The primeval interior of Elbaf did not accommodate human frailty, but Norwell D. Giovanni was no longer fragile.
Days had passed since his arrival on the sacred shores of the giants, and the sheer, absurd volume of the mountain boar feast had done wonders for his supernatural metabolism. The hollow, exhausting void that had plagued his spirit after the catastrophic clash at the Wano border was nearly gone. He could feel his vitality surging back, a roaring furnace fueled by giant-cooked meat and rest. Physically, he was operating at roughly eighty percent of his peak capacity. The deep internal bleeding had stopped, his fractured ribs had knit back together into solid bone, and his stamina was almost entirely replenished. The tightly coiled linen bandages still wrapped around his torso and forearms were no longer a desperate cage holding his broken body together; they were merely a lingering reminder of the price of war.
BOOM!
The air shattered in a secluded mountain valley as Giovanni executed a flawless, high-speed Sky Walk. He propelled himself off the empty air, leaving a localized shockwave in his wake as he descended toward a massive, moss-covered boulder. Twisting mid-air with fluid, lethal grace, he drove his right heel straight into the stone.
The boulder split down the middle with a thunderous crack, fragments of rock exploding outward into the dense fern undergrowth. Giovanni landed smoothly on his feet, his breathing perfectly controlled, a confident, predatory smirk playing across his lips.
"Much better," he muttered, rolling his left shoulder to test its mobility. The joint moved without the agonizing friction of the previous week. His striking power was returning to its terrifying baseline.
Yet, as he extended his right hand and attempted to manifest the black, metallic coat of Advanced Armament Haki across his knuckles, the dark sheen flickered, wavering unsteadily before fading away. Giovanni clicked his tongue in irritation. His physical body was almost completely healed, but the finer, high-level control of his spiritual energy was still experiencing a strange, stubborn resistance. It was as if a crucial gear in his internal mechanism was misaligned.
Determined to break through the spiritual plateau, he began to walk deeper into the valley, his boots sinking into the thick, emerald moss. The air in this deep pocket of the island was incredibly insulated, completely shielded from the harsh, howling northern winds that swept across the coastal longhouses.
Then, his tracking instincts flared.
Among the overwhelming, heavy scents of damp earth and giant pine sap, a completely foreign aroma drifted through the mist. It was sharp, sweet, and carried a distinct, highly refined fermented heat. Giovanni stopped, his eyes narrowing. He knew that specific profile. It was the rich, unmistakable scent of premium Wano sake. The kind of top-shelf alcohol reserved for the Shogun's inner circle in the Flower Capital.
"What the hell is that doing out here?" Giovanni murmured.
Curious, he moved silently through a dense curtain of oversized weeping willows, tracking the aroma to the very center of the hidden valley. When he pushed past the final layer of ancient foliage, he froze, his hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of the weapon secured at his waist.
Standing beside a crystal-clear mountain spring was a colossal cabin. It was built to a grand scale, but the architecture was entirely human in its sophistication. Instead of the rough stone formatting of the local giants, this structure was built from polished, masterfully fitted beams of Treasure Tree Adam wood. An incredibly rare, near-indestructible timber used only by the world's greatest shipwrights. Smoke curled lazily from a stone chimney, carrying the scent of roasting venison alongside the evaporating fumes of top-tier alcohol.
Sitting on the wide wooden porch, resting his heavy boots on a low railing, was an old man.
He wore a loose, open-chested dark green shirt, a pair of tinted round sunglasses perched casually on his nose, and his silver-streaked dark hair was pulled back into a messy topknot. In his right hand, he held a massive ceramic jug of sake, tilting it back to take a long, deep swig. Propped against the wall beside his rocking chair were two large, dual-bladed battle axes that radiated the distinct, heavy aura of weapons that had carved through legends.
"You're tracking me with your nose, kid?" the old man said, his voice a rich, gravelly baritone that carried zero hostility, yet somehow caused the ambient wildlife in the valley to fall dead silent. "Shanks always did say you were more like a hound than a pirate."
Giovanni's heart hammered against his ribs. The sheer, staggering weight of the old man's presence hit his Observation Haki like a tidal wave. It wasn't an explosive, aggressive pressure; it was deep, vast, and entirely unmovable. Like standing at the edge of an oceanic trench.
"Scopper Gaban," Giovanni said, his voice dropping into a low, sharp register.
