Chapter 12 – You're No Good, Kid!
Rosinante—twelve years old, the same age as Yoriichi.
His full name was Donquixote Rosinante, the younger brother of none other than Donquixote Doflamingo.
The Donquixote family had once lived among the Celestial Dragons in the Holy Land of Mariejois. However, Rosinante's father chose to abandon his status as a Celestial Dragon and relocate their family to an island nation on the Grand Line.
But when the locals learned that the Donquixote family had once been Celestial Dragons, they took revenge.
Stripped of their privilege, the Donquixotes were "judged" by the commoners. Just as the family was about to meet their end, the young Doflamingo awakened his Conqueror's Haki.
This "born devil," believing all his suffering to be his father's fault, took his father's severed head and returned to Mariejois, seeking to reclaim his Celestial Dragon status—but was rejected.
Rosinante, the sole survivor, was rescued by Sengoku, who later adopted him as his foster son.
Rosinante's early life was a tangled mix of fortune and tragedy. His idealistic father's decisions had cost them everything, yet they also gave Rosinante a rare gift among Celestial Dragons—kindness.
Though he had lost much of his childish innocence, that core of gentleness still remained.
Yoriichi could sense it clearly.
Ever since he met Rosinante, Yoriichi's life had become a bit livelier.
Because of their young age, neither of them attended the Navy Academy, nor were they officially enlisted marines.
Sengoku had been careful to protect Rosinante, and very few people knew of his true identity—only Sengoku's closest friends were aware.
Their days passed quietly: the two boys would read together at home, or sometimes stroll through the residential district around headquarters. Before long, they had become fast friends.
At night, when Zephyr returned home, he would chat with Yoriichi about amusing happenings at the Navy Academy. As for Yoriichi's "studies," Zephyr didn't seem to care in the slightest.
It was a peaceful, uneventful life—so much so that Yoriichi felt as though he had returned to his own school days long ago.
But that calm life came to an end two weeks later, when the dojo Zephyr had commissioned was finally completed.
Once the dojo was finished, Yoriichi's daily routine changed completely.
"Hey! Yoriichi! Yoriichi!"
"I'm coming!"
"Come on, let's go! I'm gonna show you what I'm made of today!"
Early that morning, Rosinante burst into Zephyr's home with a bamboo sword in hand, shouting the moment he stepped into the yard.
He'd learned yesterday that the dojo was complete and had been eager ever since—insisting he'd teach Yoriichi a thing or two about swordsmanship. Though not a formal marine, Sengoku had often trained him personally in private.
Rosinante had some foundation in swordsmanship—though, admittedly, not a very strong one.
"Hm?"
"Oh! Sengoku's brat, huh? Hahaha! You're here!"
At that moment, Zephyr stepped out of another room, pushing the door open. The Navy Academy had the day off, so he'd stayed home. Just yesterday, the dojo had been completed, and he'd already planned to spend today giving Yoriichi some proper instruction.
Seeing Rosinante charging into his house, Zephyr didn't scold him. Instead, he laughed heartily.
When it came to the younger generation of marines, Zephyr was always tolerant and kind—outside of training, at least. And Rosinante wasn't just any kid—he was Sengoku's adopted son, and a good friend of Yoriichi's. In Zephyr's eyes, that made him the boy's first true peer within the navy.
"Uh…"
"Admiral Zephyr, sir!"
Rosinante, who had been shouting so boldly a moment ago, immediately straightened up and greeted Zephyr respectfully.
While the two exchanged words, Yoriichi stepped out from his room dressed in a loose training uniform.
Upon seeing Rosinante, he smiled and called out,
"Hey, kid. You're here."
"Come on—let's head to the dojo."
He and Rosinante were close, and since the young Rosinante was thin and wiry—barely any muscle on him—Yoriichi affectionately referred to him as "kid."
There was another reason, too: Rosinante's identity was classified. Back when the navy craftsmen were building the dojo, Yoriichi had never once addressed him by name in front of others.
"Bastard!"
"Don't call me 'kid'—I have a name!"
Rosinante shouted in protest, clearly annoyed by Yoriichi's nickname. Now that the craftsmen were gone and it was just the three of them, there was no need to keep up appearances.
"Alright, kid," Yoriichi replied cheerfully, deliberately keeping the nickname anyway. His playful tone made Rosinante go speechless.
"Come on then! I'll show you what I can do! Let's see if you still dare call me 'kid' after this!"
