"I'll go with you."
The words echoed like thunder across the battlefield.
Gol D. Roger's voice cut through the smoke and silence, leaving everyone frozen in disbelief. The sea breeze carried his words across the broken ground, and for a moment, even the waves seemed to stop moving.
The Pirate King surrendering to the Navy?
That wasn't just unexpected. It was unthinkable.
"What did he just say?!"
"I must've heard that wrong… right?!"
"Gol D. Roger is turning himself in?!"
"This has to be a joke! The Pirate King, surrendering?!"
"The world… it's about to change, isn't it?!"
Every pirate, every marine, even the wounded soldiers staring from afar, could feel it the beginning of something monumental.
Whitebeard's eyes darkened as the realization sank in. His expression, usually fierce and domineering, softened with a trace of sorrow.
"So… that's your choice, Roger?" he murmured quietly, his massive hands tightening around the handle of Murakumogiri.
Roger's declaration snuffed out the last spark of battle in Whitebeard's heart. For the first time that day, he lowered his weapon.
Garp stepped forward, his heavy boots crunching through the shattered debris until he stood beside Ezra D. Vale.
"Ezra. You alright?"
Ezra shook his head lightly, brushing off the concern. "I'm fine."
Garp's gaze shifted toward Roger. His expression was complicated equal parts disbelief, respect, and something like old grief.
For decades, these two had chased each other across the seas, one as the strongest Marine, the other as the most wanted man alive. They'd fought countless times, and now… it all ended with a quiet surrender.
"Roger," Garp said heavily, "what the hell are you planning?"
Roger grinned, his trademark laughter bursting forth. "Garp! You can relax. I mean it this time! I'm turning myself in willingly!"
The gleam in his eyes wasn't madness or deceit. It was calm, resolute sincerity.
For a long moment, Garp said nothing. The world seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a weary sigh, he reached into his coat and pulled out a pair of seastone handcuffs.
"Then… put these on."
Roger didn't hesitate. He held out his hands, and the cuffs clicked shut around his wrists with a faint metallic echo. The Pirate King, shackled by his own will.
He followed Garp toward the waiting warship. The battlefield, once filled with fire and thunder, was now eerily silent. Every eye watched them pass the marines, the pirates, even Whitebeard's men.
They weren't witnessing the end of a fight. They were witnessing history.
As they neared the ship, Roger paused and turned slightly toward Whitebeard. A mischievous grin curved his lips.
"Hey, Newgate. About that thing you mentioned before…"
Whitebeard raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"
"I've been thinking," Roger continued with a laugh. "Your proposal maybe it's not such a bad idea after all! Hahahahaha!"
Whitebeard's eyes widened slightly, and then it clicked. That proposal.
He remembered.
It was about Roger's unborn child how Whitebeard once half-joked that he'd take care of the kid as one of his own.
A rare, genuine smile spread across the old man's face, and his booming laughter followed.
"Kurararara! Roger!"
Don't worry.
Whitebeard didn't speak the words aloud, but in his heart, he made a silent promise.
Garp urged Roger forward, passing by Ezra. "Ezra, we're leaving. This place isn't safe anymore."
Ezra gave a curt nod, sheathing Ryūjin Jakka. Together, they boarded the warship, the sea breeze carrying the last embers of battle away.
Whitebeard stood motionless on the scorched ground, his massive frame silhouetted against the sun. His gaze followed Roger's departing figure not with anger, but with something deeper.
Then, as if sensing the weight of another presence, he turned slightly.
Ezra met his eyes.
For a brief moment, red and gold clashed resolve against experience, youth against legend.
"Whitebeard," Ezra called out, voice steady and sure. "Next time, I'll defeat you."
Whitebeard blinked in surprise, then threw his head back and laughed.
"Kurararara! Brat! I'll be waiting for that day!"
He turned to his men, raising his bisento high. "Alright, boys! We're heading back!"
"Yes, Pops!" his crew shouted in unison, retreating into the heart of the island.
Ezra watched them disappear before turning to Garp and Bogard.
"Let's go," Garp ordered.
"Yes, Vice Admiral," Bogard replied crisply.
Unlike the pirates' composed withdrawal, the Navy was barely containing its excitement.
After all, the man on their ship their prisoner was Gol D. Roger, the Pirate King himself.
As the ship set sail, the sea seemed strangely calm.
Below deck, deep within the warship's brig, Roger sat cross-legged, humming softly to himself. The seastone cuffs shimmered faintly in the dim light.
Garp stood across from him, arms folded, his expression unreadable.
"Alright, Roger," he said finally. "Tell me. What are you really planning?"
Roger chuckled, lowering his head. "Garp… I don't have much time left."
The admiral's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Roger raised his eyes, that same fiery determination flickering beneath them. Then, slowly, he began to explain everything his illness, his journey, the truth he'd discovered at the end of the Grand Line.
By the time he finished, Garp was silent.
Ezra appeared at the doorway then, his steps quiet against the cold floor.
Roger lifted his head and smiled faintly. "Ezra D. Vale, huh? Looks like you're the future of the Marines. Reminds me a lot of Garp back in the day."
Ezra scratched his neck awkwardly. "The future? I wouldn't go that far. I just do my job."
Roger burst into laughter. "Hahahaha! I like your attitude. Hey, kid ever thought about becoming a pirate?"
"Roger!" Garp barked, nearly losing his temper. "Don't push it!"
Roger shrugged innocently, shifting into a more comfortable position. "Fine, fine. Worth a shot."
Then his expression softened, voice lowering. "Ezra… could you give me and Garp a moment alone?"
Ezra knew immediately what Roger wanted to talk about. Ace.
He hesitated, but then spoke quietly. "I've seen her."
Roger froze, eyes widening before comprehension dawned.
Rouge.
"She's… doing well," Ezra said softly.
For the first time, true relief washed over Roger's face. He let out a long breath and smiled a quiet, genuine smile that carried both joy and sorrow.
"Good… hahahaha… that's good."
He looked up at Ezra, his eyes glowing with warmth. "Then I don't have to hide it from you, kid."
Garp blinked, confused. "Hide what?"
Roger didn't answer immediately. He turned toward his oldest rival and said, "Garp, there's something I need to ask you."
His tone was solemn now devoid of laughter, carrying only the weight of truth.
"Rouge… and the child she's carrying." Roger's eyes softened with a rare tenderness. "I'm leaving them in your care."
Garp's eyes widened. "What…?"
Roger smiled faintly. "Please. Take care of them for me."
Silence filled the room. The sea outside roared softly against the hull, as if echoing the gravity of that request.
The Pirate King entrusting his unborn child to the Marine Hero.
History, once again, was quietly rewriting itself.
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