204 With the Justice System

The New World.

An unnamed island.

This was the temporary headquarters of the Supernova Alliance — a filthy nest held together by ambition, violence, and distrust.

"Da-da-da—"

Law threaded through the noisy streets; the "Kikoku" slung across his shoulder swung in rhythm with his steps.

A cold shadow lay over his face.

The surrounding clamor seemed cut off from him — the staggering drunks, the desperate types who drew blades over a petty insult — none of them could enter his world.

A thin scrap of paper was pinched between his fingertips.

It had appeared with no warning.

It had simply, silently, lain on the table in his room.

There was no signature — only a string of numbers and coordinates pointing to an outer island.

To anyone else it would look like a crude prank.

But to Law that string of digits burned into his eyes like a red-hot branding iron.

He would never forget that number.

It had been Rosinante's number when he worked undercover in the Navy.

Law's thoughts were ripped back in an instant to that freezing, snowy night.

Amid the swirling blizzard, that clumsy man who could set his own sleeve aflame when lighting a cigarette had worn the gentlest smile.

"I love you, Law."

Then the world fell silent.

He had been shoved into a chest — all sound cut off.

Through the thick wood he heard that man's last cry.

"Navy Headquarters Lieutenant Commander, Rosinante! Number—01746!"

"Doflamingo, I'm a Navy man!"

Then — "Bang—!"

A gunshot.

Another.

Each one was like a heavy hammer, pounding at Law's heart.

Now that number, stained with blood and sacrifice, had reappeared.

"Zzz—"

His knuckles whitened from the grip; he squeezed the paper tighter.

A trap.

His mind supplied the judgment immediately.

This was a trap.

What was the state of the seas now?

The Great Navy Era!

The Navy had smashed the Whitebeard and Red-Haired crews like thunder, and with the bodies of two Yonko had redefined "justice" with blood.

And he, one of the core members of the Supernova Alliance, was necessarily a target the Navy would clear from the New World.

At a time like this, a lead tied to the Navy — to Rosinante — how could it not be a trap?

But... he had to see.

Because it concerned Rosinante.

He was the man who had given Law a second life, who had taught him what true freedom meant.

Anything connected to him Law could not ignore.

"Damn it..."

Law muttered under his breath, his gaze hardening.

He stepped aboard his yellow submarine — the Polar Tang.

"..."

The crew, seeing their captain's sullen look, sensibly didn't ask questions.

"Bepo."

"Yes! Captain!"

"Set a course — target those coordinates."

Law handed the scrap of paper with the coordinates across.

"We'll go see... who in the hell is using a dead man's name to play this sick joke on me."

...

The New World.

An unnamed islet.

"Szzz—"

Fat, greasy drops from a Sea Beast's rendered fat hissed on the campfire, sparking brilliant pinpricks of flame and sending rich meaty aromas out into the night.

Three old hands sat around the fire, gorging themselves with delight.

A small disguised warship lay quietly anchored in the bay a short distance away.

When Sengoku insisted on personally coming into the New World to find someone, Garp had insisted on tagging along just for the excitement.

Tsuru, uneasy about the two old rogues running wild, asked Zephyr — who had returned to peak form — to come along, to stop them from blowing a hole in the New World.

"Puhahaha, my roast is still the best!"

Garp tore off a large chunk of charred-outside, juicy-inside Sea Beast leg and shoved it into his mouth, mumbling with his mouth full,

"Sengoku, you're so thickheaded!"

"Why didn't you just find that kid called Law and protect him? As for the rest of that pirate alliance, just wipe them out, right?!"

"And then why bother making Zephyr go all the way to deliver a message? So troublesome!"

"..."

Zephyr shook his head at that, then bit off a piece of meat and chewed slowly.

"Garp, us old timers who've stepped back shouldn't be getting in Hawke's way."

He spoke deliberately. "The New World is his territory now."

"That's right!"

Sengoku nodded in agreement.

"Zephyr's right. Don't steal the young people's fun!"

"Hmph, but, this does have its perks."

Garp rubbed his chin and looked at Sengoku with a wicked grin.

"If you can convince that kid Law to join the Navy, old man Sengoku, you'd have an heir to carry on your work."

"Pair him with my grandson, form a 'Navy Twin Stars' duo — what do you say?"

"Ahem—"

Zephyr, who had been quietly nibbling his roast, suddenly looked up. He focused on Garp with a sober expression.

"Garp."

"I have a feeling your grandson's Devil Fruit is... odd."

"Not a pure Paramecia."

"Oh?"

The smile drained from Garp's face; he stopped chewing.

"Zephyr, what do you mean?"

Ever since eating that bat fruit at the G-3 branch — a Mythical Zoan: Vampire form — Zephyr had thrown himself into fanatic study of Devil Fruits.

Relying on his prestige as the Navy's chief instructor and the bonds of old comrades, he had acquired every internal Navy note on Devil Fruit development and awakening.

The notes on the three great Logia users — Sakazuki, Kuzan, and Borsalino — and their development of Logia abilities were now in Zephyr's hands.

Sengoku's ideas on the Devil Fruits had been referenced by Zephyr.

Even Tsuru's techniques for handling that special Paramecia fruit — the "Wash-Wash Fruit" — were not spared his scrutiny.

He had even spoken with Vegapunk about Devil Fruit application.

In short, Zephyr's insights into Devil Fruits had become one of the Navy's internal authorities.

"I... am not sure."

Zephyr shook his head and gave his assessment.

"But I think conventional training methods no longer suit him."

"Put him with Hawke..."

"Only in a true life-or-death tempering will the fruit's true nature show itself."

"..."

Garp lifted his head and looked at Zephyr.

He thought of the monsters under Hawke's command.

Whether it was the green-haired swordsman single-mindedly pursuing a path, the fierce leg-technique chef with the curled brows, or that Logia user who never put out his cigarette — each was a powerful individual capable of holding their own.

Throwing Luffy into that den of monsters, letting him feel the real gap, see the true pinnacle of the world — perhaps...

It really was the best choice.

Garp slapped his thigh and decided, "Alright!"

"Let's do it!"