The old man lowered the sake jug, a brilliant, gold-toothed grin breaking through his silver beard. He pulled off his sunglasses, revealing sharp, crinkling eyes that danced with absolute amusement.
"In the flesh, Red-Haired rookie!" Gaban roars with laughter, the sound booming off the valley walls and scattering a flock of giant birds from the canopy. "Though around here, I'm just a retired old bastard trying to enjoy his drinks in peace!"
Before Giovanni could respond to the legendary left hand of the Pirate King, the heavy timber door of the cabin flew open with a resounding BANG.
"Gaban! If you wake up the mountain badgers with that loud, drunken mouth of yours one more time, I'm throwing your entire stash into the river!"
A second figure stepped out onto the porch, instantly drawing Giovanni's gaze upward. She was a giantess, but she stood in stark contrast to the broad, heavily armored vanguards Giovanni had encountered near the coast. This woman possessed a remarkably slender, elegant figure, her long, light hair pulled into intricate braids at the front, with loose bangs partially veiling the right side of her face. But her most striking feature was a streamlined, elegant violet tattoo that ran flawlessly down the entire left side of her body. She wore a dark, midriff-baring tank top adorned with a horned Jolly Roger, a fur cape draped over her shoulders, and a short skirt held together by heavy leather belts.
This was Ripley. A legendary warrior of the previous generation and a devout follower of the late King Harald's peaceful, trade-oriented teachings.
Ripley took one look at Giovanni's bandaged torso, his sweat-soaked blonde hair, and his stubbornly intense posture, and her expression instantly morphed into one of profound, maternal irritation.
"Oh, look at this," Ripley snapped, her voice a deep, resonant alto that managed to sound incredibly blunt and entirely unimpressed. "Another reckless, troubled youth wandering into my woods when he should be resting. What is it with you human pirates and your absolute refusal to let a doctor finish her job?!"
Giovanni blinked, his usual smooth arrogance faltering slightly beneath the towering giantess's gaze. "Look, old lady, I'm fine. I'm practically at eighty percent health. I was just—"
"I don't care if you're at ninety-nine percent, brat," Ripley cut him off flatly, using the blunt, rude language she frequently deployed despite lecturing her own students against it. She descended the porch steps, her massive frame moving with a fluid speed that hinted at an incredibly high mastery of Observation Haki. "Eighty percent means you're still twenty percent broken. Sit your ass down on that stump before I put you there myself."
Before Giovanni could even attempt to dodge, Ripley's massive, calloused fingers caught him by the shoulder, guiding him down onto a polished tree stump with undeniable, giant-strength authority. She reached into a massive leather pouch at her waist, pulling out a jar of soothing herbal salve and fresh linen wraps.
"You're running around shattering boulders and disrupting the local ecology when your deep tissue muscle fibers are still trying to fuse," Ripley lectured, her tone mimicking that of a strict biology teacher dealing with a disruptive student. She began ruthlessly unknotting Gerd's old, frayed bandages from his torso. "You boy sailors think that just because your heart is beating, you're ready to conquer the sea. It's idiotic."
She dropped a massive woven basket into his lap with a heavy thud. Inside were giant-sized, golden-brown pastries dusted with sugar. Sweet, cream-filled Elbaf buns that were easily the size of a human.
"Eat," Ripley commanded, adjusting her fur cape as she began applying the cool, fragrant ointment to his lingering bruises with the tip of her finger. "You're burning through your caloric reserves trying to flex your muscles. Eat those buns. If you leave a single crumb, I'm letting Gaban use your head for axe practice."
Giovanni sat frozen for a moment, a completely bewildered expression on his face. He looked at Gaban, who was currently shaking with silent laughter, taking another slow sip of his sake. Realizing he had absolutely zero leverage against the fierce authority of the giantess, Giovanni let out a defeated sigh, tore off a massive chunk of the pastry, and stuffed it into his mouth. The burst of rich, sweet cream and warm dough was undeniably fantastic, sending a rush of pure energy through his system.
"Mph... fine, it's good," Giovanni mumbled, chewing aggressively.
"Of course it is," Ripley countered bluntly, her fingers surprisingly precise as she tightly re-wrapped his ribs, ensuring his alignment was flawless. "Now stay still and let the grown-ups talk."
Gaban walked down the steps, his jovial, drunken warmth suddenly evaporating as his gaze drifted downward, locking onto the weapon resting against the stump beside Giovanni. The clearing fell into a heavy, suffocating solemnity.
