Chapter 700

Water 7, Grand Line

The sound of hammers echoed endlessly across the shores of Water 7. Metal clanged against metal. Steam hissed from newly installed pipes. Countless workers moved through the sprawling construction site like ants rebuilding a fallen kingdom from the ashes of disaster. What had once been a graveyard of shattered canals and sunken homes was slowly beginning to breathe again.

The new Water 7 rising from the ruins looked nothing like the old city.

Iceburg’s blueprints had transformed grief into ambition. Massive reinforced waterways cut through the island like veins, designed to withstand even the fiercest Aqua Lagunas. Towering steel frameworks rose toward the skies, their skeletal outlines promising a city grander and stronger than before. Enormous docks stretched farther into the ocean while gigantic water pumps and floodgates were being constructed throughout the island.

It no longer looked like a city merely trying to survive. It looked like a fortress challenging the sea itself. And right in the middle of all that organized construction chaos—Monkey D. Garp was making an absolute mockery of physics.

“MOVE! MOVE! MOVE! MASSIVE PILE OF TIMBER COMING THROUGH!” Garp bellowed loudly as he stomped down the half-built roadway. Behind him—No. Attached to him— Was what could only be described as an entire forest worth of lumber.

Dozens upon dozens of gigantic timber logs were bundled together with thick chains and ropes, forming a mountain-sized pile being dragged behind him across the street like a child hauling toys. The wooden beams screeched violently against the stone pathways while workers dived out of the way in panic.

“Vice Admiral Garp! WATCH THE BUILDINGS!” one shipwright screamed.

“WHICH BUILDINGS?!” Garp shouted back.

“THE ONES YOU’RE DRAGGING THROUGH!”

CRAAASHH!! A half-finished scaffold exploded into splinters as the timber mountain clipped its side.

“Oops!”

“You call that an ‘oops’?!” another worker yelled furiously while hanging upside down from a dangling steel beam.

Meanwhile, Garp merely scratched his nose casually. “Well, if it breaks now, it means it was weak!” he declared proudly.

“That’s NOT how construction works!!” A chorus of furious shouting erupted immediately. Yet despite the complaints… Nobody truly chased him away anymore. Months ago, the very sight of a Marine uniform had been enough to ignite rage among the survivors. People had thrown stones at him. Cursed him openly. Spat at the ground where he walked.

After all, the scars of the Buster Call still haunted Water 7. And Garp, despite having no involvement in it, still wore the symbol of the organization responsible. But the old Marine had simply refused to leave. Day after day. Rain or shine. He carried debris. Lifted steel beams.

Rebuilt homes. Fought fires. Pulled stranded workers from collapsing structures. And most importantly—he pummeled any pirates or slavers that threatened Water 7. And in addition he never once defended himself against the hatred directed at him. Instead, he simply laughed loudly and kept working harder. Eventually, the people of Water 7 grew too exhausted to keep hating the idiot. Especially because the old man was genuinely insane.

“Vice Admiral Garp!” A foreman came running over while clutching blueprints. “We needed those timber logs cut into proper sections before transport!”

Garp blinked. “…You wanted them cut first?”

The foreman stared at the absurd mountain of trees behind him. “Yes! THAT’S HOW TIMBER WORKS!”

“Eh? But carrying them whole was faster!”

“FOR YOU MAYBE!” At that exact moment, the chains snapped apart. The gigantic pile of logs shifted ominously. Everyone froze. “…Vice Admiral…” a worker whispered nervously.

“Hmm?”

“Why is the wood moving?”

Garp turned. The entire mountain of timber tipped sideways. “OH CRAP.”

“RUNNNNNNNN—!!” The street exploded into utter chaos. Workers scattered screaming while giant logs rolled through the construction site like cannonballs. One smashed through a warehouse wall, another launched a cart into the canal, while a third somehow bounced off a crane and flew directly toward the shipyard.

“MY SHIP PARTS!!” a shipwright wailed in despair. Garp burst into booming laughter.

“BWAHAHAHAHA! Looks lively today!”

“YOU’RE THE REASON IT’S LIVELY!!” From atop a nearby scaffold, Iceburg watched the catastrophe unfold with twitching eyes. Beside him, several carpenters looked seconds away from jumping Garp with hammers.

“…Why do we still allow him here again?” one muttered. Iceburg sighed deeply. Because despite all the destruction… Despite all the headaches… The workers moved faster whenever Garp was around. Morale was higher. People laughed more. Even the children had started following him around the city. Somehow, against all logic, the giant, reckless Marine had become part of Water 7 itself.

