The silence inside the small wooden house stretched paper-thin. Makima stood frozen by the kitchen counter, her eyes filled with an unspoken grief that confirmed every dark suspicion rising in Tenjin's chest.
Before she could speak, a slow, deliberate knock echoed against the heavy wooden front door.
It was not the frantic rap of a village child nor the hesitant tap of Doctor Ruki. The rhythm was light, quiet, and possessed a terrifying, absolute authority that made the temperature inside the room drop instantly.
The door swung open without waiting for permission.
Saint Figarland Garling stepped over the threshold, his crescent-moon silver hair gleaming beneath the cold sunlight filtering through the open doorway. Behind him came Shamrock, stepping inside with the same controlled confidence Tenjin remembered from their encounters in Totto Land and Mariejois, and Gunko, her dark Holy Knight uniform pristine, her sharp eyes scanning the wooden ceiling beams with unvarnished disgust.
Tenjin's breath hitched. None of them needed an introduction. They were not strangers, they were the living avatars of the World Government's darkest authority.
"A charming dwelling, Makima," Garling said smoothly, his voice a low, cultured rumble. He didn't look at the rustic wooden furniture or the iron stove; his cold, sharp gaze rested squarely on the woman standing by the counter. "Simple. Rural. Remarkably effective at hiding something that never belonged here."
Tenjin's reaction was instantaneous. Instinct born of battlefield survival surged past the lingering agony of his burns. Pain flared white-hot across his chest and shoulders as his right hand snapped toward the hilt of his katana, his power surging outward to force thick, wooden roots through the floorboards—
Makima's hand closed firmly around his wrist before he could draw his blade.
"Don't, Tenjin," she said quietly. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were fixed firmly on Gunko and Shamrock. "If you start this fight here, half this village could be gone before you get a second attack."
Tenjin's jaw clenched so hard his teeth groaned. "Mom, they're—"
"I know who they are," she interrupted, her tone sharp and uncompromising. "Look at them. You know how they fight. You know what they survive."
Tenjin stared at the three figures standing inside his home. His heart pounded violently against his rib cage, every instinct screaming at him to strike first. But Makima's cold logic pinned him in place. He had seen the terrifying, unnatural recovery of the Holy Knights. He had felt the crushing pressure of Garling's presence in Mariejois.
If a battle erupted between him and three Holy Knights inside this small house, Hakkuro Village. Doctor Ruki's clinic, Nanagi, Ousen, the timber yard, and the young children who had just thrown a wooden ball at his boots would be reduced to splintered timber and ash within seconds. He could almost see the blinding flash of an attack ripping through the thin wooden walls, flattening the quiet streets down the hill and burying the people who had raised him under mountains of burning rubble.
He glanced down at the familiar notches carved into the wooden table, the pot of vegetable stew still steaming on the stove, and the quiet sunlight streaming through the window. Out on the gravel path, villagers were walking by, completely oblivious to the monsters standing in his doorway. To fight now meant bringing absolute ruin upon the only place that had ever given him peace. The humiliation of being held hostage by his own home tasted like ash in his mouth.
He hated the logic. It burned in his throat like bile, forcing him to stand down while the enemy walked through his front door. Slowly, bitterly, he forced his fingers off the hilt of his sword and let the wooden roots withdraw beneath the floorboards.
Gunko sneered, one hand hanging loosely at her side as a thin, arrow-shaped strip curled near her sleeve before vanishing into her cuff. Her eyes swept across the modest kitchen with icy disdain. "Repulsive," she murmured, her voice dripping with contempt for the ordinary people living down the mountain. "To think a child bearing the Supreme Commander's blood spent seventeen years breathing the stale air of these lowborn insects."
"Careful, Gunko," Shamrock said, stepping forward. His expression was detached as his sharp eyes appraised Tenjin's bandaged torso. "He looks fragile enough as it is. Sakazuki certainly did a number on your chest."
"This much is nothing," Tenjin spat, his knuckles white as his fists clenched at his sides. "And I don't recall asking for your evaluation, Shamrock."
"You survived because Shanks arrived before Sakazuki finished you, not because you were strong," Shamrock replied smoothly, showing no offense at Tenjin's venom. There was no warmth in his voice, only the cool appraisal of an older brother judging whether his troublesome younger sibling had learned anything since their last meeting. "Marineford should have taught you the difference between blind courage and actual power. You still throw yourself into fires you cannot extinguish, assuming your resolve will somehow bridge the gap."
Tenjin took a step forward, placing himself between the Holy Knights and Makima despite the fiery pain pulling at his chest dressings. His eyes burned with pure hatred.
"Why are you in Hakkuro, Garling?" Tenjin demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "You already told me what you wanted when you cornered me in Mariejois. Then Whitebeard shouted my bloodline across Marineford for the entire world to hear. Why are you here now?"
Garling took a single step into the room, his black boots clicking softly against the floorboards. He looked remarkably calm, as if visiting a remote island in the North Blue were nothing more than an afternoon stroll through the gardens of the Holy Land.
"I came because I knew you would eventually return here, Tenjin," Garling said softly. "A boy who feels helpless always runs back to the place he believes is safe. I knew that once you stepped through this door, you would finally be forced to ask the question you have avoided since Mariejois."
Tenjin's chest heaved against his bindings. "Then answer it! Why did Whitebeard know I'm your son? Why does everyone seem to know something about my life except me? Why are you playing these sick political games with my existence?"
"You rejected your birthright in Mariejois," Garling reminded him coolly, his silver eyes flashing with quiet malice. "Then Marineford broke you badly enough that you finally came crawling back to the one place you still believe is safe. Yet here you stand, demanding answers from me when the person who built this lie has been sitting at your dining table for seventeen years."
Tenjin froze, his breath catching in his throat as the words sank into his chest like cold lead.
Garling did not offer another word of explanation to the young Captain. Instead, the Supreme Commander of the Holy Knights slowly turned his cold gaze toward Makima, a dark, thin smile playing at the edge of his lips.
"You are asking the wrong person, boy," Garling said quietly, his voice echoing through the small room like a death sentence. "If you truly want the truth about who you are... ask the woman beside you whether she is actually your mother."
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