Aokiji stared at Garp, eyes wide.
Now he understood why the old man had been fidgeting earlier, glancing around like a guilty schoolboy.
Still, remembering his own little secret—the one about letting a certain wanted girl slip away—Aokiji gave Garp a look that said, "Fellow sinner."
Garp caught that look, face stiff. He refused to respond.
The two went way back. When Aokiji was just a recruit, Garp had taken him under his wing. You could even say Aokiji was half a disciple. And in a strange twist of fate, both teacher and student had once done the same thing—defied orders for compassion.
Unlike Aokiji's teasing, Kizaru merely cast a languid glance Garp's way, his face unreadable.
Only Akainu's expression broke the stillness—displeasure, sharp as flint. If it had been anyone else, he'd have launched a Dark Hound straight at them.
For years, Garp's prestige had kept the Marines steady. But across the world, civilians were in uproar. The news had spread: the Marine Hero had raised the son of the Pirate King.
To them, it was betrayal.
They couldn't fathom it—why would a man of justice shelter the blood of the man who threw the world into chaos?
Was Garp… a traitor?
People cried out for answers. Yet, in an age before the internet, outrage could only echo in small waves. The anger burned, but it could not unite.
In the air, the mysterious man's voice broke the silence.
"The answer is correct. Twenty-two years ago, the Pirate King Roger turned himself in. Before his execution, he met Garp in prison and entrusted his pregnant wife to him.
Garp, unable to refuse, agreed.
But by the time he reached Baterilla Island, the Marines had already raided it. Rouge had concealed her pregnancy for two years—two years!—and died the moment she gave birth.
When Garp arrived, only a newborn Ace remained.
So Garp took the child home… and raised him as his own grandson."
A hush fell over the Whitebeard Pirates.
No one had expected Ace's life to be this bitter—born into death, raised by the very enemy of his father.
If not for Garp's stubborn sense of honour, Ace would've died before he ever cried.
They sighed. It was absurd—the son of the Pirate King, saved by a Marine.
Then someone realised something strange.
Garp had adopted Ace as his grandson.
Yet Ace now called Whitebeard his father.
Meaning… Garp was technically a generation above Whitebeard.
The men looked around awkwardly. Whitebeard coughed, pretending not to notice their faces. Inside, though, he cursed the old fox.
That sly bastard! Even after Roger's death, he'd managed to climb above him in seniority.
Now Roger's son was calling him Grandpa Garp.
Whitebeard finally broke into his booming laugh.
"Gurararara… what's there to fuss about? He calls Garp 'Grandpa,' I'm his 'Father.' Titles don't matter. When we meet on the battlefield, he's Marine, we're pirates—enemies all the same. Gurararara…"
His laughter echoed, easy and loud, though beneath it was something quieter—respect, maybe even guilt.
At Marineford, the officers couldn't help but laugh either. Even Sengoku's face softened for a moment.
For all his chaos, Garp's heart had always been simple.
And somewhere deep inside that weathered man, a heavy thought stirred—
"If justice means watching a child die for his father's sins… then maybe justice isn't as pure as we like to think."
"The world calls it justice or evil," he thought, "but all I've ever seen are people—just people trying to protect what they can."
The mysterious voice continued, moving on to the next question.
And in that brief pause between questions, Garp exhaled softly—
as if the weight on his shoulders had grown just a little heavier.