He arrived without a trumpet.
No parade.
No bubble.
Just a slow walk down the white cobblestone path of Mariejois.
Garling Figarland.
The Hero of God Valley.
Supreme Commander of the Holy Knights.
My cousin.
And the most dangerous man in the world who still sleeps on silk pillows.
I met him outside the orphan academy.
He looked exactly as the rumors promised: tall, silver hair pulled back in a knot, the scars of a dozen wars across his face like sacred text.
He wore the same uniform he had worn in God Valley.
Polished.
Impossibly clean.
Like it had never seen blood.
"Nephew," he said without warmth.
"Technically, cousin," I replied.
"Technically, you should be dead."
Ah. So that's how this would go.
He walked through the academy with slow, deliberate steps.
The children watched him in silence.
Selka stiffened when he passed. Winter didn't.
She knew better.
"You teach them obedience," Garling observed.
"No," I said. "I teach them value."
"Dangerous word. Value leads to ambition."
"Ambition can be tamed. Uselessness can't."
He paused at one of the training rooms.
Two children sparring with wooden knives.
"You think this army of orphans will protect you?"
"No," I said. "They'll outlive me."
We sat beneath the cherryless trees of the garden.
He took tea. I took wine.
He finally asked:
"Why are you doing this?"
I didn't lie.
"Because I'm not strong like you. I can't swing a sword and change the world. I can only bend it."
He sipped.
"So you build a nest of trained killers and call it bending."
I gestured to Winter, who stood silently at my back.
"Would you rather I build statues?"
He turned to Winter.
"You. Step forward."
She did.
He looked her over.
"Name?"
"Winter."
"Devil Fruit?"
"Rumble-Rumble."
"Haki?"
"Yes."
He paused.
"Loyal?"
She didn't answer.
She knelt.
"Utterly," she said.
Garling's eyes narrowed.
"Stand. Show me."
The duel lasted seven seconds.
Winter moved first, a streak of electricity across the stones.
Garling moved second, faster than light.
Her blade met his scabbard. His elbow met her collarbone.
She flipped back, landed on her feet, and exhaled steam.
He lowered his sword.
"She's not strong enough."
"Yet," I said.
He looked at me.
"And when she is?"
"She'll still kneel."
Later, he followed me to the vault.
He looked at the Devil Fruits lined in cold crystal cases.
"So many sins in one room," he muttered.
I said nothing.
He turned to me.
"I don't like you."
"Few do."
"But you serve the balance, even if you don't mean to."
"Meaning is overrated."
He handed me a scroll.
An old one.
Blood-sealed.
"You are not to train more than twelve. Imu's order."
"Why twelve?"
"Because thirteen becomes an army."
I nodded.
"And if I disobey?"
He smiled.
"Then I'll come back. And I won't bring tea."
He left without fanfare.
As quiet as he came.
But the message was clear:
The ceiling above me was lower than I thought.
Back in the academy, Winter stood on the balcony.
Watching the horizon.
I joined her.
"Well?" I asked.
"He's terrifying," she said.
"Good. You need terrifying opponents. That's how you grow."
"He didn't even draw his sword."
"He didn't need to. He already won."
She frowned.
"I'll kill him one day."
I smiled.
"No. You'll survive him. That's the greater victory."
That night, I marked the vault wall.
A scratch. Simple.
We were at seven soldiers.
Five to go.
No more.
Not yet.
Garling had spoken.
And when monsters speak, even serpents must listen.