After the Roger Pirates departed, Garp's dog-headed warship made no attempt to pursue.
The battle had left many marines gravely wounded, and they would need time to recover.
Bogard, Garp's adjutant, was among the worst injured—his condition so serious that he could no longer fulfill his duties. In his place, the young Kuzan temporarily assumed the role of acting lieutenant.
But it wasn't just the men who suffered. The warship itself, after enduring Garp's relentless "creative maneuvers," had taken heavy damage. Even after emergency repairs, it could barely be called seaworthy—fit for short travel, perhaps, but nowhere near ready for the harsh seas of the New World.
For that reason, Garp decided to dock at the nearest naval port to conduct full repairs before returning to Marineford.
Roger's contact with Charlotte Linlin was now a foregone conclusion. Once back, Garp planned to rally several powerful vice admirals and rear admirals before setting out again.
As for involving an admiral-level combatant, that was beyond his jurisdiction. At that level, movements were decided only by Fleet Admiral Kong, and Sengoku was often required to remain stationed at Marineford.
Technically speaking, even vice admirals and rear admirals were outside Garp's authority—but if Garp slung an arm around their shoulders and said, "Do me a favor," most of them would agree without hesitation.
He knew all too well that the marines currently under his command couldn't possibly stand against the Roger Pirates. Pursuing them into Big Mom's territory would only be courting death.
Unlike Roger's crew, the Charlotte Family wouldn't show mercy to the navy.
If Garp were to be pinned down by Linlin herself, how many of his sailors would survive? Not many, he suspected.
No—without proper preparation, charging in blindly was not an option.
Reckless though he might seem, Garp wasn't a fool. He thought before he acted.
It would be the same years later, when he stormed Hachinosu Island—not with this crew of greenhorns, but with the elite SWORD unit at his back.
Three days later, Garp's warship arrived at the G–63 Naval Branch in the New World. After a period of rest and repair, the patched-up vessel once again set sail, heading home toward Marineford.
The midday sun hung overhead, soft and golden, its light like melted toffee—sweet and gentle.
The sea glittered under its warmth, and here and there, silver fish leapt through the waves, dancing in the light.
Across that endless expanse drifted a battered warship, its hull covered in makeshift patches and fresh seams—a proud but wounded hound limping home.
It had been two full months since Garp's fleet left Marineford. The sting of defeat from ten days earlier still clung to the air aboard the ship.
Of all those who'd fought, only half had recovered enough to move about. The rest still lay in the infirmary, too weak to stand.
The only department fully operational was the engine room—those men, too weak to withstand the shock of Roger's Conqueror's Haki during the battle, had been knocked unconscious early. Ironically, their weakness had spared them from injury.
Now, on the deck, only a handful of marines stood at their posts, scanning the horizon with binoculars. On any normal day, there would have been twice as many.
Among them was a red-haired youth in a humble deckhand's uniform, standing alone by the railing, staring blankly at the sea.
The wind whipped through his crimson hair, the waves reflecting in his calm eyes.
The marines nearby paid him no mind—they were long used to his quiet presence.
Then, without warning, the boy stiffened. His expression twisted in pain as he clutched at his chest, his knees buckling. His left hand gripped the railing tight, his face pale.
"Yoriichi! Yoriichi, what's wrong?!" cried one of the nearby sailors, sprinting toward him.
Yoriichi knelt motionless on the deck, head bowed, saying nothing. The sailor panicked and dashed off to fetch help.
Moments later, Garp and Kuzan arrived, both of them rushing over with concern.
Seeing Yoriichi's pained expression, Garp frowned deeply.
"Yoriichi, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Sick?"
"Get the ship's doctor!" he barked.
He was clearly worried—his booming voice carried across the deck.
At last, Yoriichi seemed to steady himself and croaked, "No need. I'll be fine… in a moment, Vice Admiral Garp."
His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. Garp's brows furrowed tighter—he wasn't convinced.
When the doctor arrived and began a quick examination, everyone around fell silent. After a moment, the man straightened and shook his head.
"What?!" Garp's eyes went wide. "You mean… he's beyond saving?!"
The deck froze in stunned silence. Kuzan's face twisted in disbelief.
The doctor flinched under Garp's glare and stammered, "N-no! That's not what I meant! He's perfectly healthy. I couldn't find anything wrong at all!"
"…You idiot!" Garp roared. "Then why the hell were you shaking your head?!"
He shoved the doctor aside and knelt beside Yoriichi, studying his face closely. The young man's expression had already softened, the pain fading from his features. Slowly, he rose to his feet, using the railing for support.
"Yoriichi, what happened to you?" Garp asked, baffled.
"I'm fine, Vice Admiral," Yoriichi replied, smiling faintly. "I was… training, that's all."
"Training?" Garp repeated, dumbfounded. Since when did training make someone double over in pain?
Yoriichi simply stretched his arms and said cheerfully, "See? I'm fine now."
Garp remained unconvinced, having the doctor examine him again—only then did he finally relax and return to the cabin. He had an important meeting to continue.
Just a week earlier, word had reached them that the Roger Pirates had clashed with the Big Mom Pirates. Apparently, the two sides had fought fiercely before Roger's crew disappeared from sight.
Garp didn't believe for a second that they'd been wiped out. More likely, Roger had obtained whatever he'd been after and was already moving toward his next goal. That was exactly what the officers were discussing—the possible route Roger would take next.
