigator? Or perhaps you simply missed me and decided to drop by uninvited?"
The crew froze. The weight of the name, the presence, the sheer audacity of the man standing on their figurehead — it could only be one.
My gaze shifted, falling upon the tall man who now stood at Garp's side. A faint smile tugged my lips.
"Long time no see… Kuzan-san. It's been a while since we trained together under the old man's fist, hasn't it?" The tone was casual, almost conversational — but beneath it lingered a sharpened edge, as though each word tested the air between them. "I hear you had a run-in with Scarlett recently. The heavenly tribute was… lost, wasn't it? I can only imagine how furious those crusty fossils at Mariejois must have been."
The words hit the deck like hammer strikes. The crew stiffened, muttering in confusion, unease prickling their nerves. Even speaking such things aloud was dangerous.
Finally, my eyes found Bogard. For him, there was no challenge, no taunt. Only a single nod — curt, sharp, respectful. Bogard's head dipped in return, equally restrained. Between warriors, no further words were needed.
The deck was still. The sea roared in the silence. And on the figurehead of the dog-headed battleship, the Donquixote family's Rosinante stood tall, his entrance seared into the minds of every Marine present — a reminder that even in their own legends' presence, they were guests in a lion's den.
"Arara…" Kuzan's drawl rolled across the deck like a lazy tide. He tilted his head, one eye half-open beneath the mask he had just lifted. "Aren't you supposed to be a Devil Fruit user, Rosinante? How come you're swimming through the ocean like a fish, when every law of nature says you should be sinking to the bottom? Care to share the secret…?"
His tone was casual, but the tension on deck sharpened at his words. Every Marine there knew the truth: the man perched on their figurehead wasn't just another pirate. He was one of the most dangerous beings alive, a pirate with an active bounty surpassing five billion berries. Yet here was Admiral Kuzan, speaking to him with the same laziness he reserved for old friends.
I smirked, dropping lightly from the figurehead and landing on the deck as though the world beneath me was nothing more than a stage for my performance. "Well, Kuzan-san, maybe it's a perk of being as handsome as I am. Who knows? If you weren't so… aesthetically challenged, perhaps the sea wouldn't reject you either."
For a heartbeat, silence. Then—
"Pffft—ahahaha!" Kuzan actually chuckled, shaking his head as he brushed frost-damp hair from his face. "You never change…"
"Bwahahahaha!" Garp's thunderous laugh boomed across the deck, drowning out even the crashing of waves. His beach chair scraped as he rose, towering over the others with the presence of a giant. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of mirth and irritation as he cracked his knuckles.
"Narcissistic brat! Seems to me you're long overdue for another beating. Making us wait while you had a leisurely swim? Hah! Don't think I don't see through you. You could've been here in a fraction of the time if you'd flown. You deliberately made us wait, didn't you?!"
To Garp, I could have leveled mountains or split seas — it didn't matter. In his eyes, I would always be that boy he'd once hammered into the ground during training, his wayward student who needed a good punch to keep in line.
I lifted a hand in mock surrender, my grin unrepentant. "Ah, about that… I had to take a little detour."
My gesture slid toward the water, where Jinbei still swam cautiously alongside the battleship, his massive frame breaking the surface like a shadowed ridge. Garp's gaze flicked toward the fishman for only a moment, weighing him in silence. But Kuzan's sharp eyes narrowed with curiosity.
"One of yours…?" The admiral's voice carried no judgment, only quiet interest. He adjusted his coat, his gaze never leaving Jinbei. "Strange...! Rumor has it your family's ties with Fishman Island are… severed. That you've completely withdrawn your support. Are you sure about leaving the fishmen to their fate, Rosinante? If the World Government chooses to punish them for ever aligning with you, they'll suffer. You're leaving them unguarded."
For a moment, the crew held their breath. It was the kind of question that could ripple far beyond this deck, into the politics of the sea itself.
I tilted my head, my expression smooth but edged with disdain. "Seems your government's spies are busy again. Yes — we pulled back. That was expected. But tell me, Kuzan…" My eyes sharpened, cutting through the admiral's lazy veneer.
"Would you or your government colleagues from the Cipher Pol truly dare to touch Fishman Island while Whitebeard's flag flies over it? Even your oh-so-sacred elders know better than to risk an open war with him. But then…even if they do suffer, that has nothing to do with me or my family anymore; they made their choice."
The words fell like thunder. Around us, the crew shifted uncomfortably. The name Whitebeard carried weight — too much weight.
"Speaking of choices…" I said, my tone softening into something almost playful as I leaned lazily against the railing. The tension on deck loosened just slightly under the casual weight of my words. "I haven't yet congratulated you, Kuzan-san. Admiral, huh? Quite the promotion. How's the new position treating you? Are the pay and perks as good as they say…?"
My smirk curved wider, laced with mock innocence, though every Marine within earshot felt the deliberate provocation underneath.
Kuzan scratched the back of his head sheepishly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Arara… well, I can't complain, I suppose. The treatment is much better than when I was a Vice Admiral. More respect… fewer chores." His voice carried its usual lazy charm, as though being one of the four strongest weapons of the Marines was little more than a mild inconvenience.
The men on deck exchanged uneasy glances. To them, this sounded less like two enemies standing opposite on the chessboard of the world, and more like two old comrades trading jabs over drinks.
I let out a low chuckle. "I see, so the rumors are true. Become an Admiral and suddenly the world bows a little lower, eh? Not bad, Kuzan-san, not bad." Then, just as quickly, my smile thinned, the amusement in my eyes sharpening into something keener. The atmosphere shifted, the air tightening around us like a drawn bowstring.
