Natsu: So What If You're Tall?!

"Hashirama Cells. Hashirama Senju was one of the strongest ninjas in the world I was born into. His cells possess unparalleled vitality and self-healing abilities, allowing a man in his sixties or seventies to maintain peak physical performance for a long period after transplantation."

Natsu raised her hand, and a pale green Chakra aura appeared in her palm. The aura contained an extremely primal and boundless vitality; just looking at it made one feel their blood rushing.

"Your physical constitution is the strongest in this vast ocean, and the corrosive effects of the Hashirama Cells will not pose a threat to you."

If you receive a transplant, I can tell you what will happen next—your muscle strength will return to the level you had at forty, old joint injuries will be filled by new tissue, and degenerative damage to your nervous system will be reversed through continuous cell repair.

Of course, transplantation itself carries unpredictable risks. I can't give you precise figures on the exact probability, but it's roughly over 50%. It's a gamble, not a free lunch."

"What a joke!" Marco finally exploded. The veins on his forehead throbbed, the blue flames of the Phoenix rose high from his shoulder, and his finger pointing at Natsu trembled.

"Pops, I've never even heard of this stuff! What Hashirama Cells, what transplantation surgery—the stuff he's brought out doesn't even have a proper clinical trial report, and he wants to put it into your body?"

If something goes wrong, forget about saving Ace, you won't even see the port of Marineford! We can save Ace entirely on our own, we don't need—"

"Marco," Whitebeard interrupted him.

His voice wasn't loud, but there was a rare hint of weariness in it, causing Marco to choke on the rest of his words.

Whitebeard slowly raised his right hand, the hand that once shattered the continental shelf with a single punch and struck fear into the hearts of countless pirates, now trembling slightly.

It wasn't a trembling of anger, but an uncontrollable spasm of muscles after overuse.

He looked down at his hands, as if he were looking at an old friend he had known for a long time but who was becoming increasingly unfamiliar with him.

"Do you think I don't know what my body is like?" His voice was hoarse and deep, without roaring or maniacal laughter, just the honesty of a seventy-two-year-old man towards himself.

"I struggle with these bones every day. My knees crack when I wake up in the morning, and I have to hold onto the wall to walk."

Observation Haki – "I used to be able to count how many ships were in an entire sea with my eyes closed, but now I can barely hear you approaching from behind. Conqueror's Haki ..."

He gave a wry smile. "I can't even knock out a small-time pirate anymore. With this broken body, how many Admiral can I possibly stop?"

One might be able to hold off the other even if they fought tooth and nail. But what about the rest? In the Sengoku, there were two other Admiral —who could stop them?

"You? Marco, you're strong, but Kizaru alone will keep you busy enough. What about Jozu and Vista? Can they hold off Akainu or Aokiji?"

Marco opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.

Jozu lowered his head, Vista released his grip on the knife.

They all knew that their Pops was telling the truth.

Whitebeard remained silent for a long time, so long that the sea breeze billowed and deflated the sails.

He looked at Natsu, this thirteen or fourteen-year-old brat, who stood on the sea and ran up to him all by himself to negotiate terms, risks, and a 50/50 chance of winning.

Then he looked up and laughed loudly.

"Gurgle la la la la! Gurgle la la la la la!" This time the laughter was louder and more joyful than before, making the mast tremble slightly.

"I'm actually worried about what a thirteen or fourteen-year-old kid might do to me! I'm really getting more and more regressive as I get older!"

He finished laughing, lowered his head, and looked at Natsu again. The hesitation and weariness in his eyes had vanished.

"Come on, kid. My life is in your hands now."

As that imposing aura swept over them, Natsu was standing on the deck of the Moby Dick, less than three steps away from Whitebeard.

It wasn't Conqueror's Haki — Whitebeard's current physical condition couldn't support that level of release—but something more simple and unadorned.

An old man who had dominated the seas for decades staked all the trust and resolve he had accumulated in his later years on a kid he had only known for less than fifteen minutes. Not everyone has that kind of courage.

A rare hint of approval flashed across Natsu's face.

He didn't say anything complimentary, just nodded slightly, then squatted down and placed his right hand on the deck of the Moby Dick.

Chakra seeped into the wooden planks of the ship along the meridians in his palm, and a complex Flying Thunder God Formula was silently etched into it. The light flashed and disappeared into the wood grain.

He straightened up and turned to Marco, who was standing by the ship's railing. "Sabaody Archipelago. You take the fleet and go there first, wait for me on the outskirts of the archipelago. At most one day—if all goes well, the old man and I will teleport directly to Sabaody to meet you."

Marco opened his mouth, his expression shifting back and forth between "I still have many questions to ask" and "Never mind, I probably can't stop you even if I ask."

In the end, he only sighed, the blue flames of the Phoenix flickering wearily on his shoulder. "Outer Sabaody Archipelago, one day. If it's more than one day, I'll personally go to Origin Island to find you."

Natsu ignored him.

He walked up to the white- Whitebeard Whitebeard and reached out to grab his arm.

Then he stopped.

He was fourteen years old and less than 1.7 meters tall.

Even sitting down, the Whitebeard was taller than him standing; even squatting down, he was still a small mountain.

His outstretched hand hovered in mid-air, his fingertips still a short distance from the Whitebeard's forearm.

"..."

An unsettling silence fell over the deck. Marco's lips twitched.

To be honest, it wasn't until just now that he suddenly realized—this kid, this Fifth Emperor with a bounty of 4 billion Beli, is not even as old as his youngest brother.

He'd even say he was too old to be his younger brother.

The Whitebeard looked down at the brat who wasn't even as tall as his waist, at the arm that was dangling in mid-air, unable to reach him, and remained silent for a moment.

Then he threw his head back and burst into a wild laugh that was louder than ever before.

"Gulu la la la la! Gulu la la la la la!" The laughter shook the flags on the mast, made the seabirds along the ship's side flap their wings and scatter in all directions, and even made the dust on the deck jump up.

He laughed as he slowly squatted down.

It wasn't half-kneeling; it was a full squat, with a creaking sound as the knees bent.

He leaned Murakumogiri against the ship's railing, then gently pressed down on Natsu's shoulder with the arm that had once shattered the Marine Headquarters plaza with a single punch, lowering his head like an aged whale to make his gaze level with the boy's.