An unnamed island.
This was the temporary headquarters of the Supernova Alliance, a filthy nest glued together by ambition, violence, and mutual distrust.
Footsteps echoed through the noisy streets.
Law moved forward through the chaos, Kikoku swaying lightly against his shoulder in rhythm with his stride.
A layer of cold gloom covered his face.
The clamor around him felt distant, as if separated by an invisible wall. The staggering drunks, the desperados who drew blades over the smallest insult, none of it entered his world.
Between his fingers, he held a thin sheet of paper.
Its appearance had been completely without warning.
It had simply been there, lying silently on the table in his room.
No signature.
Only a string of numbers, and the coordinates of an outer island.
To anyone else, it would have looked like a crude joke.
But to Law, those numbers burned into his eyes like a red hot brand.
He would never forget that number as long as he lived.
It was the code name of Donquixote Rosinante, Corazon, when he served as an undercover Marine.
Law's thoughts were violently dragged back to that frozen, snow filled night.
Amid the howling wind and blizzard, that man, always clumsy enough to burn himself just lighting a cigarette, wore the gentlest smile in the world.
"I love you, Law."
Then the world fell silent.
He was stuffed into a treasure chest, every sound cut off.
Through thick wooden boards, he heard the final roar of that man's life.
"Marine Headquarters Lieutenant Commander, Donquixote Rosinante! Code 01746!"
"Doflamingo, I am a Marine!"
Then came the explosions.
One after another.
Each one struck Law's heart like a massive hammer.
Now, that number, soaked in blood and sacrifice, had appeared once again.
Law's fingers whitened as he tightened his grip on the paper.
His mind reached a conclusion instantly.
This was a trap.
What was the current state of the seas?
The era of the Great Navy.
The Marines had swept through the world like a storm, crushing both the Whitebeard and Red Hair pirate crews. With the corpses of two Emperors, they had redefined the word "justice" in blood.
And he, as one of the core figures of the Supernova Alliance, was an inevitable target to be eliminated in the New World.
At a time like this, a clue tied to the Marines and to Corazon could never be anything but a trap.
And yet, he had to go.
Because this concerned Corazon.
The man who gave him a second life, and taught him what true freedom meant.
Anything related to him was something Law could never ignore.
Law muttered a curse under his breath, his eyes growing even more resolute.
He boarded his yellow submarine, the Polar Tang.
The crew saw the darkness on their captain's face and wisely asked no questions.
"Yes, Captain!"
"Set the course. Destination is these coordinates."
Law handed over the note.
"We're going to see exactly who it is that's using the name of the dead to play this damn joke on me."
...
Another unnamed island.
Fatty Sea King oil dripped onto the campfire, bursting into a spray of brilliant sparks. The rich aroma of roasted meat spread instantly through the air.
Three old men sat around the fire, eating with unrestrained enthusiasm.
Not far away, in a quiet bay, a small Marine warship lay anchored, carefully disguised.
When Sengoku decided to personally come to the New World to find someone, Garp insisted on tagging along for the excitement.
Tsuru, worried that the two completely unrestrained old men would cause a disaster, asked Zephyr, now restored to his peak condition, to accompany them just in case.
"Hahahaha! Meat grilled by yours truly always tastes the best!"
Garp tore off a large piece of Sea King leg, perfectly crisp on the outside and tender inside, stuffed it into his mouth, and spoke through full cheeks.
"Sengoku, you're way too rigid!"
"Why not just find that kid Law, protect him, and wipe out everyone else in that pirate alliance?"
"Instead, you make Zephyr run around delivering letters. What a hassle!"
Zephyr shook his head.
"Garp, we old guys who've stepped off the front lines shouldn't be adding trouble for Hawk."
He cut off a piece of meat and chewed slowly.
"The New World belongs to him now."
Sengoku nodded in agreement.
"Zephyr's right. Don't steal the fun from the younger generation."
"Hmph, but this works out nicely too."
Garp rubbed his chin and shot Sengoku a mischievous grin.
"If you convince that Law kid to join the Marines, you'll finally have a proper successor."
"Perfect timing to pair him with my grandson and form some kind of Marine Twin Stars bond. What do you say?"
"Cough, cough."
Zephyr, who had been eating quietly, suddenly looked up, his expression serious.
"Garp."
"I think your grandson's Devil Fruit is… off."
"It doesn't feel like a pure Paramecia."
The smile vanished from Garp's face. He stopped chewing.
"Zephyr, what are you thinking?"
Ever since eating the Bat Bat Fruit, Mythical Zoan, Vampire Model at G-3 Base, Zephyr's research into Devil Fruits had entered an almost obsessive phase.
Relying on his authority as former Chief Instructor of the Marines and his long standing friendships, he had forcibly collected every internal Marine record on Devil Fruit development.
The notes of the three great Logia users, Sakazuki, Kuzan, and Borsalino, detailing their understanding of Logia abilities and awakenings, now rested in Zephyr's possession.
Even Sengoku's insights on the Human Human Fruit, Mythical Zoan, Buddha Model, had been borrowed for reference.
Tsuru's techniques for using her unusual Paramecia, the Wash Wash Fruit, had not escaped him either.
He had even spoken directly with Vegapunk to discuss Devil Fruit applications.
It was no exaggeration to say that Zephyr was now one of the most authoritative figures within the Marines when it came to Devil Fruits.
"I'm not sure," Zephyr said, shaking his head.
"But I think conventional training methods no longer suit him."
"Throw him to Hawk."
"Only through real life and death trials can we see the true nature of that fruit."
Garp looked up at Zephyr.
He thought of the monsters under Hawk's command.
The green haired swordsman obsessed with the path of the blade.
The curly browed cook whose leg techniques were overwhelmingly brutal.
The Logia user who never let go of his cigars.
Every single one of them was a force capable of standing alone.
Throwing Luffy into that den of monsters, letting him feel true disparity, letting him see the real summit of the world…
Maybe that really was the best choice.
Garp slapped his thigh hard, coming to a decision.
"Alright!"
"Let's do it!"