"Hey, kid," Gaban said softly, his voice dropping the booming theater. "Let me see it."
Giovanni paused, his hand hovering over the hilt. He understood the gravity of the request. He smoothly lifted the weapon, scabbard and all, and extended it horizontally across his palms.
Gaban's hands, calloused and scarred from decades of fighting at the pinnacle of the world, trembled slightly as he reached out. His fingers brushed against the familiar, dark patterned guard of Ace. With a slow, reverent motion, Gaban drew the blade a mere three inches from its sheath.
The multi-layered, black-and-crimson steel of the Supreme Grade blade caught the light of the valley. A low, phantom hum seemed to echo through the air. The residual memory of the man who had conquered the sea.
A tear slipped silently down Gaban's weathered cheek, disappearing into his beard. He closed his eyes, his forehead resting lightly against the pommel of his late Captain's weapon. For a long, unbroken minute, the entire valley felt as though it were holding its breath, paying homage to the ghost of Gol D. Roger. Ripley stood quietly behind her husband, her fierce expression softening into a solemn, protective stance, her mind likely drifting to the complex history of the Roger Pirates, Joyboy, and the Nika mythos they had chased to the ends of the earth.
"It still rings with his voice," Gaban whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he smoothly clicked the blade back into its scabbard and handed it back to Giovanni. He wiped his face casually, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "When Shanks told me he gave it to a brat from the North Blue, I wanted to sail out and break his nose. But looking at you now... holding it against your hip... it suits you, kid. Roger would have laughed his ass off seeing an arrogant punk like you carrying his legacy."
Giovanni took the sword back, his eyes filled with deep, silent respect. "I intend to carry it to the very end of this sea, Gaban."
Gaban slid his sunglasses back into place, his expression turning sharp, analytical, and intensely focused as he leaned back against a massive root.
"You've got the spark, Giovanni," Gaban stated, pointing a thick finger at the youth's chest. "Your Conqueror's Haki... it's terrifyingly powerful. The sheer volume of your spiritual pressure is enough to make the old era look twice. But right now? It's completely broken."
Giovanni frowned, setting the half-eaten pastry down. "Broken? I used it to tear through Kaido's commanders and bypass Moria's defenses. My body is almost entirely healed now. I can handle the output."
"Physical healing has nothing to do with it, brat," Gaban countered bluntly, his eyes narrowing behind his lenses. "Right now, your Conqueror's Haki is fueled entirely by raw, unstable rage. It's a wildfire. When you get angry, you throw everything you have into the blast, hoping to incinerate whatever is in front of you. That's why your spiritual control flickered just now when you tried to use your Haki. That's why you can't maintain the coat on your blade for more than a few exchanges without draining your stamina to zero."
Ripley finished tying the fresh bandages around Giovanni's waist with a sharp, tight tug that made him grunt. She stepped back, crossing her arms and standing right beside her husband, her expression equally serious.
"A real king doesn't throw tantrums, boy," Gaban explained, his voice carrying the ancient wisdom of the Oro Jackson. "To reach the absolute apex of this power. To make your Haki bloom into a force that can truly command the sky. It cannot be a slave to your emotions. It must bloom into a calm, focused, and absolute sovereign intent."
Giovanni stayed silent, analyzing the old man's words. He remembered the fight with Kaido. The blind, consuming fury that had taken over his senses when he saw the destruction of the Wano borders. He had achieved massive power, but it had felt chaotic, like trying to hold onto a lightning bolt with bare hands.
"How do I change it?" Giovanni asked, his arrogance completely melting away into the posture of a student willing to learn.
Gaban smiled, picking up his sake jug and taking a small sip. "You stop trying to conquer your enemy with anger. You conquer yourself first. When you coat that steel, it shouldn't be because you hate the guy in front of you. It should be because your right to stand on this sea is absolute, unshakeable, and entirely independent of their existence. When your mind achieves perfect, cold stillness... that's when the black lightning stops leaking. That's when your willpower becomes a razor-sharp edge that nothing in this world can break."
Gaban leaned forward, his reflection stretching across Giovanni's golden eyes.
"Your Haki hasn't even reached its full potential yet, kid. You're still just a roaring cub. Fully recover that last twenty percent under my wife's care, find your absolute stillness in these woods, and let's see if you can become a monster capable of leading the new era."
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