"To be honest, sometimes I wonder if these towering giants pour all their nutrition into their muscles. Can't they spare even a little for their brains?" Michael sighed. "Haven't they heard of the word 'big oaf'?"
"Uh, if you have the time to complain, maybe you could pull the guy out of the water first?" Stella pointed at the big oaf still floating there. "And besides, wouldn't it be better to say it to his face?"
"Better how? I'm just muttering behind his back." Michael spread his wings, flew over the sea, and grabbed the oaf by the collar. "If I were saying it to his face, I'd compliment him for being tall, strong, and spirited, then ask if he's interested in training with the Marines."
With that, he tossed the big oaf onto the deck and flipped him over.
But when he saw the face, Michael froze for a moment.
Somehow… it felt familiar, like he had seen it before.
"Michael, I think we might actually be the ones at fault here." Stella pointed to the other side of the ship. "Look—the little boat is completely wrecked."
"Ah… even though it's Vegapunk's black technology, it was still just a prototype. This auto-pilot system is way too unreliable." Michael followed Stella's gesture and gave a helpless look. "Wait—hold up. You're calling that a little boat?"
"For someone over eight meters tall, yeah, that's definitely a little boat."
The ship smashed by the Seraphim wasn't small at all—it was a medium-sized sailboat, only about one-fifth smaller than the Going Merry.
That alone showed the Seraphim's speed and durability.
"Tch, forget it. Once he wakes up, we'll just have to compensate him." Michael shrugged, but then suddenly froze. "Wait, no—this route is exclusively cleared by Marine Headquarters. It's a Marine-only lane. How could a civilian vessel wander in?"
Michael looked carefully at the wreckage floating on the water. His face darkened as he pointed at a shredded black flag among the debris…
"Crude as the artwork is, I'm sure that's a skull."
"A skull…?" Stella blinked in surprise. "So this was a pirate ship?"
"Or just a big oaf who thinks he's a pirate."
Michael curled his lip, then pressed a palm hard against the oaf's chest.
A faint trace of Holy Light seeped quietly into his body.
Almost instantly, the man's eyes snapped open.
"Hah! Hah! I thought I was about to spend another stretch of time asleep at the bottom of the sea!"
The moment he spoke, both Michael and Stella froze.
This hulking giant over eight meters tall, with a mouth full of sharp teeth, actually spoke in the high-pitched voice of a boy.
That contrast was way too much.
"Hey, who are you, showing up on a Marine-only route… and sailing on a ship flying a pirate flag?"
"Eh? That's not a pirate flag!" The giant blinked his big eyes, and Michael actually saw pure innocence in them. "That's a Marine flag!"
"Marine flag my ass! How bad is your drawing!? And who the hell uses a black flag for the Marines!?"
"Huh!? There are rules like that!?"
Michael and the oaf stared wide-eyed at each other. Stella could only sigh.
The oaf's childishness was one thing—but in a way, Michael wasn't acting much more mature either.
"Enough. Tell me your name, your identity, and your age."
"I get it! Standard Marine questioning!" The oaf didn't resist at all. In fact, he eagerly sat down. With his fierce looks but childlike behavior, he looked like a feral monster playing at being a well-behaved kid. "My name is Jack! I'm from Fishman Island! A grouper fishman! And I'm ten years old!"
"What the hell!? How old!? Ten!?" Michael ground the words out through his teeth. "He's f***ing ten!?"
Only after that outburst did Michael's brain slowly start to work again.
Wait—Jack? A grouper fishman?
Isn't that the infamous "Ship-Sinker," almost unbeatable in battle, one of the Beast Pirates' three All-Stars—Drought Jack!?
And this kid is only ten!?
The same age as Marigold, one of Hancock's sisters!
Michael pressed his temples. No wonder—Drought Jack's fearsome appearance always made people forget that, aside from the main cast, he was actually one of the youngest prodigies around.
Just… not very bright. Which was already showing here.
"You're a fishman from Fishman Island?" Stella was stunned. Aside from his rows of sharp teeth, Jack didn't have many obvious fishman traits. "Wait, then why did you pass out in the water just now?"
"Uh… I think I got knocked out from the collision…" Jack tilted his head down to look at Stella, even while sitting. "Even if I hadn't, I still wouldn't have been able to move. I'm a Devil Fruit user—the Ancient Zoan Mammoth model of the Elephant-Elephant Fruit."
That hit one of Stella's blind spots.
Her questioning gaze turned to Michael.
"When a fishman eats a Devil Fruit, they also lose the ability to move in water. But thanks to their physiology, they don't actually drown."
As Michael explained, Jack nodded furiously in agreement.
And with that, Michael was completely certain of his identity.
This really was that blockhead—Drought Jack.
But wasn't he supposed to idolize the Beast Pirates? Why was he looking up to the Marines now?
"Even though we know your identity and age now, you still need to explain why you were on a Marine-only route…"
"I—I want to follow in Vice Admiral Michael's footsteps! To become a true Marine!" Suddenly, those innocent eyes lit up. "Wait… those pure white wings and platinum hair… You're Vice Admiral Michael, aren't you!?"
Before Michael could nod, two arms thicker than tree trunks scooped him right up.
"My idol! I want to be a Marine!"
Jack's tears and snot poured down his already fearsome face, making it even scarier.
"Stop, stop, stop! Fine, you want to be a Marine, but let me go first! Your snot is about to get all over me!"
Michael had reached his limit. Seeing that Jack wouldn't let go, he used the hidden strength his body belied, pried Jack's hands apart—
Then landed an uppercut that finally gave his ears some peace.
"Uh… Michael, is it really okay to beat up a ten-year-old like that?"
"Not okay?" Michael twitched his lip. "That punch was half my strength—and it barely managed to knock this kid out!"
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