Garp's lack of anger even after Shendu's defeat wasn't due to a carefree personality—it was a recognition of the undeniable reality. His son, capable of facing four opponents simultaneously, would undoubtedly suffer if he retaliated now. Navigating the vast ocean wasn't solely about strength; it was also about vision and worldly understanding. Garp shifted his attention to Ron at the bar, addressing him, "Little devil~ Do you mind letting him help us heal it?" Ron nodded, affirming, "Of course, I don't mind." Garp, inquiring about the timing to obtain the Devil Fruits, received no immediate response. Silently, he lowered his head to drink, contemplating the truth that sometimes silence arises not only from pain and difficulties but also from the desperation that leads to heart-breaking screams.
In that moment, living for more than seventy years, Garp grasped a profound understanding. Poverty could be suffocating. He pondered, "Good grandson, grandpa has no ability, so you should just lie down like this for a year."
With a playful smile, Whitebeard, having recovered, poured wine into his mouth and teased, "Gu la la la... You didn't have this temper before. Why, as you get older, have your edges been smoothed away?" Rayleigh, having endured the battle, joined in the laughter.
Garp, wearing a dark expression, contemplated his "old friend" who had fought alongside him for decades. In his thoughts, he vowed, "Wait until the old man recovers from his injury. I will kill you all, all of you... The ashes have been raised for you!" Ignoring the banter between Whitebeard and Rayleigh, Garp slowly stood up and took a seat next to Ace.
"Kid, if you can still move, get up and have a drink with me," Garp invited. Ace struggled to sit up and was about to respond when he noticed a pair of iron fists with white bones exposed.
"Chicken sauce..." Ace's eyes reddened, and his trembling voice choked with sobs. Garp, laughing uproariously, jokingly said, "Hahaha, don't cry! Don't let me see you on the sea in the future, or I will still arrest you!" His laughter was both ridiculous and slightly unnatural, perhaps due to the strain from sitting down, causing the wound on his chest to burst open again, staining his white shirt scarlet.
Ace, wiping away his tears, reassured, "No, you can't beat dad now." Garp felt a knot in his chest. He had wanted to deliver a loving iron fist, but he restrained himself, aware that Ace's injuries required careful handling. Any excess strength could result in severe consequences.
Handing a wine glass to Ace, Garp grinned and suggested, "After drinking, you can leave." Ace agreed with enthusiasm. The clinking sound of their glasses colliding resonated in the air as the grandfather and grandson raised their heads in unison, downing the wine in one gulp.
"Let's set sail. We've wasted too much time here," Garp declared. Whitebeard, expressing gratitude with a pat on Rayleigh's shoulder, stood up, ready to leave. Ron extended an invitation, "Boss, come and have a drink when you have time. I like the wine you have here." Whitebeard nodded in acknowledgment, and Marco, after leaving a pile of Berry as payment, picked up Ace and followed him.
As they walked out of the tavern, Ace's voice echoed, bidding farewell, "Goodbye, Chicken Sauce. Uncle Rayleigh, goodbye..." Watching their departure, Rayleigh and Garp fought back tears, well aware that after today, it might be many years before they see Ace again—maybe even at his own funeral.
At this moment, emotions hung heavy in the air, and the weight of time passing lingered.
"Well, at least you won't have to worry about surprise visits anymore."
Rayleigh chuckled, appreciating the newfound peace. Garp's departure marked the end of an era, and the two old men in the tavern were left to reflect on the passing of time and the changes it brought.
Ron took a deep breath, pondering the various abilities he had acquired. The integration of Garp's Conqueror's Haki strengthened Ron even further, making him a force to be reckoned with.
As the tavern continued to evolve, Ron felt a growing sense of responsibility. The abilities he possessed weren't just tools for personal gain; they were tools that could impact the lives of those who sought his assistance.
The mechanical beep sounded again:
[Ding, new message received. ]
Ron's attention shifted to the notification:
[Message: Captain Smoker of the G-5 Marine Base is seeking assistance. He has encountered a powerful pirate crew in the New World. Would you like to provide support? ]
Ron raised an eyebrow. The challenges kept coming, but this time, he was prepared.
Ron glanced at the newcomer, a man with a calm demeanor and a certain air of auTohruity about him. He nodded and picked up the Suyin Dagger, placing it on the bar for the man to examine.
"Quite an exquisite dagger," the man commented, his eyes studying the intricate details of the weapon.
Guysha, who was still fuming with anger, glanced at the man and scoffed, "Don't think you can just stroll in here and ask for a look. Who do you think you are?"
The man ignored Guysha's remark and continued to inspect the dagger. Ron, maintaining a calm demeanor, observed the unfolding situation.
Morgana, on the other hand, seemed to have a more discerning gaze. She looked at the man for a moment before her expression changed slightly. It was as if she recognized something about him.
The man finally spoke, still focused on the dagger. "This craftsmanship... it's familiar."
"Are you trying to imply something?" Guysha questioned, her impatience evident in her tone.
The man raised an eyebrow, finally looking directly at Morgana. "I'm not implying anything. I'm stating a fact. This dagger, its craftsmanship... resembles the work of the legendary swordsmith, Yoruichi."
Morgana's eyes widened for a moment, and the atmosphere in the tavern shifted subtly.
Ron, sensing a potential revelation, decided to let the conversation unfold. He continued to watch, ready to intervene if necessary.