Summit War 5! Garp: Don't Push Me!

Sakazuki's Magma Fist missed once again.

It didn't just graz us, it wasn't blocked; it smashed completely into the air.

The Whitebeard, nearly seven meters tall, turned halfway to the side with an agility completely disproportionate to his size. The lava grazed the edge of his cloak, scorching several blackened holes, but didn't even touch his flesh.

The next second, a rough, rock-like hand reached out from the side, its five fingers gripping Sakazuki's wrist with such force that the magma-like arm emitted a teeth-grinding crunching sound.

Sakazuki's pupils contracted.

The last thing he saw was the Whitebeard's wide-open mouth and the fist that was rapidly enlarging in his field of vision.

Boom! Sakazuki was sent flying by a punch, his body bouncing twice on the stone ground, carving a scorched trench tens of meters long, with lava splashing all the way.

"Admiral Akainu!" Several Rear Admiral in the front row exclaimed almost simultaneously. They had never imagined that Akainu would be sent flying with a single punch in a head-on confrontation.

On the high platform, Sengoku Guo braced his hands on the railing, his knuckles turning white to almost transparent.

"Kizaru!" He practically roared, his voice booming across the plaza.

Execution Platform, Kizaru's figure had already disappeared from the spot.

The next second, he appeared in mid-air, arms crossed, the golden light that exploded around him so bright it was blinding.

"Yasakani no Magatama." Countless compressed light bullets exploded from his body, pouring down like a torrential rain, completely enveloping the area where Whitebeard was in a destructive light curtain.

"Gurgle gurgle gurgle!" The Whitebeard looked up at the light blasts that almost covered the entire sky, without retreating or flashing. He grinned, and the laughter exploded from the depths of his chest, making the surrounding air tremble with a buzzing sound.

How long has it been? He himself can't remember.

The last time I could so recklessly unleash the Tremor-Tremor Fruit, without worrying about the bone spurs in my joints or enduring the excruciating pain of my internal organs tearing apart—was it ten years ago? Fifteen years ago?

Those years seemed to have been torn away page by page from the calendar, leaving only the smell of medicine in the IV drip and Marco's hesitant gaze after each medical checkup.

Hashirama Cells.

That's what that Uchiha brat called him.

The moment it was injected into his body, a savage, almost violent life force surged into his veins like magma, frantically squeezing, devouring, and repelling every cell in his body.

For a fleeting moment, he even felt that his tough bones were about to give way—not from pain, but from the eerie sensation of his body being torn apart and reassembled from the inside by another life form. Anyone else would have been devoured by this force and turned into a pile of rotten flesh in the next second.

But he pulled through.

The Conqueror's Haki exploded within him, forcefully suppressing the devouring backlash, followed by an endless, vigorous surge of life force flowing through his limbs and bones.

The bone spurs that had been in his joints for over a decade were filled in by new tissue, the old scars on his internal organs that had been repeatedly torn apart were replaced by new cells, and even the old wound on his left knee that had prevented him from exerting any force since the Golden Lion pierced it years ago no longer hurt.

He could clearly feel that this body was at least twenty years younger.

"Air Quake!" He clenched his right fist and slammed it into the air in front of him.

The atmosphere shattered beneath his fist, and the cracks spread forward at a visible speed—not just one crack, but a whole area.

The entire airspace trembled. The falling light projectiles were shattered into countless golden fragments by the shockwave before they even reached within ten meters of him, not even having time to explode. The aftershocks continued to sweep back towards Kizaru without pause.

Kizaru's brow furrowed for a split second.

This wasn't his first time fighting Whitebeard. In his memory, Whitebeard's Air Quake, though terrifying, always carried a hint of sluggishness—a result of his aged joints and torn muscles holding him back.

But this punch didn't land.

This punch was clean and decisive, and the shockwave traveled at least 30% faster.

He can't take it head-on.

Uchiha Natsu, that brat, doesn't know Armament Haki, so he can easily dodge by transforming into his elemental form. But Whitebeard does know Armament Haki, and with the Tremor-Tremor Fruit imbued with Haki, he's unsure if he can escape unscathed.

In a mere split second, he transformed into a streak of light and shot backward, the afterglow of the light blast still shimmering in mid-air, as he retreated to the other end of the plaza. His posture was far from elegant, but he had dodged the attack.

On the command seat, Sengoku's fingers were almost embedded in the metal bars of the guardrail.

It's no secret that a King-Class combatant can directly suppress Admiral.

Whitebeard was King-Class; any monster in that position could single-handedly hold off at least two Admiral.

The problem now isn't whether he can win—it's that he has no more Admiral left to use.

Aokiji was dragged by Marco in the western sky, the flames of the Phoenix binding him tightly.

Akainu, who had just been blasted away, was now standing up from the pile of rubble, a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, his eyes so dark they could drip water;

Kizaru can hold off Whitebeard, but he can't hold off a King-Class opponent by himself.

Uchiha Natsu has not yet appeared.

That Uchiha brat, a master of spatial teleportation, couldn't be hit by Akainu's magma, couldn't be caught by Kizaru's laser, and couldn't be frozen by Aokiji's ice.

He planned to jump onto the execution platform and take Ace away while the Three Admirals were tied up; no one in Marineford could stop him.

Even the Sengoku itself was not up to par.

At his peak, he was only Admiral Level, and even his Golden Buddha Form couldn't stop him from teleporting.

He slowly turned his head and looked at Garp beside him.

The only person present with King-Class combat power was not Three Admirals, nor was he, the Fleet Admiral; it was this old man who had been clenching his fists and remaining silent since the start of the war.

"Garp." Sengoku's voice was very low, so low that only the two of them could hear it, but every word seemed to be ground out from between his teeth.

"They must leave one behind. Whoever it is— Whitebeard, Uchiha Natsu, even Ace —at least one must be spared. Otherwise, the Marine Headquarters ' reputation will be ruined..."

Garp clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, his nails dug into the flesh of his palms, and blood seeped out from between his fingers, dripping onto the stone slab at his feet.

He looked at the Whitebeard in the center of the square, who was indiscriminately unleashing shockwaves, and at his grandson kneeling on the Execution Platform, covered in wounds. The relaxed muscles on his face trembled slightly.

"The Sengoku." His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against iron, each word dripping with blood, "Don't force me."