Rosinante raised his bamboo sword as he spoke, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
Under Sengoku's guidance, Rosinante's dream had always been to become an outstanding marine. Ever since arriving at Marineford, he had worked hard toward that goal.
Combat, naturally, was a crucial part of being a marine. So when he learned that Yoriichi was also aiming to join the navy—and that Zephyr had even built a dojo for his training—Rosinante immediately proposed that they practice together and grow stronger side by side.
"Alright," Yoriichi said with a smile at Rosinante's eager expression. Together, the two stepped into the newly finished dojo Zephyr had commissioned.
The dojo covered nearly a hundred square meters. Aside from a few bamboo swords stacked neatly against the wall, the space was entirely bare. Simple, but more than enough for Yoriichi's needs.
Barefoot, he walked across the wooden floor and picked up a bamboo sword from the wall. He gave it two light swings, the blade slicing through the air with a sharp swish swish.
"Feels good enough."
"Come on then, kid."
Yoriichi smiled as he beckoned. Rosinante, gripping his own bamboo sword, stepped into the dojo and stopped in front of him.
Zephyr followed the two of them inside. Seeing the boys about to spar, he grinned and sat cross-legged at the edge of the room.
"I'll be the referee!" he called out with a laugh. "Give it your best, both of you!"
He knew full well that Rosinante didn't stand a chance against Yoriichi, but he loved watching young people train together. That kind of rivalry and camaraderie—he'd experienced it himself once.
A difference in strength didn't matter. Even a huge difference didn't matter. Friends were meant to help each other grow.
"Alright—begin!"
Zephyr's voice boomed across the dojo, taking the "referee" role quite seriously.
The moment his words fell, Rosinante lunged forward in a burst of energy. His bamboo sword swung down from above with a loud whoosh, aiming straight for Yoriichi's head.
"Your footing's off," Yoriichi commented calmly. "And your intent's too obvious."
"You're no good, kid."
Just from that single strike, Yoriichi could tell Rosinante was a total novice. No testing his opponent's defenses, no defense of his own—just blind confidence. His form was wide open.
With a casual flick of his wrist, Yoriichi deflected the blow with ease, then smoothly extended his bamboo sword. The tip tapped lightly against Rosinante's chest.
He hadn't used any real strength—just pure technique.
Rosinante froze, breath catching in his throat, and stumbled back three steps before regaining his balance.
"You're dead," Yoriichi said cheerfully. Sparring with Rosinante was like playing with a child.
"Again!"
Rosinante rubbed his chest, eyes blazing with renewed determination.
He hadn't expected his friend to be this good. Now this was getting interesting!
But ten minutes later, that excitement had all but vanished.
He'd assumed Yoriichi only knew a little swordsmanship—turns out that "little" was far beyond his reach.
Every attack he made was effortlessly neutralized, each counter neatly landing before he could even react.
In every exchange, Yoriichi defeated him in a single move. Thankfully, Yoriichi was holding back; otherwise, Rosinante would've been covered in bruises by now.
Still, getting beaten in one blow over and over again—it was maddening. Like a game where you spawn, take one step, and get instantly shot. What fun was that?
From the side, Zephyr watched with an amused grin that never once faded.
"Arghhhh!"
"I'm done! I can't beat you!"
"Yoriichi, why didn't you tell me you'd trained in swordsmanship before?! If I'd known, I wouldn't have sparred with you at all! This is so one-sided—it's boring!"
A few minutes later, Rosinante threw his bamboo sword aside, collapsing onto the tatami mats, drenched in sweat and completely defeated.
"You're giving up already?" Yoriichi sighed, shaking his head. "Come on, kid—get up. I haven't even stretched properly yet."
He looked down at the sprawled-out Rosinante, a bit speechless. No wonder, he thought—no wonder this guy grew up under Sengoku's care and still turned out so weak. No Haki, no Rokushiki…
Figures. Even as Sengoku's foster son, he'd only made it to lieutenant commander in the future.
Honestly, Yoriichi thought, this guy didn't even deserve that rank. Back in Loguetown, that sergeant girl, Tashigi, was stronger than him!
No, I can't let him stay like this. He's got to train.
I can't use Haki yet myself, and physical growth has to be steady anyway. I'll drag this kid into training with me every day.
If I don't, he'll just end up getting beaten senseless by Vergo again. Sengoku's foster son or not—that'd be embarrassing.
And if people found out he'd trained alongside me and still turned out this useless… that'd tarnish my name—even though I don't technically have one yet.