It scared the hell out of me!
Darren's lips twitched as he stared at the dog-headed cap atop Garp's grinning face. He couldn't help but grumble inwardly.
If you wanted to teach me your combat technique, you could've just said so! If you wanted to show off the power of the Iron Fist, a little warning would've been nice! Don't scare me half to death…
But there was no denying the sheer, terrifying force of that single punch.
There had been no Armament Haki, no visible build-up of power, no explosive surge—hell, not even a hint of Conqueror's Haki. It had looked like the simplest, most ordinary punch imaginable—yet the destruction it wrought was staggering.
The crushing sense of pressure, like a thousand-meter mountain collapsing in front of him, had left Darren convinced there was no way he could have blocked or avoided it.
It was the perfect fusion of overwhelming presence and exquisite technique.
He suspected it was not unlike Roger's "Divine Departure"—different in form, perhaps, but the same in essence.
No wonder this man stood at the very summit of the sea.
"Vice Admiral Garp, what exactly do you mean?" Darren said at last, quickly gathering his scattered thoughts.
Garp slowly withdrew his fist and gave Darren's shoulder a firm pat, a broad smile spreading across his face.
"You know, boy… I've always had a soft spot for you."
He let out a long, deep breath, his eyes softening with a hint of nostalgia.
"I read the battle report. You did well. My boy's… situation has caused you more trouble than it should have."
So this was him repaying a debt?
The thought flickered across Darren's mind, but he just smiled and shook his head.
"You're too kind, Vice Admiral. Dragon's a friend. I was only following Admiral Sengoku's orders—nothing special."
Garp threw back his head and let out a thunderous laugh.
"Bwahahahaha! That's just it—you're too cautious, too clever. If it weren't for that insane hunger for battle I know you're hiding deep down, I'd never think to teach you this."
He paused for a moment, then grinned.
"Darren, you're at a crossroads right now. So many of the world's strongest men get stuck at this point, never able to push past it."
He straightened, his chest swelling with pride.
"I don't know how much you'll be able to take from me. But I promise you this—"
His grin widened, eyes glinting.
"I'm a hell of a better teacher than Zephyr ever was!"
Darren: …
Why do I get the feeling that's your main motivation here?
Still, he had to admit—while Garp's "training style" was far from refined, even bordering on reckless at times, the results spoke for themselves.
Kuzan was the perfect example.
In the original history, Kuzan had already learned everything the training camp could offer while still young. It was Garp who took him under his wing, pushing him to the absolute limits of his potential—until he became one of the world's top powers.
And later, on Hachinosu itself, those two had clashed in a battle worthy of legends—master and student, testing each other to the brink.
Another of Garp's disciples was Koby.
After two years of Garp's brutal, hands-on training, Koby had gone from a greenhorn who could only cry out for peace during the Summit War… to a trusted member of the Marine's elite secret force "SWORD," a man who shone brightly in that same climactic battle on Hachinosu.
Sure, Oda's hand had "strengthened" Koby a bit along the way—but it didn't change the fact that Garp's methods got results.
More than that, Darren had always harbored a quiet envy of Garp's martial prowess.
He might have mastered his "Magnetic Blade Dominion" and the terrifying "Magnetic Overload — Railgun," but at the end of the day… it was the body—the raw, honed power of one's fists—that decided the final outcome of a true clash between titans.
"Thank you, Vice Admiral Garp."
Darren dropped the polite refusal, his voice calm and resolute.
"Bwahahahaha! That's more like it!" Garp roared with laughter.
"Come on—this way."
He led Darren across the abandoned port, past where massive, mid-sized marine ships lay stranded in the shallows.
They were old, retired vessels—heavy guns stripped from their decks, valuable materials already picked clean. All that remained were the battered hulls, the faint echo of their former glory.
Time had left them covered in cobwebs. Rust crusted their anchors and scarred their iron sides. They slumped in the water, relics of countless battles long since ended.
Such abandoned ships were a common sight in Marine Headquarters.
In naval warfare, there was no more direct or effective tactic than smashing your enemy's hull. Pirates did it, too. Every year, dozens of warships met their end—decommissioned, scrapped, or left to rot.
Maintenance, weapons, outfitting, daily upkeep—it was an endless drain of resources.
As the head of the North Blue Fleet, Darren understood better than anyone just how much it cost to keep a powerful navy afloat. No wonder Sengoku spent half his days tearing his hair out over the budget.
"Tell me, boy," Garp said suddenly, breaking Darren's thoughts. He lifted his gaze to the towering hulks of the derelict ships.
"What do you think is the greatest strength on this sea?"
Darren blinked. But before he could answer, Garp went on:
"Is it the Devil Fruits—those miraculous powers beyond understanding?"
"Or is it Haki—the force that can touch even the most intangible foes?"
"Or maybe it's the Conqueror's Haki—the will that can shake the hearts of men?"
"No," Garp said flatly, shaking his head.
"None of those."
Darren's brow furrowed in thought.
"Then what do you believe it is, Vice Admiral?"
A slow smile spread across Garp's face.
He raised his right hand, fingers curling into a tight fist.
In that instant, Darren caught a flicker of black-red lightning—there, then gone, snuffed out as if it had never been.
But in Garp's eyes, there was a blazing certainty, a quiet, unshakable pride.
"It's forged in a thousand battles—pure, unadulterated strength."
He spoke softly, but every word echoed in Darren's bones.
"All those powers—they're just pieces. On their own, they're impressive, sure. But only when you forge them together, when you refine them in the crucible of endless battle… only then do they become something more."
He turned, eyes locking with Darren's.
"Your body's already something remarkable. You're as strong as those born monsters."
"But your strength—"
He shook his head, almost wistful.
"It isn't pure. When you strike, all those powers of yours don't blend. They don't come together as one."
He grinned again, teeth white against the weathered bronze of his skin.
"That's what I'm going to teach you."
---
To be continued…