At that moment, Garp proudly lifted an enormous steel support pillar onto his shoulder. “ALRIGHT! WHAT ELSE NEEDS MOVING?!”

“NOTHING!” dozens screamed immediately.

“Bwahhahaha… You guys are weird! You brats better not build crooked houses again! Garp laughed thunderously. “If the roofs collapse during Aqua Laguna again, I’ll personally smack all of you into the ocean!”

“You’re the one who snapped half the support beams testing them with your fists!” one shipwright shouted back.

“That’s called quality inspection!” Garp declared proudly. The surrounding workers burst into laughter. For a brief moment, Water 7 almost looked alive again. Not like the scarred corpse it had once become after the Buster Call. Not like the burning nightmare that had stained every survivor’s memory.

“Garp Chūjō…! Garp Chūjō…!” The frantic shout tore through the lively noise of the construction district.

A young Marine came sprinting down the broad stone-paved avenue, boots slipping against wet cobblestones as he pushed through crowds of workers and laborers. His lungs burned, breaths ragged and uneven, his uniform drenched in sweat despite the cool sea breeze rolling through the island.

Then the Marine finally reached Garp, nearly collapsing onto his knees. “Garp Chūjō…!” he wheezed. “A World Government vessel… one is heading toward the island…!”

The words struck the air like a cannon blast. Everything stopped. The laughter vanished instantly. Hammers lowered. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the seagulls circling above seemed to grow quiet. The workers froze where they stood, expressions paling one after another as though someone had drained the life from their faces.

World Government. Just those two words were enough. The older survivors instinctively looked toward the sea with haunted eyes. Some unconsciously clenched their fists while others trembled faintly. Memories resurfaced. Fire raining from the heavens. Cannons splitting the seas apart. Children screaming. The smell of burning flesh and collapsing buildings.

More than a year had passed since Water 7 had been erased from the map under the orders of the World Government. And not once—not a single time—had a World Government vessel dared return to these shores. The atmosphere turned suffocatingly heavy. Garp slowly lowered the enormous stack of timber and steel from his shoulders.

BOOM.

The ground trembled violently as the lumber crashed down beside the shipyard. The Vice Admiral’s expression changed completely. The carefree idiot who had been laughing moments ago disappeared. What remained was the legendary Marine who had cornered the Pirate King countless times. The air around him grew oppressive. Sharp. Dangerous.

Several nearby workers unconsciously stepped back. Even the Marine messenger swallowed nervously. Garp turned toward the distant horizon where the sea stretched endlessly beneath darkening skies. In the far distance, barely visible between the mist and waves, a black silhouette slowly approached the island.

A World Government vessel. His jaw tightened. The veins on his forearms bulged faintly. He remembered the screams. He remembered arriving too late. And more than anything, he remembered the orders. Behind him, the citizens of Water 7 watched silently.

Not one of them trusted the World Government anymore. Not after what had happened. Some had begun quietly reaching for tools that could double as weapons. Others pulled children closer protectively. The tension spreading through the streets felt like dry gunpowder waiting for a spark. Garp noticed all of it. And for the first time in months, genuine fury flickered behind his eyes.

“…How many?” he asked quietly. The marine stiffened under the pressure in Garp’s voice.

“O-only one ship, sir.”

Garp remained silent for several seconds. Then—”Continue the construction.”The order stunned everyone nearby.

“B-But Vice Admiral—”

“I said continue.” This time his voice carried absolute authority. No laughter. No laziness. Only command.

“If they came looking for trouble…” Garp slowly cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing like gunfire through the silent street, “…then I’ll personally throw them back into the sea.” A wave of pressure rolled outward. Several people who were trembling visibly straightened instinctively. The workers stared at Garp in stunned silence.

For over a year, they had watched this shameless old man carry stone, haul timber, repair docks, and eat enough food to bankrupt half the island. But at this moment—for the first time—they truly remembered who Monkey D. Garp was. The Hero of the Marines.

“Let me join you, Garp-san…” Iceburg’s voice echoed from atop the massive scaffold overlooking the shipyard. The de facto mayor of Water 7 quickly descended the metal framework, boots clanging against the steel steps as workers instinctively parted for him. His usually composed face carried visible tension. He did not know why a World Government ship had suddenly appeared after more than a year of silence—but instinct told him this was not a visit born from goodwill.

