Before long, the medics carefully lifted Gern onto a stretcher and carried him away. One by one, the gathered Marines began to disperse.
Soon, only Zephyr and Garp remained on the shattered training field.
Only then did they truly take in the devastation left behind by the battle.
The once perfectly leveled Training Ground No. 1 had been completely erased.
The ground looked as though it had been gnawed apart by some colossal beast—deep craters and jagged fractures riddled the terrain. In some areas, the earth itself appeared warped, twisted unnaturally.
Even the air still trembled faintly, as if reality itself had yet to stabilize.
Most terrifying of all was the massive crater at the center of the field. The surrounding space bore cracks like shattered glass, as though something invisible had torn through it. Faint crack… crack… sounds echoed intermittently, sending chills down the spine.
In the distance, several school buildings bore spiderwebbed fractures along their walls—some had even partially collapsed.
The perimeter wall had been reduced to rubble, leaving only crooked steel rebar jutting from the earth.
"…Good grief…"Garp stood at the edge of the field, eyes wide as he surveyed the destruction."This looks like a meteor slammed straight into the place!"
He crouched and touched a still-vibrating crack in the ground. A sharp sting shot through his fingers.
"Tch—still shaking," he muttered, pulling his hand back.
Zephyr stood silently nearby, his right hand unconsciously gripping his left arm.
Garp noticed immediately and frowned."Zephyr… you alright?"
Zephyr forced a crooked smile."I didn't manage to coat it with Armament in time… I underestimated just how terrifying that 'Heavenquake' really is."
Garp's expression tightened.If even Black Arm Zephyr had taken damage, the power involved was no joke.
Then suddenly, Garp burst into laughter and slapped Zephyr on the shoulder.
"Man, Sengoku's gonna lose his mind when he sees this! Didn't we just finish repairing this place three months ago?"
Zephyr shot him a sideways glance."You were the one who suggested letting the kid go all out."
"Huh?!" Garp blinked. "I was just talkin'! Who knew you'd actually let him cut loose like that?!"
Then he muttered to himself,"Could've ended it with one punch, y'know…"
Zephyr's lips twitched upward slightly."When Sengoku asks, I'll tell him it was your idea."
"Hey—HEY!" Garp flailed his arms. "Don't you dare! That guy nagged me for a week straight last time! I had to train at a junkyard just to avoid him!"
Zephyr let out a low chuckle, rubbing his still-aching arm.
At least with Garp around, Sengoku would have someone else to vent his fury on.
But jokes aside, when both men looked again at the ruin before them, the weight of it sank in.
"…This level of destruction…" Garp murmured."It might even surpass Whitebeard's."
Zephyr nodded slowly, sweat beading on his brow from the lingering pain."The Tremor Fruit is dangerous enough on its own. But that boy… he's a Logia on top of it."
He looked toward the direction Gern had been taken.
"And he's only had that power for a year. Yet he already pulled out that many techniques—while I had his weapon sealed."
The faint tremors in the air still hadn't fully dissipated.
The two veteran Marines exchanged a glance—both seeing the same unease in each other's eyes.
Meanwhile — Marine Headquarters, Fleet Admiral's Office
Steel-Bone Kong sat behind his desk, fingers interlaced beneath his chin as he stared at the battle reports and shattered photographs spread before him.
His brow furrowed deeper with every passing second.
Then—
BAM!
His fist slammed into the desk, sending water sloshing from his teacup.
"That brat… he's really a Logia?" Kong muttered in disbelief.
He'd known Gern had once clashed with Whitebeard—but without seeing it firsthand, doubt lingered.
Especially when compared to the three monsters who had just graduated from the academy.
But this report… this battle with Zephyr…
It forced him to reassess everything.
"This level of destruction… it's like merging the Tremor Fruit with the properties of a Logia."
The communications officer beside him wiped sweat from his brow."Sir, Vice Admiral Zephyr confirmed it himself—Ensign Gern's ability is indeed a Logia-type: the Tremor Fruit."
He hesitated, then pointed to a photo showing fractured space itself.
"According to the science division, the residual vibrations… they actually linger for a short time."
Kong inhaled slowly, eyes falling to the handwritten note at the bottom of the report—Zephyr's fourth personal evaluation.
'Potential far exceeds expectations. Recommend priority cultivation.'
"Heh… Zephyr still has a sharp eye," Kong muttered with a faint smile."First Kuzan, Sakazuki, Borsalino… and now this one."
Four monsters.
"The Marines really struck gold."
After a moment's thought, Kong asked,"Where's Sengoku?"
"He'll return to headquarters tomorrow, sir."
"Good."Kong's lips curved with amusement."When he gets back, take him straight to Training Ground No. 1."
A pause.
"…And tell him Garp did it."
Two Months Later — Marine Headquarters Medical Wing
Snip.
The final bandage was cut away.
Gern winced as he sat up, looking down at his finally uncovered chest.
The dark bruising had faded, though faint impressions of fists still remained.
"Man… Instructor Zephyr's punches are no joke."
He rolled his shoulders—crack, crack—earning an immediate protest from his joints.
"I only took a few hits and still ended up bedridden for two months!"
"That's what you call 'a few'?" the medic muttered."If Captain Kuzan hadn't used his ability to cool your body and stop internal damage—"
"Alright, alright!" Gern waved him off. "Any more and I'll start thinking I'm some kind of medical miracle."
He hopped off the bed and grabbed his uniform from the wall.
"Oh—where's my sword?"
"It's already been delivered to your office."
The medic hesitated, then handed him a document.
"Vice Admiral Zephyr left this for you before his last mission. Said you were to open it once you could walk again."
"For me?" Gern raised a brow, tearing it open.
He froze.
The paper contained only a single line, written in bold, aggressive strokes:
"Dock at 4 a.m. tomorrow. Be late and your training doubles. — Z."
"…What kind of recovery gift is that?!"
He paused, then frowned.
"Wait—how did he even know I'd recover today?"