He tossed the paper to Argentus.
Argentus snatched the Vivre Card from the air, tucking it securely into his inner pocket.
Just as the paper disappeared into his coat, the sliding door snapped open again.
The calm, rhythmic atmosphere of the dojo vanished instantly. Standing in the doorway was Koushiro, but the gentle village teacher was gone.
In his place stood a master swordsman, his eyes fully open and sharp as shards of glass, his hand resting ominously on the hilt of his sword. The perpetual smile had been wiped clean, replaced by a cold, deadly seriousness.
Beside him stood a boy about Argentus's age. He had unruly yellow hair, a scar over his left eye, and in his hand, he gripped a length of metal pipe—the end jagged and broken, but held with the familiarity of a limb.
Koushiro's gaze locked onto Argentus standing in the room with the Revolutionary commanders.
"Argentus-kun," Koushiro said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly low octave. "I did not take you for a spy."
The boy with the yellow hair didn't speak. He stepped forward, his boots heavy on the floorboards. He raised the broken pipe, pointing the jagged end straight at Argentus's throat. His knuckles were white from the tight grip on the metal.
"Back away," the boy commanded, his voice raspy and dangerous.
Argentus didn't move. He stared at the pipe. He stared at the oddly familiar stance.
The air in the room grew thick, suffocatingly tense. Koushiro began to draw his blade, the sound of steel against wood hissing through the silence. The boy tensed his legs, ready to launch a skull-crushing strike.
"WAIT! HOLD THE PHONE! HEE-HAW!"
Ivankov leaped between the two groups with a speed that defied his size, his massive hands held up in a "stop" gesture.
"Put ze toys away!" Ivankov shouted, looking at Koushiro and the boy. "There is no spy here! This candy-boy is not an enemy!"
Koushiro paused, his blade an inch out of the scabbard. "He is in the room, Ivankov. He found us."
"He found us because he knew Dragon!" Ivankov explained, gesturing dramatically to Argentus. "They are acquainted! In fact, this boy grew up with Dragon's son! He is practically family!"
The boy with the yellow hair froze. The pipe lowered slightly, though he didn't drop his guard. He looked at Argentus with confusion, searching his face.
"Dragon-san's... son?" the boy whispered, a strange flicker of pain and recognition flashing in his heart.
Argentus lowered his guard, his eyes locked onto the scar marring the boy's left eye.
He stepped closer, ignoring Koushiro's warning glare.
"You..." Argentus murmured, his brow furrowing as he pieced together the image from years ago. "I saw you die."
The room went dead silent. The boy with the pipe stiffened, his eyes widening.
"I was there with dragon at that time," Argentus continued, his voice devoid of emotion, just stating a hard fact. "The day the Celestial Dragon arrived at the Goa Kingdom. There was a small fishing boat trying to cross the path of the government ship. The Noble fired a bazooka. I watched that boat turn into a fireball."
Argentus pointed a finger at the boy's scar.
"That burn... that's from the flames, isn't it? Everyone thought you were ash at the bottom of the sea. The noble kid who tried to run away."
The boy - Sabo staggered back as if he'd been physically struck. He dropped the pipe, clutching his head with both hands.
"Noble...?" Sabo gasped, his breathing becoming erratic. "Fire... boat... I..."
"Enough," Dragon's voice cracked through the room like a whip.
The Revolutionary leader moved instantly, placing a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. The contact seemed to ground the boy, pulling him back from the edge of a mental collapse.
"Do not dig for ghosts, Sabo," Dragon said gently but firmly. "The past is ash. You are who you are now."
Dragon looked at Argentus, his eyes warning him to stop.
"He remembers nothing of his life before I pulled him from the water," Dragon explained, his voice low. "Except his name, he has no past. Just the hatred of the nobles and a desire to be free. We gave him a home."
Argentus looked at the boy, who was panting, sweat beading on his forehead. It was strange. Argentus had no personal connection to this "noble kid," but seeing him survive the incident... it gave him a sudden sense of relief, perhaps because this innocent kid died in front of his eyes.
Argentus stepped forward, he extended his hand, palm open, bridging the gap between them.
"Argentus," he said, his voice steady and devoid of the earlier mockery. "Argentus D. Drake."
Sabo stared at the offered hand. The pain in his head throbbed, a warning from a past locked away, but he pushed it aside. He looked at Argentus, really looked at him and saw a kindred spirit. Someone who had seen the fire and walked out the other side.
Sabo wiped his palm on his coat and gripped Argentus's hand firmly.
"Sabo," the blonde boy replied, a determined grin breaking through his confusion. "Just Sabo."
They shook hands, a silent pact between two survivors who would one day shake the world in very different ways.
The tension in the room finally dissipated, replaced by a somber, conspiratorial atmosphere.
Dragon gestured to the low wooden table in the center of the room. "Sit."
Argentus sat, with Sabo taking the spot next to Dragon and Ivankov squeezing his massive frame onto a cushion that looked ready to burst. Koushiro knelt at the head of the table, pouring fresh tea.
"Although, I am labeled as world's worst criminal." Dragon began, his voice low. He looked at the steam rising from his cup. "But the Revolutionary Army still doesn't pose a threat to world government. They are after us because they fear our thoughts not strength."
He looked up at Argentus, his gaze unyielding.
"We cannot operate in the open. Not yet. The World Government has resources that dwarf ours a thousand times over. The Marines, the Cipher Pol, the Admirals... if we were to engage in a head-on conflict today, the revolution would be crushed before the sun set."
Argentus nodded slowly. "So, you stay in the shadows. You chip away at the foundation instead of kicking down the door."
"Precisely," Dragon said. "We liberate small nations. We expose corruption. We build our strength in the margins where the Government's eyes don't look."
