A few hours before luffy Arrives in Logue town.
"Your footwork is too sloppy," he said to the Marine. With graceful ease, he spun and swept the man's feet out from under him, sending him plummeting into the gravel of the courtyard.
Another opponent attacked. He deflected the man's fist with a swift, effortless palm strike, moving with the precision and grace of a Hyuga. He felt like a master from the old kung fu movies—the great ones with white beards and long, flowing eyebrows. He imagined himself growing old, pulling a sage-like beard while giving nonsensical advice to his grandchildren, who would surely take it as deep wisdom. The thought made him chuckle internally.
'Oh wise master, teach me the ways of Spin-jutsu!'
The next Marine was left wide open, too slow on the block. He drove a palm into the man's stomach—not hard enough to injure, but just enough to ensure the lesson was learned. They needed more training, far more, if they ever wished to venture beyond the base or survive the Grand Line.
"Next!" he called.
A woman stepped forward: Chief Petty Officer Tashigi. Dressed in her tropical shirt with a katana in hand, her face was set with grim determination. She wanted to fight, too.
"Rear Admiral (Shōshō)," she began. "I wish to ask you for a duel—a duel of the blade."
I observed her for a moment, taking in the look in her dark eyes. She flinched under my gaze but didn't retreat. The other Marines stood at the sidelines, watching curiously, waiting for my answer.
She had already identified Ameyuri and Shinso as two of the 21 Great Grade Blades. It hadn't surprised me; when she first read about them in that sword book of hers, she had been incredibly enthusiastic. She nagged me constantly whenever she saw them at my waist. Now, seeing an opportunity while I trained the others, she wanted to test the mettle of my swordsmanship—and herself.
I couldn't fault her for that. I appreciated her ambition. However, I didn't consider myself a "true" swordsman. To me, a blade was simply a tool to kill, maim, and hurt. I fought like an assassin, preferring to end encounters quickly and decisively with hidden blows and deception. It was why I always carried a revolver, daggers, and throwing knives. They always came in handy.
Especially the Inverted Spear.
"Then let us see if you are worthy of your rank, Chief Petty Officer," I declared, drawing my wakizashi. The Inverted Spear was strapped across my chest in a custom sheath. Usually, I kept it tucked inside my officer's jacket, but since I'd cast the coat aside to "harass" these small fries, I had it clamped over my chest. I never left that weapon behind.
The Inverted Spear was perhaps the most valuable tool in existence. In its original world, it cancelled cursed energy; here, it nullified Devil Fruits. Logia users had died all too easily when they realized—too late—that the blade didn't need Haki to cut them open like bags of grain.
Tashigi, observing my lackadaisical stance, attacked first. She swung from high to low in a quick slashing motion—a foundational but devastating move.
Whoosh.
I felt the wind of the blade as it swept past. An impressive swing. I remembered Tashigi from the shows and manga; she often lost because she fought superior opponents or let her morality and clumsiness hold her back. I decided to give her a tip she wouldn't forget.
She brought her blade up again, swinging in a wide arc intended to bisect me at the waist. I hopped back, dodging the blow. She pressed the advantage, not letting up. Good, I thought. Never give the enemy respite. The best defense is a relentless offense.
Clang!
The ring of metal resonated through the courtyard as I finally blocked. Even with both hands on her hilt, pushing with all her might, she couldn't budge my one-handed guard. The blades screeched against each other. I applied a fraction of my own strength, and the effect was immediate.
Tashigi was forced onto the defensive. She couldn't match my power, so I eased up, giving her space to backpedal. She leaped backward five times before coming to a stop, panting heavily as if we had been fighting for days rather than a single minute.
"Your form is good, your footwork is excellent, and your strikes are swift," I complimented her. Her cheeks flushed red between heavy breaths. "But you lack physical ability. Your strength and speed need work. Let me show you."
I took a single step and appeared directly in front of her. It wasn't Soru; it was pure explosive leg strength. I slowed my assault just enough for her to react. She barely managed to block the first strike, then the second. I continued bombarding her with quick swings, sparks flying like I was holding a grinder against her steel.
Step by step, she retreated. She was too slow to dodge and too weak to overpower me. I wanted her to use her brain, not just rely on desperate deflections.
"Is this all?" I taunted. "Is this the limit of the girl who claims to love swordsmanship? I expected better."
That worked. She deflected the next blow with a pivot, turning her longer weapon into a stabbing motion.
"Good. You're learning," I remarked, dodging to the side.
She seized the momentum, shifting to a reverse grip to stab at me again. I swiped the attack aside with Shinso, shattering her hopes of landing a hit. Then, I raised my blade high and brought it down toward her face with the speed of a bullet.
For a moment, I saw the shadow of my blade on her forehead and the sudden dilation of her pupils as she realized death was reaching out for her...
She was a fish caught dead in the water and now, she was about to feel the harpoon.
That last statement sounded kinda sus.
Anyways.
Instead of her skull being split in two, as she might've feared, I delivered a shallow, glancing cut to her left shoulder. It was a sting to remember—a physical mark of this failure and a reminder of the gaps in her defense she needed to bridge.
