One move to decide the victor?
Garp stood on a broken chunk of the barren island, smiling inscrutably.
"Brat, don't tell me you've got some technique that needs ages to charge up? You're a clever little thing, coming up with an excuse like that."
Who says Garp is all brawn?
From just two lines of dialogue he'd deduced all that; Garp was shrewd beyond belief.
Seven's expression still didn't change.
"What's wrong? Is the Marine Hero getting scared?"
In truth, with Rouge and Ace as the connecting thread, Seven and Garp could be said—loosely—to stand on the same side.
The two shared the same wish—
that Roger's child, Ace, could grow up carefree and live out his life in peace, untainted by the grudges of the older generation.
One kept his word, the other repaid a debt of gratitude for the Captain's years of care and guidance.
Garp knew the World Government's habit of rooting out every last sprout; at best he could shield Ace for another twenty or thirty years. Seven, on the other hand, barring accidents, could protect Ace for life—
provided Seven wanted to.
And if Dragon ever had children, Seven might even give them face for Ace's sake.
A seventeen-year-old Emperor of the Sea, unless he ran into an Im like Rocks had, could roam the oceans free and easy for life.
A moment later Garp raised his iron fist.
"Come, come—this old man refuses to believe some half-grown kid can pull off a heaven-shaking move. I've seen everything under the sun."
So what if the boy used Roger's Kami Ari?
In the years Garp chased Roger he'd taken at least eighty, maybe ninety, of those Divine Avoidances and was still bouncing around fit as ever.
Judging by the confidence on the kid's face, it shouldn't be Kami Ari; could it be Ara Mitama?
It couldn't possibly be Kagutsuchi Hōshi, could it?
If a kid that young really could use Roger's strongest technique, he'd need locking up in Impel Down for life—keep an eye on him forever.
Seven gave a big thumbs-up.
"Mr. Garp, you're a man of honour."
With that he drifted a little higher, making sure to leave enough safety margin should Garp use Moonwalk or punch the ground to rocket himself closer.
In this business, caution costs nothing.
Especially against black-haired Garp—this wasn't the seventy-eight-year-old Garp who'd be cornered on Hachinosu by the Deserter King twenty-plus years later.
Seeing this, Garp curled his lip.
"This brat's a born scourge."
By rights a young Emperor of the Sea with that much power should be a bit arrogant, maybe even look at people down his nose.
But with young Seven?
He was cautious to a fault.
Heaven only knew whether he'd be blessing or bane to the Marines.
Still, anyone Dragon approved of had to bear strong hostility toward the World Government, yet the Gorosei treated the kid with studied ambiguity.
As the once-gentle sea breeze turned fierce, Garp's face turned grave: the purple-light katana in Seven's hand now blazed with a radiance too intense to look at.
Wind howled, huge waves pounded the reefs.
Clouds were torn by red-black Haki, countless purple lightning bolts rained down, everything converging on that violet blade.
Crack—
Amidst the lightning the purple katana flared even brighter, becoming the only light under heaven.
"Hah—"
Garp exhaled, pushing his Three Types of Haki to the limit, lightning-like red-black Haki coiling round both fists.
Of the three, the clash of Conqueror's Haki was the most earth-shaking, the most visually overwhelming.
The instant the two different Conqueror's Haki collided, the sky split—not merely torn, but cleaved clean in two.
The hallmark of a top-tier Conqueror's clash: Heaven-cleaving.
Far out at sea.
Crews on the east blue emperor and the dog-headed warship kept a prudent distance, every eye fixed on the spectacle above the island.
Ginny sat on Kuma's shoulder, feeling as though she'd returned to years ago when God Valley had its sky severed by several strands of red-black Haki.
Back then there were Rocks, Garp, Roger, Whitebeard, Big Mom, Kaido… Then, at a certain moment—
Seven poured everything he had into one slash, fusing Great Swordsman swordsmanship, Conqueror's Haki, Devil-fruit power, Innate Divine Strength, and Lunarian Tribe flames—
"Musou no Hitotachi."
Garp clenched his fists tight, not the slightest intention of dodging, and amid wild laughter roared—
"Infinite Fist."
Garp admitted he had, after all, underestimated Barzeb Seven; this youngster who'd risen in the Great Pirate Age packed real punch.
Now this was a fight!
Purple blade-light and red-black fist-shadows smashed together.
A titanic boom shook the air; a Mushroom cloud bigger than the island itself rose above the barren land, the mere shockwave raising towering waves.
The island, already split in four, was blasted to splinters. Garp slapped the sea and shot skyward; when he looked there was no sign of Barzeb.
"Barzeb, get back here!"
Seven, faster than the shockwave, shot skyward, skirted the huge waves, and in the blink of an eye flashed to the east blue emperor.
Without a word he took the helm, threads of electricity from his fingertips surging into the ship's power system.
Before the shockwave arrived the east blue emperor leapt to five-fold acceleration, an arrow loosed from the string, slicing through the waves.
By the time Garp Moon-stepped onto the dog-headed warship he found the sails shredded by the blast, Marines strewn about—
and vice-captain Bogard mid-draw.
On the horizon the red sail of the east blue emperor was still visible.
Garp looked down at the blood on his chest, tore off his tattered Marine coat.
"This kid's way stronger than Roger was at his age."
A monster like this among pirates—he'd have to tell Sengoku to double training for the younger Marines; otherwise, years from now no one in the Navy could stand against him.
Garp's mood was mixed: worry for the next generation and relief for Ace.
Ace had found himself a solid backer.
If his identity ever came out and the Marines wouldn't have him, he could join Dragon's Revolutionary Army or follow Barzeb.
But what about the future Marines?
Were they doomed to live in Barzeb's shadow? Or—as Roger once hinted in Impel Down—Barzeb wouldn't become the Navy's enemy?
Garp had doubted it then, but after talking with his wayward son Dragon he'd begun to believe Roger's words.
"Bogard, wrap it up—let's head home."
"Aye." Bogard finally relaxed his draw… South Blue waters, aboard the east blue emperor.
Beside the helm Ginny gently poked Seven's arm: "Captain, are you all right?"
He'd fought First-Mate Mihawk for two days and nights, then battled Marine Hero Garp and sunk an island, yet still had the strength to steer.
Ginny was stunned—what physique could endure such stamina? Even Giant Race paled beside him.
Seven shrugged. "What could be wrong?"
Not only was he fine, he felt a rush of elation.
Without any senzu bean he'd fought Mihawk to the finish, charged up and unleashed Musou no Hitotachi, and forced Garp to answer with his ultimate Infinite Fist.
A record like that was pure exhilaration.
Compared to his Ohara showdown with Akainu, Seven wasn't just a bit stronger.
Those fifty-thousand points? Money well spent.