"Jiji… Garp Jiji…"
Little Ace tugged on the sleeve of Garp's floral shirt, his small fingers gripping the rough fabric as his teeth sank into a juicy chunk of Sea King meat. The meal was delicious, but his attention wasn't on the food—it was on him.
For the past week, a stranger had been loitering around the island with no care in the world. Unlike the usual travelers or wandering Marines, this man moved with a casual arrogance, strolling through Foosha Village as if he owned the place.
And yet—no one did anything about it. Ace had long suspected that this man—Rosinante—was a pirate. Not just any pirate, either. A dangerous one. An infamous one.
He had come to that conclusion after watching his grandfather constantly scold him, calling him a "brat," a "freeloader," and other colorful insults. But despite all the yelling, Garp never actually laid a hand on him. That was the strange part. Ace had seen how Garp and Uncle Bogard dealt with pirates before.
A few months back, some unruly pirates had made landfall on Dawn Island, thinking it was an easy target. It had taken Bogard less than five minutes to cut them down, his blade slicing through them with merciless precision.
But now, everyone was sitting together in the same tavern—Marines and a pirate—eating as if titles meant nothing. Why? Ace furrowed his brows. Did being a pirate not automatically make someone evil?
His Uncle Bogard's words echoed in his mind:
"Just because someone is called a pirate doesn't mean they are inherently evil. Even people who venture after freedom on this cursed sea could be branded a pirate. Even a good man caught up in a bad situation could be branded a pirate. Weigh the man for what he is, not by the title he holds."
Ace hadn't understood those words at the time—but watching Rosinante laugh, drink, and joke with Garp, his so-called enemy, he started to see what Bogard had meant. But right now, his thoughts weren't on pirates or justice.
His real curiosity lay elsewhere— The swords.
Two legendary katana rested against Rosinante's seat, their ornate sheaths gleaming under the tavern's dim lighting. Ace had heard stories. Bogard had told him that each of those swords were priceless treasures—weapons so rare that even if someone sold an entire country, they wouldn't be able to afford them.
That knowledge had set Ace's curiosity ablaze. What kind of swords could possibly be worth more than an entire kingdom? Bogard had explained that one of them was Shusui, the national treasure of Wano, a blade once wielded by the legendary samurai Ryuma. Its blackened steel carried the weight of history, a sword steeped in blood and legend.
But when Ace had asked about the second blade, Bogard had simply shaken his head, his face unreadable.
"That one… is something else entirely."
He had offered no further explanation. And now, Ace wanted to see them up close.
But there was a problem. He was too shy to approach Rosinante. Even though his mother had reassured him that Rosinante could be trusted—even revealing that Rosinante had once known his father—Ace still hesitated.
Rosinante was tall. Too tall. He loomed over people like a tower, and despite his goofy nature, there was something dangerous about him. A controlled wildness, a calm that felt unnatural—as if he was someone who had lived through too much, seen too much, survived too much.
Still…
Ace wanted to see those swords. And when Portgas D. Ace wanted something, he got it.
He just had to figure out how. His small fingers tightened around Garp's sleeve.
"Jiji… Garp Jiji…"
Maybe his grandfather could help. Garp, noting Ace's intense gaze, scratched his stubbled chin before shamelessly turning to me.
"Oi, brat—toss me one of those swords. Let my grandson have a good look at it," he grumbled, arms crossed.
It was obvious that he still wasn't thrilled about me lingering around the island—especially not when he had two grandsons to protect. The news of Garp suddenly acquiring a second grandson had spread through Foosha Village like wildfire. But, given that it was Garp, people barely batted an eye. If tomorrow the old man announced he had a dozen more grandkids scattered across the seas, the villagers would just shrug and go about their day.
At the counter, Makino sat cradling a giggling Luffy, lightly tickling the chubby-cheeked baby while he squirmed happily. Meanwhile, Rouge-san, who now went by the name Agatha, worked in the kitchen, her presence a quiet warmth that filled the room. I scoffed, leaning back in my seat.
"Heh." I smirked. "What does an old brute who smashes everything he touches know about swords? 'Toss me the sword,' he says," I mocked, twisting my face into a comically ugly expression, pulling my lips down and furrowing my brows exaggeratedly.
