"Hmph, there's no way he's going to find me this time…"
Little Ace stomped further into the forest, his small hands clenched into tight fists, his face twisted into a scowl of pure frustration. What had started as a game of hide-and-seek had quickly become a battle of pride, and so far—he was losing.
No matter where he hid—behind trees, inside bushes, up in branches, or even buried under leaves—Rosinante would always find him. And he was so damn smug about it.
Ace could still picture that lazy grin, the way Rosinante would tilt his head, his golden blonde hair falling over one eye as he chuckled, "Nice try, kid. Maybe next time." It made Ace's blood boil.
He had even tried punching him out of sheer annoyance, but Rosinante would always dodge effortlessly, moving so casually it was like he had eyes on the back of his head.
After failing to land a single hit for the twentieth time, Ace had stormed off, determined to hide so well this time that not even that weird, tall man could find him. But one thing still bugged him.
"How does he always know where I am…?"
Frustrated, Ace had gone straight to Garp, hoping his Jiji could explain. The moment he blurted out the question, however, Garp had burst into laughter, his massive shoulders shaking as he guffawed.
"BWAHAHAHA! That idiot? He's just got good instincts!" But Rosinante, standing nearby with his arms crossed, simply sighed, shaking his head.
"Good instincts? Seriously, old man?" Ace's brow furrowed as he watched them—his grandfather and his strange apprentice—begin what could only be described as a legendary argument.
"It's called Haki, Ace," Rosinante started, but before he could say another word—
"IT'S TOO EARLY!" Garp roared, his voice sending birds flying from the treetops. Rosinante's eye twitched.
"Too early? Too early?! Do you hear yourself, old man?" Garp folded his massive arms, glaring down at his former apprentice. "You think a brat like him is ready for that?!"
Rosinante scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You started training me when I was eight, and I turned out fine."
"Yeah? And you were a crybaby who kept tripping over his own feet!"
"That's because you threw me off cliffs, old man!"
"TOUGH LOVE!" Garp bellowed, his fist slamming into the ground, sending cracks through the dirt.
Ace's eyes widened. Wait. Cliffs? Rosinante ignored the destruction, sighing dramatically as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Look, all I'm saying is that laying a strong foundation from a young age will only help him later. If you don't let me teach him now, he'll—"
"BAH! He's still a snot-nosed brat! Let him run around, fight, and break a few bones first!"
Rosinante's eye twitched harder.
"THAT'S NOT HOW TRAINING WORKS, YOU MUSCLE-HEADED MORON!"
Ace blinked, watching the two grown men bicker like children. The forest shook from the sheer force of their shouting.
"BWAHAHAHA! What's the rush, huh? You scared he's gonna turn out like me?!" Garp teased, grinning like an absolute menace. Rosinante's expression darkened."That," he muttered, rubbing his temples, "is exactly what I'm afraid of."
Garp snorted. "Listen, Rosinante! Training a kid too early is like trying to teach a fish how to fly! It ain't gonna work!" Rosinante threw his hands in the air.
Ace's head darted between the two, his frustration growing. "Oi, oi! Are you guys gonna answer my question or not?!" Both men froze, turning to look at Ace, who was now standing with his arms crossed, pouting.
Then—
"Hmm…" Garp stroked his beard, grinning as if an idea had struck him.
"Y'know what, Ace? You really wanna know the answer?" Ace nodded furiously. "Then—how 'bout you try and hit me?" Garp grinned, cracking his knuckles.
Ace's eyes lit up.
"Oh, now you're just being cruel to the kid," Rosinante sighed, already seeing where this was going. Ace, unaware of the impending disaster, grinned wildly, ready to finally land a hit on someone.
And with all his strength— He swung.
Five Minutes Later…
Ace lay flat on the ground, staring up at the sky, his entire body aching. Somehow, he had ended up face-first in the dirt before he even realized what happened. Garp was still laughing.
Rosinante, crouching beside him, let out a long sigh.
"See, Ace? This is why I wanted to teach you now. Because otherwise, this," he gestured at Ace's sprawled-out form, "is going to keep happening."
Ace, still brooding over the frustrating events of the morning, was abruptly pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a wailing cry piercing through the forest.
"Let me go...! Let me go...! I don't want to go back there!"
The voice was small, trembling with both fear and defiance, but what truly caught Ace's attention was the raw desperation behind it. Curious, he crept behind a thick tree trunk, peering into a small clearing just ahead. What he saw made his blood run hot.
