"Although I'm not sure why... after simple stitching and bandaging, Commodore Darren's condition is already beginning to stabilize."
Inside the warship's cabin, the ship's doctor gave his report to Garp, his expression a mix of uncertainty and wonder.
As he spoke, he couldn't help but steal glances at the man lying unconscious on the bed — the Marine commodore, attached to an IV drip.
"Commodore Darren's physical resilience... I've never seen anything like it in all my years of practice.
His organ vitality, muscle toughness, and recovery rate are all far beyond the standards of a normal human being."
"But Vice Admiral Garp, I still recommend that once we return to headquarters, he undergo a full examination at the Marine Medical Division...
After all, injuries of this magnitude are usually fatal."
As the doctor finished speaking, both he and Garp involuntarily twitched the corners of their mouths.
"Fatal injuries," huh...
"Hm. Thanks for everything, Doctor."
Garp nodded, then hesitated for a moment, scratching his head awkwardly before adding:
"Ah, well... you know, earlier I was just a little too anxious. I wasn't actually going to punch you."
The doctor laughed and waved it off, turning to leave the cabin.
Garp exhaled heavily and crossed his arms, silently watching the man lying on the bed.
"The route's been set, old man. It'll take about three days to return to Marineford."
Dragon pushed open the cabin door and walked in.
He was no longer wearing his uniform, just a simple "Justice" cloak draped over his shoulders.
The deep gash across his chest, left by Roger's blade, was tightly bandaged, faint bloodstains seeping through.
Garp merely grunted in reply, his gaze still fixed calmly on Darren.
"What's wrong, old man?"
Dragon came over to stand beside him, frowning slightly.
"Didn't the doctor say Darren's condition has stabilized?"
"I've just been thinking about something," Garp said quietly, eyes never leaving Darren.
"Why isn't my own son as outstanding as that kid Darren?"
Dragon's mouth twitched.
He barely resisted the urge to snap back, forcing a strained smile instead.
"Darren really is exceptional," he said, voice low, a rare flicker of emotion passing through his eyes.
"If it had been me, before I learned how to use Haki...
I'm not sure I'd have had the guts to stand against Roger's strike head-on."
Dragon stared at Darren for a long moment.
"The North Blue really does breed monsters, huh?" Garp chuckled.
"That brat Sakazuki's not bad either.
The chaos of the North Blue churns out ruthless men like few other places.
Otherwise, why do you think Sengoku assigned Tokikake and Gion there?"
"At least after this mission, they've lost much of their naïveté."
"But thank goodness... Darren didn't back down."
Garp's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Seeing the old man scrutinize a younger Marine with such serious attention, Dragon couldn't help but mutter:
"Hey... I'm pretty good too, you know, old man."
He suddenly brightened, as if remembering something, and struck a proud stance.
Bringing together his index and middle fingers, while curling his ring and little fingers, he formed a claw-like hand shape.
"This is my latest combat technique!
Like a dragon's talon — powerful enough to tear through anything with piercing force!"
A dark coating of Armament Haki wrapped around his hand, making the "dragon claw" look like an indestructible weapon.
With a sharp swipe, the air itself cracked with a piercing boom.
Garp narrowed his eyes, secretly impressed — though his face remained flat as he said:
"Hm. Not bad. A bit flashy, though."
"Listen, brat — as long as your fists are strong enough,
there's nothing in this world that can block your path."
As he spoke, he raised one heavy fist in demonstration.
Dragon flushed bright red and quickly argued:
"This move was inspired by Darren, you know!"
Countless warriors wielded their fists across the seas—
but only one man carved the legend of "Garp the Fist" into history.
"Oh?" Garp arched an eyebrow.
Then he laughed heartily, as if suddenly realizing something.
"No wonder! If it was Darren's inspiration, of course it's not ordinary.
If you combine it with a secondary burst of Armament Haki, you could unleash devastating damage instantly."
Didn't you just call it flashy a second ago!?
Clutching his chest in silent grievance, he turned and stomped out of the cabin without another word.
Garp shrugged, watching Dragon's sulking figure disappear.
He leaned back into his chair, crossed one leg comfortably over the other, and yawned lazily.
"Dragon Claw Fist... Not bad at all.
You really are my son."
A small, proud smile crept onto Garp's lips.
Somewhere in the Grand Line.
The sea lay calm and still.
Seabirds glided across the quiet sky.
"Damn that Garp!! Damn that brat Darren!!"
On the swaying Oro Jackson, Roger threw a tantrum like a frustrated child, collapsing onto the deck with a loud thud.
Grabbing a jug of strong liquor, he guzzled it down furiously.
Leaning against the mast nearby, Rayleigh massaged his temple, watching the scene unfold with helplessness.
"How bad is the damage?"
He turned toward Isaac, the ship's resident scientist, a man with a distinctive hooked nose.
Isaac shook his head solemnly.
"Over thirty percent of the ship's structure is damaged.
It's still seaworthy, but we should dock somewhere soon for repairs.
Also... we've completely burned through the air cannon's fuel."
Hearing the report, Rayleigh's face grew even graver.
The King of the North Blue...
This was the worst state the Roger Pirates had found themselves in since the Battle of God Valley.
One man — a Marine named Rogers Darren.
"Such ruthless, shameless tactics...
It's hard to believe he's even a Marine," Gaban grumbled from where he was cleaning his twin axes.
He, of all people, had the right to comment —
having personally blocked Darren's electromagnetic cannon shot.
And that shot hadn't been aimed at the Roger Pirates themselves —
it had been meant to cripple the Oro Jackson.
Leaving aside the underhandedness, the Marine's judgment and action were so swift, so precise, it was almost terrifying.
"I looked into him," Rayleigh said, chuckling bitterly.
"In the North Blue, that guy's infamous.
A disgrace, a scoundrel, a name that makes people spit when they hear it."
"Yet when an iron fist is paired with a sharp mind...
there's almost no flaw to exploit."
Rayleigh and Gaban exchanged a glance —
both seeing the same wariness mirrored in the other's eyes.
"Hey, hey, Rayleigh, Gaban — when are we getting to land, huh?!"
Roger stumbled over, drunk and reeking of alcohol, wrapping an arm around each of their necks, laughing boisterously.
Rayleigh and Gaban simultaneously pinched their brows in exasperation.
Roger belched, then — as if recalling something vitally important — gritted his teeth and declared:
"I gotta buy a new belt buckle...
And it better be plastic!"