Once the others had left the deck, Yoriichi remained alone by the railing, gazing at the sea.
The corners of his lips curved upward as he murmured softly—
"Finally… it worked!"
"But it's still only the first step. I'll need to take things slow."
On the voyage back, aside from expanding his Armament Haki coverage, Yoriichi had also mastered the art of Haki Flow.
During his downtime, a new idea began to take shape in his mind — a way to improve the Breathing Techniques.
That was: to merge Haki with his Breathing!
If Armament Haki could strengthen one's muscles and toughen the body, then perhaps it could also enhance his breathing techniques — refining his body even further.
After days of experimentation, Yoriichi finally succeeded.
Sun Breathing — First Form: Dance!
In an instant, Yoriichi drew his blade from his waist. With a deep breath, his heart thundered thump, thump inside his chest. The next moment, his sword flashed. A slash several meters long surged forth, its Haki-infused blade tearing across the sea.
The ocean split apart.
A scar nearly a hundred meters long spread over the water's surface, lingering for several seconds before the waves rushed back in to fill the wound.
Yoriichi let out a low groan, clutching his chest as he knelt — yet his face was alight with exhilaration.
"I did it… I really did it!"
"Haki can fuse perfectly with Breathing Techniques, further enhancing my physical abilities."
"Right now, even short usage leaves me exhausted… but with more training, this strain will fade soon enough."
"When I fully master this Haki-infused breathing, my power will soar to new heights!"
If he'd only relied on Armament Haki to augment his attacks, his slash could have extended mere tens of meters at best.
But now, with Haki woven into his breathing, the attack's power had doubled — slicing the sea for nearly a hundred meters, the waves taking several seconds longer than before to return.
That was proof enough. His experiment was a success.
Over the next several days, Yoriichi continued testing the new form, training in moderation so as not to harm his body.
The Haki-infused breathing method placed immense strain on him, but with his ability to perceive the Transparent World, he could clearly sense when his body neared its limits.
Thus, he advanced steadily, never recklessly pushing too far.
When not refining his breathing, Yoriichi began merging Haki with Soru. With flowing Haki enhancing his movements, his speed grew even more terrifying.
Now, whenever he sparred with Aokiji, if Aokiji didn't use his Devil Fruit powers, a single exchange was enough for Yoriichi to send him flying. In close combat, Aokiji was utterly outclassed.
Realizing how monstrous Yoriichi's growth had become, Aokiji began avoiding him entirely — slipping away whenever Yoriichi came looking for sparring practice.
When Yoriichi failed to find him, he turned to Garp.
At first, Garp indulged him during breaks from duty, but the moment they crossed blades, he understood why Aokiji had fled.
Yoriichi had grown frighteningly strong once again — his speed nearly instantaneous, his slashes sharper and heavier, his Armament Haki denser than ever.
At this rate, within the entire Navy, only a handful of top officers could still claim to overpower him.
If Devil Fruit powers were excluded, then in terms of pure martial skill, perhaps only Garp and his two old comrades could still suppress Yoriichi!
Garp couldn't help but grin.
"Heh heh heh, Zephyr… looks like I'm still the better teacher after all."
"Just wait. When you see this kid, you'll be shocked!"
Their warship sailed on, purging pirates along the way, and after a month of steady travel, they finally reached Marineford — the Navy Headquarters.
After three long months at sea, every sailor aboard felt worn to the bone.
Even Yoriichi, seeing land again, couldn't help but let out a deep breath of relief.
He'd been ecstatic when they first set sail, but after so long at sea, even his spirit had begun to tire.
Peering ahead at the familiar yet distant sight of Marineford, he sighed softly.
"The Navy Headquarters… it still feels so foreign. I've spent more time on the sea than here."
At the harbor, a great crowd had already gathered — the families of the sailors, waiting eagerly to welcome their loved ones home.
Every man on the ship was more than just a Marine — he was someone's son, husband, or father.
Behind each uniform was a family waiting anxiously for his return.
Before the ship had even docked, the sailors leaned over the railings, searching the crowd for familiar faces.
Garp, understanding their feelings, came to the deck, assigned officers to tend to the wounded, and then gave his men a long-awaited order: disband and rest — half a month's leave.
The moment the ship touched the pier, cheers erupted.
A boarding ramp was lowered, and the most impatient sailors hurried down, rushing into the arms of their families.
One by one, others followed, laughter and tears mingling across the crowded dock.
Yoriichi stood quietly on deck, hands resting on the railing, a faint smile on his face as he watched the reunions below.
But that smile didn't last long — soon, his expression dimmed.
"How nice it must be," he murmured. "To have someone waiting…"
He sighed softly, turning away from the rail to find Garp and ask what came next — only to notice someone climbing up the gangway.
Not down — up.
He turned his head — and there, walking aboard with a Justice cloak fluttering behind him, was a tall middle-aged man.
The newcomer's eyes found Yoriichi at once, and a broad grin spread across his face.
"Oi! Yoriichi! I'm here to take you home!"
"What's the matter, kid? Still dawdling on the ship?"
"You pack slower than an old turtle. I've been waiting forever!"
Yoriichi blinked, surprised.
He hadn't expected him to come — nor had he expected to hear that word again.
Home.
He couldn't even remember the last time someone had said that to him.
For a long moment, he was silent.
Then, a warm smile blossomed across his face.
"Yes, Instructor Zephyr," he said softly. "I'll be right there."
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