The man who stood before him was a force of nature given human form. Even at the age of eight, Monkey D. Garp radiated an aura of unrefined, overwhelming power. His muscles were thick cords beneath his marine uniform, his stance was wide and grounded, and his grin was a flash of white teeth that spoke of a life spent laughing in the face of danger. He was a storm trapped in a bottle, and the bottle was straining.
"Garp," Imu's voice cut through the air, silencing the murmurs of the court. He stood before the Empty Throne, with Jack at his side. Jenna watched from her seat, her gaze appraising, a faint smile on her lips as she took in the sheer, rugged vitality of the young marine. "This is my son, the heir of this world. You are to be his protector. His sparring partner. His friend."
Garp's eyes, sharp and discerning, flickered from Imu to Jack. There was no fear in them, only a deep, abiding curiosity and a warrior's respect for obvious power. He gave a short, sharp nod, his gaze firm. "Understood, Lord Imu."
Jack looked up at the man who was, in another life, destined to be his grandfather's greatest rival. Here, he was to be his shield. The irony was delicious. "You're strong," Jack said, his voice clear and devoid of a child's lilt. "Show me."
Garp's grin widened. "Heh. You got guts, kid." He cracked his knuckles. "Don't cry when you get a bruise."
The sparring match was held in one of the castle's grand training yards, a vast expanse of obsidian floor that could withstand the force of a battleship's cannonade. A crowd of Celestial Dragons and high-ranking officials gathered, their naked bodies gleaming under the high ceiling, their expressions a mixture of amusement and anticipation. They expected a spectacle. A brief, brutal display of the heir's privilege.
Jack, dressed only in a pair of loose silk shorts, stood opposite Garp. He was tiny in comparison, a reed before a redwood. But as he settled into a stance, a subtle shift occurred. The air around him grew heavy. He closed his eyes, focusing inward, drawing on the knowledge of his past life and the innate, boundless potential of his new body. He had spent years not just learning history, but practicing. He had been taught Haki by the best tutors in the world, but their instruction was merely a guide. His true teacher was the soul of a man who had craved power above all else.
He activated Observation Haki. The world exploded into a tapestry of intentions. He could see Garp's killing intent, not as a threat, but as a vibrant, pulsating cloud of crimson. He could see the flow of his blood, the tension in his muscles, the precise trajectory his fist would take before Garp had even consciously decided to throw it.
Garp lunged. His fist, clad in Armament Haki, was a meteor of blackened iron, aimed to incapacitate, not kill. The crowd gasped. To them, it was a blur of motion. To Jack, it was a slow-motion dance.
He didn't dodge. He stepped.
It was a single, fluid movement, a pivot of his hips and a slide of his feet that carried him inside Garp's guard, leaving the devastating punch to whistle harmlessly past his ear. Before Garp could recover, Jack's small hand, coated in a thin sheen of his own black Armament Haki, struck Garp's ribs.
It was not a powerful blow. It was a precise one. Jack had targeted the nexus of nerves and muscle, a point he had perceived with his heightened senses. Garp's eyes widened in shock as a jolt of electricity-like pain shot through his side, causing his entire left arm to go momentarily numb. He stumbled back, his grin replaced by a look of stunned disbelief.
The courtyard was silent. The Celestial Dragons stared, their mouths agape. An eight-year-old had not only dodged Garp's punch but had managed to land a blow that had actually affected him.
Jack didn't press his advantage. He simply stood there, his grey eyes calm. "Your strength is in your shoulders and your back," he said, his voice even. "You over-commit. It leaves you open for a counter."
Garp stared at him, then a slow, deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. The chuckle grew into a full-throated laugh of pure, unadulterated joy. "Hahahahaha! You little shit!" he roared, rubbing his side where Jack had struck him. The numbness was already fading. "You're not just some pampered prince, are you?"
"No," Jack replied. "I am the man who will rule this world. And I need the strongest to stand with me. Are you that man, Garp?"
The challenge hung in the air. Garp's laughter died down, and his expression hardened into one of solemn respect. He looked at Jack, truly looked at him, and saw not a child, but a peer. A ruler. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head. The gesture was so unexpected, so profound, that it sent another shockwave through the onlookers.
"As long as you have the will to see it through, my liege," Garp vowed, his voice ringing with conviction. "My fist is yours to command."
From that day forward, their bond was forged in sweat and impact. Garp became Jack's anchor to the world of raw, physical power. He taught Jack the joy of a simple, overwhelming punch, the thrill of pushing his body beyond its limits. In return, Jack taught Garp control. He taught him how to refine his monstrous power with precision, how to use Observation Haki to anticipate and counter, how to make his already legendary strength truly divine. They became an unstoppable duo, the brain and the brawn, the strategist and the living weapon.
Tsuru watched their progress with a critical eye. She was not a warrior like Garp, but her mind was a razor. She would often join their sessions, not to spar, but to observe. She would analyze their forms, their breathing, their tells, offering insights that were so sharp and accurate they often left Garp sputtering in disbelief.
After one particularly grueling session, when Jack was sixteen and his body was a sculpture of lean, powerful muscle, he lay back on the cool stone of the training yard, panting. Garp was sitting nearby, chugging from a massive barrel of water, and Tsuru was approaching with a towel and a cup.
She knelt beside him, her movements graceful and efficient. She wiped the sweat from his brow, then held the cup to his lips. He drank, his eyes on her. When he was finished, she set the cup aside. Her ritual was not for public display, but here, with only Garp present—someone who was privy to all their secrets—she felt no hesitation.
She leaned over him, her pink hair falling like a curtain around their faces. Without a word, she took his flaccid, sweat-slickened cock into her mouth. Her tongue was skillful, practiced from years of this unique form of communion. She swirled it around the head, tasting the salt of his exertion, the very essence of his being.
Garp watched with a knowing, almost paternal grin. He had long ago gotten used to Tsuru's strange habit. He saw it as her way of "keeping inventory" on the heir.
Tsuru's eyes were closed as she focused on the taste. It was always a revelation. Today, it was sharp with the adrenaline of combat, underlaid with the deep, earthy flavor of his Haki and a faint, electric tang that was new. It spoke of a plan forming, a grand design just beyond the horizon. She pulled back, licking her lips.
"You're thinking about the Gate," she stated. It wasn't a question.
Jack sat up, his expression serious. He had kept the Star Gate artifact, a smooth, palm-sized black stone that hummed with a latent energy, hidden among his most prized possessions. He had known from the moment of his rebirth that this world, as vast and powerful as it was, was only the beginning. The One Piece world was his starting point, his foundation. But his ambition was to conquer the heavens themselves.
"Yes," he confirmed. "The world government is strong, but it's stagnant. The Marines are powerful, but they are limited by the human condition. The Devil Fruits are a wildcard, but they come with a crippling weakness. We need to evolve. We need to absorb. We need to conquer."
He looked at Garp, whose grin had faded, replaced by a look of intense focus. "I have a way to travel to other worlds, Garp. Worlds with different power systems, different technologies, different strengths. We will go there. We will conquer them. We will take their power and make it our own. We will remake this world, and every other world, in my image."
Garp's eyes gleamed with the light of a new, grander adventure. "Other worlds?" he breathed. "With strong guys to punch?"
"The strongest," Jack promised.
He turned to Tsuru. "And you will be my intelligence. You will taste the leaders of these worlds, their warriors, their gods. You will know their truths, their weaknesses, their fears. You will be the voice that guides our conquest."
Tsuru's expression was one of fierce, unwavering