The docks of Foosha Village trembled under the weight of Vice Admiral Garp's laughter as he stepped off his Marine ship, the wood groaning beneath his boots like an old man stretching after a long nap.
He had already shrugged off his Marine coat the moment his feet touched land, revealing the familiar red shirt with its sprawling white flower patterns. Three days. Three precious days stolen from the endless tide of duty, and he intended to waste none of them. His knuckles cracked as he flexed his hands, the sound sharp against the salt-heavy air.
His mind wandered to his grandsons—Luffy, small and loud and undoubtedly starving, and Ace, stubborn and sharp-toothed up on Mt. Colubo. Luffy first. Always Luffy first. The boy was barely five, still soft in the way children were before the world hardened them, and Garp liked to believe his visits kept that softness from rotting into weakness.
Partys Bar was as it always was. Warm, smelling of yeast and wood polish, the kind of place where time moved slower than the tides. Makino stood behind the counter, her dark hair framing a face that seemed brighter than usual, her usual calm sweetness replaced by something livelier, as if she'd been lit from within for weeks and only now had Garp noticed the glow.
He grinned at her.
The regulars—old fishermen with salt-cracked hands and merchants nursing midday drinks—didn't even glance up anymore.
Garp's entrances were as much a part of the bar's rhythm as the tide rolling in and out.
His eyes, sharp beneath their bushy white brows, swept past Makino before she could reply, scanning the dim corners of the room for the small shadow that should have been there - perched on a stool with his feet swinging wildly, chin propped in sticky hands as he begged for 'just one more skewer, pleeeease, Makino, I'll die if I don't eat!'
Nothing.
No sudden tackle-hug to the knees, no high-pitched 'Gramps!' ringing like a bell.
Just the quiet hum of the bar, the clink of glasses, the low murmur of men.
Something was off. Garp's grin didn't falter, but his pulse gave a single, curious thump. The boy had the appetite of a sea king and the persistence of a barnacle. If he wasn't latched onto food or Makino's apron strings, the options were simple. Something was very wrong (unlikely—the village was safer than most Marine bases, and the worst Luffy usually did was fall out of a tree), or something was interesting (likely—and therefore a potential threat to Garp's blood pressure).
He leaned against the counter. "Where's the brat?"
She smiled, but there was something in it—amusement, as if she were holding onto a secret too good to keep. "Out teaching," she said.
The word landed like a cannonball between Garp's ears.
Teaching?
His brain stuttered over the idea, tripping like a drunkard on a smooth deck.
Luffy? His Luffy? The same boy who still struggled to tie his own sandals,who considered a day without meat a very sad day, who'd once tried to eat a beetle because it looked crunchy?
A laugh burst out of him before he could stop it, loud and disbelieving. "Hah! Good one, Makino! What's he really doing? Wrestling a boar? Digging for crabs?"
Makino's smile didn't waver, but her eyes were judging and accusing him. "He's serious," she said, and her voice was so firm that Garp's laughter died in his throat. "He declared it last month. That he wants to be a teacher."
Garp blinked. Then blinked again. His mouth opened, then shut.
He then tried to picture it—Luffy standing in front of a classroom, tiny hands waving as he explained... what? How to properly chew meat? The best way to trip over your own feet? It was absurd. It had to be a joke.
But Makino wasn't laughing.
"A... teacher," Garp repeated, as if saying it slower would make it make sense.
"A dream maker, he called it," Makino added, and now her voice was fond, warm with something deeper than pride. "And he already has a student."
Garp's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly vanished into his hairline. "A what?"
Makino wiped a glass, her movements smooth, unhurried, enjoying his bewilderment. "A green-haired boy. A sword apprentice from Shimotsuki Village. Luffy somehow befriended him. One day he just... showed up with him. They train together now. They even hunt and make their own lunches."
Garp's mind reeled. Luffy—his Luffy, the child who could barely sit still for five minutes—was not only teaching but had somehow convinced another kid to follow him? And swordplay? Since when did Luffy know anything about swords? The questions piled up like storm clouds.
Makino took pity on him, but only a little. "They'll be back by sunset," she said, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. "You can ask him yourself."
Garp stared at her, then at the door, then back at her.
What in the name of the seas had his grandson gotten himself into?
The beach stretched out before Garp. The wind carried the sharp tang of salt and the rhythmic crash of waves, Besides that, there was the sound of steel cutting water, a repeated noise like the constant tide.
Garp stood at the tree line, arms crossed, watching.
There was Luffy—his tiny, reckless grandson—perched on a sun-bleached log like some kind of miniature commander, legs swinging. His usual wild energy was now a quiet focus. His dark eyes watched the older boy in the shallow water, a green-haired kid with a sword that looked too heavy, his muscles working hard against the ocean's push.
And then Luffy spoke.
"No, no, Zoro! Your feet gotta be like roots! The waves are tryin' to knock you over, so you gotta be like a tree!"
Garp's eyebrow twitched. Since when does Luffy know anything about footwork?
The green-haired boy—Zoro—growled, sweat dripping down his brow, but he adjusted his stance, digging his heels deeper into the wet sand. The next wave hit, and this time he didn't stumble.
