One Piece : Brotherhood

The shoreline of Foosha Village stretched out in front of them, the soft sands kissed by the golden light of the setting sun. Waves gently lapped at the beach, their rhythm steady and calm, a stark contrast to the turmoil in the hearts of the two men standing side by side.

Garp and Sengoku had been through countless battles together, had laughed and bled, carrying the banner of justice across the seas. Now, however, the weight of their history was palpable in the silence between them.

Sengoku finally broke the quiet, his voice barely more than a whisper, like a confession he wasn't ready to make. "I'm going to cut to the chase, Garp. Come back. Come back to the Marines." His words carried a plea that only an old friend would recognize.

Garp took a deep breath, letting the salty breeze fill his lungs. He didn't need time to think. He had already wrestled with this answer long before Sengoku arrived.

"You know I can't, Sengoku," he murmured, his tone steady but regretful. "After all that's happened, how could I wear that coat with pride?"

He knew what Sengoku must have sacrificed to make this offer—what kind of leverage he had used, what promises he must have given the higher-ups. After everything Garp had done, particularly at Marineford, it was a wonder the World Government hadn't branded him a fugitive on the spot.

If not for his strength, he suspected he would've been hunted down by assassins. But they knew that mere agents wouldn't be enough to take him down. They might as well have been ants against a mountain.

Sengoku's fist clenched, his knuckles turning white as he fought back the pain and frustration that had been gnawing at him for years. But then he forced himself to relax. He looked out at the horizon, his voice distant.

"I know why you did it, Garp. I do. Zephyr… he was everything the Marines used to stand for. And we lost him—no, they hunted him. Not even a body left to bury. Not even a grave to honor him." His voice caught, memories of Zephyr's young, determined face flickering in his mind.

"Sometimes I wonder if we represent justice at all. But I've held on, Garp. Because we shared that dream when we first joined, didn't we? To change the world, to protect people… to do good."

Garp's expression softened, but his eyes held firm. "I know, Sengoku. I know you've tried to keep that dream alive. But it's not enough anymore." He sighed, a rare sadness breaking through his usual unbreakable demeanor.

"What happened to Zephyr, it was more than just an injustice. It was the death of something in me, Sengoku. Seeing that happen to him—to a man who dedicated his life to the Marines from the ground up, who carried the burden of justice on his shoulders every day—that was the final straw."

Garp's voice grew heavier, his tone full of quiet but unmistakable anger. "And then there's Hazard. A Marine Admiral who committed atrocities, hid behind his rank, used his position to torment innocent people—how many more are like him? People who wear that coat and call themselves Marines but act like tyrants. I didn't join to serve thugs under a pretense of justice, Sengoku."

Sengoku clenched his jaw, looking down. "Garp… I can't do this alone. The world's already spiraling out of control. The seas are more dangerous than ever. The Shichibukai, who are supposed to help us maintain balance, are probably more powerful than the Marines now. And your protégé, Rosinante…" He hesitated, his voice barely above a murmur.

"Rosinante killed Hazard and displayed his head for the world to see."

The admission hung heavy in the air. The image of Rosinante standing over the decapitated Admiral had shaken the world. But it wasn't just the act itself that left the world reeling; it was what came before—the Admiral's confession, detailing the corruption he had committed while hiding under the cloak of justice. Garp had likely already heard, but the pain in Sengoku's voice gave the news fresh gravity.

Garp's voice remained steady, though there was a cold anger beneath it. "Can you blame him, Sengoku? After everything Hazard admitted to, do you think he deserved to wear that coat? Did he deserve to live?"

Sengoku's eyes drifted back to the horizon, where the sun was sinking below the waves. He felt old, older than he ever had, the weight of years and broken ideals settling heavily on his shoulders. Garp was the last person he could be honest with, the only man who wouldn't judge him for his doubts. And so, for once, he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

"Maybe you're right, Garp. Maybe we've become nothing more than glorified thugs. Paid enforcers of the World Government's will. I've sacrificed so much for this cause, believing that the Marines could be a force for true justice. But each day, that belief feels more like a lie."

His voice trembled, the admission tearing at something deep inside him. "There are days I look at myself and wonder if we're even different from the pirates we chase."

