The marine base at Shells Town buzzed with daily routine, but in one of the quieter training yards, Koby and Helmeppo stood in nervous silence, sweat beading on their foreheads despite the shade of the archway.
They weren't just waiting for any instructor.
They were waiting for Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp — the Hero of the Marines.
The ground seemed to quake before the man himself even appeared. Then came the voice — booming, amused, and terrifyingly cheerful.
"Oi, you brats! Are these the so-called new recruits I'm supposed to whip into shape?"
Garp, tall and broad-shouldered with his white dog cap and signature laugh, strolled into view, cracking his knuckles like cannon fire.
Helmeppo stood stiff. "Y-Yes, Vice Admiral Garp, sir!"
Koby saluted instantly. "It's an honor, sir! We're ready to become strong marines!"
Garp's eyes gleamed with mischief. He clapped both of them on the shoulders with a force that almost dislocated them.
"Strong? You two couldn't knock out a Sea King's sneeze. But I like the guts."
Then, without warning, he pulled back his arm and punched both recruits skyward, sending them flying into the wall behind them like sacks of potatoes.
"Lesson one," he grinned."Pain builds character."
As Koby groaned, he blinked back stars and whispered, "He's… so powerful…"
Helmeppo, buried halfway in the wall, wheezed, "My spine is character now…"
Garp laughed heartily, hands on his hips.
"I'll make proper men out of you yet! The age of weak marines is over!"
From that moment, the training from hell began.
It had been only two days since Vice Admiral Garp took Koby and Helmeppo under his iron wing, but to them, it felt like they'd aged ten years.
Both recruits were now stationed at a marine training base in the East Blue under Garp's direct command — but instead of sword drills or naval tactics, they found themselves buried under an avalanche of... chores.
Koby was knee-deep in soap bubbles, scrubbing the deck of a massive marine warship under the harsh midday sun. His uniform clung to him, soaked and soapy. Still, his eyes held a fire.
"This is part of it," he told himself, voice shaky but determined. "A real marine doesn't shy away from the smallest duty."
Meanwhile, Helmeppo, who once wore silk and jewels as the spoiled son of Captain Morgan, was currently peeling potatoes in the base's steaming hot kitchen, his soft hands already blistered and bandaged.
"This is abuse," he muttered. "Manual labor is for commoners…"
SMACK!
A cook slapped him on the back of the head with a ladle. "We heard that, pretty boy! Get peeling or you'll be the next stew ingredient!"
Later that day, they were assigned to clean the Marine dog kennels. Koby did it without question — gagging a little but pushing through. Helmeppo, however, screamed the moment a pup licked his cheek.
"HELP! I'm being mauled!"
"It's a puppy, you drama queen," Koby said, trying not to laugh.
That night, as they dragged themselves to their shared bunk, bruised, stinking, and exhausted, they lay in silence for a long moment.
"Helmeppo," Koby whispered, "do you ever think we're just… not cut out for this?"
"…All the time," Helmeppo said honestly. Then, after a beat, he added, "But Garp's punch today only broke two ribs instead of three. That's improvement."
They chuckled, and even in the sore ache of their bones, there was something warm. A small step. A beginning.
Outside their window, Garp stood in the moonlight, arms crossed, watching them from afar with a rare, proud smirk.
"Those boys'll be monsters someday."
Training wasn't just about lifting weights and scrubbing decks — Garp had made that clear. Every moment, even the humiliating chores, was part of building character and strength. But now, after a week of grueling grunt work and explosive punches, the real training began.
Helmeppo stood in front of the base's weapon rack, still bruised and a little swollen. But his eyes gleamed — not with arrogance like in his Morgan days — but curiosity and thought.
Garp had tossed a towel at him earlier in the morning and said, "You want to fight like a man? Pick something that suits your cowardly limbs."
Helmeppo grumbled but obeyed.
He ran his fingers over sabers, staffs, and broadswords until his eyes landed on a familiar shape — a pair of curved machetes.
