Foosha Village woke to the sound of birds, waves—and a child shouting far too loudly for such a peaceful morning.
"Gramps! That wasn't fair!"
Monkey D. Kael stood in the middle of the forest clearing, arms crossed, cheeks puffed out in a dramatic pout. At 7 —no, maybe 8?—years old (he insisted it was almost 8), Kael was all boundless energy and reckless curiosity. Leaves clung to his messy hair, dirt smeared his knees, and his eyes burned with the kind of eagerness that never stayed still.
Across from him, Monkey D. Garp laughed so hard the trees seemed to shake.
"Life ain't fair, brat!" Garp boomed, pointing at Kael. "Now get back up!"
Kael groaned, flopping backward onto the grass. "You punched me again! You always punch me!"
"That's training," Garp said proudly. "A proper Fist of Love!"
Kael sat up just in time to get flicked on the forehead—thunk—hard enough to send him rolling backward.
"Ow!!" Kael yelped, tears welling instantly. "That hurts more than anything!"
Garp crossed his arms, nodding seriously. "Good. That means it's working."
Kael stared at him in disbelief, then scrambled back to his feet anyway. His pout didn't last long. It never did.
"Again!" Kael shouted, fists clenched, eyes shining. "I won't lose this time!"
That was Kael—annoying, loud, endlessly eager. He complained, he whined, he joked even while getting knocked flat—but he never stopped trying.
The forest rang with the sound of fists, shouts, and laughter until the sun climbed high and Kael's stomach finally won the battle.
"I'm hungry," Kael declared, collapsing dramatically. "Starving. I might die."
"You said that yesterday," Garp replied.
"And the day before!" Kael added cheerfully.
Lunch was meat. Lots of it.
Kael ate just like his grandfather—hands flying, cheeks stuffed, crumbs everywhere. He devoured piece after piece with ferocious focus, legs swinging off the bench. Halfway through a massive bite, his eyes drooped.
"…mm'still eatin'…" he mumbled.
The meat slipped from his fingers.
Kael slumped forward, fast asleep mid-bite.
Garp stared for a second—then burst out laughing so loudly the villagers probably heard it. "Hah! Just like me when I was a kid."
After Kael woke (and finished more meat), the two of them walked down to the cliff overlooking the sea. The forest breeze softened, and waves glittered below.
They sat side by side in rare quiet.
Kael kicked his feet, staring out at the horizon. "…Gramps?"
"Hm?"
"What do Marines do?"
Garp glanced at him, surprised by the sudden seriousness. "They protect people. They fight bad guys. They stand up when others can't."
Kael nodded slowly, absorbing every word. Then he straightened, chest puffed out.
"I wanna be a Marine."
Garp blinked.
"I wanna be really strong," Kael continued proudly, grinning wide. "A strong Marine—like my grandpa!"
For a moment, Garp said nothing.
Then his massive hand landed on Kael's head, ruffling his hair roughly. His grin was wide, but his eyes were shining with something deeper—something fierce and warm.
"Heh," Garp said. "That's my grandson."
Out on the sea, the wind carried Kael's laughter far into the future—toward a path neither of them yet understood, but one that had already begun.