"Adapting pretty fast, huh? Being this obedient—are you planning to escape?"
Davy's heart sank.
Garp's grin was playful, but Davy honestly couldn't tell—
had the old man actually noticed something, or was he just looking for an excuse to beat him half to death again?
These past days, Garp trained him in Haki during the day, and came by to chat at night from time to time.
Davy gradually noticed a terrifying pattern:
Every time they had a "nice long talk,"
the next day's training hits got much heavier.
Which made him wonder if he'd said something wrong—and Garp was carrying a grudge into "training."
"Wahahaha, why so tense?"
Garp laughed, seeing Davy's silence.
Davy's face darkened slightly.
Why am I tense? You really have to ask?
Every training session left him on the verge of coughing up his internal organs.
If not for his soul energy constantly healing him from the inside, he doubted he could've held out this long.
Now, just when he'd finally gotten used to being used as a sandbag…
His soul reserves were nearly drained.
The total soul energy he once had was now down to barely half—
less than a hundred "units" by his own rough measure.
Still, there was a silver lining.
Under this exaggerated "iron fist makes champions" training, he'd quickly grasped the basics of Haki.
If not for that, he really might have risked everything on a desperate jump overboard.
Garp scratched his nose when Davy stayed quiet, then changed the subject.
"So, how is it? My crew's pretty good, right? Got any thoughts about joining the Marines yet?"
Same question.
Again.
He'd already heard it more times than he could count.
Garp was like an old bull who refused to let go once he decided to pull something.
No matter how many times Davy turned him down, he asked again, and again, and again—
as if he would keep at it forever unless Davy said "yes."
Davy knew all too well:
this question was the trigger for hell training.
But he still shook his head.
Firmly.
"Why?"
Garp genuinely couldn't get it.
"These days, you've seen it yourself. You get along well with the others. You clearly fit with them. You could be comrades—fighting side by side for the same cause…"
He truly couldn't understand.
Everything about Davy screamed "future Marine officer"—
yet he refused.
To be fair, even Davy couldn't fully explain it.
He could pretend to join the Marines.
He could wait until he was transferred to some branch and then defect.
But he didn't want to.
He had spent his previous life compromising, living against his own will.
This time, he wanted to live more selfishly—
more honestly.
He sighed inwardly and looked at the old man in front of him.
"You say I'm about the same age as your grandson," Davy said quietly. "Is he a Marine too?"
He already knew the answer.
The question was meant to cut right where it hurt.
Right into the ribs.
As expected, a shadow flashed across Garp's face.
"I wanted them to be Marines…"
He spoke softly, just for a moment.
Then his grin returned, brighter and wider than before.
"But those two brats… they ran off and became pirates instead! Wahahaha!"
He didn't bother hiding it.
But beneath the laugh, his eyes were calm—too calm.
"Pirates…"
Davy didn't forget his "role."
He reacted with shock and hatred, then sneered.
"Your own grandsons go be pirates, and you still have the face to force me into becoming a Marine?"
"They're them. I'm me."
Garp rubbed his forehead, laughing for quite a while before he suddenly stopped.
A heavy sigh slipped through his fingers.
"It was my failure. I didn't raise them right."
For a heartbeat, Davy felt a twinge of sympathy.
Then he crushed it.
"A Marine hero for a grandfather. Pirate grandsons. And Marine corruption on top. What a nice little bundle."
"He's him, I'm me," Garp repeated. "And pirates aren't all bad—"
"Pirates aren't bad?" Davy cut him off. "Where do you think they get their food, their clothes, their ships? Who imitates them? Who joins them? What do those people do? You know better than I do."
"He's him, you're you? Fine. Let me ask you this."
Davy's gaze sharpened.
"If you ran into your pirate grandson—would you arrest him or not?"
"If he caused a catastrophe, if people were killed because of him—
Would you kill him, or not?"
His voice rose to a roar.
The room fell deathly silent.
Garp pressed his lips together, staring at the corner of the table.
A long, stretched moment passed—
Then he stood up abruptly.
"I came to tell you we're altering course to pursue a pirate crew," he said, voice level again. "You'll be training on your own for the next few days."
He walked to the door, paused for a breath, and without turning back, added:
"As for your question… I don't have an answer yet."
"When I figure it out—I'll tell you."
The door closed behind him.
…
"The Coyote Pirates. Captain: Saros. Born in the South Blue. Bounty: 12 million Berries…"
"Due to his cunning and vindictive nature, he's known as 'Coyote.' Crimes include attacking towns, kidnapping civilians, and retaliating against Marines' families…"
"We've received intelligence that the Coyote Pirates were recently seen in nearby waters. From now on—everyone, stay sharp!"
"YES, SIR!"
Early the next morning, Davy was jolted awake by loud shouting.
He stumbled out of his cabin and onto the deck, eyes half-closed.
The Marines were lined up in neat formations, receiving a pre-battle briefing—a rare level of seriousness.
After a while, the officer shouted, "Dismissed!"
The formation broke up, and only then did Davy walk down.
"Woke you up?"
A tall Marine with a long face, furrowed brows, and a brown-gray coat approached. A sword hung at his waist.
His name was Norris Buris, a Marine Captain who'd gotten along well with Davy.
"What's all that about?" Davy scratched his head and gestured at the dispersing crowd.
Norris tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You forgot? We've been chasing a pirate crew for days now. We're finally catching up today."
Davy's eyes narrowed slightly.
Perfect, he thought.
Another chance to feed the ship.
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