Garp's face turned red with irritation, veins popping on his forehead, and for a moment, I thought the old man might actually take a swing at me. But I ignored him, turning my full attention to Ace. His eyes burned with curiosity, an intense fascination that reminded me of someone who had once held a sword with the same childlike wonder. I gestured for Ace to step closer.
"Come here, little one."
As he hopped onto the seat beside me, I reached down and picked up Shusui, its weight familiar in my grasp. The black blade gleamed even within its sheath, its presence alone commanding attention. I placed it gently in front of Ace.
"Be careful. It's sharp—this isn't a toy," I warned, my tone firm.
Ace barely heard me. His small hands eagerly reached for the katana's hilt, fingers brushing against the textured wrapping. Slowly, with the reverence of a temple priest, he began to unsheathe it.
The sound of steel sliding against lacquered wood filled the room. Shusui's jet-black blade was unlike any Ace had ever seen. The darkened steel seemed to drink in the light, its surface reflecting a deep violet sheen under the tavern's dim glow. The edges were lined with an ominous crimson wave pattern, giving the blade an almost sinister beauty.
Ace marveled at it, his amber eyes wide with awe.
"Whoa… It's real heavy," he breathed.
He turned the katana in his hands, shifting it slightly, watching how the light danced along the obsidian steel. For a moment, it was as if he had forgotten to breathe, completely entranced. This was a real sword. A warrior's sword. A samurai's sword.
His grip tightened slightly on the hilt, the weight much heavier than he expected. He lifted it, trying to mimic the movements he had seen in books and stories, but the blade was too long, too cumbersome. His little arms strained, and he quickly realized—it wasn't fun to swing around.
Ace blinked. His excitement fizzled out almost instantly. With a pout, he placed the blade on the table and pushed it back toward me with a dissatisfied huff.
"Eh… it's kinda boring," he said flatly. The room went silent for a moment.
Then—
"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Garp's thunderous laughter shook the tavern, startling even Makino and little Luffy, who blinked in confusion.
"A real man, my grandson!" Garp bellowed, wiping a tear from his eye. "A true warrior who won't rely on fancy toothpicks! No, no, no—a real man fights with his fists! Just like his grandpa!"
He flexed his massive arms, striking a ridiculous pose. Ace's eyes lit up at the praise, grinning as he proudly puffed out his chest. "Yeah! Who needs some boring old sword when I can just punch stuff?!"
Garp let out another booming laugh and playfully ruffled Ace's hair. Meanwhile, I just sat there—staring, deadpan. My legendary, priceless, history-laden katana—dismissed as boring. I let out a dramatic sigh, sheathing Shusui with practiced ease before sliding it back into its place at my side.
"Kids these days," I muttered. "No appreciation for fine craftsmanship."
Garp snorted, giving me a smug look.
"Face it, brat—my grandson won't need any of your fancy toys. He's going to grow up strong, like me!"
I simply smirked, leaning back in my chair and thinking about Ace's father, Roger. It surely was a pity for Roger's son not to be interested in swords.
"Yeah, yeah…" I chuckled, shaking my head.
Ace's eyes, still brimming with curiosity, turned toward the second sword resting at my side—Akatsuki. Unlike Shusui, which sat boldly in the open, Akatsuki's presence was more subdued, but no less commanding. There was something unnervingly still about it, as if the sword itself was waiting, biding its time.
"Can I see the other one too…?" Ace asked, his small hands already twitching in anticipation.
Before I could respond, Garp's voice cut through the tavern like a blade.
"Not now, Ace." His tone was firm—final. Ace pouted, obviously wanting to push the issue further, but Garp had already turned back to his plate. There was a reason for his caution.
Even now, Garp could feel the lingering effects of where that cursed blade had cut him during our fight at Sabaody. The wound had yet to properly heal, despite all the time that had passed. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but the blade unnerved even him.
Seeing Ace's disappointment, I decided to shift the conversation. "Say, Ace…" I asked, my tone suddenly light, but deliberate. "What do you want to become in the future?" The tavern stilled.
Garp, who had been about to take another bite, froze, his grip tightening on his fork. Even Rouge-san, who had just exited the kitchen carrying a tray of freshly cooked dishes, hesitated mid-step before quickly composing herself and moving forward.