"Well, jokes aside…" My voice cut across the deck, clear and commanding. "I wonder what brings both of you into Donquixote waters. Surely this cannot be a simple routine patrol. No… when the Hero of the Marines and the newly appointed Admiral Kuzan arrive together, it smells of something else entirely."
I let the silence stretch, heavy and suffocating. "So tell me… what scheme is Fleet Admiral Sengoku cooking this time? What game does your Government think it's playing, sending its brightest hammer and sharpest blade straight into my seas?"
The question wasn't loud, but it reverberated through the timbers of the ship, down into the spines of every soul aboard. For the crew, it was as though a storm had just loomed on the horizon — unseen but inevitable.
"Ross… you already know why we're here," Garp said, his tone calm but weighted. The Hero of the Marines stood with his arms crossed, the sea breeze tugging at his coat. "I'm sure your Donquixote spies in the Marines have already passed the word along. So tell me—what's it going to be? Do we clash here, or will you let us take a leisurely stroll into Dressrosa to finish our mission and return to HQ?"
There was no bite in his voice, no posturing. Just truth. Garp understood better than anyone that while bonds tied them once as mentor and protégé, today they stood on opposite shores. Ideals had split them. Paths had diverged. If this were any other Yonko, Garp would have stormed into their territory without hesitation, fists blazing.
But even he wasn't arrogant enough to think he could drag a single battleship and its crew into a direct clash against an entire Yonko family and expect them all to live. With Kuzan and Bogard at his side, perhaps he could wound. Perhaps he could shake the heavens. But at what cost? Too many innocent Marines would be dragged down to the abyss. And if there was even the smallest chance to resolve this without blood… Garp would take it.
"That's a tall ask, Garp-san," I replied, my voice calm, though my eyes sharpened. "You're asking me to let a Marine battleship stroll freely into my family's territory as though it were your backyard."
Before I could finish, Garp's smirk split wide, a mocking gleam in his eyes. "Bwahahaha… What's the matter, brat? Afraid? I thought the boy I once taught had more backbone…" His voice boomed across the deck, sending shivers down spines.
"Afraid you won't be able to stop me if I decide to cause trouble inside Dressrosa? If that's the case, I can understand. Old men like me can be hard to leash."
The deck shook with his laughter. Many thought Garp was all brawl and no wit—but the old man knew how to taunt, how to push, how to bait the beast in front of him into baring its fangs.
I tilted my head, a dangerous smile ghosting across my lips. "Do you really think that, Garp-san? Or is old age finally getting to you, and dulling those senses of yours…?"
And then— The world broke.
For the first time since I landed on the ship, I let go of my restraint. My Haki, coiled tight within me, unfurled like a tidal wave from the abyss. Haoshoku. The will of a king. No, the will of a god descending upon mortals.
The sky itself seemed to shudder. Clouds split as though raked by claws of invisible fury, spiraling outward in jagged rings. The sea, once calm, bucked violently, great walls of water heaving upward as though the ocean itself sought to bow.
The dog-headed battleship—a vessel reinforced and custom-built to withstand Garp's overwhelming might—groaned in agony. Steel plates screeched and warped, timbers split with thunderous cracks. The deck beneath my feet fractured, wood splintering like dry bone.
One by one, Marines collapsed where they stood, their eyes rolling white before consciousness fled them. Bodies fell like wheat under the scythe, hundreds erased by the sheer pressure of my will.
Even Admiral Aokiji staggered. His lazy eyes widened for the first time, sweat breaking across his brow as his knees bent under the crushing weight. The air itself thickened like molten iron, dragging him down, each breath a labor. His hand twitched, wanting to use his ice logia ability to transform his body into ice so he could better resist the pressure—but to his surprise and shock, the haki from Rosinante was even negating his devil fruit abilities, suppressing them to an extent that far exceeded the limit of even what Kairoseki could achieve on him, so he held fast, gritting against the tide.
Bogard strained, his composure steel-bound, his blade-calloused fingers tightening on his hilt. His body bent slightly, legs shifting into a deeper stance, anchoring himself against the hurricane of my spirit. The man was iron, but even iron bends in a storm.
And then—Garp.
Only he stood tall, though even his grin faltered for a heartbeat. His own Haoshoku surged outward instinctively, a titan's roar clashing against mine, forming an unseen dome of pressure that shielded what little crew remained conscious. Two wills collided, unseen but undeniable, the heavens themselves trembling as the clash rattled across dozens of miles. Birds plummeted lifeless from the sky. The sea split for leagues, the abyss laid bare as monsters fled into the depths.
Yet, in the old marine's heart, awe flickered.
"This brat… it's just been more than a year since Sabaody…" Garp thought, his teeth gritting as his aura pushed back against mine. "He's grown into something monstrous…no, something beyond monstrous. His Haoshoku isn't just stronger than mine—it's suppressing it. This isn't the will of a king anymore… it's the will of a conqueror who bends the world to his whim."
The ship shuddered, caught between two storms—but it was clear which storm dominated.
I stood, unflinching, eyes like burning coals, my presence and haki spiraling higher, sharper, crushing. For every man on that deck, there was no longer a Marine battleship. No longer a sea. No longer sky. There was only my will, suffocating, inescapable, and eternal.
I spoke, my voice rolling like thunder across the silence of the trembling sea.
"Afraid…? No, Garp-san. It is you who should be afraid."