"Bang…" The door shook violently as a powerful foot slammed it open with brutal force. Dust drifted down from the frame as the heavy door banged against the wall.
The sudden impact echoed through the chamber, rattling documents and drawing every eye toward the entrance in the same instant.
"Garp, how many times have I told you to knock before entering?" a furious voice roared through the room. Rage flashed in a pair of stern eyes — eyes that seemed ready to tear Garp apart on the spot.
The atmosphere thickened immediately, pressure rolling outward like a physical force, pressing against the walls and those standing within.
But Garp merely chuckled. "Sengoku, don't sweat the small stuff. Hey, do you have any more of those donuts there?" He poked at his nose without care, his attention fixed on the desk before Sengoku, apparently expecting his favorite treat to be waiting.
His relaxed tone clashed violently with the tension saturating the room, as if he alone were immune to it.
Sengoku sighed heavily, leaning forward in his chair with a tired gesture. He grabbed the box of donuts from the desk and threw them toward Garp. "Here — take them, and maybe calm down."
The movement was sharp, practiced, betraying how often this exact scene had likely occurred.
Garp caught the box with a grin, turned awkwardly to one side, and began munching happily on a donut, the crumbs falling carelessly as he spoke between chews.
From the moment Atticus stepped in, a wave of pressure hit him — like invisible cords tightening around his chest, making each breath feel heavy.
He resisted the instinct to tense, forcing himself to stand straight despite the overwhelming presence pressing down on him.
Before him sat a middle-aged man with a stubby Mohawk and an M-shaped beard on his chin. His body was massive and muscular, and draped over his shoulders was the classic Marine coat marked with "Justice." The aura he gave off was one of explosive power — raw and intimidating. There was no doubt: this was the man many respected and feared — Kong, the Fleet Admiral.
Even without speaking, Kong's presence dominated the room like an unmovable mountain.
To Kong's left sat another man, distinct by his frog-shaped glasses, braided beard, and imposing presence. This was Sengoku.
His gaze was sharp and calculating, weighing everything in silence.
On the right side reclined Zephyr — though his presence in the main canon was questionable, in this gathering he stood among high-ranking officers, his posture calm yet alert. Guilt and admiration twisted in Atticus's chest: he respected Zephyr's rumored strength and teaching ability.
The weight of standing before such figures made Atticus acutely aware of his own shortcomings.
Tsuru's voice fractured the tension. "Why have you all gathered here today?"
Her calm tone cut cleanly through the oppressive silence.
Sengoku leaned forward, rubbing his temples. "Because of the pirates. The recent chaos at sea forced the Five Elders to issue an order: the Roger Pirates, dead or alive, must be captured." He looked at each officer gravely. "Especially Roger himself."
The name alone carried enough weight to darken the room further.
Kong nodded, his expression pained. "And that's not all. The Golden Lion Pirates, the Whitebeard Pirates — the New World is boiling over. Our fleet pressure is mounting."
Each word felt like a warning of storms yet to come.
Zephyr cleared his throat, looking toward Monkey D. Garp who was still half-chewing a donut. "Garp — how did the pursuit go this time?"
Garp swallowed noisily, then chuckled. "He got away again. But this time, I found two monsters fit for the Marines."
At once, Kong, Sengoku, and Zephyr turned to stare at Atticus and Aokiji.
Their gazes were heavy, appraising, stripping away pretense.
It was no secret that the Marines were desperate for strong new blood. Even with powerhouses like Akainu, Kizaru, and others rising, the New World demanded more. Fresh strength with loyalty was invaluable.
Tsuru's voice was sharp. "Garp, don't be so shameless. Atticus was brought here by me." She glared at Garp.
Garp tilted his head back and laughed. "Little Tsuru, what's yours is mine, and vice versa. Don't get tangled in words."
Tsuru blushed faintly, turned away without another word. Sengoku and the others exchanged awkward glances. Meanwhile, Atticus and Aokiji stood silent, anger simmering in their eyes.
Neither moved, but both bristled under the casual dismissal.
Kong cleared his throat, restoring order. "What are your names? Introduce yourselves."
Atticus stepped forward. "Atticus. Devil Fruit user. Zoan type. Ancient Zoan: Phoenix."
Aokiji spoke after him, lazily, "Aokiji. Devil Fruit user. Logia type. Ice-Ice Fruit."
Kong studied them carefully, his presence radiating command. "Why do you want to join the Marines?"
Aokiji yawned. "The old man dragged me here. Maybe justice, I guess." He glanced casually at Garp.
Zephyr turned toward Atticus. "And you?"
Atticus held Zephyr's gaze. "To grow stronger, to destroy the Golden Lion Pirates — all pirates." His voice was calm, but firm.
The conviction in his words lingered in the air.
Kong scrutinized them a moment longer, then nodded. "Very well. Both of you will enter the Academy."
He turned to Zephyr. "Your turn to train them this month."
Zephyr stepped forward. "Understood."
As Atticus and Aokiji moved to follow, Sengoku turned to Tsuru quietly. "Are you sure he's from Skypiea? And that he has a sister captured by Golden Lion?"
Tsuru nodded. "I'm ninety percent certain. Garp was there when it happened. A man and a woman fell from the sky; the man was Atticus, the girl taken by Golden Lion."
Sengoku frowned. "If Golden Lion is interested in Skypiea, that complicates matters."
Kong stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Then we must cultivate him carefully. A loyal man with such drive will prove valuable to the World Government."
And with that concluded, the meeting shifted to discussing the Roger Pirates once again.
Time passed quickly. One week later, on the sprawling training ground of the Marine Academy — a vast field spanning kilometers — dust filled the air, and shouts echoed across the grounds.
The ground bore countless footprints and scars from relentless drills.
From a high platform, Zephyr's voice rang out menacingly. "Are you useless or not?! Move faster! If you don't complete 100 laps today, no one eats!"
In the lead were two towering figures — surely the so-called "monsters" Akainu and Kizaru. Zephyr's lips curved in satisfaction.
Behind them, stumbling but relentless, were Aokiji and Atticus. Despite all his effort, Atticus could barely hold second place.
Recalling his first day, Atticus grimaced inwardly — he had been dead last. Each passing day, though, he pushed harder. Sweat drenched him, lungs burned, legs threatened to give out. But every time he collapsed, he rose again.
No one knew this — but Atticus had strapped his hands and feet with gravity metal, each limb burdened as if weighed down by a ton.
After the first day, he had requested Zephyr's permission to train with them. Zephyr had asked no questions.
Perhaps the old Admiral sensed something in him. Over these past days, Atticus's will had caught Zephyr's attention more than once.
If someone asked Zephyr to pick the most dangerous among the new recruits now, he would choose Atticus — not because of power, but because of mentality.
Atticus treated himself like a monster, and trained like one. While others paced themselves, he pushed beyond limits. If the course demanded 50 laps, he ran 80. If that felt weak, he aimed for 100. Even if slow, every round hammered away at his weakness, forging iron will.
Zephyr warned him more than once: haste makes waste. Still, Atticus pressed on. As long as he ate well and slept for a few hours, the Zoan's recovery kept him going. Without this Devil Fruit, he would have long since collapsed.
Of course, not everyone admired him. Some looked at him with disdain, others with jealousy, a few with outright malice. But Atticus didn't care. Training was everything. Outside the drill grounds he would sometimes talk quietly with Aokiji, exchanging tactics or breathing. Otherwise his life had become a relentless grind of ambition and monotony, all aimed toward one goal: power, and redemption.
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