Chapter 58 – Ator at Marine Headquarters
"Ahahaha! Last time was just a misunderstanding, really! This time, old man Garp will personally give you a proper tour of Marine Headquarters—absolutely no more accidents!"
With his usual overfamiliar attitude, Garp clapped a heavy hand on Ator's shoulder.
Ator sighed, helpless. Compared to Fleet Admiral Sengoku, this old man was an eyesore—loud, reckless, and wore his every thought plainly on his face.
And he just wouldn't stop bringing up "weapons support" at the most inappropriate times. It was like he had zero social awareness—just a stubborn old coot who'd made a bet with a friend and was now shamelessly clinging to win it.
Annoying and stubborn.
Ator couldn't help but wonder how his father ever put up with Garp.
Maybe it was just that his dad had a saint's temperament?
Shaking his head, Ator thought back over everything that had happened these past few days.
After returning his personal bodyguard, Roel, he had planned to stay at Marine HQ for a while—observe, meet with a few higher-ups, and discuss matters of future support and reinforcements.
But before he could settle in, this Garp—who he'd originally thought of as a kindly old uncle—suddenly came over like a sneaky salesman and started tempting him to "go out and have some fun."
Where to?
The infamous underworld paradise: Pleasure Street.
Of course, "Pleasure Street" was more of a catch-all name than a specific place. They had branches in nearly every allied nation—a so-called "legal" black-market organization that even the righteous Marines weren't immune to.
Its biggest floating division, The Pleasure Street, patrolled the Grand Line and was currently the largest ship on the seas.
And Garp's first stop?
Exactly there—simply because it was famous.
What happened next?
Well, as soon as Garp realized there wasn't a single decent entertainment facility on board, he grabbed Ator and made a hasty escape.
He knew full well that if Ross ever found out he had corrupted Ator, he'd get the beating of a lifetime—and Garp wouldn't even fight back. He'd accept it as the price of his own stupidity.
They wasted two whole days.
After that, Garp dragged Ator off to a kingdom called Dressrosa, where they sat around bored watching a mindless, bloody gladiator brawl.
"If there's really nothing else, just throw a dinosaur in there and call it a day," Ator muttered, leaving halfway through to return to the ship and read.
Nothing about it thrilled him.
Compared to the days when Ror was guarding him, this was just tedious. A complete waste of time.
Now, with about three days left before Ror returned, Garp had finally brought Ator back to Marine HQ—desperate to wring even one-thousandth of an extra weapons quota out of him.
Because yes—Garp had actually made a bet with Sengoku.
The wager?
A month-long, all-you-can-eat supply of his beloved donuts and senbei snacks.
The stakes had never been higher for this old glutton.
"Garp-san, if you waste even one more day of my time, I'll be forced to report you to Fleet Admiral Kong."
Ator said this coldly, waving his fingers lazily—each one adorned with a gaudy, gem-encrusted ring that shimmered in the sunlight.
Except for his left ring finger, every other finger bore a rare and pricey piece of jewelry.
He wore an extravagant white fur coat made of real down feathers, and underneath, a comfortable striped pajama set. The combination made him look both luxurious and absurd, but the wealth that clung to him gave off an undeniable charm.
His presence was like the rings on his fingers—
Any one of them could win the heart of a thousand heartbroken, homeless girls.
If it weren't still too much of a stretch for him right now, he would have run off long ago to see for himself just how "wonderful" the adult world supposedly was.
"Ahahaha! Relax, relax! Come on, let's go—I'll show you our mighty Marines! Just recently, Tsuru and Sengoku set aside a big empty lot behind HQ. They said they're starting some kind of training camp or whatever."
Garp thumped his chest confidently, giving Ator his solemn guarantee.
Compared to most of Marine Headquarters, this fledgling training camp, not even half a year old, was certainly more interesting.
There, you could regularly witness Marine officers driven half-mad with frustration over their hopeless recruits—and the so-called elite sailors behaving more like a parody of soldiers.
Every time Garp came by to watch them train, he'd sit down with snacks and drinks and spend the whole day roaring with laughter.
"Training camp?" Ator thought to himself.
Looks like the Marines finally learned a lesson from the Nasdaq family kids who'd joined their ranks. A good instructor could transform everything.
In the past, Marines relied solely on old veterans mentoring the new ones—or just letting everyone fend for themselves. The result was that their high-ranking officers were outstanding, but their mid- and lower ranks were hopelessly hollow.
A truly capable instructor could replace that outdated system—make the Marines strong from top to bottom. If they succeeded, the New World would have far fewer obstacles left.
As they walked, Ator's appearance drew countless envious glances from passing sailors and officers alike. Even just the way he carried himself screamed money, and they couldn't tear their eyes away.
And when people saw Vice Admiral Garp—the Marine hero himself—slapping him on the back like an old friend, it made Ator's standing look even more unassailable.
After all, Garp was the kind of man who wouldn't give most kings of the World Government alliance so much as a glance.
When they reached the training grounds, angry shouting could already be heard from far away:
"Why?! Why, dammit?! What makes you think Iron Body is some almighty technique?! If I shoot you with a gun, are you not going to dodge with Shave and Paper Art, huh?!"
"For crying out loud—I've been teaching you all the Six Powers for a month and only two of you have learned anything! You're all supposed to be elites recommended from the Four Seas! Were the people who picked you blind?!"
"Screw this. I'm done! Whoever wants to be the instructor can have it—I've had enough! I'm resigning. I'm going to the New World to fight pirates!"
The corners of Ator's mouth lifted. Hearing those furious roars, he realized Garp hadn't exaggerated—this place really was going to be entertaining.
A few minutes later—
The training camp itself was nothing formal. It had been hastily set up in a corner behind the main HQ building, near the residential quarters.
The space was just a rough patch of ground, with various equipment strewn around however it happened to be convenient—no structure, no organization, nothing.
In the distance, several officers in Justice-emblazoned coats were flushed with frustration, trying to manage waves of Four Seas recruits and "G-rank branch elites" who looked utterly lost.
Ator even spotted one rear admiral who had clearly reached his breaking point: he tore off his cap, flung it to the ground, and stormed toward HQ, presumably the same hothead who'd just been yelling about quitting.
"How about that, not bad, eh? Pretty interesting, isn't it, little Ator? Ahahaha!" Garp crowed.
"Have you ever spent a single moment worrying about the Marines' future, Garp-san? I admit, this does amuse me—but I'm honestly surprised you can laugh at it too."
"What's there to be worried about?" Garp waved dismissively. "I'm just an old man living off my pension now. Aside from chasing Roger around, I don't do much of anything. Let Tsuru and the others stress about this stuff."
"You really are…" Ator shook his head, half exasperated.
Well—whatever. This was the Marines' internal affair. It wasn't his place to meddle.
And so, under Garp's lead, he began observing the instructors who were on the verge of nervous breakdowns. Every time some recruit did something ridiculous, it sent Garp and Ator into peals of laughter.
Like when someone tried using Paper Art and only managed to make their lower half move—or the one who was practicing Moonwalk, cramped up midair, and crashed face-first to the ground.
Until finally—
"GARP! You—you—"