Under a clear blue sky, an unnamed island lay lush and green.
A crystal stream wound its way through the jungle before spilling into a stretch of white sand.
The Oro Jackson rested quietly in the bay as crew members worked in groups, hauling barrel after barrel of fresh water back to the ship.
"Hey! Hurry it up, you idiots!" Gaban shouted, carrying two massive water barrels as if they weighed nothing.
"If you're slow, Roger's going to start screaming about running out of booze again!"
"Yeah, yeah—like you're not the most impatient one here, Gaban!" Nozdon laughed, struggling along with Sanbel as they carried an absurdly huge barrel together.
Kyle wasn't helping with the hauling.
He stood alone atop a rocky outcrop on the island, eyes closed, black hair fluttering in the sea breeze.
His waves spread outward, quietly feeling the island's pulse—
the wind's flow, the water's whispers, the breathing of creatures in the forest…
Then a familiar, headache-inducing disturbance broke the peace.
Kyle's golden eyes snapped open.
On the horizon, a black dot rapidly grew larger.
The unmistakable dog-head figurehead, snarling even from miles away, came into view.
"…Unbelievable. He really is relentless." Kyle sighed, though the corner of his mouth curved upward.
Almost at the same time, Rayleigh set down his drink on the deck, eyes sharpening.
"All hands, be ready. An old friend is coming."
The crew froze and looked in the indicated direction.
The newer members, Elio and the others, turned pale when they saw the warship approaching.
"That's a Marine ship—wait, that figurehead is—Vice Admiral Garp?!"
"You've got to be kidding me! Here?!"
In contrast, veterans like Gaban and Spencer wore expressions that clearly said, Oh. This again.
Before anyone could react further, a single figure leapt from the Marine ship, rocketing through the sky toward the island.
Before he even landed, his booming roar rolled across the bay like thunder.
"ROGER—!! You bastard, I finally caught you!!"
Roger, standing with one foot on a water barrel giving orders, broke into a wide grin.
"Kuhahaha! Garp! You always know how to make an entrance!"
High above, Garp clenched his fist. Armament Haki flooded over it like black ink, terrifying power gathering at its core.
Not an apology—
this was Galaxy Impact.
Kyle watched calmly from the rocks.
"Big move right out of the gate… classy."
"Quit yapping! I'm throwing you into Impel Down today!"
Garp roared as he launched the attack.
A gigantic spherical shockwave tore through the air like an invisible meteor, compressing and shredding everything in its path as it raced toward Roger and the island.
"Ohhh, straight to the point!" Roger laughed.
He drew Ace, his saber, and unleashed his Conqueror's Haki. Black and red lightning crackled around the blade.
"Trying to catch me? Wait another hundred years! Divine Departure!"
The two supreme forces collided.
For a split second, the world itself seemed to freeze.
Then a silent wave of annihilation rippled outward.
Roger's slash split Garp's shockwave clean in two, the divided streams ripping past the island and tearing gashes through the clouds above.
BOOM—!
Garp crashed down onto the beach, leaving a crater. He looked straight at Roger and grinned.
"Not bad, Roger! Your Haki's gotten even better!"
"You're still just as tough, Garp!"
The two vanished in a blur—and the next instant collided again, their clash shaking the entire island.
They fought their way deep into the jungle, explosions and laughter echoing endlessly.
Back on the beach, pirates and Marines stared at one another awkwardly.
Especially the rookies on both sides—none of them knew whether to draw weapons or stand at ease.
"U-Um… Rayleigh?" Elio swallowed nervously.
"Aren't we supposed to… help the captain?"
Rayleigh calmly brushed dust from his coat and said to Spencer,
"No point watching. They won't stop for at least three days. Spencer, go get the best rum from the ship."
"…Huh?!"
Meanwhile, a seasoned Marine officer barked out orders of his own.
"All units! Land on the beach! Bring food, grills, and med kits! Hurry up before those two idiots destroy every place you can make a fire!"
"Yes, sir!"
Veteran Marines moved efficiently.
Fresh recruits stared in existential horror.
And so, on a beach that would never appear in any official Marine record, the absurd began.
On one side of the island—
sky-splitting battles and collapsing forests.
On the other—
bonfires, roasted meat, and flowing alcohol.
Pirates and Marines, sworn enemies, now sat shoulder to shoulder around the flames.
"Basically, you get used to it," Spencer explained calmly to a group of stunned newcomers.
"The captain and Vice Admiral Garp have a… special relationship. Their fights are both rivalry and greeting. Interfering would just ruin it."
Nearby, a Marine veteran slung an arm around a trembling rookie.
"Listen, kid—hic—Garp said he's gotta catch Roger himself. Which means that idiot isn't allowed to starve first. So eat! You need strength to catch pirates!"
"Y-Yes, sir…"
The rookie stared at the wanted poster–level pirate clinking cups with him, his worldview crumbling.
Gaban was arm-wrestling a Marine rear admiral.
Max was lecturing a Marine clerk about the political economy of Haki.
Chaos—and harmony—reigned.
Kyle sat on a crate, sipping orange juice, watching it all with amusement.
He looked toward the distant black-and-red sky where Roger and Garp were still reshaping the island.
"Honestly…" he muttered, smiling,
"every time they do this, who's paying for the island's repair bill?"
Then he turned back to the party and shouted:
"Hey, Nozdon! Don't drink all my orange juice—leave some for me!"
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