Garp reached over, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder with a comforting strength only he could give.

"Sengoku, you were always the one to hold us together. Your ideals kept us going even when we had to make hard choices. But that's why I can't come back. I can't keep pretending that the system hasn't rotted from the inside out. Pirates might live by their own rules, but they're honest about it. They choose their path. Meanwhile, we let the World Government decide what justice is—and we just carry it out, no questions asked."

Sengoku looked at him, searching his friend's face for something—perhaps hope, perhaps a way forward. But Garp's gaze was steady, unwavering. He had made his decision, and nothing would sway him.

"What will you do, then?" Sengoku asked quietly, though he dreaded the answer.

"I don't know," Garp admitted, his tone resolute. "But I know this: I'll protect what matters to me, in my own way. Even if I have to stand against the Marines."

A sad smile flickered across Sengoku's face. "You know they won't just let you go, Garp. They'll come for you. They'll try to tear down everything you've built, everything you care about."

"I know," Garp replied, his tone calm and unflinching. "Let them come. I'm not afraid of them, and I won't let their so-called justice break me. Or the people I care about."

For a long moment, they stood there in silence, watching as the last sliver of sun disappeared beneath the waves. Sengoku felt the familiar ache of loss, the sting of dreams slipping away. But he also felt a spark—a faint, flickering reminder of the ideals he had once held so dear.

Garp had always been his anchor, his reminder of what justice truly meant. Perhaps, in a strange way, he was still that reminder, even as he turned his back on everything they had once believed in.

The air was thick with tension, the sky darkening as the sun sank lower, leaving a faint trace of purple and orange along the horizon. Foosha Village had always been peaceful, a quiet haven away from the chaos of the world, but now, in this moment, it felt like the entire ocean was holding its breath. The waves whispered against the shore, a stark contrast to the storm brewing between two old friends.

Sengoku's patience had reached its limit. His eyes burned with a mix of hurt, frustration, and something deeper—betrayal. He couldn't hold it in anymore. The weight of years spent trying to keep the dream alive, the dream that he and Garp had once shared, crushed him.

The memories of their time together in the Marines, the promises they made to one another, everything seemed to hang by a thread. And now, Garp was walking away, leaving Sengoku to face the storm alone.

"So what about the oath we took all those years ago, as brothers?" Sengoku's voice cracked with emotion, the words almost painful to say. "What happened to that dream, Garp? What happened to the future we promised each other?" He had hoped that Garp would see reason, that his old friend would understand the depth of his pain. But this, this was too much.

He couldn't let Garp off so easily. Not when the entire world was spiraling out of control, not when everything they had fought for was slipping through their fingers. Sengoku knew Garp's weakness all too well—*their* weakness.

They had been like brothers, linked by their shared ideals. And if he had to pull at those emotions, at the bonds they had forged over a lifetime, he would. Garp could refuse him now, but there was no way he would get off scot-free. Not without feeling the weight of the promise they had once made together.

"Garp," Sengoku's voice shook slightly as he pressed forward, "if you were planning to abandon me midway, then why did you push me so hard with training back then? Why did you make me chase after ideals that you yourself planted in my heart?" His eyes burned, anger mixing with a deep, almost unbearable sorrow. "I spent my entire youth following you, believing in the dream that we'd achieve together. And now, you want me to face all of this alone?"

Garp's face tightened, the muscles in his jaw working as he felt the weight of Sengoku's words. He knew exactly where this conversation was heading, and a part of him wanted to run, wanted to avoid the painful truths they would have to confront.

But he couldn't. He couldn't deny it anymore, couldn't run from the consequences of his actions. Garp closed his eyes, briefly, the memories flashing through his mind like a torrent.

Sengoku was right. He had been the one to drive him. Back then, he had pushed Sengoku to grow stronger, not just as a Marine, but as a man who could change the world. He had seen something in Sengoku—a spark of greatness—and he had nurtured it, even at the cost of Sengoku's comfort and innocence. But now, seeing the older man standing before him, broken by disappointment, Garp felt a sting that he couldn't ignore.

"Don't you dare say it, Garp," Sengoku continued, his voice rising. "Why did you give me that cursed fruit back then? Why? Wasn't it because you saw my strength lagging behind yours? And don't tell me you didn't know the worth of a mythical Zoan fruit back then!"