"These…" he whispered, lifting them with a grunt.
Not too heavy, not too fragile. Fast. Dirty. Practical. They reminded him of who he used to be — but this time, he didn't feel shame. He felt focus.
He looked toward the practice field where a dummy stood alone.
Slash. Slash. Spin. Stab.
Awkward at first — but there was promise. There was form.
From behind, Garp observed with arms crossed and a subtle nod.
"At least he knows how to hold them. Let's see if he can use them without crying."
While Helmeppo trained, Koby stood beside Garp as the older man stared out toward the sea, arms folded behind his back.
Koby, hands still slightly red from cleaning cannon barrels, hesitated before speaking.
"Vice Admiral Garp… I want to know how you fight. What makes you so strong… even without a Devil Fruit?"
Garp glanced down, one thick eyebrow raised. "You think strength is about flashy tricks, boy?"
Koby stood straighter. "No, sir! I just… want to understand what makes a real marine strong."
There was a pause, and then Garp grinned.
"It's simple. I trust my fists more than I trust anything else. The heart behind the punch matters more than the punch itself."
He clenched his fist and held it toward the sea.
"I've shattered ships with this. But only because I believe in what I protect. Justice. Freedom. The people."
Then, unexpectedly, Garp punched the air in front of him — and the shockwave alone split the clouds above.
Koby's mouth fell open.
Garp looked at him.
"You want to be strong? Then start with that tiny heart of yours. Make it big enough to carry your convictions. The rest will follow."
Koby bowed deeply, fire burning in his chest.
"Yes, sir. I'll learn. I swear it."
Training under Garp the Fist was like trying to survive a typhoon made of punches.
For Koby and Helmeppo, the daily regimen had shifted from chores to combat training — brutal, relentless, and sometimes absurd.
Every day began the same:
"WAKE UP, YOU SEA WORMS!"
Before the sun even peeked over the horizon, Garp's voice would crack the sky. And by the time Koby rubbed his eyes, Garp's fist would already be swinging — not to kill, but to motivate.
Helmeppo once tried to pretend he was dead to avoid it. Garp threw him into the ocean.
Each day was a gauntlet:
100 push-ups
50 squats with cannonballs
10 laps around the warship carrying marine dogs (yes, dogs)
And finally, 1 spar with Garp.
Koby trained mostly in boxing footwork, clean stances, and iron will. His punches started weak — like a breeze — but Garp encouraged him:
"The more you believe in your strike, the heavier it hits!"
Helmeppo, on the other hand, trained in double-bladed machete styles. Garp mocked him every time his swing was too flashy.
"You fighting pirates or dancing a ballet?!"
But slowly — very slowly — both began to improve.
"WE DID IT!" — BONK
On the tenth day, Koby finally landed a clean uppercut on a practice dummy.
His eyes sparkled. He turned around, fists trembling with joy.
"I DID IT! VICE ADMIRAL GAR—"
SMASH!
A fist crashed into his skull from above, flattening him into the dirt. Stars twirled around his head like fireflies.
Garp stood over him, unimpressed.
"Never celebrate like a moron mid-battle, brat. A real marine stays sharp."
A few minutes later, Helmeppo disarmed three marines in a mock battle drill. He twirled his machetes, smirking with pride.
"Did you see that?! Koby, I'm a figh—"
CRACK!
Another mighty fist came down on him from behind.
"Your enemy won't clap for your tricks, pretty boy."
By sunset, the boys were bruised and swollen but smiling through missing teeth and blackened eyes. There was no mercy, no soft moment.
But there was progress.
In the quiet after dinner, as they cleaned their wounds and patched each other up, Koby finally said it:
"I think I get it now. He's not just training our bodies…"
Helmeppo nodded. "Yeah. He's making sure we don't get killed the second we think we're safe."
Outside the window, Garp sipped his tea, still watching them silently.
"They'll thank me when they're alive," he muttered, grinning. "And they'll curse me every day until then."