Chapter 131: Distorted Facts
Darkness swallowed Axel.
Pain pressed against his chest like a slab of stone, heavy enough to make breathing feel impossible. He tried to use his ability to dull it, to redirect the pressure, to force his body back under control.
Nothing answered.
His thoughts were hazy, his limbs distant, his body as unresponsive as a puppet with its strings cut.
He tried to open his eyes.
They would not move.
It felt as though cement had been poured over his eyelids and left to harden. He was awake, yet not awake; conscious, yet trapped inside himself. The sensation was disturbingly close to sleep paralysis.
Somewhere nearby, voices drifted in and out.
He could not make out the words.
The moment sound reached him, his body reacted on its own. His automatic reflection rejected the noise, turning the outside world into dead silence again.
Then even that thin thread of awareness snapped.
His body, as if trying to protect itself from the discomfort, dragged him back down into the depths.
Axel sank into a deeper sleep.
He did not know how long passed.
When he finally opened his eyes again, the first thing he did was look around.
White.
Everything was white.
The bed beneath him was white. The walls were white. Even the table beside the bed was painted a clean, sterile white.
Axel recognized the place immediately.
A standard Marine hospital room.
During training, he had visited places like this more than once. The layout was familiar enough that he did not need anyone to explain where he was.
On the small table beside the bed sat bread and milk, arranged as if someone had known exactly when he would wake.
Axel stared at it for a moment.
"Are prisoners treated this well now?"
His stomach answered before his brain could.
It growled so violently that his abdomen seemed to cave in around the hunger.
Axel decided to postpone thinking.
Whatever awaited him could wait until after he ate.
He reached for the tray, but as he lifted it, something underneath caught his eye.
A crumpled newspaper.
Axel paused.
Then he pulled it out and unfolded it.
The headline nearly filled the entire front page.
World Noble Celestial Dragon Killed! Criminal Escapes Marine Admiral!
The print was enormous, the kind of bold type used only when even the publisher seemed shocked by the scale of what had happened.
Axel's eyes lowered.
The report included a photograph of Issho clashing violently with Kizaru. The two figures were caught at the moment their blades met, gravity and light tearing the battlefield apart around them.
Beneath Issho's image, several words had been printed in thick black letters.
Extremely Dangerous.
The article described Issho as the culprit behind the incident.
It claimed that during his escape, he destroyed nearly a quarter of the Sabaody Archipelago. It painted him as a powerful, bloodthirsty criminal, warning any citizen who encountered him to immediately contact the Marines so he could be arrested as soon as possible.
"A criminal?"
Axel looked at the words used to describe Issho and let out a quiet scoff.
So this was the fruit of victory.
The facts had been twisted beyond recognition, then wrapped in official language and served to the world as truth.
The media had become a blade in the World Government's hand. Most people who knew nothing about what had truly happened would probably read this report and believe it without question.
Axel continued reading.
After finishing the first section, he turned the paper over.
Then his expression changed.
The newspaper mentioned him.
Not only that, it described his appearance in detail.
But what truly shocked him was not that he had appeared in the report.
It was how the report portrayed him.
There was no mention of him participating in the plan. No mention of him siding with Issho against the Marines. No mention of him freeing slaves, injuring Marine officers, or being dragged into conflict with Kizaru.
Instead, the article called him a young warrior who had fought bravely on behalf of the Celestial Dragons against dangerous criminals.
It even emphasized his identity as the grandson of the Hero of the Marines, Monkey D. Garp.
Beside the text was a picture of Axel's young face, captured at the moment he swung a wooden blade and released a sword strike.
Below the photograph, a special column described his strength.
It praised him for already reaching the level of a swordsman at such a young age. It spoke of his talent, courage, and future potential.
There was not a single line that contradicted this version of events.
Reading it, anyone would believe that Axel had stood on the Marines' side from the very beginning.
Axel stared at the newspaper.
What was going on?
Judging from this article, the Marines were planning to distort the facts in order to protect him.
