At a wordless signal from both captains, the ships closed fast and kissed hull to hull with a thud.
Battle erupted in an instant, though the mood was… peculiar.
There was no fight to the death, more a grand brawl themed around Arrest versus Escape.
Silvers Rayleigh crossed blades with a Navy vice admiral whose rank insignia had plenty of weight. Steel flashed, yet both men skimmed away from vital points with almost courteous precision.
Scopper Gaban's axes howled as he traded brute force with a hand-to-hand specialist. It was more arm wrestling with weapons than murder.
The loudest of the lot were the two brats. Back to back, Shanks and Buggy bounced through clusters of Marines, half raw swordwork and half dirty tricks, flipping the ranks like crab pots.
The whole field was joyous chaos. Shouts, steel, laughter, and cursing blended into one riotous tide.
And the author of today's chaos, the man who had ruined Kael Grylls's perfect morning, Monkey D. Garp, was happily trading shots with Roger himself.
Every clash of fist and blade threw out visible shockwaves that bowled bystanders like pins.
"Fist Bone, Meteor Drop!"
"Divine Departure!"
Black-red lightning kept detonating between them, as if space itself flinched from their fun.
Middle-aged men with middle-aged firepower.
Everyone is play-acting, but you two are going hard?
At the edge of the riot, one presence felt very different.
Kael stood there in a soaked floral shirt that clung to him like a shroud. Water dripped from his hair. His face was unreadable, but in those gold eyes burned a coal of pure grievance.
His private lounger.
His favorite shirt.
His beautiful day.
And his perfect orange juice, ice cold, two lemon slices, first sip taken.
Gone. All of it.
The culprit was over there having the time of his life with the captain.
Kael's gaze slid to the monster of a Marine vice admiral.
Could not beat him. Not even close.
Revenge for a gentleman can wait ten years. I am not a gentleman. I am not waiting a second.
His eyes scanned the Marine side for a suitable punching bag.
They locked on a tall, lanky youth near Garp. Messy black curls. Fresh Navy blues. Hot-blooded, eager to prove himself.
Kael's eyes lit.
Young Aokiji. Kuzan, the future admiral.
Ice and soldier, what a pun.
Splendid.
If you cannot spank the teacher, educate the student.
The little devil in Kael's heart bared its teeth.
Kuzan had just gotten the nod. He hopped down from the gunwale, lifted a hand, and cold began to mist from his palm.
"Ice Age."
He murmured it, intending to freeze the sea between the ships and lay a clean bridge for the Marines.
Cold rolled out, and wherever it touched the water the surface seized at a speed the naked eye could follow. Crackling sang in the air and a broad road of ice formed.
Kuzan vaulted down, landing lightly on his own work, ready to spread the sheet farther.
Then something flickered at the edge of his vision.
A warped shadow slid through the air in front of him.
"Hm?" He frowned. Before he could parse it, a chill stabbed his spine. Since eating the Ice-Ice Fruit, he had not felt cold once. Until now.
He snapped around.
A face was nearly nose to nose with his.
A man, drenched head to toe. Black hair dripping across a pallid face, hiding half his features. In his gold eyes burned a grudge that could light the abyss.
He looked like a drowned revenant hauling itself up from the deep. Silent. Soaked. Seething.
Kuzan's pupils tightened. His mind blanked.
When did he…
Instinct crossed his arms.
"Ice Block, Partisan."
Needle-sharp lances bloomed from the air before him and drove for the "ghost."
The ghost, Kael Grylls, only lifted his right fist.
As it rose, an indescribable force gathered tight around the knuckles.
For the orange juice that died.
Young ice, come learn how cruel the sea can be.
A real punch.
For a heartbeat Kuzan swore he saw a red warning sig throb over his own head.
Vmmmm.
Kael's fist met the ice spears.
Cracks webbed madly through the lances, singing like shattering glass.
Crack, crack, boom.
They burst into a storm of glittering shards.
The fist did not slow. It punched through the crystal curtain and smashed into Kuzan's hastily braced guard.
"Gh."
Power flooded through his arms and into his core, a force he could not blunt. The ice he trusted for defense felt like rice paper.
His feet left the ice. He skidded backward, carving a long, pale scar across the slick surface, then hit the water with a hard splash that threw up a crown of spray.
"Who does VFX during a fistfight…"
Glub, glub.
Bubbles climbed to the surface.
Nearby fighters on both sides went slack-jawed.
"Hey, look at that."
"The Marine rookie got knocked into the drink."
"Who did that?"
Several Marine officers went pale and scrambled to the rail.
"Not good. It's Kuzan. He is a Devil Fruit user."
"Move. Get him out. Now."
Their line unraveled, officers leaping in to fish out the prodigy.
As for Kael, the cause of this comedy, he faded like a rumor. One punch thrown, then his outline blurred and he melted into the crowd again.
Brush off the sleeves. Hide the name and deed.
Peak side-quest behavior.
He found a relatively dry corner, leaned back against the cabin wall, shook water from his hand, and let out a long breath.
The black cloud in his eyes had cleared, replaced by the lazy glow of a man who had avenged a drink.
Much better.
He watched as Kuzan was hauled out, soaked and soul-shocked, and a small wicked smile tugged Kael's mouth.
Blame your mentor, kid. You picked the wrong old man to follow.
For a moment, the world's quarrels had nothing to do with Kael.
He only wanted to pour himself a fresh, perfect orange juice.
…
Roger and Garp's final collision blew outward in a ringed shock that shoved the dog-headed warship and the Oro Jackson a hundred meters apart.
"Kūhahahaha. Garp, that is enough for today. Next time we play again." Roger stood with his blade sheathed and laughed until the sea carried it.
"Damn you, Roger. Do not think you can run." Garp roared back, but the helm of his warship had been wrecked in the scrum. He could only watch as the Oro Jackson filled her canvas and slid away.
On the Navy side, order finally reasserted itself.
Kuzan stood there dripping, eyes locked on the vanishing pirate ship.
"Bwahahaha. Kuzan, you fell in." Garp slapped him on the back hard enough to threaten a second drowning.
"Vice Admiral Garp…" Kuzan's teeth still chattered. In his mind he could not shake that face veiled in wet hair and those gold eyes like hellfire. Not human eyes. The gaze of a sea ghost possessed by an eternal grudge against a glass of orange juice.
"Who was that man?" Kuzan ground out.
Garp followed his stare and grinned. "Oh, that floral-shirt kid? Kael Grylls. A freak on Roger's crew. What, he taught you something the hard way?"
Kael… Enlightenment landed with a thud. The bounty poster with its parade of zeros did not prepare him for that sodden, haunted apparition.
Is that the man on the poster?
That was me. Back then I was skinnier.
Kuzan's fists clenched until his nails bit palm. So that is a senior of the Roger Pirates.
It makes the blood run hot.
He swore that one day he would drag that man to Impel Down with his own hands and let him taste burning justice.
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