-Broadcast-
The gates of the underworld parted like storm clouds, releasing a torrent of ghostly flames that coalesced into a familiar figure. The black-clad spirit that emerged carried the aura of a man who had burned bright and died young—Portgas D. Ace, Fire Fist Ace, whose bounty had exceeded 550 million berries during his legendary but brief career.
His ethereal form flickered with residual power, the Mera Mera no Mi's flames dancing around his spiritual body like memories of the fire that had once made him feared across the Grand Line. Even in death, Ace retained the proud bearing, his black hair wild and untamed, his eyes still burning with the passion that had defined his life.
The moment his gaze fell upon the towering figure of Edward Newgate, all composure shattered.
"Pops!" Ace's voice cracked with raw emotion, years of separation and regret pouring out in a single word. He launched himself forward with desperate urgency, arms outstretched toward the man who had given him everything he'd never known he needed. "I can't believe it's really you! I've been searching through this endless darkness for so long!"
His embrace passed harmlessly through Whitebeard's reanimated form, his arms grasping nothing but spectral air. The cruel reality of their ghostly existence hit him like a physical blow, and frustration twisted his features as he stumbled backward.
"Damn it," he whispered, staring at his translucent hands. "Even now, I can't... I can't even touch you."
Whitebeard's massive frame seemed to diminish slightly, the World's Strongest Man reduced to a father watching his son suffer. The usual commanding presence that had once made Marine Admirals hesitate was replaced by something far more vulnerable—paternal love mixed with crushing regret.
"Ace, my son..." Whitebeard's voice rumbled like distant thunder, each word heavy with the weight of years spent wandering the afterlife. "The fault is mine, not yours. I've been searching these cursed realms since the moment I arrived, turning over every stone, calling your name into every shadow." His massive fists clenched. "Perhaps the underworld itself conspired to keep us apart, knowing that our reunion would shake even the foundations of death."
The great pirate's eyes, usually sharp as steel, now showed the exhaustion of a man who had searched for his son across infinite darkness. "I failed you when it mattered most, boy. Failed to be there when Teach cornered you, failed to arrive in time at Marineford..." His voice broke slightly. "A father's first duty is to protect his children, and I couldn't even do that."
"No!" Ace's denial came out as a roar that seemed to make the very air around them tremble. "Don't you dare blame yourself for my stupidity! You warned me about Teach, warned me not to go after him alone, but I was too proud, too hot-headed to listen!"
His spiritual form flickered with agitation, phantom flames dancing around his clenched fists. "Marco tried to stop me. Thatch's death should have been warning enough. But I let my pride get the better of me, and because of that..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Because of that, so many of our brothers died. Jozu lost his arm. You lost your life. All because I couldn't just swallow my pride and walk away."
The weight of memory pressed down on him like the depths of the ocean. "Vista, Curiel, Rakuyo... how many good men died trying to save one stubborn fool? I should have stayed on the Moby Dick. I should have listened to you. The mess I created... that blood is on my hands alone."
Character Notes: Portgas D. Ace walked the razor's edge between righteousness and rebellion throughout his life. His final act of sacrifice to save his brother tipped the scales toward light, sparing him from damnation. Like Whitebeard and Roger before him, he now serves the underworld's eternal vigil, working to maintain the balance between life and death.
A new presence made itself known with deliberate footsteps against the ethereal ground. The sound carried the weight of legend, of a man whose very name had once shaken the world.
"Ace."
The single word cut through their reunion like the edge of a supreme-grade blade. Gol D. Roger stepped into view, his iconic straw hat absent, leaving his weathered face fully exposed to reveal features that were hauntingly familiar. The Pirate King's presence was subdued compared to his living days, but his eyes—those same dark eyes that Ace possessed—burned with desperate paternal hope.
"My son," Roger continued, his voice carrying decades of regret. "Don't you have anything to say to your old man? Even just a single word?"
The resemblance was impossible to deny. The same wild black hair that refused to be tamed, the same determined jawline that spoke of unbreakable will, the same fire burning behind eyes that had seen too much of the world's cruelty. Roger felt his heart—if spirits could be said to have hearts—clench with recognition and love for this young man who carried his blood but not his name.
"I know I have no right to expect anything from you," Roger pressed on, taking a tentative step closer. "I wasn't there to see your first steps, to teach you to sail, to watch you grow into the remarkable man you became. But Ace... you're my son. That has to count for something."
The temperature around them seemed to drop as Ace's expression transformed from surprise to cold, unforgiving stone. Every trace of warmth vanished from his features, replaced by a hatred so pure it was almost tangible.
"Roger." The name fell from Ace's lips like a curse, each syllable dripping with venom. "The great Pirate King himself, gracing me with his presence. How honored I should feel."