After all…the Government knew perfectly well who was stationed here. Monkey D. Garp. A man whose mere presence could deter entire pirate fleets and officials from approaching an island. Yet despite that, someone had still come. Which meant whoever was aboard that ship either carried authority great enough to ignore Garp’s presence—or had arrived with purpose strong enough not to fear him.

Garp glanced sideways at Iceburg as the younger man approached. For a brief moment, the Vice Admiral seemed ready to refuse. The air around the docks was tense enough already, and Iceburg was too important to Water 7’s future to risk recklessly.

But then Garp sighed through his nose. “…Fine,” he muttered. “But stay behind me if things get ugly.”

Iceburg nodded silently. The two men began walking toward the newly constructed pier, their footsteps echoing across the damp stone streets. Behind them, workers watched nervously from rooftops and scaffolds. Conversations had completely died down. Some gripped their tools tightly while others stared toward the sea with old fear resurfacing in their eyes.

Meanwhile, far beyond the harbor, cutting through the ocean mist like a silent predator, the World Government vessel slowly approached. Its hull was enormous, painted in pristine white and gold, the symbol of the World Government emblazoned proudly upon its sails. Rows of cannons lined its sides, while heavily armed Marines stood stationed across the deck with rigid discipline.

At the very bow of the ship stood an elderly man. Despite his age, his posture remained perfectly upright. He wore long judicial robes of deep ivory trimmed with black and gold embroidery, layered beneath a heavy ceremonial mantle draped over his shoulders. Chains bearing the insignia of the judiciary rested across his chest, while white gloves concealed his aged hands. His face was lined with wrinkles carved by decades of judgment and authority, yet his sharp eyes had not dulled with age.

This was the Supreme Judge of Enies Lobby. The highest authority within the World Government’s judicial system. The very same man who, years ago, had granted the legendary shipwright Tom a chance at redemption instead of immediate execution. Beside him stood another figure equally imposing.

An elderly Marine with silver hair tied neatly into a short bun at the back of his head. His features were stern but calm, carrying the composed sharpness of a seasoned warrior. A finely crafted meitō rested at his hip, its lacquered sheath swaying lightly with the rhythm of the waves. Draped over his shoulders fluttered the white Admiral’s coat. Justice. The word stitched boldly upon its back.

Admiral Ginshimo stood silently beside the Judge, one hand resting calmly over the hilt of his blade as his sharp gaze observed the approaching island. Unlike Sakazuki, there was no overwhelming aggression radiating from him.

But somehow that only made him seem more dangerous. The wind swept across the deck as the ship neared Water 7. For a while, neither man spoke. Then the Judge exhaled softly.

“It truly has changed…” he murmured, observing the rising skeletons of new buildings and shipyards visible even from the sea. Where ruin and smoke had once stood, a city was being reborn. Ginshimo’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“The reports undersold it,” the Admiral admitted. “The reconstruction is progressing faster than expected.”

A faint smile touched the old Judge’s lips. “That stubborn fool truly stayed and rebuilt it…”

There was no need to mention the name. Both men knew who he meant. Originally, Admiral Sakazuki had been assigned to escort the Supreme Judge for this mission. On paper, it made perfect sense. Sakazuki possessed overwhelming power and represented the absolute military authority of the Marines.

But the Judge had personally rejected the assignment. He was old—not stupid. He understood what Sakazuki represented to the survivors of Water 7. The face of the Buster Call. The man under whose command the island had burned. Bringing him here would have been no different from pouring oil over an open flame.

And so, instead, Admiral Ginshimo had been selected. A calmer presence. A marine admiral known more for restraint than destruction. The Judge folded his hands behind his back as the silhouette of the pier grew clearer in the distance.

And there—standing at the edge of the harbor like an immovable fortress—was Monkey D. Garp. Even from hundreds of meters away, the atmosphere around the Vice Admiral felt overwhelming. The old Judge’s expression turned solemn.

“…This is going to be difficult,” he said quietly. Ginshimo’s hand lightly tapped the hilt of his meitō.

“No,” the Admiral corrected calmly, eyes fixed on Garp. “Difficult would be if he came here angry.” The sea breeze howled between them. And slowly the World Government vessel entered the harbor of Water 7.

“It seems they all hate the mere presence of the World Government here…” The elderly Judge sighed softly as he stood at the bow of the vessel, his weathered eyes fixed upon the harbor of Water 7 slowly coming into view. The island was alive once more.

Scaffolds rose toward the heavens like skeletal giants. Newly constructed bridges connected districts that had once been reduced to rubble and ash. Massive cranes swung overhead while the distant sounds of hammers and machinery echoed faintly across the waters. It was rebuilding itself. Surviving.

