Chapter 22: Repercussions
The waves churned, but Whitebeard's pirate ship slowly settled in the aftershock.
Marco retracted his blue-flame wings, landing steadily at Whitebeard's side, his brow furrowed with confusion and worry.
"Oyaji!" he couldn't help but speak. "With that last attack, you could have easily smashed that warship to dust. Why did you hold back?"
"Hmph?" Whitebeard planted his Murasakumogiri on the deck and, hearing the question, let out his signature laugh.
"Gurararara! Marco, did you not hear him?"
"When that brat announced his name, he said..."
"'His name, 'Garon,' will one day echo across the seas!'" Whitebeard repeated, his eyes flashing, his voice booming. "And I'm looking forward to it! But what's even more surprising... his physical strength is almost a match for my own, back in my youth."
Seeing his Oyaji's expression—the exact same excited look he got when he "adopted" Marco—Marco's eyelid twitched. A terrible premonition washed over him.
He rubbed his forehead, his voice a hopeless groan: "Hey, hey... Oyaji, you don't..."
Marco took a deep breath, practically whimpering out the answer: "You don't want to make that Marine your son, do you?!"
"..."
The air froze.
Whitebeard's boisterous smile froze on his face, quickly replaced by a flicker of embarrassment at being caught. He rubbed his iconic crescent mustache and tried to laugh it off, "Gurararara! You saw right through me, you brat!"
"Oyaji!" Marco gave him a massive eye-roll, his voice full of exasperation. "I knew it! Every time you meet an interesting rookie, this old habit flares up!"
Whitebeard was completely unbothered by Marco's hopeless expression. Instead, he clapped him enthusiastically on the shoulder. "What? Are you jealous? Don't worry, you'll always be my most outstanding son!"
Marco swatted his hand away, disgusted. "Who's jealous?!
"I'm saying, he's a Marine! A Marine!
"And a monster rookie who just went head-to-head with you—without Haki—and matched you on pure fruit power and strength!
"And his Devil Fruit... it's just like..."
"Ara!" Whitebeard just grinned, cutting Marco off. He looked to the horizon, his gaze distant. "So what if he's a Marine? That bastard Roger was a Marine once, wasn't he?"
"Gurararara! As long as his heart is set on the sea, one day..."
"Roger just wore a Marine uniform for fun when he raided a base! That's not the same!"
"Oh?!" Whitebeard blinked. "Is that right?"
"By the way, Marco, do you believe in fate?"
"Oyaji, you haven't even been drinking today!"
"Gurararara!" Whitebeard waved his hand. "Same difference!"
"Besides, I'm really looking forward to that Marine brat, Garon!"
Seeing his Oyaji like this, Marco could only shake his head, defeated. But a small smile tugged at his own lips. "Jeez... I'm completely hopeless against you."
With that, Marco turned to go fix the damaged deck.
However, the instant Marco's back was turned and his gaze was averted...
Whitebeard's smile vanished, replaced by a deep, profound gravity.
His rugged brow furrowed, his gaze sharp as he stared at the churning sea.
"That sword..."
His mind's eye clearly pictured the blade in Garon's hand: pitch-black, double-edged, covered in dark red cracks. Aside from the vibration particles, those unique red cracks...
And that familiar, all-consuming oppression, forged by Rocks's own Haki...
"There's no mistaking it..." Whitebeard's voice was an almost inaudible growl, filled with shock and a storm of complex emotions.
That is Rocks's personal sword!
The blade of the man who had once ruled the seas, the man who made the entire World Government tremble—Rocks D. Xebec!
"Why... Why is it in the hands of that Marine brat?"
Whitebeard's fists clenched without him realizing. The hilt of his Murasakumogiri hummed in his grasp.
Countless theories flashed through his mind, but in the end, Whitebeard just let out a long, deep sigh, a complex light in his eyes.
"But, what an irony, Rocks..."
"Of all people, you were the one who hated the Marines and the World Government the most... And now, your sword is in a Marine's hands, and it's 'shaking the seas' once again."
...
Three days later, in the warship's infirmary.
Garon, wrapped in bandages, slowly opened his eyes. The smell of antiseptic filled his nose, and the dull ache from all over his body reminded him of the earth-shattering clash.
He tried wiggling his fingers. Good. Not crippled.
"That was reckless..."
Waking up, Garon stared at the ceiling, calmly analyzing the fight.
To go head-to-head with Whitebeard, who was in his absolute prime, was a gamble with his life.
But he was lucky. It was Whitebeard. If he had run into someone as vicious and cruel as Golden Lion, he wouldn't have been shown any mercy. He'd be a corpse right now.
But just as quickly, a sharp smile pulled at his lips.
...He had gambled, and he had won.
Just then, he heard the deliberately hushed voices of the crew outside the door.
"Did you hear? Warrant Officer Garon traded blows with Whitebeard for three whole rounds!"
"More than that! I saw it with my own eyes! Even Whitebeard acknowledged him!"
"This guy's definitely going to be an Admiral someday..."
"I think... I think he's even stronger than those three new monster rookies from HQ!"
Garon listened, his gaze growing deep.
Compared to the so-called "accomplishments" of wiping out small-fry pirates in West Blue, this battle... this was the feat that would make his name echo. Those HQ Marines were all eyewitnesses. The news would spread like wildfire through Marineford.
At this thought, Garon slowly sat up. Eight Desolations was resting by his bed, its blade reflecting his sharp gaze.
"'Sky-Tremor' Garon..." Garon picked up Eight Desolations and, out of habit, began to re-wrap the blade in its white bandages.
This title would be his from now on. Not the empty "Pirate Hunter" of West Blue, but a true epithet—one acknowledged by the World Government, by Marine HQ, and by all the great pirates. A symbol of a true powerhouse.
"For someone like me with no background, 'fame' is another form of capital."
After wrapping the final layer, Garon clenched his fist.
Since he had chosen to enter the grand game of the Marines, he had to establish the highest possible starting point.
This battle... he was sure the report was already on the Fleet Admiral's desk.
Those admirals who might have been dissatisfied with a "nobody" from West Blue, who had "parachuted" into HQ without going through the Academy's "justice" indoctrination...
Right now, they were all re-evaluating this "rookie."
"But it's still not enough..." Garon looked out the porthole at the churning waves.
The image of Whitebeard's final, devastating, Conqueror's Haki-infused slash was seared into his mind, replaying over and over.
That all-crushing realm, that power that looked down on the heavens...
"Heh... I really can't wait... to get my hands on Haki."