One month later.
A small sailboat approached the shores of the misty island, Monmon Island.
Riding the waves, the sailboat sailed straight onto the beach.
Soon after, several figures leapt off the boat, stepping onto the soft sand.
These arrivals were none other than Maude and his crew.
After over a month of travel, they had finally reached Monmon Island.
"We're finally here," Sol said, lifting his gaze to the faint plumes of smoke in the distance.
Maude pulled the small, beached sailboat further up onto the shore, ensuring it wouldn't be swept away when the tide rose.
Bailey, now on solid ground, dashed around the beach with the energy of a child who had just recovered from a serious illness.
Nearby, Sunny spotted a coconut tree and ordered Bailey to climb it and pick a few coconuts.
But Bailey was far too chubby to climb, no matter how hard he tried.
Left with no choice, Sunny hoisted Bailey up and hurled him at the coconuts.
Bailey flew through the air and clung to a cluster of coconuts, managing to knock several down as expected.
Satisfied, Sunny nodded, gathered the coconuts, and headed toward Lafitte.
"Give me a hand."
"..."
Lafitte wordlessly drew his blade and sliced the coconuts open one by one.
Sunny left one coconut each for Lafitte and Bailey, then carried the rest to Maude and Sol.
Lafitte, clearly uninterested in coconut juice, handed his share to Bailey.
"Good brother!" Bailey exclaimed with glee, cradling the coconut as he drank happily.
Not far away, Maude finished securing the sailboat and began unloading several barrels of liquor.
The liquor was from a New World island—something Sol had procured from Shanks. After all, visiting an old friend without bringing anything would be impolite.
"Maude, this coconut juice is pretty good," Sunny said, approaching with a coconut in hand.
"Let me try."
Maude accepted the coconut with a smile, took a sip, and found it refreshingly sweet with a hint of tartness.
"It's really good."
"Isn't it?" Sunny smiled faintly.
The coconut juice didn't last long—just a few sips, and it was gone.
Maude tossed the empty coconut into the grassy area beyond the beach before picking up two barrels of liquor.
"Such a waste," a melodic female voice remarked suddenly from the nearby woods.
Maude and Sunny instinctively tensed up, turning their wary gazes toward the source of the voice.
Before the voice rang out, neither of them had sensed any presence.
Rustle—
A woman emerged from the small forest, stepping over the low shrubs.
She had delicate features, a white scarf wrapped around her head, and wore a short-sleeved dress.
The hem of the dress was embroidered with cartoonish black-and-white sheep heads, giving her a youthful vibe.
Upon seeing the woman, who appeared to be in her twenties, Maude remained cautious. He set down the barrels and rested his hand on the hilt of his Chidori blade.
Sunny did the same, her hand ready on her pistol grip, prepared to draw at a moment's notice.
The woman, either oblivious or unbothered by their hostility, walked forward and bent down to pick up the discarded coconut.
Brushing off the sand, she looked at Maude and Sunny.
"If you hollow out the coconut meat, blend it into a paste, and add warm goat's milk and rock honey, a few stirs will make a delightful hot drink. Simply throwing it away is such a waste," she said calmly.
"And you are?" Maude asked, scrutinizing her carefully.
The woman appeared harmless, yet there was an inexplicable air about her that demanded caution.
"That's what I should be asking," the woman replied, her gaze flickering briefly to Maude's hand on the hilt of his sword. "But regardless of who you are, I must ask you to leave immediately."
Maude noticed the subtle shift in her expression and released his grip on the blade.
Caution was wise, but his actions had indeed been impolite. Besides, he could tell she meant no harm—she simply didn't seem keen on their presence.
"We're here looking for someone," Maude explained, glancing toward Sol on the beach.
Sol, noticing the commotion, casually began to stroll over with his cane.
"Looking for someone?" the woman asked, her tone tinged with curiosity.
Maude nodded. "Yes, we came to Monmon Island to find someone named Jabba."
"Jabba…"
A trace of wariness crossed the woman's face.
"Who exactly are you?"
"Uh, better let Sol explain. That old man over there."
Maude gestured toward Sol, who was ambling over at a leisurely pace.
Clearly, this woman knew Jabba, so it was best to let Sol handle the introduction.
The woman, following Maude's gesture, looked at Sol.
A short old man with a cane…
She vaguely recalled Jabba mentioning someone like that.
Meanwhile, at Marineford, the crescent-shaped island that served as the Marine Headquarters.
Among the countless islands in the sea, Marineford ranked among the safest.
On this secure island, a town had been thoughtfully built for the families of Marine personnel.
The peaceful environment filled the town with cheerful smiles at every corner.
Living here, the residents never had to worry about the threat of pirates.
On the town's southern side lay a cemetery.
Rows of white marble tombstones stood neatly arranged across the flatland.
The spacing between each tombstone was minimal—insufficient to hold a coffin if measured.
Because of this, the densely packed tombstones exuded an overwhelming sense of solemnity.
Garp walked into the cemetery, a bottle of strong liquor in hand.
Familiar with the layout, he navigated the pathways effortlessly, stopping in front of a white tombstone.
The tombstone was inscribed with numerous names, indicating that no bodies lay beneath—merely a cenotaph.
In fact, most of the tombstones in the cemetery were cenotaphs.
Garp squatted down, silently gazing at the names etched onto the tombstone.
In the Marines' prolonged battle against pirates, people often focused only on the outcomes, rarely sparing the effort to remember these names.
Over time, it was as though they had never existed.
Pop—
Garp uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount of liquor over the tombstone.
The clear liquid trickled over the engraved names, releasing a rich, heady aroma into the air.
Once only a small amount remained, Garp tilted the bottle to his lips, draining it in one go.
Setting the empty bottle aside, he sat cross-legged.
A gentle breeze rustled by, lifting bits of grass into the air.
After a long while, light footsteps approached from behind.
Without turning, Garp recognized them as Vice Admiral Tsuru's.
Tsuru approached, hands clasped behind her back, her gaze briefly falling on the prominent scar on Garp's cheek.
"I didn't see you in the office, so I figured you might be here."
"Sharp as always, Tsuru."
Garp chuckled heartily.
Tsuru crouched down, her eyes on the names etched into the tombstone. "Lately, those brats have been pestering me about how you got that scar on your face."
Garp laughed it off. "Feel free to tell them. It's not something to be ashamed of."
At this, Tsuru glanced again at the scar on Garp's cheek. "I thought it was a stray bullet. I didn't expect it to be from that young man."
"Haha."
Garp's mind flashed back to Sol's words, recalling Maude's aura in that moment.
"That boy's impressive. The shot he fired at me—though immature—carried a strong will."
"Just now, his wanted poster was finalized."
"Oh?"
Garp raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, then nodded knowingly.
After all, a Marine captain had been killed by that boy.
Issuing a bounty was only natural.
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