A cold sea breeze rolled over the deck.
The thick, metallic stink of blood spread quickly through the air, carried across the water.
The blood that had stained the ocean began to dilute, fading as the currents dispersed it.
And the Sea King's massive corpse started to sink.
"Don't waste resources!" Vice Admiral Garp bellowed.
"Cooks! Harvest the best cuts and store them in the ice hold!"
"Yes, Vice Admiral!"
Several cooks in Marine uniforms worked quickly at the ship's side, cutting into the carcass with practiced efficiency.
Worried the blood scent would attract more Sea Kings in the Calm Belt, they didn't linger. They only took the best, most edible sections and ignored the rest.
Within minutes, the corpse slipped beneath the surface.
Not long after—
huge black shadows began to circle below.
Bubbles rose.
The carcass vanished completely, and no one could tell whether it had simply sunk… or been devoured by the lurking giants below.
"Set sail!"
With the order given, the warship resumed its course.
Thanks to the Marines' technology—allowing travel through the Calm Belt and reducing the chance of Sea King attacks—the ship moved steadily without further trouble.
The incident was over.
But what happened today…
the impossible scene…
would be etched into the minds of the Marines aboard this ship for the rest of their lives.
A seven-year-old child.
One slash.
The sea split apart.
A massive Sea King—instantly killed.
Raifeng's name drilled itself into their bones.
Not just "Garp's grandson."
Not a title.
A reputation.
The boy who cut the sea and one-shot a Sea King.
"Seven years old and he can kill a large Sea King that easily…"
"Man, when I was seven I still wet my pants."
"Be confident—drop the 'I think.'"
"Screw you!"
The ship buzzed with chatter.
And then, it surged forward once more toward Marineford at full speed.
Once they crossed this stretch of the Calm Belt, they'd be entering the Grand Line, leaving the East Blue behind for good.
That same tech—crossing the Calm Belt—was exactly why Garp could casually pop back to Foosha Village from time to time.
Without it, the round trip between the East Blue and the Grand Line would take far too long.
Garp found Raifeng again, looking unexpectedly serious.
"Raifeng. I'm going to find you a swordmaster. What do you think?"
With talent like this, letting it rot would be criminal.
A teacher with deep experience and high-level swordsmanship—that was the right path in Garp's eyes, and the best way to push Raifeng's growth.
Raifeng blinked.
A swordmaster?
He hadn't expected Garp to already be planning that far ahead.
But… did he actually need a teacher?
His swordsmanship—and even his Conqueror's Haki—had been granted by the system, mastered instantly, without guidance.
So did he need a "mentor"?
Not really.
In Raifeng's mind, the best teacher he had… was himself.
Or rather—the system.
Even if Garp forced a top-tier swordsman to teach him, Raifeng doubted the man could truly explain what the system had injected directly into his body and instincts.
Still…
Having a teacher as cover might actually reduce suspicion.
Raifeng didn't need the teacher to "unlock" his skills—he needed the teacher to make everything look normal.
That was useful.
No downside.
"Alright." Raifeng agreed.
Garp burst out laughing and slapped Raifeng hard on the shoulder.
"Don't worry. I'll find the best swordmaster in Marineford to teach you!"
Raifeng bared his teeth.
"Old man, ease up. You're about to smash my shoulder to pieces."
"Hmph! Young people need toughening up. You're so fragile it's embarrassing!" Garp shot back, grinning.
A while later, Raifeng returned to his cabin.
Watching his grandson leave, Garp stood still and began thinking.
Who, exactly, should be Raifeng's teacher?
That was when a very "responsible" Bogard strode up beside him, making his presence known loudly.
"Vice Admiral."
Garp's eyes lit up.
"Bogard! Perfect timing. Who in Headquarters should I pick to be that brat's swordmaster?"
Bogard hesitated… then a thought sparked.
"A swordmaster…"
"Vice Admiral… what about me?"
Garp froze.
Then he slowly turned, staring at Bogard like he'd grown a second head.
"Wait, wait, wait."
"Bogard… you're seriously volunteering to teach my grandson?"
"Did I mishear you? Or did you misspeak?"
The look in Garp's eyes was pure doubt—borderline disdain.
Bogard's face went red.
Thank goodness no one else was around.
Otherwise, he'd have died of humiliation on the spot.
He'd suggested it once…
and got denied instantly.
No hesitation. No politeness. No mercy.
He was Garp's longtime right-hand man, for crying out loud.
Couldn't the old man at least pretend to consider it?
Even for a second?
Instead, Garp patted Bogard's shoulder with grave seriousness.
"Bogard. As a man, you need self-awareness."
"Keep your feet on the ground. Don't aim too high. It won't do you any good."
The message was crystal clear.
Garp was basically one sentence away from:
Go look in a mirror.
And then Garp walked off.
Bogard stood there, speechless, watching him leave.
Tears threatened to form.
What sin did he commit?
First, he got flexed on repeatedly by Raifeng—
and now even Vice Admiral Garp was stomping on his pride.
Heaven help him.
Living was hard.
And that grandfather-and-grandson pair?
Their personalities were carved from the same block.
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