The gouge running through the pier was deep enough to look unnatural, as though a violent gust had torn across the planks and ripped them open.
It did not resemble the work of a trained swordsman so much as the aftermath of brute force given shape for a single instant.
Bogard stood over it in silence for a moment, then lowered the brim of his hat and turned toward Garp.
"Garp-san," he said in a low voice, "we can't leave him like this."
Garp was still laughing from Ace's escape, apparently in a good enough mood to treat the whole scene like an amusing inconvenience, but Bogard's expression did not change.
"That boy's power is far too rough. He's relying on instinct and raw talent to force something out of himself that his body clearly cannot handle yet. If we bring him in and train him properly, then this can still be turned into something useful. If we don't, and he heads out to sea in the next few days like Portgas did…" He let the rest hang there for a moment, but the meaning was obvious.
"Then we may be looking at a disaster before anyone even realizes what kind of monster has slipped through our hands."
His gaze shifted toward Zaraki, who was still looking at his own palm, seemingly more interested in the sensation lingering in his fingers than in the conversation happening around him.
"He needs proper conditioning. He needs control. He needs a foundation in Haki, and whatever swordsmanship he develops needs to be corrected before his bad habits set in for good. Talent like this should not be left to grow wild."
Garp snorted and waved the concern away with all the seriousness of a man brushing crumbs off his sleeve.
"You're making it sound more troublesome than it is. If I'm the one taking him, where exactly is he supposed to run?"
He picked his nose, grinned at Zaraki, and spoke loudly enough that there was no point pretending this was a private conversation.
"That brat Ace got away, so we'll just drag this one back to Marineford instead. Hah. Just imagining Sengoku's face when he sees a kid like this is enough to make tonight's senbei taste better."
Zaraki heard every word.
'Drag me back to Marineford?'
The corner of his mouth twitched, though even that small reaction felt heavier than it should have.
The adrenaline from that last swing was finally wearing off, and now that it was gone, the strain he had put on his body was coming back all at once.
His muscles ached as if they had been wrung dry.
A dull heat lingered in his joints, while a sharper pain pulsed through his hand and forearm where the force had recoiled through them.
Even standing still was beginning to feel more like stubbornness than strength.
The Kenpachi template was powerful beyond question, but at his current level, it was still something his body could barely withstand.
It was like forcing a war machine into a frame too flimsy to carry it.
The result was impressive while it lasted, but anyone with sense could see the structure was not built for that kind of output yet.
He lowered his eyes to the pile of splinters at his feet.
That branch had not "cut" the iron ball in the way a true swordsman would describe it.
He understood that now.
If he had actually reached the level of cutting steel through technique and control, then the weapon in his hand should have held together.
It should have been able to carry the force of the strike cleanly.
Instead, the branch had shattered because he had simply jammed too much power through something too weak to bear it.
What happened was closer to smashing the iron ball apart with compressed force than it was to any proper sword technique.
In other words, the result had been frightening, but the method had been crude.
That realization should have irritated him.
Instead, it made him more interested.
If five percent of the template could already produce something like this through little more than instinct, then the later stages had to be absurd.
Shikai alone would be monstrous.
Bankai was a thought so excessive that even considering it made something in his chest stir!
He was still thinking about that when two rubber arms suddenly shot around his waist.
"Zaraki-nii! Run!"
He turned his head just enough to see Luffy clinging to him with a tear-streaked face, his nose running and his voice shaking from panic.
"Grandpa's still laughing now, but that's only because Ace already got away! If he remembers he still has me here, and you too, then he'll definitely start hitting people again! We have to leave before he decides to throw us into the mountains!"
Zaraki almost asked him whether he had noticed that his so-called escape partner could barely feel half his right hand, but before he could say anything, a large shadow fell over them both.
"Run?" Garp said from above. "And where exactly do you think you're going?"
Luffy looked up, screamed, and immediately tried to spring away by launching his neck backward, but he never made it far.
Garp's fist came down with perfect familiarity.
There was a solid thud as Luffy's head slammed against the planks hard enough to leave a visible dent in the pier.
A second later he was rolling around clutching the swelling bump on his head, tears flying everywhere.
"I'm made of rubber!" he wailed. "Why does it still hurt?! And why am I the one getting hit? Ace is the one who ran away!"
"Because you were standing here acting suspicious," Garp replied, as though that explained everything.
Then he blew on his fist and shifted his attention back to Zaraki.
The change in his expression was slight, but unmistakable.
The lazy amusement disappeared, leaving behind the hard, measuring gaze of a man who had spent his life weighing the worth of dangerous people at a glance.
Before that silence could stretch any further, Bogard stepped between them.
He did not so much as glance at Luffy, who was still writhing dramatically on the ground.
Instead, he walked straight up to Zaraki and stopped in front of him.
For the first time, the eyes beneath the shadow of his hat were easy to see.
They were sharp, controlled, and entirely focused.
"What you did just now," Bogard said, "was not the work of a trained swordsman."
He crouched briefly, brushed some lingering wood dust from the edge of the gouge, then stood again.
"It was uncontrolled power forced through a swing. The result was impressive, but the method was rough."
There was no contempt in his voice. If anything, the opposite was true.
"Even so, the destructive force behind that strike is enough to put you above the level of this sea."
He straightened fully and faced Zaraki with the seriousness of an officer making a formal decision.
"Zaraki. On behalf of Marine Headquarters, I am extending an official invitation for you to come to Marineford."
The wind off the sea moved through the silence that followed, but no one spoke over him.
"With the right training, proper discipline, and a chance to develop that power correctly, you may one day stand among the Marine's highest ranks."
He did not say the word a second time, but he didn't need to.