At that same moment.
By the seaside docks of Foosha Village, the man the villagers called Old Man Rowan lay comfortably in a reclining chair.
Despite his advanced age, the old man showed no signs of balding. His elegant, shoulder-length hair was gathered simply behind his head. Of course, time had taken its toll; those flowing locks, much like his beard, had long since turned snowy white. When he smiled, his face became a map of deep-set wrinkles.
And yet, with his sturdy frame, well-defined muscles, and piercing, energetic eyes, one would never guess that this man was nearly a hundred years old.
Aside from the few boys who had run to the tavern for liquor, nearly all the village children had gathered around him—boys and girls alike, and even a few toddlers still finding their footing and babbling their first words.
A massive parasol stood beside the recliner, shielding the old man and the children from the scorching afternoon sun. A long fishing rod extended from beneath the shade toward the sea, with a nearly invisible line plunging from the tip into the water.
Perhaps the constant chatter of the children was too loud, or perhaps the sun was simply too fierce, but the float bobbing on the waves remained motionless. There wasn't a single fish in the bucket beside his chair.
Even so, not a trace of impatience touched Rowan's weathered, wrinkled face. To a true angler, a few hours without a bite didn't count as a "failed expedition" just yet.
The children, however, were growing restless. A few of the taller boys kept glancing toward the path leading to the tavern, pouting in complaint.
"What's taking Huaqiang and the others so long? It's been ages..."
"Grandpa Rowan, why don't we just start now? They're too slow. By the time they get back, the sun will be down."
"Yeah, yeah!"
"Even a short story would be fine, Grandpa Rowan! That story about your adventures with Mr. Kong last time was amazing!"
"Ho ho, I'm afraid not," Rowan said with a chuckle. "I've already made a promise to Huaqiang and the rest. We wait for them. A gentleman's word is his bond, after all. If you want to grow up right, you must always keep your promises."
"Well... alright." Hearing Rowan put it that way, the children could only settle in and continue their patient vigil.
"Grandpa Rowan! Grandpa Rowan!"
Just as the children's patience was fraying, a loud shout caught everyone's attention.
One child cheered, "It's Huaqiang! They're back!"
Moments later, the boys came scurrying over, lugging the large wine gourd and a haul of snacks. Their faces were flushed from the sprint, but their eyes sparkled with irrepressible joy.
"Here, Grandpa Rowan! The strongest Shaojiu they had!"
The massive gourd, which required two of the children to carry once filled, looked almost dainty in Rowan's hands. Standing over two meters tall, the old man was still built like a bull despite his years. This was precisely why neither Garp nor the villagers ever tried to stop him from smoking or drinking.
They say smoking and drinking are bad for your health and shorten your life. But the man was turning one hundred in a few days! And he was still as fit as a prize fighter. Who would dare tell him he wasn't living long enough?
"Haha, excellent."
Laughing, Rowan took the gourd, uncorked it, and took a long, deep swig.
The potent liquor hit his mouth like liquid fire, followed by a mellow, smooth aftertaste that made him exhale a satisfied sigh of relief.
In his past life, Rowan hadn't cared much for such harsh spirits. Even after arriving in this world, he had spent years drinking the finest beers and high-end wines sent as tribute from various kingdoms to the World Government. It was only as he grew older that he began to appreciate the bite of a high-proof liquor.
You might ask: how does a supposedly "ordinary" old man from a rural village get his hands on specialty spirits reserved for the World Government—luxuries usually enjoyed only by those at the level of a Fleet Admiral?
To answer that, one must look closer at the identity of this old man.
Rowan.
A retired Marine Vice Admiral with mediocre talent and unremarkable strength.
While reaching the rank of Vice Admiral meant one was far beyond the scope of a "normal" person, in this sea where monsters roamed freely, an unexceptional Vice Admiral wasn't truly a powerhouse.
After all, not all Vice Admirals are created equal. In the Marines, beyond the "Greatest Military Force" that is the Three Admirals, the true backbone consists of the "Elite" Vice Admirals—men of overwhelming power. Even in his prime, and even in a state of absolute fury, Rowan's strength had lagged significantly behind those elites.
Yet, this man of average strength and few battlefield accolades was hailed as the cornerstone of the modern Marine era.
This was because his journey through the Marines was nothing short of legendary.
Shortly after joining the Marines all those years ago, he became "blood brothers" with a man who would eventually become the Commander-in-Chief of the World Government's entire military: the former Fleet Admiral, "Steel Bone" Kong.
Garp, the "Marine Hero" and the "Strongest Marine," was the foster son Rowan had raised with his own hands.
The current Fleet Admiral, Sengoku "The Buddha," and Great Staff Officer Tsuru were both personally recruited into the Marines by him.
"Black Arm" Zephyr, the former Admiral and Chief Instructor who trained countless Elite Vice Admirals and even the current Three Admirals, had reached his peak under Rowan's direct, hand-on-hand tutelage.
Furthermore, the Devil Fruits consumed by the current Three Admirals and several Elite Vice Admirals were all obtained through Rowan's direct involvement.
It was no exaggeration to say that the top-tier combat power of the current Marine Headquarters shared a deep, personal connection with him. Within the Marines of that era, Rowan carried a resounding title:
The Godfather of the Marines!
If Rowan were to step foot in Marine Headquarters today, the new generation of soldiers would have to bow their heads and respectfully call him "Grandmaster."
For the man who laid the foundation for the modern Navy, was it really too much to drink a few bottles of tribute wine from the World Government?
Besides, those bottles were usually forced upon him by the Fleet Admiral himself; he had never once begged the World Government for a favor.
As for how a "mediocre" man managed to possess such an uncanny eye for talent... the answer was simple. He wasn't a native of this world. He was a transmigrator.
In a situation where his "Cheat" or "System" had failed to activate—or proved utterly useless—his knowledge of the story's plot became his greatest asset.
The only thing Rowan felt truly lucky about was that he had arrived long before the main story began. Otherwise, with his unremarkable talent, he never would have made a name for himself in the current, chaotic era of the Great Pirate Age.