Yet despite that resilience, the harbor awaiting them felt colder than any battlefield. Only a dozen or so figures stood upon the pier. No fanfare. No ceremonial greeting. No lined-up officials welcoming representatives of the World Government. Just silence. Heavy. Hostile silence.

The Judge could feel it clearly. The hatred in their eyes. Some of the survivors stared at the approaching ship as though it carried a plague. Others folded their arms tightly, expressions hollow and bitter. One elderly woman clutched a child protectively behind her legs the moment she spotted the World Government insignia upon the sails.

Even the workers standing farther back on rooftops and unfinished scaffolds had stopped what they were doing. Watching. Waiting. Judging. And at the center of it all stood Monkey D. Garp. The Vice Admiral didn’t move. Didn’t wave. Didn’t offer even the slightest courtesy.

He simply stood there near the edge of the pier, broad shoulders squared, arms folded across his chest while his coat fluttered violently in the sea breeze. The displeasure radiating from him wasn’t hidden in the slightest. The old Judge exhaled quietly.

“The last time I visited this island…” he murmured, almost to himself, “I was welcomed like royalty.”

Back then, Water 7 had been prosperous. Bright. A jewel of shipbuilding and commerce. Now the same World Government that once praised the island had burned it to the ground. Ginshimo stood beside him silently, silver hair swaying lightly with the wind before finally answering.

“I would’ve been surprised if they didn’t hate us.” The Admiral’s tone carried neither defensiveness nor irritation. Only simple honesty. “Everyone here lost something. A father. A child. A brother. Entire families vanished overnight.” His eyes drifted toward the damaged remains still visible farther inland. “Can you truly blame them?”

The judge remained silent.

“You should already consider us fortunate,” Ginshimo continued calmly, “that they aren’t pointing cannons at this ship.”

A faint chuckle escaped the elderly judge. “It seems even the Marine hero is displeased by my presence.”

Despite his words, there was no fear in his expression. No unease. Because, unlike many within the Holy Land, the old judge had never hidden behind power or status. He was a man who genuinely believed in justice.

And what had happened at Water 7—even now—did not sit right within his conscience. That was why he had come personally. Partly to make amends, however little they might amount to now. And partly because of a selfish desire. He did not wish to see Tom’s dream vanish forever. The sea train project had been revolutionary—something capable of changing the world itself. Allowing it to disappear beneath the ashes of political failure would have been a tragedy.

“Upset…?” Ginshimo suddenly laughed softly beside him. “Trust me, if Vice Admiral Garp were truly upset, we would already know.” The Admiral’s gaze remained fixed on the powerful figure waiting at the harbor. “He would’ve sunk our ship into the abyss before we ever reached the island.”

The Judge glanced sideways at him, intrigued. “Even someone of your caliber lacks confidence in standing against him?”

It was a genuine question. The old Judge himself was not a warrior. Strength meant little to him beyond records and reports. And from his years within the Government, he knew official reports often failed to capture reality—especially concerning monsters like Garp.

Ginshimo smiled faintly. “I don’t think the World Government truly understands what kind of man Monkey D. Garp is.” The Admiral’s voice lowered slightly. “For a power that governs half the known world… they severely underestimate him.”

The sea breeze intensified around them. “If that man had chosen piracy instead of justice…” Ginshimo shook his head with a quiet laugh, “…I genuinely wonder what would’ve become of the seas.”

The statement lingered heavily in the air. Because it wasn’t an exaggeration. It was possibility. The Judge studied the Admiral carefully.

“And you?” he asked. “Do you truly stand no chance?” Ginshimo’s expression didn’t change.

“Could I fight him?” he replied calmly. “Yes.” His hand lightly rested upon the hilt of the meitō at his side. “Could I wound him? Perhaps.” Then his eyes narrowed toward the harbor where Garp still stood unmoving like an iron fortress guarding the island.

“But if I attempted to defeat that man…” Ginshimo exhaled softly, “…the price would be my life.” No hesitation. No wounded pride. Only certainty. Ever since breaking through the limits that had restrained him for most of his life, Ginshimo had begun understanding what true monsters looked like.

And Garp was one of them. The World Government ship slowly entered the harbor. The creaking of wood against the waves echoed unnaturally loud within the silence blanketing Water 7. Then—Garp finally moved. One heavy step forward.

BOOM.

