When Rayleigh and Garp fought, it wasn't really a battle.
It was a release.
Neither man used Armament Haki — just bare fists and muscle memory from a bygone era.
Each blow landed heavy, each grunt came with years of weight, but none of it drew blood. It wasn't vengeance; it was exhaustion given form.
Inside the tavern, Ron didn't interfere.
As long as the brawl didn't cross the threshold, it wasn't his problem.
A little old-man sparring outside wasn't going to wreck his bar.
After a while, both legends had enough. They trudged back inside, one after the other, panting lightly, refusing to make eye contact.
The air thickened with silence until—
"A drink," Garp said finally, jerking a thumb toward Rayleigh. "He's paying."
Ron nodded, turning to the shelf. He pulled down a bottle and poured them each a glass.
"Rayleigh drinks this often. I think you'll like it too, Mr. Garp."
The Marine hero took a sip — and his eyes widened faintly.
This wasn't the harsh firewater he was used to.
It was smooth, mellow, aged to perfection. He could taste the patience in it.
"Not bad," Garp chuckled. "Still know how to live, huh, Rayleigh?"
Rayleigh snorted.
"Enough about me. What are you going to do about Ace?"
The question landed like a hammer.
Garp froze mid-sip, and for the first time, the iron in his face seemed to rust.
His shoulders slumped.
"The Five Elders just issued orders," he said at last. "They want me and Akainu to lead the capture of Ace… under the supervision of that watchdog from the Crime Investigation Bureau — Vice Admiral Black Horse."
He gave a long sigh.
Originally, Garp had intended to pull the same stunt he did with Luffy — stage a 'capture,' slip the boy through the cracks, and let fate handle the rest.
But now?
With the World Government watching over his shoulder, that path was gone.
"So what will you do?" Rayleigh asked quietly, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.
Garp didn't answer.
He only drank. One glass, then another.
The silence between them was heavy — heavier than guilt, heavier than justice.
Would he really have to send his grandson to die?
The tavern fell still again. Only the soft sound of the black cat's purring filled the gaps between heartbeats.
After a long while, Rayleigh lifted his glass.
"Whatever happens… on behalf of the Captain, thank you. You've looked after Ace all these years."
Garp's cracked lips twitched upward.
"He's a good kid."
Clink!
The glasses met with a clear, fragile note.
For a fleeting second, it was like time folded back — to those nights after battle, when Roger and Garp, enemies and equals, shared a bottle instead of a blade.
Now, only two remained.
"It's my fault," Garp muttered at last. "If I'd pushed harder — convinced him to join the Marines — this wouldn't have happened."
His knuckles whitened around the cup. Regret flooded his eyes.
He was the Hero of the Navy, the Fist that crushed mountains — and yet utterly powerless before the tides of blood and fate.
Rayleigh shook his head.
"You're a fool. Even if Ace joined the Navy, once the truth came out, you both would've been executed. The blood of Roger can't wear a uniform."
Garp slammed his fist lightly against the counter, a bitter laugh rumbling in his chest.
"I could've protected him. With my rank, my record — I could've shielded him!"
The smile that followed was the kind that hurt to see.
"But that boy… he still chose Roger's path. Why couldn't he just listen to me?"
What Garp didn't say aloud was the truth —
that he wasn't only acting out of love for his grandson, but for a promise he'd made long ago to a dying friend.
That promise had weighed on his back every day since Roger's execution.
Rayleigh let out a low whistle.
"A 'suggestion,' huh? More like one of your fists, I'd bet."
He grinned. "Both grandsons turned pirates. Your son became the world's most wanted revolutionary. Not much of a record, old man."
Garp's face twisted in mock irritation.
"Guess I didn't hit them hard enough. My father raised me the same way — with the fist of love!"
Ron, watching quietly, blinked in disbelief.
So getting beaten senseless is a family tradition?
That explains Luffy's freakish durability — the kid was forged under domestic warfare!
Rayleigh barked a laugh.
"Didn't you used to hit Dragon with your wooden sandals? Left shoe prints on his face, if I remember right."
"Hmph." Garp waved dismissively. "The Government's been docking my pay for years. Everything's overpriced since those damn Celestial Dragons started hoarding taxes. Gotta save where I can — so fists it is."
He rolled his shoulder, muttering,
"Still prefer the sandals, though. Better swing."
Ron nearly spat out his drink.
Wait. So Dragon's 'tattoo'— wasn't a tattoo? Just a sandal print?!
He shook his head quickly. No, impossible. That man was terrifying — not the type to carry a childhood shoe scar.
Just as he was about to ask, the system chime echoed in his mind.
[Ding! Customer Garp has completed his confession.]
[Ding! Associated individual: Monkey D. Dragon will soon visit the tavern.]
[Reward: Armament Haki, Observation Haki, Marine Six Styles — choose one.]
Ron didn't hesitate.
"Armament Haki."
[Ding! Detected: Garp's Armament Haki surpasses host's current level. Integrate?]
"Integrate."
Power surged through his veins instantly, washing through every muscle, bone, and pore.
His skin tingled with strength; his heart thundered in his chest.
For a moment, he swore he could crush Kaido's skull with one punch.
No — that wasn't an illusion.
The haki hadn't replaced his own. It had stacked onto it.
The door burst open with a sharp bang.
A tall man with slicked-back hair and dark sunglasses strode in, wearing a crisp Marine coat.
Vice Admiral Black Horse, head of the Naval Crime Investigation Bureau.
He was all clipped words and cold air — the kind of bureaucrat who'd stab his own mother for protocol.
Unfortunately, his first step landed squarely on something soft.
He looked down.
A black cat. Asleep.
"Meow!!!"
The cat exploded into furious motion, fur puffing like an explosion.
Black Horse ignored it, his voice deep and controlled.
"Vice Admiral Garp, we've located Ace. You need to move now. If he escapes again, it won't look good on your record—or mine."
Garp waved a hand lazily.
"Don't moralize me, brat. I've fought all my wars. Can't an old man have a drink in peace?"
Black Horse's jaw tightened. He opened his mouth—
But before he could speak, the cat's eyes flashed gold.
Its body coiled.
Then, with a whip-like crack of muscle, it leapt — claws extended.
Swish!
A fine red line appeared across Black Horse's cheek.
He froze, touching it — and blood burst forth, warm and wet.
Rayleigh and Garp both stared.
"...What the hell?"
Ron didn't even look up from pouring himself another drink.
"That's Yoruichi. Don't step on her tail."
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