But the World Government's intelligence network could not possibly be unaware of the truth.
They had to know.
So why?
Before Axel could think any further, a knock came from the door.
Then it opened.
A familiar face stepped inside.
Doctor Jerome.
"Oh, you're awake," Jerome said gently. "Your treatment has only just finished, so don't move around too much. If you're hungry, the bread and milk on the table should hold you over for now."
Axel had been so distracted by the newspaper that he had almost forgotten about his hunger.
Jerome's reminder made it return all at once.
He reached for the bread without hesitation and began eating.
Jerome watched him for a moment, then sighed.
The boy he had not seen in so long had changed.
He had not only become a swordsman, but had even been praised in the newspapers as some kind of little hero.
"You really are something, kid," Jerome said with a helpless smile. "It's only been a short while, and you've already grown this strong. Now you're even being reported as a hero."
Axel's chewing slowed.
A strange discomfort spread through his chest.
He could not quite explain why those words bothered him.
Perhaps, in the eyes of ordinary people, he really had become a little hero.
But that only applied to people who had never been persecuted by the Celestial Dragons.
It applied to nobles.
To those who had already suffered beneath the so-called gods, the newspaper's claim that he had fought "for the Celestial Dragons" was no praise at all.
It was a brand.
A label that marked him as their lackey.
Jerome did not know what he had said wrong, but he noticed Axel's mood sink. He did not press the matter.
Instead, he changed the subject.
"I heard you made a great contribution this time. Fleet Admiral Sengoku is going to personally award you a medal."
Then he lowered his voice slightly.
"And I heard Vice Admiral Garp is waiting there too."
A great contribution?
Axel nearly laughed.
This was not a contribution.
This was a disaster.
And with Garp's temper, he would probably not calm down until he had punched Axel a hundred or two hundred times.
Still, no matter how troublesome it was, this was something Axel had to face.
He swallowed the bread in his mouth.
"Okay."
"No need to rush," Jerome said. "Eat slowly. I'll have someone take you there afterward. I'm sure the esteemed Fleet Admiral Sengoku will understand that a wounded soldier needs some time."
"I hope so," Axel said sincerely.
Elsewhere, in another corner of Marine Headquarters, the crisp sound of senbei being bitten rang through an office.
Crunch.
Then came a loud, hearty laugh.
"Bwahahaha!"
Sengoku glared across his desk at Garp, who was sitting there eating senbei as if the world had not just caught fire.
"Garp!"
His voice nearly shook the walls.
"Do you understand what is happening right now? How can you still laugh?"
Garp tossed another senbei into his mouth.
"What else is there to do? It already happened."
Crunch.
Sengoku's blood pressure climbed another level.
"You—!"
He slammed a hand on the desk.
"Do you have any idea how serious this is? Your grandson was involved in a plot to kill Celestial Dragons! This is unprecedented! The worst incident in recent history! A direct provocation against the World Government itself!"
Garp blinked.
"Is it really that serious?"
Then he grinned.
"As expected of my grandson."
Sengoku stared at him.
For a moment, his expression went completely blank.
Then the veins on his forehead began to bulge.
He was already going insane from handling the fallout, and Garp was sitting here treating the matter like a proud family anecdote.
If not for Tsuru's help, things would have spiraled far beyond control.
First, under Tsuru's plan, every Marine present at the scene had been given strict orders to keep silent and cooperate with the official narrative.
As for the most troublesome party—the World Government—Tsuru had handled that as well.
That was how they had managed to reverse what should have been a hopeless situation and produce the current result.
Otherwise, Axel's position would have been far more dangerous.
The incident could easily have opened a rift between the World Government, the Celestial Dragons, and the Marines. Fortunately, no Celestial Dragons had survived to give testimony. If even one of them had lived, considering their behavior, the aftermath would have been far more difficult to manage.
And Garp?
Instead of helping, he was sitting here laughing and eating senbei.
.....
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