Tashigi stood as stiff as a board, paralyzed by the shock of witnessing her own death and finding herself still breathing. I stepped back, sheathing my blade with a definitive click. She remained motionless, lost in the trance of the "what if."
"Tashigi," I called out, pulling her back to reality. "Do you see it now?"
I tried to sound wise and sagely. In truth, I didn't see anything mystical myself, but I needed her to develop a harder mental fortitude, sharper senses, and a body that could back them up.
"Your death," I added, watching the poor girl shiver. "That is the fate of those who fail their duty... or their fight. Death is an opponent who takes no pleasure in mercy, understand this hold not yourself back anymore."
That was a good phrase, I thought to myself, quite impressed. I should write that one down later.
She finally sheathed her blade and gave me a bow so deep it was nearly a fold. As she moved, the sting of the wound finally registered, and she let out a sharp hiss of pain.
"Go to the infirmary and get that bandaged. It'll heal within a day," I ordered. There was no point in continuing; she was spent after four minutes of play. I saw the fire of reflection in her eyes—she would improve.
"Yes, Rear Admiral!" she saluted briskly.
I watched her go, shaking my head at her Hawaiian shirt. It was goofy. I wondered if the Marine brass truly didn't see the absurdity of officers dressing like they were on a permanent vacation while on active duty. I gave an approving nod to the remaining men, rolling my white sleeves back up to my elbows.
"Alright. Who else wants to test their mettle against a blade?" I turned to the crowd, expecting at least one brave soul.
Not a single hand rose. These brutes were terrified. The thought almost made me chuckle, though I was secretly unimpressed by their lack of will. To be fair, Tashigi was their second-best fighter; if she could be handled so easily, their reluctance was logical. They knew I wouldn't be as "gentle" with them as I was with her.
"Unarmed combat it is, then," I sighed. We'd leave the swordsmanship to the other officers. Perhaps Ichimaru would be more accommodating—he was a great teacher, even if he was a bit too... harsh.
...
Later that day
Maraella's Fine Dining Restaurant
"Sir, the pirate you described—the one with the thirty-million-berry bounty—has arrived. We assume the others with him are his crew. Your orders?"
Enric Pryde stood stoically, arms behind his back. Behind him, two men of the Custodian's crew stood attentive,sergeants, dressed in sharp navy blue suits with Marine cloaks draped over their shoulders. Unlike the others, Enric kept his white cloak buttoned high. "Not flapping around like a fish," as he liked to put it.
Enric was a cold-blooded, power-hungry Senior Lieutenant, but his cunning was unmatched. He could sniff out a lie or a psychological weakness from a single observation of someone. He was petty and self-seeking, often clashing with anyone outside the Custodian crew or the Leviathan—(the warship belonging to Ichimaru Shinji). Where I went, the Leviathan followed. We were inseparable, a duo that preferred facing the New World together rather than alone.
I didn't respond immediately. I was more concerned with the dessert menu, wondering which sweet affliction should conclude my meal. Bradley, my other adjutant, had already made his choice and was watching Enric curiously.
I set the menu down and glanced at Heinkel Bradley. With his baratheon-dark brown hair and sky-blue eyes, he was a handsome man, but his expression was most times neutral when people were around like now, or in other cases charismatic-ally cold,
"Continue to observe them, Lieutenant," I said. "I want to know where they are at all times—especially the captain. Keep the lines open. I'll be there in half an hour."
Pryde nodded, offered a sharp salute, and spun on his heel.
"He always reminds me of you, Bradley," Ichimaru remarked cheekily. Bradley didn't reply, merely giving him a dark threatening side-eye.
"What's your motive with this scout detail?" Bradley asked, tugging on his mustache. "What value does a rookie pirate such as that have to a Rear Admiral?"
I pointed at the bounty poster on the table. "That boy... is Vice Admiral Garp's grandson."
The table went silent. Even Ichimaru took pause.
"I owe Garp-san," I continued. "It's not my jurisdiction to arrest him, nor do I wish him harm. I simply want to see what kind of man he is."
"My, my... those are words of treason and insubordination, Toji," Ichimaru said in his usual tone. It wasn't a joke; it was a fact.
The higher-ups knew the truth about Dragon the Revolutionary. If the World Government realized "Straw Hat" was his son and Garp's grandson, he wouldn't just be a pirate—he'd be a political pawn.
I leaned back, the leather of the chair creaking under my weight as I watched the steam rise from my coffee. The revelation of Luffy's lineage hung over the table like a guillotine blade.
"Treason is such a heavy word, Shinji," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "Let's call it 'familial professional courtesy.' Garp-san has a way of making people owe him, and I'm a man who settles his debts."
Bradley's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing. "A thirty-million-berry debt is one thing, Toji. But if the higher ups find out we're playing babysitter to the son of the Great Revolutionary, our heads won't just be on the chopping block—they'll be displayed in Mary Geoise."
"So we're not gonna let them find out my good friends, its a secret between us now",
'And Sengoku and who ever Garp trusted to share the information of dragon having a son,' I thought.
The older man gave a sigh. Ichimaru well he shrugged not really caring anymore, they'll do as I say what were friends after all.
I looked out the window at the darkening sky. I wondered if the boy was ready for the weight of his own name.
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