Bogard, too, paused for a fraction of a second before silently turning his gaze back to his meal.
But it was Ace who felt the full weight of the question. The kid was barely four years old, yet the way his face shifted—the flicker of uncertainty, of hesitation—it was clear that he had already spent quite some time thinking about it.
Across the table, Garp's massive hands clenched, and with a subtle crack, the fork snapped in his grip. This… This was why he had never wanted Ace to know who he truly was. Because what if, in this moment, his grandson said the words he feared the most?
What if Ace—Roger's son—declared that he wanted to become a pirate? Could Garp live with it? Would he be able to go against Ace's true desire?
The tension in the room grew thick as Ace shifted uneasily, suddenly aware of the many eyes on him. He turned to glance around the tavern—but before he could make an excuse, something happened.
A silent, invisible force rippled through the air. And then—
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Every single person in the tavern—except for a select few—collapsed onto their tables, unconscious. Dishes shattered. Drinks spilled. Conversations cut off mid-sentence as bodies slumped forward, crashing onto the wooden floor.
Ace's breath hitched. He couldn't understand what was happening. One moment, the tavern was full of laughter and noise—the next, silence. Garp's chair crashed back as he stood up abruptly, his sheer presence shaking the floorboards beneath him.
"Bastard… why are you being so reckless?!" he roared, his voice like rolling thunder. His Haki surged, raw and unyielding, pressing down on me with the weight of a mountain. But I barely flinched. With a smirk, I countered it easily, keeping my presence steady. I knew Garp was holding back. If we had truly let our Conqueror's Haki clash at full force, this entire tavern would have been reduced to dust.
Rouge-san, holding Luffy, quickly tried to console the now wailing infant, gently rocking him in her arms.
"Rosinante-kun, that was reckless…" she scolded, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation. Even Bogard's hand had instinctively drifted toward the hilt of his blade, a silent warning that he was ready—should things escalate further.
I simply chuckled, shaking my head. Even after all this time, neither of them had let their guard down for even a second. I was still a pirate, after all. Turning back to Ace, I saw him still frozen in place, his small hands trembling slightly as his mind raced to process what had just happened. His voice, when he finally spoke, came in hurried, breathless questions.
"W-What just happened?! What was that?!" Ace's eyes darted between me and Garp, his young mind struggling to grasp the situation. "Why did everyone just crash like that?! What happened to them?!"
Garp, still standing, let out a deep, warning growl.
"Brat… if you wanna pull stunts like this, you better leave my village before things turn ugly." His tone was low, serious. I waved him off. Turning back to Ace, I crouched slightly, bringing myself to his eye level.
"Don't worry about them." I ruffled his hair, grinning. "They're just knocked out. They'll wake up soon enough—probably with a headache, but nothing serious."
Ace was still stunned, his little hands clenching into fists as his mind swirled with a thousand thoughts. I let the moment settle before finally asking—
"Now, Ace…" My gaze held his. "Forget all that for a second. What do you want to become?"
And in that moment, the weight of the question returned, heavier than before.
Contrary to my expectations, Ace neither shied away nor hesitated. His small, innocent eyes locked onto mine, unwavering, his mind turning gears faster than any child his age should have to. And then, he asked a question I did not see coming.
"Did you know my father?"
The words hit harder than I expected. For a moment, I froze, caught off guard by the sheer weight behind them. Slowly, I straightened my back, letting out a small breath before smiling.
"Yes," I answered. "I knew your father. Some would say he was my mentor's trusted friend."
I chuckled, turning my gaze toward Garp, my old mentor—the man who had once tried to beat every ounce of piracy out of me.
Ace's eyes sharpened, his expression shifting from curiosity to something deeper. A storm brewed within that young mind, and I could tell the next words would cut straight to the heart of the matter.
"Do you think what they say about my father—the Pirate King—is true?" His voice was quiet but firm. I listened, saying nothing.
"Do you think his actions… caused the Great Pirate Era? The one that made the world suffer?" His small hands curled into fists. "Do you think all those people hated him?" He swallowed hard before whispering the final question.
"Would they hate me…?"
