The stone slabs of the commercial street appeared white under the moonlight.
Damian knelt by the flowerbed, his left hand still clutching the lion's tooth pendant he had taken from Lane's neck, his right hand pressed against the wound on Marcus's chest, unable to hold it down.
Blood seeped through his fingers, staining the Uchiha Clan crest embroidered on his cuff a deep brown.
Marcus's Sharingan was slowly fading from scarlet to a dark reddish-brown, like a piece of iron cooling down.
His pupils had dilated, but his gaze remained fixed on Damian's face.
"Pops." Damian's voice was squeezed out of his throat, each word as if it were being forcibly pulled from the deepest part of his chest.
"Why are you doing this? They're just pirates trying to steal our goods. If the docks can't be defended, there are patrols; if the warehouses can't be defended, there's the merchant guild; and if all else fails, there's us. Why are you blocking our way here...?"
Marcus's hand twitched.
The hand that had just unleashed the Uchiha Style Swordsmanship was now so weak that it couldn't even lift a finger, and could only lightly rub against the gravel.
Damian immediately grasped the hand; the palm was calloused, the fingers as thick as tree roots, the hand that had held axes, planes, saws, and pipes all his life, with White Wax Wood shavings still embedded between his fingers.
"Damian." Marcus's lips moved twice before he uttered a soft sound.
"You said... you're dispensable in the family." He coughed, a trickle of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, running down his gray stubble.
"I've thought about that too. Barlow has built such a large business guild, Mila can manage the underground, Roy can manage training, and I've seen you and Gwen come back to focus on your pregnancy. I feel like I can't be of much help."
He paused for a moment, and the sea breeze rushed in from the direction of the dock, causing the Fan Flag on the commercial street to flutter and unfold.
Marcus stared at the flag, the light in his eyes gradually dimming, but his voice suddenly became steady, as if he had gathered the last bit of strength into these few words.
"But Damian, I'm also Uchiha. Your blood is Uchiha blood, and so is mine. I can't just chop wood until I'm old and watch you all risk your lives outside while I can't even stop a pirate."
Damian's tears dripped from his chin onto Marcus's fingers, but he never let out an extra sob.
"You stopped him, Pops! You stopped that Fish-Man!"
"It's good that you stopped him." Marcus's fingers curled slightly in Damian's palm, as if responding to his reassurance, or as if confirming the answer for himself.
"I've only ever fought this one battle in my entire life, and I didn't disgrace the Uchiha clan... that's good enough."
Damian gripped his hand tightly, his knuckles turning white.
He lowered his head and pressed his forehead against his father's hand, his shoulders trembling violently, but he didn't cry out loud. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but that if he cried out, he would break down uncontrollably, and he couldn't afford to break down again.
At that moment, only one voice kept echoing in his mind: his Pops was dead, dead on White Wax Island, his hometown, the place he had guarded his whole life, and he had failed to protect his Pops.
Marcus's fingers slowly loosened their grip on his palm.
"There's a hidden compartment under the bed in the workshop... and... something for you..."
His lips stopped.
Uchiha Marcus, the shipwright of White Wax Island and the first head of the Uchiha clan, closed his eyes by the flowerbed in the commercial street.
Damian didn't move, his back bent into a silent arc, the sea breeze blowing his hair across his face, where it mingled with sweat and blood and clung to his cheekbones.
Footsteps came from the direction of the dock; it was the dull thud of navy leather boots on the wooden planks of the pier.
A navy coat with the word "Justice" written on it stopped behind Damian.
Garp arrived on the island moments after Ram collapsed.
Before the warship had even come to a complete stop, he jumped onto the pier, shoved the bag of rice crackers into Bogart's arms, and strode across the dock covered in flames and blood.
He saw the crooked-nosed man lying on his back on the dock, Ryan the Mad Lion Lane with a bounty of 148 million, the scorch mark on his chest still bearing the last stab from Damian.
Then he walked to the entrance of the commercial street and saw Damian kneeling by the flower bed, with Marcus in his arms.
Garp stopped, and Bogart followed two steps behind him, noticing that the colonel's back suddenly tensed.
Garp recognized the man lying by the flower bed. Several years ago, when he first landed on White Wax Island to track down roaming pirates, he went to this man's house and even asked him to repair his ship. At the time, he thought that this family was definitely not an ordinary islander.
He walked over in silence, squatted down, took off the navy coat with the word "Justice" printed on the back, and gently covered Marcus with it. The hem of the coat dragged on the stone pavement, its edges soaked with blood that had seeped into the cracks in the stones.
Damian looked up.
His eyes are no longer the Three-Tomoe Sharingan.
The red on the outer edge of the pupil was deeper than before, and the outlines of the three Tomoe were melting. The edges of the Tomoe stretched, curved, and intertwined with each other, weaving a completely new pattern outside the pupil.
The four intersecting spiral patterns resemble a flame burning from within, reflecting the two words on the navy coat: Justice.
Garp's pupils contracted sharply.
He had heard the rescued boy mention "red eyes" before, but it wasn't until he stood in front of the eldest son of the Uchiha Clan that he realized the true significance of those blood-red eyes.
The young man from back then was looking at him with those same eyes, his gaze colder than a knife. Of course, he didn't know the name of the evolved form of the Uchiha Kekkei Genkai, but he knew that what was hidden in those eyes was far more than just anger.
"You..." Garp began, his voice much lower than usual, lacking the carefree tone he used when laughing heartily.
Hurried footsteps echoed through the woods. The first to appear was Gwen, her blonde hair disheveled by branches, the hem of her beige cotton dress stained with leaves and dirt, her swollen belly swaying beneath the loose skirt, yet she still jogged toward the shopping street.
She was followed closely by Barlow, Mila, and Roy.
Rosa had cured Roy of the poison, but the residual poison in his body hadn't subsided, and he still had a low-grade fever. Yet, he still walked onto the island side by side with Barlow, his shoulders still bearing bruises from the street fighting. Mila's face was still covered in soot, and she was still clutching the White Wax Wood hilt of her knife. Barlow stood beside her, his fingers still trembling slightly.
The four people stopped at the entrance of the commercial street at the same time.
Gwen covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling, but she didn't utter a sound.
She recognized the pair of shoes peeking out from under the navy coat, revealing half of a carpenter's apron patch.
Roy's face was unusually expressionless, and his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Mila stood ramrod straight, but her lips trembled as she stared at her father's face beneath his navy coat.
Barlow didn't speak or make any unnecessary movements.
He looked at his father's peaceful face and the two words on his navy coat that he had never really looked at before, then slowly pressed down on the hilt of his White Wax Wood scabbard and knelt on one knee.
Roy and Mila knelt down as well, Gwen bowed her head and closed her eyes.
Garp stepped aside, making room for the family, while Bogart stood silently at attention behind him, without opening any notebooks.
Damian stood up and gently placed his father's hand under his navy coat.
"Pops left us some things," he said, looking at his younger siblings, his voice hoarse but steady.
"Go to the workshop."