He gestured to Koushiro, who was sitting quietly with his hands folded in his lap.
"But an army cannot run on ideals alone. We need steel. We need information. And above all, we need food."
Koushiro adjusted his glasses, a humble smile returning to his face.
"I am a teacher, Argentus-kun," Koushiro said softly. "My duty is to this village and to the children in my dojo. I cannot abandon them to take up the sword against the Marines. If I were to leave, who would guide the next generation? Who would protect this peace?"
"There are many like Koushiro across the seas," Dragon explained. "People who cannot leave their lives, but who see the rot in the world. They are our lifeline. They cannot hold a banner, so they hold the supply lines."
"Rice, dried fish, medical supplies, clean water," Koushiro listed quietly. "The villagers believe we are stocking up for a harsh winter or trading with merchant vessels. In truth, we fill the holds of Dragon-san's ships."
"It is a silent rebellion," Dragon said, his eyes darkening. "Koushiro risks execution simply by pouring me this tea. That is the reality of our war. It is not just fought by Haki users and Devil fruit users. It is fought by farmers, teachers, and blacksmiths who are tired of the celestial boot on their necks."
"I see," Argentus said, taking a sip of the tea.
Dragon stood up, the heavy green cloak settling around his broad shoulders.
He turned to the dojo master and offered a deep, respectful nod.
"Thank you, Koushiro. The supplies you provided will keep the flame alive for another season. Your conviction is as sharp as any blade in this hall."
Koushiro bowed low, his forehead touching the tatami mat. "May the wind guide you to a dawn where such secrecy is no longer needed."
Dragon signaled to Sabo and Ivankov. The three revolutionaries moved swiftly, exiting the dojo and heading toward the hidden cove where their ship—a dark vessel with dragon-wing sails—waited in the gloom.
Argentus followed them to the edge of the cliff overlooking the cove. He watched as the silhouette of the massive ship began to move, silent as a phantom, cutting through the black water.
He leaned against a tree, his eyes fixed on the figure of Dragon standing at the prow.
That man, Argentus thought, the weight of the realization settling in his chest. He is walking the loneliest path in the world.
He thought about Garp. The "Hero of the Marines." The man who was practically a god of justice in the eyes of the public. Dragon had been born into that legacy. He could have been an Admiral. He could have been the next Hero.
Instead, he had chosen to become the "World's Worst Criminal." He had disappointed his own father, shattering the family lineage to pursue a freedom that the World Government deemed illegal.
And yet...
Argentus recalled the moment earlier in the room. When he had described Garp as "loud and noisy," when he had mimicked the "Fist of Love."
Dragon hadn't scoffed. He hadn't looked at his father with disdain or resentment. Beneath the stoic revolutionary mask, Argentus had seen a flicker of genuine light in those storm-grey eyes.
Admiration.
Dragon admired the old man. He respected Garp's strength, his chaos, and his unyielding will. He loved his father, even as he systematically dismantled the very institution his father swore to protect.
"To love your father, but to destroy his world..." Argentus whispered to the night wind. "That is a heavy resolve, Monkey D. Dragon."
He turned to leave, assuming the interaction was over, when a voice tore through the mist, loud and raspy.
"ARGENTUS!"
Argentus looked back. On the stern of the disappearing ship, a figure was standing on the railing, waving an arm frantically above his head. It was the boy with the yellow hair and the broken pipe.
"WE WILL MEET AGAIN!" Sabo shouted, his voice echoing off the cliffs. "I PROMISE!"
Dragon didn't stop him.
Argentus stared at the silhouette. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He didn't shout back. He simply raised his hand in a lazy, single wave of acknowledgment.
"Yeah," Argentus muttered to himself, turning his back on the sea. "Don't die before then, amnesia boy."
The month flew by in a blur of sweat, bruised ribs, and the rhythmic clashing of steel against iron.
Argentus didn't just train; he obsessed. He spent his days sparring with Zoro and his nights sitting in the forest, listening to the "hum" of the world until his ears rang with silence.
Finally, on the thirtieth day, the breakthrough happened.
It was late afternoon. The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the dojo courtyard. The students had gone home, leaving only Koushiro watching from the porch, and the two monsters facing each other in the center of the ring.
Zoro was panting heavily, his chest heaving. He had grown stronger too, pushed to his limits by Argentus's relentless pressure.
"Last one," Zoro grunted, clamping the Wado Ichimonji between his teeth. He raised his two ordinary katanas in his hands. "I'm going to break that spear of yours, Argentus!"
"Try it," Argentus replied.
But this time, Argentus didn't brace himself. He didn't tighten his muscles for a clash of strength. He relaxed. He let his Observation Haki expand, not to predict Zoro's movement, but to hear the voice of the weapons Zoro held.
There, Argentus thought.
He heard it. The faint, discordant hum in the metal of the two ordinary swords. They were imperfect. They had grain. They had breath.
Zoro launched himself forward. "Santoryu... Oni Giri!"
The three blades converged on Argentus with crushing force.
Argentus didn't dodge. He stepped forward, his spear moving in a blur. But it wasn't a block. It was an interception. He guided the blade of his spear to match the exact rhythm of Zoro's incoming steel.
He didn't smash them. He slid through them.
SHING.
The sound was high-pitched and pure, like a bell chiming.
Zoro flew past Argentus, landing in a crouch behind him. For a second, silence reigned.
Then, two metallic clinks echoed on the stone floor.
Zoro stood up slowly and looked at his hands. The Wado Ichimonji in his mouth was untouched. But the two katanas in his hands had been sheared clean off at the mid-point. The cuts were perfectly smooth, as if they had been sliced by a laser.
Zoro stared at the broken blades, his eyes trembling.
"You..." Zoro spat the white hilt into his hand. "You actually did it. You cut steel."
(END OF CHAPTER)
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