One punch.
With a single, all-out blow, the Hero of the Marines—Monkey D. Garp—had smashed a Marine Admiral to the brink of death.
Marineford fell into a silence as absolute as the grave.
Everyone—Marines, pirates, warlords—stood stunned by what they had just witnessed.
Garp remained where he stood, chest heaving, the storm of his Haki not yet fully subsided. His body instinctively angled toward Ace and Luffy, as though he meant to move closer—
But at that razor's edge of tension, Sengoku could no longer remain seated.
"Garp!!! You damn fool!!!"
He dared not hesitate for even a fraction of a second. He knew better than anyone how terrifying Garp was in this state.
With a furious roar, Sengoku's body expanded in an instant, transforming into a colossal golden Buddha. Radiant light poured from him as he descended like a mountain crashing from the heavens, bearing the force to suppress all things beneath it.
"Buddha Impact!"
A massive golden palm, wrapped in overwhelming shockwaves, came down with absolute authority—slamming Garp into the shattered ground below.
The earth split apart again. Garp's body was driven deep into broken stone.
In the next heartbeat, Sengoku dispelled the giant Buddha form, returning to normal size—but both arms were already coated in Busoshoku Haki. He pressed down hard against Garp's head and neck, locking him in place to prevent any escape.
Almost simultaneously—
"Garp! Get a hold of yourself!!"
From the left, Zephyr—Zefyr—burst forward, his own arm clad in Haki as he locked down Garp's left shoulder joint.
"Terrifying as ever… Hero of the Marines."
From the right, Douglas Bullet—Bullet—showed no mercy as he clamped down on Garp's right arm.
Three top-tier powerhouses.
Fleet Admiral Sengoku. Former Admiral Zephyr. The "Demon Heir," Bullet.
They formed a triangle around Garp, pinning the berserk hero firmly to the ground.
None of them dared relax for even an instant. Every face was grim beyond measure.
Because they could all feel it—
The Conqueror's Haki boiling within the man beneath them was still surging violently.
The explosive force of the punch that had crushed Akainu—
It was no less terrifying than Whitebeard at his peak splitting the heavens with a quake.
No less overwhelming than the Golden Lion at the height of his power unleashing the full majesty of his leonine fury.
This was no longer the laughing, easygoing Marine hero of daily life.
This was something else.
Pinned face-down against the jagged rubble, Garp's cheek scraped against cold stone. The combined strength of the three kept him immobile.
And yet—
To their surprise, he did not struggle.
If he truly wished to break free, the three of them might not have been able to stop him.
Instead—
Tears.
They surged forth uncontrollably.
His massive body trembled—not with rage this time, but with grief so profound it could not be contained.
Held down against the ground, Garp lifted his eyes.
Unblinking.
Fixed.
Nailed to the distant sight of Ace lying in a pool of blood—chest completely pierced through, life utterly extinguished, body already turning cold.
That child…
The boy he had carried back to Foosha Village.
The boy he had raised with "fists of love."
The one who stubbornly called him "old man," who would sit on the seaside cliffs during his visits home and cry about the burden of his birth.
The one…
He had treated as his own grandson.
And in the final words of his life—
He had not cursed the world.
He had not cried out to his biological parents.
He had not even called for Whitebeard, who loved him like a son.
He had used the last scrap of strength in his dying body—
And with infinite despair and pleading—
He had cried out:
"Grandpa!!!!!!!"
That cry now cut into Garp's heart like the sharpest blade, over and over again.
He had promised Rouge he would protect the boy…
He had borne immense pressure to raise him…
He had watched helplessly as he chose the path of piracy…
And in the end—
He had still failed to protect him.
At the very end of Ace's life, this grandfather—
Had not even managed to answer him.
Not even a single embrace.
The crushing guilt.
The boundless grief.
The soul-tearing helplessness.
They swallowed the Hero of the Marines whole.
He no longer roared.
No longer struggled.
Pinned against the cold earth, he released a broken, animal-like whimper of grief, tears streaming freely.
All his Haki.
All his strength.
Had faded.
What remained was only an old man who had lost a beloved grandson.
"…Garp."
Sengoku's expression twisted with emotions too complex to name as he looked down at his old friend.
At that moment, notions of maintaining battlefield order, enforcing discipline, upholding the dignity of the Marines—
All of it felt pale and hollow before such pure grief.
Sengoku pressed his lips together.
Memories surfaced—of many years ago, of the adopted son he had once cherished as his own.
He knew this feeling.
Slowly, deliberately, Sengoku loosened his grip on Garp's head.
Then he removed his hands entirely.
As Fleet Admiral, he had to maintain order.
But as a man who had once lost a "son"—
He chose, in this moment, to grant his old friend the right to grieve—undisturbed.
...
Meanwhile, on the supply island at the edge of Marineford—the one that had suffered collateral devastation—
Sakazuki, drenched in blood and hovering on the brink of death, staggered upright from the crater in the mountainside.
Monster-like endurance.
Unyielding will.
They dragged him back to his feet.
He wiped the blood from his eyes with the back of his hand and fixed his gaze on the distant battlefield. His fists clenched; molten magma dripped uncontrollably, scorching the ground beneath him.
"To think… the great Hero of the Marines…" His voice was hoarse and fractured, thick with fury and bitter mockery. "Would cast aside… justice…"
Killing intent and the obsession with "Absolute Justice" drowned out the agony of his wounds. Magma gathered once more around his fist.
"Since that's the case… then I will—"
Even if he had to drag his broken body back across the battlefield to "correct" what he saw as unforgivable betrayal—
He would do it.
But just as he prepared to move—
A wave of extreme cold swept across the island and the surrounding sea in an instant, freezing everything solid and sealing the supply island within a prison of ice.
Kuzan had arrived.
He stood before Sakazuki, frost swirling around him. The usual lazy detachment in his eyes was gone.
"Fire Fist Ace is dead."
"The war is over. The Navy has won."
"Move aside, Kuzan!!" Sakazuki growled, unrestrained killing intent blazing from him.
To him, this obstruction was another form of betrayal.
Kuzan did not yield.
Instead, he stepped forward sharply, voice rising in a stern rebuke.
"Sakazuki!!"
The shout landed with a chill that seemed to freeze the very air into stillness.
Kuzan met the violent glare head-on and spoke each word with deliberate force.
"The one who just hit you… wasn't the Hero of the Marines, Monkey D. Garp."
"That was just… a grandfather who lost his grandson."
"No matter how absolute your justice is—"
"There has to be a line you don't cross!!"
"You damn fool!!!"
Ice and magma.
Two Admirals.
Two utterly different interpretations of justice.
They stood opposed upon the shattered island.
In his own way, Kuzan drew a boundary.
There were places that even "Absolute Justice" had no right to tread.
"Kuzan… are you really willing to turn your fangs on a fellow Admiral?"
"Sakazuki, I can stop you right now. Don't force me to."
Watching the ice crystals spreading beneath Kuzan's feet, Sakazuki ground his molars so hard they nearly shattered.
From this moment on—
A grudge had been carved between them.
An enmity that would not be erased.