Transplant Begins

The Whitebeard on the lab table had his eyes closed and was breathing steadily. The IV tubing and monitoring Chakra runes on his body were all connected.

The Uchiha medical-nin in charge of anesthesia used his Sharingan to precisely monitor his vital signs; the runes shimmered with a pale green fluorescence, like a swarm of quiet Fire Fly resting on his skin.

Vallen picked up the scalpel, its tip gleaming coldly under the operating light.

He didn't immediately strike, but instead looked down at the back of his hand—there was a small, almost invisible scar there, from when he was hit with a gun butt by the Vinsmoke men in the North Blue laboratory.

He suddenly realized that he hadn't thought about North Blue for a long time.

"Dr. Vallen?" the medical-nin beside him whispered a reminder.

"It's alright," he said, then steadily made the first cut.

In the dead of night at Marineford, sea fog drifted in from the direction of the harbor, obscuring the Gecko.

A Dog-Head Warship silently docked. Before the gangplank was fully lowered, a tall figure jumped directly off the ship's side, his military boots making a dull thud as they hit the stone bricks of the dock.

His signature short, grey hair was tousled by the sea breeze, and the buttons of his Navy Justice Coat were only half fastened, revealing a wrinkled shirt underneath.

When the marines on night duty at the dock saw the man's face, they nearly dropped their rifles—they had been hearing legends about this man since they were in recruit camp, the naval hero, Iron Fist Garp.

Garp ignored the marines who were frantically saluting and walked as fast as the wind.

He rushed back from the New World, changing ships three times along the way, without even having time to drink a sip of water.

Sengoku still carried the urgent message to him in his pocket. The paper contained only a few lines of text, each word like a red-hot branding iron— Ace had been arrested, his identity exposed, and he was to be publicly executed.

The gates of Impel Down slowly opened before him, and a chilly air, carrying the smell of rust and salt, rushed towards him.

Deputy Warden Hannyabal trotted up to him, a fawning smile plastered on his face. He had just opened his mouth to say, "Vice Admiral Garp, what brings you here—" when Garp brushed him aside without even glancing at him.

Ace's cell is located in the deepest part of Impel Down.

The Seastone railing gleamed with a cold, eerie blue light. Behind the railing, Ace was Seastone Handcuffs to the wall, his body covered in wounds, and dried blood still clung to the corner of his mouth.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up, and his tired eyes trembled slightly when he saw who it was.

He then turned his face away, forcing a weak smile, "Old man, what brings you here?"

Garp did not answer.

He sat cross-legged on the ground outside the cell, his back against the cold Seastone railings, separated from Ace only by a row of cold iron pillars.

He remained silent for a long time, so long that Ace thought he wouldn't speak again.

Then he suddenly said, "I ran into Red-Hair on the road. That brat advised me not to go to Marineford."

He paused, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping against sheet metal, "He thought I was here to stop Whitebeard. He didn't know I was here to stop myself."

"Old man..."

"Don't call me an old man!" Garp suddenly raised his voice, then lowered it again, as if he were talking to himself.

"If you had listened to me and followed me into the navy since you were little, you wouldn't be where you are today. That old woman Dadan, is still waiting for you to come back for the New Year on the mountain. How is she going to get through this year?"

Ace lowered his head, his lips moved several times, but in the end he didn't say anything.

The prison cells in Impel Down were quiet for a long time, with only the occasional faint hum of the Seastone railings.

Garp didn't speak again, he just sat there like a silent reef, letting the dark, damp air of Impel Down slowly seep into him.

When Garp pushed open the heavy oak door to the Fleet Admiral's Office, Sengoku was sitting behind his desk with Marineford's defense map spread out in front of him.

The dense markings on the diagram were not yet finished, the pen was still in the ink bottle and the ink was already half-dry.

He looked up and saw his old friend's face, and his heart skipped a beat.

Having known him for most of my life, when had Garp ever shown such an expression? It wasn't the carefree kind he used to be, kicking open his office door and yelling "Where's the senbei?" nor was it that cheeky, rogue look he always had when he tried to shift the blame onto him.

The old bastard didn't laugh or roar today; he just stood at the door, like an old lion that had been locked in a cage for too long.

"Sengoku, rescind the execution order." Garp's voice was hoarse, direct and without beating around the bush, without even closing the door. "I've never asked you for anything before. This time, I'm begging you."

The Sengoku remained silent for a long time.

The air in the office felt as if it had been gripped tightly, and even the cries of seagulls outside the window seemed distant and indistinct.

He took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, and then slowly leaned back in his chair.

On that usually dignified face, a rare hint of fatigue appeared—not the fatigue from staying up all night reviewing documents, but a deeper, more profound sense of powerlessness that seeped from the very marrow of his bones.

"Garp, do you think I don't know?" His voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself.

He wasn't unaware that Ace was Roger's son.

Garp suddenly has a grandson who's exactly a few months younger than Roger's son—what a coincidence!

He wasn't stupid Sengoku.

He turned a blind eye at the time because only he and Garp knew about it, and as long as it wasn't exposed, he could pretend he didn't see it.

But what about now?

That information was personally leaked to the Five Elders by Blackbeard; the whole world knows that Portgas D. Ace is the bloodline of the One Piece.

The letter of inquiry from the Five Elders is still buried at the very bottom of his drawer, its wording as cold as ice picks—"Are you Navy planning to raise Roger's son to be the next One Piece?"

"The One Piece's son has become a pirate." Sengoku put his glasses back on his nose, his voice regaining the composure and coldness befitting Fleet Admiral, but Garp could hear the underlying tension beneath that composure. "Sengoku, what are you trying to say?"

"What do I want to say? I want to say—I can't protect him." Sengoku Guo slammed his hand on the table, causing the defense map to slide half an inch away, and the ink in the ink bottle rippled.

"You think I don't want to withdraw? You think I'm willing to push my old friend's grandson to the execution platform? But the Five Elders already know!"

The whole world is watching Marineford! You want me to leave now—how am I supposed to leave?

Can the son of the One Piece go unpunished?

Tell the Five Elders that the Marine Headquarters wouldn't even kill a single pirate?

"What do you want me to use to shut the Five Elders up? The entire Navy's budget, or your head?"