Chapter 34: The Legend Continues: Garp's Fist Re-defines "Hero"!
On the surface of the sea, the last glimpse of Garp's back disappeared where the ocean met the sky.
All that remained was a dead-silent fleet and a chaotic aftermath that no one knew how to clean up.
The next day.
Coo-coo, coo-coo.
Countless News Coos spread their wings like a massive white cloud, taking flight from the headquarters of the World Economy News Paper and scattering in every direction.
They flew over the red cliffs of the Red Line.
They braved the violent, erratic weather of the Grand Line and glided over the tranquil harbors of the Four Blues.
Finally, they delivered a newspaper carrying a veritable storm to every corner of the globe.
New World. A chaotic island where pirates gathered.
Inside a raucous, rowdy tavern.
A one-eyed pirate captain snatched a newspaper from a bird, rudely tossing a coin onto the counter.
He unfurled the paper, ready to see which unlucky bastard had been caught by the Marines this time.
The next second, the nasty grin on his face froze.
Crash!
The tankard of grog slipped from his fingers, shattering into pieces on the filthy floor.
The noise in the tavern died instantly, as if strangled by an invisible hand.
Everyone's gaze locked onto the captain's stiff, horrified face.
"C-Captain... what is it?" a timid crewmate asked in a whisper.
The one-eyed captain didn't answer.
His body was trembling violently, completely out of his control.
Slowly—inch by inch—he turned the newspaper around to face the room.
Front page. Headline.
A massive, crystal-clear photograph dominated the entire page.
In the background, dozens of Marine warships were billowing black smoke, half of them wrecked beyond repair.
And in the center of the photo stood a man in a floral shirt. He was holding a blood-soaked, unconscious figure by the scruff of the neck with a single hand.
Draped over the unconscious figure's back was a tattered white coat with the word "Justice" emblazoned on it—the symbol of a Marine Admiral.
Beneath the photo was a headline written in bold, red text that looked like it was dripping blood.
[THE LEGEND RETURNS! MARINE HERO GARP SINGLE-HANDEDLY ANNIHILATES AN ADMIRAL'S FLEET!]
Silence.
A silence so profound you could hear a pin drop.
Then, an explosion of noise erupted—a cacophony of absurdity and terror.
"You gotta be kidding me! Is this some kind of sick joke?!"
"The paper... the guy he's holding like a ragdoll... that's Admiral Greenbull!"
"Impossible! That guy is a monster chosen through the World Military Draft!"
"How could he get beaten that badly?!"
"And... and it says 'single-handedly'!"
"Garp took down an entire fleet led by an Admiral all by himself?!"
"What the hell is wrong with the world lately?! First Mary Geoise, now an Admiral!"
"That old man... he isn't just a legend anymore! He's a monster walking among men!"
Similar scenes were playing out simultaneously across the world.
In the West Blue's Kano Country, the King dropped his teacup in the royal court.
In a kingdom in the North Blue, nobles discussed in hushed, terrified tones whether they should withdraw their Heavenly Tribute to the World Government.
In the first half of the Grand Line, countless rookie pirates who had just set sail with dreams of glory saw the newspaper.
The moment they read it, they turned their ships around, abandoning their journey entirely.
Monkey D. Garp.
On this day, that name completely transcended the title of "Marine Hero."
He became a synonym for terror, an entity on the same level as the Four Emperors—perhaps even more terrifying because he was purer, and far more unpredictable.
The Four Emperors needed territory. They needed alliances. They needed massive fleets and armies of subordinates.
But this man? He only needed his two fists.
Marine Headquarters, New Marineford.
Fleet Admiral's Office.
Akainu sat behind his desk, staring expressionlessly at the newspaper in his hands.
The atmosphere in the office was crushing, heavy enough to rival the pressure ten thousand meters under the sea.
There was no shouting. No roaring rage.
Only a dead silence.
He finished reading.
Slowly, he placed the newspaper down on his desk, which was crafted from the strongest wood in the world—Treasure Tree Adam.
Then.
He raised his right fist.
Crimson, scorching magma bubbled up from his arm, radiating an aura of absolute destruction.
BOOM!
He slammed his fist down.
The indestructible desk, along with the newspaper recording the Marines' greatest humiliation, vanished in an instant.
Melted. Evaporated. Reduced to a wisp of blue smoke by the terrifying heat.
New World.
An island half-consumed by raging fire, half-covered in eternal ice.
Punk Hazard.
The Thousand Sunny was quietly docked at the edge of the frozen lands.
"Whoa! Grandpa is so awesome!"
Luffy held the newspaper high, his eyes sparkling as he bounced around the deck in excitement.
"He sent a Marine Admiral flying all by himself! That is so cool!"
"What part of this is 'cool'?!"
Nami clutched her head, squatting on the floor, curled into a ball of despair.
She let out a wail of pure misery.
"We are officially Public Enemy Number One now!"
"First Big Mom, then Kaido, and now Luffy's grandpa beats up an Admiral!"
"The entire world is going to come hunting for us!"
Usopp and Chopper were hugging each other, eyes rolled back in their heads, foaming at the mouth, having completely lost consciousness.
Zoro sat cross-legged in the corner.
Over and over, he wiped down his blade, Wado Ichimonji, with a white cloth.
His movements were slow and steady.
But the hand gripping the hilt was trembling slightly.
"So that... is the view from the peak of the world..."
Sanji leaned against the railing, lighting a fresh cigarette and taking a deep drag.
Through the curling smoke, his expression was unreadable.
"Seriously. That shitty old geezer has caused us a hell of a lot of trouble."
Jinbe stood at the helm, looking at the bizarre landscape of fire and ice in the distance. A layer of cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
He was starting to feel like he hadn't joined a pirate crew.
He had joined a Trouble Manufacturing Center dedicated to setting the world on fire.
amidst this chaos of mixed emotions...
Grrr...
A low growl—filled with vitality and wildness—rang out abruptly.
It didn't come from the depths of the island.
It came from beneath their feet.
Everyone stopped what they were doing.
In unison, they turned their gaze toward the bow of the ship.
The Sunny's living lion figurehead was slowly turning its wooden neck.
Those eyes, which should have been mere decorations, were now flickering with a spirited light.
It let out a low growl.
Its massive head pointed straight toward the depths of the island's frozen sector.
In that direction lay nothing but a vast expanse of white ice.
But the Sunny's roaring grew more urgent.
It was as if it had discovered something there—something that made it feel extremely uneasy, or perhaps... incredibly excited.
(To be Continued)