The sarcasm in his voice could have cut diamond. "I don't have anything to say to you. I never took your name when I was alive, I sure as hell won't acknowledge you now that we're both dead." His spiritual form seemed to grow more solid, fueled by righteous anger. "You're nothing to me—a stranger who happened to share blood. That's where our connection begins and ends."
Roger recoiled as if physically struck, the pain evident in every line of his face. "Ace, please—"
"Please what?" Ace's voice rose to a shout that echoed through the spiritual realm. "Please pretend that you were a father to me? Please act like you gave a damn about anything other than your precious treasure and your grand adventure?"
His eyes blazed with fury. "You want to know what I think of you, Roger? I think you're the most selfish bastard who ever lived. You knew you were dying, knew you were leaving behind a child, and you did it anyway. You condemned my mother to twenty months of hell, carrying me while Marines and pirates alike hunted for any trace of your bloodline."
Whitebeard moved between them, his massive presence attempting to defuse the explosive tension. Even as a spirit, his aura commanded respect. "Ace, my son... he is your biological father. Some bonds in this world transcend choice, transcend anger—"
"Pops, stop." Ace's voice went deadly quiet, but his eyes never left Roger's face. "Don't defend him. Not after everything. You want to know the difference between a real father and a sperm donor? Let me explain it to you."
He gestured toward Whitebeard without breaking eye contact with Roger. "A real father teaches you about strength and honor. A real father makes you feel like you belong somewhere, like you matter. A real father puts his life on the line for his sons, even when they've made mistakes that put the whole family at risk."
His voice grew stronger with each word. "My mother—Rouge—she's the one who sacrificed everything. She held me in her womb for twenty months, enduring agony that would have killed most people, all so I could have a chance at life. She died bringing me into this world, and her last words were about hoping I could find happiness."
Ace's spiritual form flickered with raw emotion. "And you? You just happened to be there for the conception. You planted a seed and then ran off to chase your dreams of One Piece, leaving her to deal with the consequences. She paid the price for your dream with her life."
Roger's face crumpled, the legendary composure of the Pirate King finally breaking under his son's verbal assault. "Ace... I was dying at that time, I had no choice but to entrust you to Garp, if there had been any other way—"
"But there wasn't, was there?" Ace cut him off ruthlessly. "Because your grand adventure was more important than your family. Your legacy, your treasure, your place in history—all of it mattered more than the woman who loved you and the child you left behind."
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the ethereal winds of the underworld.
"You can live with your precious title of Pirate King," Ace continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried more weight than his shouts. "That's all you ever really cared about anyway. The man who raised me, who taught me what it meant to belong to a family, who died trying to save me—that's my father. Edward Newgate is my Pops, and he always will be."
"I might be your son, but you were never my father."
-Real World-
The Sky Screen's revelation hit the world like a seaquake, sending shockwaves through every Marine base, every pirate ship, every civilian household across the four seas. The implications were staggering beyond comprehension.
Fire Fist Ace—biological son of Gol D. Roger, the Pirate King.
Raised by Monkey D. Garp, the Hero of the Marines.
Adopted by Edward Newgate, the World's Strongest Man.
One man connected to three of the most powerful figures in pirate history.
In taverns across the Grand Line, conversations died mid-sentence as patrons stared at the Sky Screen in stunned disbelief. Veteran pirates who had sailed these waters for decades found themselves questioning everything they thought they knew about bloodlines, loyalty, and the thin lines between Marine and pirate.
"The Pirate King had a son," someone whispered in a bar in Sabaody Archipelago. "And the Marines raised him."
"No wonder Fire Fist was so strong," another voice added. "That kind of bloodline... Roger's will, Whitebeard's protection, Garp's training..."
"Makes you wonder what other secrets are floating around out there," a grizzled captain muttered into his ale. "How many more legendary bloodlines are hiding in plain sight?"
At Marine Headquarters, the tension in the operations room was so thick it could be cut with a sword. Senior officers sat in stunned silence, their eyes fixed on Vice Admiral Garp, who continued munching on rice crackers with the casual indifference of a man attending a particularly boring meeting.
The implications for Marine credibility were catastrophic. The organization that claimed to represent absolute justice had harbored the son of their greatest enemy for years. Worse, they had done so through their most celebrated hero.
"This is a disaster," Vice Admiral Onigumo growled, his spider-leg hair writhing with agitation. "How are we supposed to maintain public trust when our own Hero was raising pirate royalty?"
"The newspapers are going to have a field day with this," Vice Admiral Dalmatian added, his canine features twisted with concern. "Every anti-Marine faction in the world will use this as ammunition against us."