A boy—no older than his own age—was being manhandled by four grown men, each dressed in the distinct uniforms of the Goa Kingdom's soldiers. The child was dressed in fine noble attire, but his pristine clothes were now torn and dirt-streaked. Tears and snot flowed freely down his reddened, bruised face as he struggled, his small fists swinging wildly at the men restraining him.
But for all his resistance, the difference in strength was too vast.
"Shut up, you little bastard!"
The largest of the soldiers snarled before striking the boy across the face. The force of the slap sent him crashing into the dirt, a choked sob escaping his lips. The boy's body tensed, but despite the pain, he still tried to crawl away, his tiny fingers digging into the earth. Ace's fists clenched at his sides, his nails biting into his skin.
"Because of you, we had to spend the entire night and day combing through this damn forest!" The same soldier grabbed the boy by his collar, jerking him upright. His grip was tight, almost strangling. "If not for your father offering a fat reward for your safe return, I would have gutted you like a pig!"
To emphasize his words, he twisted the child's arm—hard. The boy—Sabo, Ace would later learn his name was—let out a shrieking cry, his little legs kicking uselessly as his body contorted in pain. Ace gritted his teeth, his nails digging deeper into his palm.
"Oi, what the hell are you doing?!" One of the other soldiers, a man with graying hair, frowned, casting a nervous glance toward the trees. "If the kid goes back and complains, we're all dead. He's a noble, for God's sake."
The man beating the boy scoffed, spitting at the ground near the child.
"Hah! What do you know?" He sneered. "If it wasn't for Outlook-sama not having another heir, this brat would've had a tragic accident a long time ago." His voice was filled with venom, but there was something else beneath it—something darker. Resentment.
"Tch..." He knelt down, grabbing a fistful of Sabo's blonde hair, yanking his head up so the child was forced to look at him through bleary, tear-filled eyes.
"You nobles think you're untouchable, huh?" His voice was low, nearly a whisper. "That your name, your money, makes you better than us?"
Sabo whimpered, but he didn't say a word. The soldier's grip tightened.
"I've seen people like your father step over corpses just to climb a little higher." He leaned in closer, his breath hot and reeking of cheap liquor. "And you? You're just like him. A little rat that thinks he can scurry away from the filth he was born into."
Sabo, despite his fear, shook his head furiously.
"I—I'm not like them!" he hiccuped, his voice cracking. "I just—I just wanted to be free!" The soldier let out a harsh, cruel laugh. "Free?" His voice dripped with mockery. "There ain't no freedom for people like us. There's just the bottom and the top, and guess what? You're at the bottom now."
Then, without warning— A vicious kick to Sabo's stomach sent the boy crashing back into the dirt. Ace flinched, his body tensing, but still—he didn't move. The other soldiers exchanged glances but did nothing to stop it.
One of them, a man with a scar running down his cheek, exhaled sharply, crossing his arms.
"You're going too far."
"Am I?" The first soldier snorted, rubbing his knuckles. "If the brat dies, we'll just say bandits got him. It's not like anyone would question it. The only thing nobles care about is saving face."
A grim silence fell over the clearing.
And then— One of the other men smirked.
"Yeah… Maybe if we deliver him as a corpse, Outlook-sama will finally have an excuse to have another heir." A cold chill ran down Ace's spine. They weren't just beating the kid up—they were actually considering killing him. And worse? None of them seemed to care. Ace's fists tightened, his entire body shaking with fury.
This wasn't about duty. It wasn't about orders. It was about resentment. To them, this wasn't a child—he was a symbol. A punching bag for every injustice they had suffered under the rule of the Goa Kingdom's elite. A chance to get back at the very system that had crushed them.
And now that they had a noble's son completely at their mercy, they wanted to take everything from him. They wanted to make him feel weak. They wanted to make him suffer. They wanted to make him die like a commoner.
Ace's breath came out in harsh pants, his fingers twitching. He didn't care about nobles. Didn't care about their wealth, their status, or their problems. But this? This was different. This was just wrong. And Ace wasn't the type to stand back and watch.
"Oi."
His voice rang sharp and clear, cutting through the night like a blade. The soldiers froze, their heads snapping toward the treeline— Only to see a small figure, barely the same age as the child they had been tormenting, step out from the shadows.