The words cut deep. The memory of that day when Sengoku had received the fruit, the weight of the promise Garp had made to him, flooded his mind. Garp had known what he was doing when he gave it to Sengoku.

He had hoped that it would push him further, help him become the man he believed he could be—the man who could help them change the world. But now, it all felt hollow.

Garp grit his teeth, pain and regret written across his face. He had never intended to hurt Sengoku, but the damage was already done. "I'm sorry, Sengoku," he muttered, his voice rough.

"I'm sorry for everything I put you through. I was wrong. But this—this path I'm on now, I can't turn back. Not anymore."

Sengoku's eyes flashed with raw fury. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface finally exploded, and for a brief moment, he seemed to lose control. "Sorry?!" he spat, his voice dripping with venom.

"You think an apology is enough to fix this? After everything we went through together? You're a backstabbing bastard, Garp! You told me we'd change the world together, and now you're just going to walk away? You're going to let everything we fought for fall apart? For what? To protect your pride?"

The anger in Sengoku's voice reverberated across the beach, the force of his words cutting through the air like a blade. Garp flinched, but he didn't back down. He knew he had brought this upon himself. He had let Sengoku down. But there was no going back now.

Sengoku's hands trembled with fury as he stared at Garp, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. "You may have trained me, you may have pushed me to become stronger, but you also gave me a burden I never asked for. You made me believe in something, and now you're walking away, leaving me to deal with the fallout alone." His voice was cold, brittle.

"If you're not going to help me fix this mess, then there's no way I'm doing it alone. So, if you're not coming back to the Marines, then we settle this the old way. Like we always did. With our fists."

The challenge hung in the air, thick with the weight of years of friendship and rivalry. It wasn't just a fight for pride—it was a battle for understanding, a clash of ideals that could only be resolved through the rawest form of combat.

Their friendship, their shared dream, everything was on the line. And Sengoku wasn't going to back down. He had lived in the shadow of Garp's ideals for too long, and now it was time for them to face each other, not as comrades, but as opponents.

Garp's eyes softened, and for a moment, he saw his old friend, the Sengoku he had trained, the man who had always pushed himself to be better. A flicker of sadness crossed his face.

"Sengoku," he said softly, "I don't want to fight you. But if this is the only way for you to understand… then I won't hold back."

The tension between them was palpable. The years of history, the shared victories and losses, hung in the balance. Garp knew that this fight, this final confrontation, would be the last test of their friendship. And whether they liked it or not, they would have to clash—because sometimes, the only way to understand each other was through the force of their fists.

The deserted island seemed to tremble beneath the weight of the two figures standing face to face. The air crackled with tension, a palpable energy pressing down on the land as if the very earth could sense the storm that was about to break.

The sky overhead was heavy, clouds swirling as if the heavens themselves had drawn back in anticipation. Every gust of wind, every shift of the waves seemed to bow to the overwhelming presence of the two titans.

Garp stood tall, his broad frame casting a long shadow, the battle-worn wrinkles on his face reflecting years of struggle, but beneath his aging exterior, there was a fire that had never been extinguished.

His very presence seemed to push the island's weight down into the sea, and the atmosphere around him grew tense, charged with the threat of power. His fists, clenched and ready, exuded a raw, unrelenting force, the sheer force of his will almost palpable, like the ocean itself was afraid to encroach too close.

Sengoku stood opposite him, the air around him vibrating with the intensity of his own resolve. His frame was just as imposing, but his aura felt different. There was an overwhelming, unyielding power that radiated from him, one that spoke of an unshakable conviction, of a soul hardened by duty and responsibility.

But it was also the aura of someone who had been betrayed. His eyes glinted with a sharpness that could cut through anything—any defense, any pretense.

"Sengoku, it's not too late to turn back now," Garp's voice was gruff, yet there was a trace of regret buried beneath his hardened exterior. His gaze softened, a fleeting moment of vulnerability, before the weight of the words settled in.

"You can still run the Marines without me. You've always been strong enough for this. Don't make me fight you."