"Gentlemen." Fleet Admiral Sengoku's voice cut through the murmur of worried conversations like a blade. The room fell silent instantly, all eyes turning to the man who bore the weight of Marine leadership on his shoulders. "I'm well aware of the... implications of this revelation."
His gaze fixed on his oldest friend, and years of shared battles, shared losses, and shared compromises seemed to pass between them in an instant. "Garp. Explain. Now."
The old Marine hero looked up from his crackers with the expression of a man who had been expecting this conversation for decades. "What's to explain, Sengoku? Kid needed a home, so I gave him one. Simple as that."
He popped another cracker into his mouth with deliberate casualness. "Besides, you all act like this is breaking news. Where did you think I disappeared to during all those 'training missions' over the years? Did you really believe I was just sitting on some island teaching recruits how to punch?"
"This isn't a joke, Garp!" Sengoku's fist slammed down on the table, causing several junior officers to jump. "Do you have any idea what kind of position this puts the Marines in? The Hero of the Marines raising the Pirate King's son—how do you think the world is going to react to that?"
Garp's expression grew more serious, but his tone remained defiant. "Probably the same way they reacted when we started using Shichibukai as attack dogs. Or when we turned a blind eye to Celestial Dragon atrocities. Or when we covered up government massacres on islands like Ohara."
He stood slowly, his full presence filling the room. "Face it, Sengoku—we've all got blood on our hands. The only difference is mine was spilled trying to give a kid a chance at a normal life instead of watching him get hunted down like an animal."
The accusation hung in the air like smoke from a battlefield. Around the room, Marine officers shifted uncomfortably, some nodding in reluctant agreement while others bristled at the implied criticism of their organization.
"That boy never asked to be born with Roger's blood," Garp continued, his voice gaining strength. "He never chose to carry that burden. But the world would have killed him for it anyway, just like they killed his mother. Someone had to step up, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be you bureaucrats."
Fleet Admiral Sengoku's jaw worked silently for several long moments, the weight of command and friendship warring behind his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the cold finality of absolute authority.
"Vice Admiral Garp, by the power invested in me as Fleet Admiral of the Marines, I hereby strip you of the title 'Hero of the Marines.' This is effective immediately."
In front of all the senior officers, Garp was stripped of the very title that had defined him. Fleet Admiral Sengoku's actions were not meant as punishment, but as protection for an old friend. Forcing Garp into retirement outright would have been a greater loss to the Navy than any scandal could bring.
Take back the title 'Hero of the Marines.' and release an official statement through the newspapers. Spin the narrative to downplay the scale of the incident and mitigate any public backlash involving Garp. The Marine cannot afford to lose the people's trust. Even if that trust is nothing more than an illusion, the word 'justice' must always come first. Better to play the saint while standing in the mud than let the façade crumble.
In the corner, Admiral Sakazuki watched the exchange with barely concealed disgust, his magma-powered body radiating heat that made the air shimmer around him. Weak leadership. Sentimental fools.
His gaze shifted toward where Admiral candidate Artoria Pendragon sat observing the proceedings, her expression unreadable behind those emerald eyes. She hadn't spoken since the revelation began, but Sakazuki could sense the calculating intelligence behind her silence.
Five years, he thought, remembering the Sky Screen's visions of the future. Five years until real leadership takes charge. Until someone with the will to do what's necessary sits in that chair.
The future the Sky Screen had shown—twelve Admirals dominating the world, Marines operating with complete independence from World Government interference—was beginning to look more appealing by the moment.
"This changes everything," Vice Admiral Tsuru observed quietly, her tactical mind already working through the implications. "The balance of power, public perception, internal morale... we're looking at a fundamental shift in how the world views the Marines."
"Let them question us," Vice Admiral Strawberry declared with typical hawkish fervor. "We've been cleaning up after pirates and government officials for decades. Maybe it's time the world remembered who really keeps the peace around here."
"Spoken like someone who's never had to manage political fallout," Vice Admiral Momonga replied wearily. "This isn't about strength—it's about legitimacy. How can we claim moral authority when our greatest hero was secretly protecting pirate royalty?"
"Maybe," a new voice interjected quietly, "the question isn't about our authority, but about what authority truly means."
All eyes turned to Artoria, who had finally chosen to speak. Her voice carried the weight of noble conviction, each word carefully measured.
"Garp protected an innocent child from the sins of his father. He chose compassion over dogma, humanity over bureaucracy. If that's a crime in the eyes of the world..." She stood gracefully, her presence commanding instant attention. "Then perhaps the world's definition of justice needs to be reevaluated."
The room fell silent as her words sank in. Here was the future of Marine leadership, according to the Sky Screen's prophecy, and she was defending the very action that threatened to tear their organization apart.
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