Silence fell over the tavern. Even the unconscious patrons, slumped over tables and chairs, seemed to fade from existence in that moment. I exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of my nose as I turned my gaze toward Rouge-san. She stood motionless, her lips pressed together, eyes clouded with worry.
I sighed. Had she been hasty in revealing the truth to Ace? He was just a child. And yet, because of the blood that ran through his veins, he was already burdened with a past that was not his own.
"I want to find redemption."
Ace's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"For myself." His gaze burned with determination. "And for my father's name."
For a moment, I blinked. Then, without meaning to—without even thinking— I burst out laughing. The sound was loud and unrestrained, filling the entire tavern. Garp's fist slammed into the counter, the force splintering the wood as his expression twisted into a deep scowl. His patience had already been stretched thin, and now I was laughing at his grandson's words?
Even Rouge-san's face fell into a frown, her arms tightening around little Luffy as he whimpered softly in his sleep. But I couldn't help it. This child, barely four years old, talking about redemption. Redemption. What did he know about redemption? What did he know about the world?
Did he understand what it meant to carry the weight of a name despised by the whole world?
Ace was young, too young to grasp the full meaning of his words. And yet, in his voice, I could hear it—the desperation. He had been forced to grow up too fast. Forced to question himself, his very existence, because of the blood that flowed through his veins.
And that, more than anything, made my laughter die out. I sighed, shaking my head.
"Redemption," I muttered, looking down at him. "Tell me, kid… what do you even know about redemption?"
Ace's little fists clenched tighter, his teeth grinding in frustration. I continued, stepping closer.
"And whose redemption are you seeking?" My voice dropped lower. "Your own? Or your father's?"
Ace's jaw locked, his young face contorted with frustration. I watched him, waiting for an answer.
Seconds passed. Then, finally, he took a deep breath and looked straight at me.
"I… I don't know," he admitted. His voice was barely above a whisper, but there was no shame in it. "But… I want to know. I want to find out if my father was really the monster the world says he was." His small fingers curled into the fabric of his shorts.
"And if he really was a monster…" Ace's gaze didn't waver. "Then I want to fix his mistakes."
I stared at him, my smirk fading. Garp said nothing, but I could feel his presence looming behind me, heavy and unreadable.
This kid… At just four years old, he already carried the weight of the world's hatred on his shoulders. He had already begun to question whether he had the right to exist. And yet, despite that, he still wanted to stand tall. I let out a slow, measured breath before speaking again.
"You think you can fix the past?" I asked, voice softer now. "You think you can change how the world sees your father?"
Ace didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
A foolish answer. An impossible dream.
But… I grinned.
"Then you're in for a long fight, Portgas D. Ace."
Ace narrowed his eyes. "I don't care."
I chuckled. "Is that so?" I sat back in my chair, crossing my arms as I looked at the boy in front of me. "In that case," I said, my voice calm yet deliberate, "I suggest you follow your grandfather's footsteps." Ace blinked, his small hands tightening into fists as he processed my words.
"If you truly want to understand who your father was," I continued, "then don't become a pirate. Stand on the other side instead. Maybe then, you'll find the answers you're looking for. And if, one day, you do…" I leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with him."…come find me."
Ace swallowed, his youthful face struggling to hide the sheer weight of my words. "If you do," I added, "I'll tell you your father's last words—the ones he left for me."
Silence blanketed the room. Garp's reaction was instant and hilarious—his jaw practically hit the table, eyes wide with disbelief.
"You're kidding," he muttered, his voice thick with suspicion. I ignored him, keeping my attention on Ace. Because despite his age, despite his innocence, I knew my words had planted something deep within him. A seed of doubt. A hesitation. A possibility.
Could he truly find the answers he sought without following the path of a pirate? He wanted to clear his father's name, to fight back against the world's hatred for Roger. But to do that, perhaps he needed to stand against his father's legacy, not chase after it.
I saw it in his face—the way the gears in his young mind turned, the way his fingers twitched as though reaching for a conclusion he hadn't quite grasped yet. For the first time, the idea that piracy might not be the only way forward had taken root.
I had planted doubt in the son of the Pirate King. And doubt, when nurtured, could grow into something far more powerful.