"Good! Now swing through the water, not at it! It's not an enemy, it's just there! You gotta cut what's behind it!"
Garp looked completely shocked.
That was actual tips on swords. It was exact and useful, the kind of thing a real swordsman would tell you. And Luffy said it like it was nothing special, even though he was only just figuring out his sandals a year ago.
Zoro obeyed, twisting his body, blade flashing in an arc that split the wave cleanly. Water sprayed in a glittering fan, and for a second, the sea itself seemed to yield.
"Yeah! Like that!" Luffy cheered, bouncing up with a grin. "Now do it a hundred more times!"
A hundred more—?
Garp's eye twitched. Since when was Luffy this disciplined?
He watched as Zoro didn't complain or argue. The kid just gritted his teeth and kept swinging. And Luffy? Luffy sat back down, holding his chin, watching with a serious look that didn't seem right for a five-year-old.
Garp couldn't take it anymore.
With a loud crack of his knuckles, he stepped out from the treeline, his sandals sinking slightly into the soft sand. Luffy's head snapped up immediately, his serious instructor's expression melting away like morning mist under the sun.
"GRAMPS!"
The boy launched himself like a bullet. Garp barely had time to brace before Luffy collided with his chest, tiny arms wrapping around his neck in a vice grip. The force nearly knocked the wind out of him, but Garp only chuckled, one massive hand coming up to cradle the back of Luffy's head instinctively, fingers threading through his wild black hair.
"Missed me, brat?" he rumbled, voice softer than he'd ever admit.
Luffy just buried his face into Garp's shoulder, clinging like a little monkey, his whole body vibrating with excitement. Garp could feel the rapid thump of his grandson's heartbeat against his own chest—fast as a hummingbird's wings.
For just a moment, the legendary Marine just held his grandson close, breathing in the familiar scent of salt, sweat and the faintest hint of meat grease that always seemed to linger on the kid no matter what.
Then Luffy pulled back just enough to beam up at him, eyes shining. "Shishishi! You're back!" He twisted in Garp's arms, waving frantically at Zoro. "Zoro! Come meet my Gramps! He's the strongest ever!"
The green-haired boy paused mid-swing, panting slightly, before wading out of the water. He gave Garp a respectful nod—polite, but not overly deferential. "Old man."
Garp's eyebrow twitched. Old man?!
Luffy giggled. "Gramps, this is Zoro! He's gonna be the greatest swordsman in the world! And I'm helping him!"
Garp blinked. "You're... helping him."
"Yeah! Well, kinda!" Luffy tilted his head. "I'm giving him advice, but becoming the greatest is all his own work!"
Zoro huffed, wiping sweat from his brow, but there was no annoyance in it. If anything, the way his gaze flickered to Luffy held something that made Garp pause. Respect. No, more than that.
"He's annoying," Zoro grumbled, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "But his advice isn't bad."
Garp felt something warm settle in his chest—pride, confusion, and sheer bewilderment all tangled together.
Zoro nodded once at Garp, then turned back toward the waves. "I'm going back to training."
"Don't slack off!" Luffy called after him, then wriggled in Garp's grip until the old Marine sat down on the log, letting Luffy plop into his lap properly. The boy immediately leaned back against him, small and warm and trusting, his head fitting perfectly under Garp's chin.
For a moment, Garp just held him there, one arm wrapped loosely around his middle, the other hand absently ruffling his hair. Luffy hummed happily, kicking his feet.
"Luffy," Garp started slowly, "where'd you learn all that stuff about swords?"
Luffy blinked up at him, then grinned. "I dunno! It just makes sense!"
Garp frowned. "Who told you that?"
Luffy tapped his chin, thinking. "Well... I watch people fight sometimes. And when Zoro was swinging wrong, I could see it." He mimed a punch in the air. "Like... if you try to punch too hard, you lose balance, right? But if you punch through where you're aiming, it's stronger!"
Garp's eye twitched. That was eerily accurate.
"And making him train in the waves?"
Luffy tilted his head back to look at him, eyes wide and earnest. "The sea's the strongest thing there is, right? So if Zoro can stand against that, he can stand against anything!"
Garp opened his mouth. Closed it.
...What the hell was this kid?
A sudden burst of pride swelled in his chest, fierce and unexpected. He tightened his grip around Luffy just slightly, pressing a quick, rough kiss to the top of his head before he could stop himself. Luffy giggled, squirming.
"Gramps! That tickles!"
Garp snorted, but didn't let go.
Out in the water, Zoro continued his training, each swing stronger than the last. Every so often, Luffy would call out a correction.
"Your elbow's too high!"
"Don't hold your breath!"
"If you're gonna get tired, get tired after you win!"
And every time, Zoro would adjust without complaint. But what struck Garp the most was the way Zoro glanced back at Luffy after each adjustment—just a quick look.
The respect. The trust. The fondness.
And as Garp sat there, holding his grandson while the sun dipped toward the horizon, he realized something. Luffy might not have thrown a single punch today, but he was already stronger than he knew.