A wild grin stretched across Ace's face, his hands cracking his knuckles. "You bastards look real proud picking on a little kid." The soldiers' eyes narrowed, taken aback. Ace's grin widened. "How about you try fighting someone who can hit back?"
Ace stepped out from behind the tree, gripping a broken tree branch in one hand and a rough, jagged stone in the other. His small chest rose and fell rapidly, his heart pounding, but his stance was firm. He wasn't running. The soldiers, momentarily startled by his sudden appearance, quickly regained their composure.
"Shit...! You almost scared the life out of me!" One of the men cursed, relaxing when he got a better look at the intruder—just a kid. A dirty, wild-looking brat, but a brat nonetheless.
The soldier who had been standing guard exhaled sharply, then turned to his colleague with an impatient scowl. "Tch. Get rid of the little bastard. We can't have any witnesses tying this back to us."
He gestured toward the noble child crumpled in the dirt, still trembling from the brutal beating.
But before anyone could make a move—
CRACK!
A sharp grunt of pain split the air as the soldier who had just spoken crumpled to the ground, screaming. His spear clattered uselessly beside him as he clutched his face, writhing in agony.
The others whipped around, eyes widening. Ace stood firm, his arm still extended from the throw. His tiny chest heaved as he watched the man wail, blood seeping through his fingers. The stone he had hurled had found its mark—slamming directly into the man's eye socket.
"You little bastard—!"
The remaining three soldiers snapped, their momentary shock turning into rage-filled bloodlust. Their hands flew to their weapons, eyes burning with fury as they charged.
Ace tightened his grip on the wooden branch. He didn't move.
The first soldier lunged, thrusting his spear forward in a brutal stab— Ace twisted his body, but not fast enough. The tip of the spear ripped through his shirt, leaving a burning scratch along his ribs. But before the man could pull back for another strike— Ace swung the branch with everything he had.
CRACK!
A sickening snap rang through the clearing as the wooden branch shattered against the soldier's knee. The man let out a howling scream, his leg buckling underneath him as he collapsed onto the ground.
But Ace had no time to celebrate— A boot slammed into his chest.
"Guh—!"
The force sent him flying backwards, his small body colliding with a tree.
THUD!
The impact rattled his bones, pain exploding through his ribs. His vision blurred, the edges of his world turning a hazy black.
"AAARRGH!"
The soldier whose knee had just been shattered screamed in agony, rolling on the ground, sweat pouring down his face. His hands trembled violently, hovering over the mangled mess of his leg.
"What the hell is this kid!?" he spat, voice thick with pain and disbelief.
The soldier Ace had blinded with the rock staggered to his feet, his left eye pouring blood down his face. He tore a dagger from his belt, gripping it so hard his knuckles turned white.
"I'm going to gouge out both his eyes!" he snarled.
One of the remaining soldiers stepped forward, his own blade drawn.
"Enough playing. We end this now."
The third soldier, who had been tending to the injured man, hesitated before stepping away, choosing instead to watch the slaughter unfold. Ace struggled to breathe. His chest burned, his arms ached, and his ribs screamed in protest as he tried to push himself off the tree.
But he refused to stay down.
He gritted his teeth, willing himself to stand. Even as his body throbbed, even as his arms trembled, even as his lungs begged for air— He stood. His legs wobbled slightly, but he steadied them. His breathing was ragged, but he forced himself to straighten. His small hands curled into fists, his eyes burning with defiance.
The soldiers loomed over him, weapons gleaming in the dim light. But Ace didn't falter.
Because if he ran, then what was the point of standing up in the first place? He wasn't going to die here.
No— They were.
Through the blurred haze clouding his vision, Ace saw it—a silhouette standing at the edge of the clearing. Even as his consciousness wavered, even as the world around him seemed to tilt and spin, there was no mistaking that figure.
Two blades, strapped to his waist. The soldiers hadn't noticed the new arrival. Their backs were still turned, too focused on the boy they were about to kill. But Ace saw him. And in that moment—he grinned. A satisfied smirk stretched across his lips, even as his knees finally buckled.
"Heh… got 'em…"
Then—his body collapsed, his mind succumbing to unconsciousness just as the soldier raised his sword for the killing blow. But before the blade could descend—
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
****
A voice—cold, smooth, laced with quiet authority—cut through the clearing like a knife. The soldier froze, his blade hovering mid-air. The other three men whipped around, their expressions shifting from startled confusion to uneasy recognition as I stepped into the clearing. I walked slowly, my boots crunching against the forest floor, my eyes sweeping over the scene before me.
