Chapter 38 – A Man with Red Hair and Hawk Eyes
In the second half of the Grand Line, deep within the New World, there stood a vast island known as Hyberion Island.
It was also widely called Giant Tree Island—a name earned from the hundreds of massive Hyberion trees that towered into the heavens.
Once fully grown, a single Hyberion could reach heights of over a thousand meters. Its thick canopy spread so wide it blotted out the sun, casting the entire forest below into an eternal twilight.
Because these giants drank in almost all the sunlight, other plants found it nearly impossible to grow beneath their shade.
Still, Hyberion wood was famous for its strength and durability. True, it couldn't match the legendary Adam Wood in quality—but its sheer abundance made it incredibly valuable.
That was why Hyberion Island often became the prize in bloody struggles between powerful New World pirate crews.
Recently, however, the island had been unusually peaceful. For now, it was under the protection of one of the most feared crews on the seas—the Red-Haired Pirates.
— — —
A deep, resonant crash echoed through the forest.
Beneath trunks as wide as castle towers, two young men—each nearly two meters tall—were locked in fierce combat.
Both wielded long blades, their strikes and counters so fast and heavy they blurred beyond the reach of ordinary sight.
Whenever their swords even grazed a Hyberion trunk, the ground itself shuddered violently.
These giants, which had stood for centuries, fell like paper to their slashes. In mere minutes, dozens of the mighty trees had been cut down.
One of the men wore a straw hat, its brim trembling with each gust of wind. Strands of red hair peeked out from beneath, swaying with his movements.
He pressed one hand to the hat to keep it in place, the other gripping a long, curved pirate's saber with an ornate guard. With calm precision, he met his opponent's strike head-on.
The man before him was unmistakable—short black hair, a thin beard, and a black wide-brimmed hat adorned with a white plume. But it was his eyes that commanded the air around him: golden irises, sharp and unyielding, like a hawk's gaze.
The weapon in his hands was just as imposing—Yoru, the massive black blade in the shape of a cross, radiating an invisible, cutting pressure.
— — —
No one knew how long they fought before finally coming to a stop.
The red-haired man exhaled heavily, pulling his sword free from the earth and planting it in the grass before dropping into a relaxed seat.
The hawk-eyed swordsman slid Yoru back into its scabbard with a measured motion, folding his arms across his chest. He stood silently, as if words were unnecessary.
From where he sat, the redhead looked up and spoke.
"Mihawk, have you heard the news? The Golden Lion… Shiki… is dead. Killed by a Marine swordsman."
Mihawk's eyes gleamed, catching the light like polished gold.
"Shanks… you knew of Shiki? I heard… he was counted among the world's greatest swordsmen."
Shanks tilted his head back slightly, as though recalling something from long ago.
"My old captain once told me about him… Shiki the Golden Lion."
"He was one of the few men my captain recognized as a true rival."
Hearing that, a spark of interest—sharp and burning—lit within Mihawk's eyes.
Shanks, noticing it, lowered his head just enough to hide his expression. A faint, sly smile curved across his lips.
Finally… I've got a reason to send Mihawk on his way.
No one will ever know just how exhausting this past month has been with him around…
— — —
Marineford – Navy Headquarters, Main Harbor
The warship Blue Dragon slowly eased into port.
Tachibana Kyūjō—now standing a full three meters tall, on par with a Marine admiral—stepped down onto the dock with steady, confident strides. His subordinates from G-2 Base followed in perfect formation.
Every Marine in the harbor snapped their right hands up in salute.
"Vice Admiral Seiryu!"
Kyūjō gave a faint smile, resting one hand on the hilt of the black blade Rairyūken at his waist.
"Good work, everyone."
With that, he led his men out of the harbor toward Marineford's central complex.
This time, he hadn't come for a mission. He was here to receive an official commendation—and Fleet Admiral Sengoku had even nominated him as the next potential admiral.
— — —
Accompanied only by his two closest aides—Hina and Amos—Kyūjō entered Sengoku's office.
The fleet admiral greeted him with a warm smile, the kind a proud father might give his son.
Kyūjō let out a long breath.
"Uncle Sengoku… if you're just giving me a medal, couldn't you have sent it over? Why drag me all the way from G-2?"
Sengoku arched a brow, his smile shifting into something more amused.
"If the medal's not important to you, then… how about the ten billion berries in prize money? Should I just send someone else to deliver it?"
Before Kyūjō could answer, Sengoku added dryly:
"Or maybe I should send someone to collect it from you instead."
Ten… billion… berries.
Kyūjō's eyes lit up instantly. He stepped forward, laughing awkwardly.
"Uncle Sengoku, what are you talking about? This is an honor and a responsibility as a Marine. Of course I have to receive it personally!"
"Giving it to someone else would be an insult to that honor. So… I'll take it here. Oh, and, uh… where's the money?"
Sengoku could only sigh. In the corner, Monkey D. Garp was already laughing his head off.
Kyūjō glanced over.
"I thought you were going to hide from me forever, Grandpa Garp. Didn't Uncle Sengoku promise you'd teach me the advanced use of Busoshoku Haki? If you do, I won't hold a grudge over that little incident where you almost beat me to death."
Garp scratched the back of his head awkwardly, shot Sengoku a look, then gave a small nod.
Kyūjō grinned.
"Come on, Grandpa Garp. Don't make that face. I'm not the grudge-holding type. I know it wasn't on purpose. In battle, injuries happen. A man afraid of getting hurt… can never become a true swordsman."
Sengoku stared blankly at the two of them.
When… exactly… did I promise him that?
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