The wooden pier groaned beneath his weight alone. The atmosphere across the harbor instantly became suffocating. Even veteran Marines aboard the vessel unconsciously straightened their posture. The Hero of the Marines stared directly at the approaching ship. Not as a subordinate. Not as a protector. But as a man waiting to judge whether the people aboard deserved to set foot upon the island he had spent a year helping rebuild from ashes.

“Admiral Ginshimo… accompany me. The rest of you will remain aboard the ship.” The elderly Judge’s voice carried calm authority as he turned toward the assembled Marines, Cipher Pol agents, and Government officials standing rigidly across the deck.

“I do not want any of you setting foot on this island and creating unnecessary problems.” The atmosphere aboard the vessel immediately tightened. Several officers exchanged uneasy glances. Even they could feel the hostility radiating from the harbor ahead. Water 7 no longer looked upon the World Government as protectors. It looked upon them as executioners.

“But Sir—” one of the Government agents assigned to the Judge’s protection detail stepped forward urgently. “Allowing only two escorts in such a hostile environ—”

“I can guarantee the Judge’s safety,” Ginshimo interrupted calmly before the man could finish.

The Admiral’s silver eyes shifted toward the assembled personnel. “But only his.”

Silence. A faint smile tugged at the corner of Ginshimo’s lips, though there was no warmth in it. “So if any of you are truly confident in your strength…” his hand lightly tapped the hilt of the meitō resting at his hip, “…then by all means, join us at the pier.”

No one moved. No one answered. Because everyone aboard understood what those words truly meant. If conflict erupted below—Ginshimo would not protect them. And against the man waiting on that harbor… no amount of rank or authority would matter. The Admiral didn’t wait for further objections.

The lowered ramp connected with the pier in a heavy thud as the ship finally docked, and Ginshimo stepped forward first, his Admiral’s coat swaying behind him in the cold sea wind.

The elderly Judge followed shortly after, leaning lightly upon his cane as he descended without hesitation.

Every step down the ramp felt heavy. The citizens watching from afar remained silent. Some glared openly. Others simply watched with cold indifference. But not a single cheer welcomed the representatives of the World Government. At the end of the pier stood Garp. Massive. Immovable. Like a fortress guarding the island itself.

Beside him stood Iceburg, expression cautious and guarded, though his eyes lingered more on the Judge than the Admiral. He still remembered the old man from years ago—the one who had granted Tom a chance to live. But memories alone were no longer enough to erase the blood staining Water 7.

The sea breeze roared through the harbor as Ginshimo and the Judge finally stepped onto the pier. For a few moments, no one spoke. The tension was suffocating. Even the Marines remaining aboard the ship unconsciously held their breath.

Then suddenly— “Admiral Ginshimo!” Garp’s booming voice shattered the silence across the harbor. The Vice Admiral grinned broadly, though there was still something sharp hidden beneath it. “You’re quite far from Marineford,” he called out loudly while folding his arms across his chest. “I hope you didn’t come all this way just for sightseeing!”

The oppressive atmosphere eased slightly. Only slightly. Unlike his treatment toward most Government officials, Garp’s tone carried genuine familiarity toward the Admiral. Ginshimo was older than him in age and one of the few Marines whose sense of justice Garp actually respected.

Unlike the fanatics within Headquarters, Ginshimo followed neither blind mercy nor ruthless absolutism. He simply did what he believed was right. And that alone made him tolerable in Garp’s eyes. Ginshimo chuckled softly as he approached.

“At our age, Vice Admiral,” he replied, “traveling this far merely for sightseeing would probably kill us.”

A few nearby workers awkwardly snorted at the dry humor before quickly silencing themselves again. The Admiral stopped several meters away from Garp. Even standing before another monster of the seas, Ginshimo remained composed.

But inwardly, he understood perfectly. The overwhelming pressure radiating from Garp wasn’t accidental. It was deliberate. A warning. The hero of the Marines was making one thing crystal clear: this island was under his protection.

And anyone who threatened it would answer directly to him. The old Judge slowly stepped forward beside Ginshimo, his cane lightly tapping against the wooden pier. His aged eyes met Garp’s unwavering stare.

“…Vice Admiral Garp,” he greeted respectfully. Garp didn’t bow. Didn’t salute. Didn’t even move.

“…Judge.” The single word landed heavily. No warmth. No hostility either. Just caution. Around them, the rebuilt harbor of Water 7 stood eerily silent, as though the entire island itself were waiting to see whether this meeting would end in reconciliation—or violence.

With heartfelt thanks,

[Silent_stiele]