A ruthlessly beaten child, trembling but alive. A group of filthy cowards, still gripping their weapons, their faces a mix of anger and unease. And then—Ace. His small form lay motionless on the ground, but the ghost of a smirk still lingered on his face, as if he had already won before passing out.
But even as I moved closer, it wasn't me Sabo was staring at. His teary, swollen eyes remained fixed on Ace. Even through the overwhelming pain, even through his own suffering, Sabo was burning the image into his memory.
He would never forget this moment. Not even years later—when the seas had changed, when the world itself had ignited in an endless war, when kingdoms had fallen—Sabo would always remember the day Ace stood up for him.
But I wasn't here to let his bravery be in vain. I continued walking—past Sabo, past the small clearing—straight toward the men responsible. I exhaled softly, shaking my head.
"To beat up the future Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army…" I murmured, letting my words settle into the air. "You guys sure are bold."
The soldiers stiffened, their grips on their weapons tightening. The one with the rifle—a grizzled man with a cruel sneer—stepped forward, chuckling darkly.
"Chief of Staff…? What nonsense are you spouting??? Who the hell are you in the first place…? Well, never mind all that. Blame your luck, kid." His voice dripped with arrogance laced with confusion as he raised his rifle, aiming it squarely at my head.
"You just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time." He pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The gun roared, the deafening crack of the gunshot echoing through the clearing. The soldiers braced themselves, expecting to see a lifeless body drop—
But instead— I kept walking. Unbothered. Untouched. I hadn't even broken my stride. The smug confidence in the soldier's face vanished instantly, replaced by a flicker of disbelief. Then—his eyes widened in horror as he saw it.
The bullet. Pinched between my fingers, stopped mid-air, caught as easily as a stray leaf drifting in the wind. I examined the cheap little round, rolling it casually between my fingers before sighing.
"Tch. When was the last time someone tried to kill me with such a cheap weapon?"
I flicked my wrist, tossing the bullet into the air like a coin, watching it spin before catching it again.
"Seems like weapon quality has dropped since the family lost its businesses in the Four Blues."
The soldier's hands shook as he fumbled with the rifle, his face going pale. He pulled the trigger again.
BANG…BANG…BANG BANG BANG!
Six rounds—all aimed directly at my chest, my head, my throat. But it didn't matter. I caught every single one. My fingers closed around the speeding projectiles as easily as catching raindrops. The clearing was now deathly silent.
The soldier's breath hitched, his gun now empty, his hands trembling uncontrollably. The other three men took involuntary steps back, their minds unable to comprehend what had just happened. I smiled.
Then, without warning— I flicked my thumb. And the bullets flew. The first bullet tore through the soldier's left knee, splintering bone, sending him collapsing with a shriek. The second ripped through his right knee, completely shattering it, leaving his legs a useless mess of blood and torn flesh.
The third bullet pierced his wrist, his fingers involuntarily spasming as his grip on the rifle went limp. The fourth and fifth rounds snapped through his shoulders, his body now paralyzed with agony, his mouth foaming from the sheer shock.
He didn't even have time to scream. Because the final bullet obliterated his skull. The man's head snapped back violently, his entire body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. Blood sprayed across the forest floor, pooling beneath his twitching corpse.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then— A low, terrified gasp escaped from one of the remaining soldiers. Their faces had lost all color. Their bodies trembled, their hands shaking so violently that they nearly dropped their weapons.
"What… what the hell is he?!" one of them whispered, voice barely above a breath.
Another took an involuntary step back, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, his pupils blown wide with panic. The only sound in the clearing was the heavy, uneven breathing of the three remaining men—paralyzed in absolute horror.
I dusted off my hands, exhaling softly. Then—I looked up. And when I did, I smiled. "Well?" My voice was calm, almost gentle, but laced with something unspoken and deadly.
"Who's next?"
"We… we had nothing to do with this…" The one-eyed soldier stumbled back, his remaining eye wide with panic, darting toward the shattered corpse of his former comrade. His hands trembled violently as he pointed a bloodied finger at the lifeless body.
"It was him…! It was all his fault! He was the one who talked us into this!"
His voice cracked with desperation, his legs barely supporting his weight as the reality of death pressed in from all sides. I didn't even spare him a glance. Instead, I crouched down, placing a hand on Ace's unconscious form.