Despite Garp's offer, the weight of the moment didn't ease. The island trembled even harder, as if caught between two opposing forces, the air growing heavier with each breath. Sengoku's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as Garp's words landed, like they were meant to wound. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms until he could feel the blood running.

"Spare me your false courtesy, you bastard!" Sengoku snapped, his voice loud, laced with fury and betrayal. His words echoed across the desolate island, a roar that seemed to reverberate in the very bones of the earth.

"You are nothing but a coward and a hypocrite, you know that, Garp? You call me a brother, but you chose to abandon me. The Marines, when we joined, were no better than what they are now—maybe even worse! So don't give me your lame excuses. You've just lost your courage. Just admit it, you bastard! You never once truly wanted to fulfill our oath. You were simply…" His words hung in the air, venomous, meant to provoke.

Sengoku's chest heaved with each breath, the fire in his eyes burning hotter than ever. He knew Garp well enough to understand the man's strength, but also to know just how to cut through the calm facade he put up. Sengoku was testing him, pushing him, trying to get Garp to admit the truth he had kept buried for so long.

Garp's eyes darkened with fury as Sengoku's words pierced through his resolve. "Sengoku…" he growled, his voice like thunder, a storm brewing in his chest. The anger in his tone was unmistakable, but beneath it was something more—a regret that cut deeper than any physical wound.

He knew Sengoku didn't truly mean the words he had spoken, but that didn't stop them from hurting. The sting of those accusations settled in his chest, a deep ache that Garp knew all too well. He had walked away, he had abandoned his brother, his best friend. And now it seemed like nothing could fix the rift that had formed between them.

But before Garp could say another word, Sengoku's form shifted. The island seemed to crack beneath the weight of Sengoku's sudden transformation. His body grew larger, the ground beneath him groaning under the pressure of his raw power. It was like witnessing a god descend onto the earth, his form shifting and warping in a way that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.

Sengoku's Devil Fruit power—the Hito Hito no Mi, Model: Daibutsu, or the Mythical Zoan, "Human-Human Fruit, Model: Great Buddha"—manifested in a burst of golden light. His body stretched, towering over the island as his form morphed into a colossal golden Buddha. The transformation was not just physical; it was a manifestation of Sengoku's unbreakable will.

His eyes glowed with a divine intensity, and his very presence seemed to shine with the light of a thousand suns, casting a golden hue over the island that made everything else seem insignificant in comparison.

His massive fists, once human, were now colossal, radiating an aura of strength and protection. The transformation was not just for combat—it was a statement. Sengoku wasn't just any man now; he was a living symbol of the ideals he had sworn to uphold, a towering figure of justice that could crush anything in his path.

Garp's expression darkened as he saw the full extent of Sengoku's transformation. The air around them crackled with power, the tension reaching an apex as Sengoku's enormous form loomed over him. Every step Sengoku took seemed to shake the very earth, each movement radiating an almost unbearable energy. It was clear that Sengoku wasn't holding anything back anymore.

"You've always been strong, Sengoku," Garp's voice, though strained, carried an almost mournful undertone. "But this… this isn't the answer. This isn't how we fix things."

But Sengoku wasn't listening. The roar of his haki flared as his massive golden form moved forward, his gaze locked onto Garp with unrelenting intensity.

"I'm not going to go back without you, you bastard!" he bellowed, his voice echoing like thunder across the island. The golden aura surrounding him seemed to pulse with each word, growing larger, more overwhelming. "I'm not going to let you abandon me, not when the Marines, this world, needs us!"

With that, Sengoku's colossal fist swung down, aiming straight at Garp, the very air thick with the force of his power. The island shook violently under the impact of his attack, a wave of energy so intense it felt like the ground itself would split open. The ocean around them roared in response, the waves surging upward as if to challenge Sengoku's might.

Garp stood his ground, his eyes narrowing as he prepared to face the overwhelming force of his old friend's power.

"If this is how it has to be, then so be it," he muttered, a grim smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But know this, Sengoku… I've never stopped fighting for you. I never will."

The clash was inevitable.

And with that, the world seemed to hold its breath as the titanic forces of Garp and Sengoku collided—two brothers, two ideals, each determined to carve their own path, even if it meant breaking everything they once stood for.