The kid had fought with everything he had. Even in his reckless, wild fury, his instincts had been sharp. His small arms had curled protectively around his ribs, preventing them from being shattered—though his left arm was clearly cracked from the impact.
He'll mend.
I ran a hand through my blond hair, exhaling softly. Then—my gaze drifted toward the discarded rifle beside the first soldier's corpse. I reached down, picking up the firearm with an air of casual indifference, my fingers moving deftly as I rummaged through the dead man's pockets.
Three bullets left.
I let out a low chuckle. The moment I began loading the magazine, the three remaining soldiers instinctively understood.
Without hesitation— They ran.
The one whose knee I had shattered earlier collapsed immediately, his leg unable to support his weight. He let out a strangled scream, his face contorted in agony as he tried—and failed—to crawl away.
The other two soldiers didn't even glance back. They abandoned him without hesitation, their boots pounding against the forest floor, fueled by nothing but pure, primal terror. I sighed, raising the rifle to my shoulder.
"It's been a while since I last used one of these…" I murmured, tilting my head as I took aim.
"Let's see if my aim has gotten rusty."
—BANG! A gunshot split the air. A body dropped. The second shot followed almost instantly.
—BANG! Another corpse hit the dirt. Even at more than a hundred meters away, both bullets had found their mark with ease. I let out a satisfied hum, lowering the rifle as my lips curled into a small smile.
Still sharp as ever.
But now—only one remained. The crippled soldier, still desperately crawling, had stopped moving. His entire body was trembling violently, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
I stepped toward him. Slowly. Deliberately. He turned onto his back, his hands raised in a pitiful, shaking plea. His face was drenched in sweat, tears, and snot, his expression one of absolute terror.
"P-Please… please… spare me…!"
His voice was barely above a whimper, every ounce of his former arrogance and cruelty stripped away. I chuckled. Then, without a word, I pressed the muzzle of the rifle against his mouth. His entire body seized, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks.
And then— I pulled the trigger.
—BANG.
Blood and brain matter splattered across the forest floor, painting the earth in grotesque shades of crimson and gray. The soldier's body slumped, twitching for a few brief seconds before falling completely still. I let the rifle drop from my grasp, letting it clatter onto the dirt beside the lifeless corpses.
Then—I turned.
"Bogard-san, can I trouble you to take the kid back to his home?"
I gestured toward Sabo, who had been eerily silent this entire time. The boy—who had been sobbing moments ago—now simply lay there motionless, his tiny fists clenched at his sides. His wide, haunted eyes weren't filled with fear. No—it was something else entirely.
A slow, creeping realization. Something had shifted in his young mind. I could already tell—he would remember this day forever. And behind me, I already knew Bogard was there. He had arrived the moment Ace was in danger—but seeing me intervene, he had chosen not to step in.
Now, he landed gracefully beside me, his coat billowing slightly from the motion.
His eyes swept across the clearing—taking in the corpses, the blood-soaked earth, the sheer brutality of what I had done. A flicker of distaste crossed his face. And then—he spoke.
"Was killing them absolutely necessary, Rosinante?" His voice was even, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "I could have turned them over to the authorities."
Even if he didn't say it outright, I knew what he meant. Bogard—being Garp's shadow for so many years—wasn't a man who took lives lightly. Much like his mentor, he believed in justice—even for the wicked.
But I merely shook my head, adjusting Ace's unconscious form as I carefully lifted him onto my shoulder. Then, I met Bogard's gaze.
"I'm not you, Bogard-san." My voice was calm, unyielding. "Unlike you, I'm not bound by rules."
I turned away, my expression unreadable.
"If someone targets the people I care about…" I exhaled, letting my words linger in the air. Then—without a shred of hesitation—I finished.
"Death is a mercy that I grant." And with that— I vanished. Leaving Bogard alone in the clearing, the bitter taste of my words settling in his mouth. He stood there for a moment—his eyes lingering on the lifeless bodies, the crimson-stained ground, and finally—on the small, shaken child before him.
Sabo still hadn't spoken. Bogard sighed, his expression softening ever so slightly as he finally turned to the boy.
"Come on, kid." His voice was gentler now. "Let's get you home." And with that—he walked away, picking up Sabo onto his shoulders and taking him back to the place he no longer wanted to return to.