In the second half of the Grand Line, deep within the New World, there stood a vast island known as Hyberion Island.
It was also widely called Giant Tree Island—a na earned from the hundreds of massive Hyberion trees that towered into the heavens.
Once fully grown, a single Hyberion could reach heights of over a thousand ters. Its thick canopy spread so wide it blotted out the sun, casting the entire forest below into an eternal twilight.
Because these giants drank in almost all the sunlight, other plants found it nearly impossible to grow beneath their shade.
Still, Hyberion wood was famous for its strength and durability. True, it couldn't match the legendary Adam Wood in quality—but its sheer abundance made it incredibly valuable.
That was why Hyberion Island often beca the prize in bloody struggles between powerful New World pirate crews.
Recently, however, the island had been unusually peaceful. For now, it was under the protection of one of the most feared crews on the seas—the Red-Haired Pirates.
— — —
A deep, resonant crash echoed through the forest.
Beneath trunks as wide as castle towers, two young n—each nearly two ters tall—were locked in fierce combat.
Both wielded long blades, their strikes and counters so fast and heavy they blurred beyond the reach of ordinary sight.
Whenever their swords even grazed a Hyberion trunk, the ground itself shuddered violently.
These giants, which had stood for centuries, fell like paper to their slashes. In re minutes, dozens of the mighty trees had been cut down.
One of the n wore a straw hat, its brim trembling with each gust of wind. Strands of red hair peeked out from beneath, swaying with his movents.
He pressed one hand to the hat to keep it in place, the other gripping a long, curved pirate's saber with an ornate guard. With calm precision, he t his opponent's strike head-on.
The man before him was unmistakable—short black hair, a thin beard, and a black wide-brimd hat adorned with a white plu. But it was his eyes that commanded the air around him: golden irises, sharp and unyielding, like a hawk's gaze.
The weapon in his hands was just as imposing—Yoru, the massive black blade in the shape of a cross, radiating an invisible, cutting pressure.
— — —
No one knew how long they fought before finally coming to a stop.
The red-haired man exhaled heavily, pulling his sword free from the earth and planting it in the grass before dropping into a relaxed seat.
The hawk-eyed swordsman slid Yoru back into its scabbard with a asured motion, folding his arms across his chest. He stood silently, as if words were unnecessary.
From where he sat, the redhead looked up and spoke.
"Mihawk, have you heard the news? The Golden Lion… Shiki… is dead. Killed by a Marine swordsman."
Mihawk's eyes glead, catching the light like polished gold.
"Shanks… you knew of Shiki? I heard… he was counted among the world's greatest swordsn."
Shanks tilted his head back slightly, as though recalling sothing from long ago.
"My old captain once told about him… Shiki the Golden Lion."
"He was one of the few n my captain recognized as a true rival."
Hearing that, a spark of interest—sharp and burning—lit within Mihawk's eyes.
Shanks, noticing it, lowered his head just enough to hide his expression. A faint, sly smile curved across his lips.
Finally… I've got a reason to send Mihawk on his way.
No one will ever know just how exhausting this past month has been with him around…
— — —
Marineford – Navy Headquarters, Main Harbor
The warship Blue Dragon slowly eased into port.
Tachibana Kyūjō—now standing a full three ters tall, on par with a Marine admiral—stepped down onto the dock with steady, confident strides. His subordinates from G-2 Base followed in perfect formation.
Every Marine in the harbor snapped their right hands up in salute.
"Vice Admiral Seiryu!"
Kyūjō gave a faint smile, resting one hand on the hilt of the black blade Rairyūken at his waist.
"Good work, everyone."
With that, he led his n out of the harbor toward Marineford's central complex.
This ti, he hadn't co for a mission. He was here to receive an official comndation—and Fleet Admiral Sengoku had even nominated him as the next potential admiral.
— — —
Accompanied only by his two closest aides—Hina and Amos—Kyūjō entered Sengoku's office.
The fleet admiral greeted him with a warm smile, the kind a proud father might give his son.
Kyūjō let out a long breath.
"Uncle Sengoku… if you're just giving a dal, couldn't you have sent it over? Why drag all the way from G-2?"
Sengoku arched a brow, his smile shifting into sothing more amused.
"If the dal's not important to you, then… how about the ten billion berries in prize money? Should I just send soone else to deliver it?"
Before Kyūjō could answer, Sengoku added dryly:
"Or maybe I should send soone to collect it from you instead."
Ten… billion… berries.
Kyūjō's eyes lit up instantly. He stepped forward, laughing awkwardly.
"Uncle Sengoku, what are you talking about? This is an honor and a responsibility as a Marine. Of course I have to receive it personally!"
"Giving it to soone else would be an insult to that honor. So… I'll take it here. Oh, and, uh… where's the money?"
Sengoku could only sigh. In the corner, Monkey D. Garp was already laughing his head off.
Kyūjō glanced over.
"I thought you were going to hide from forever, Grandpa Garp. Didn't Uncle Sengoku promise you'd teach the advanced use of Busoshoku Haki? If you do, I won't hold a grudge over that little incident where you almost beat to death."
Garp scratched the back of his head awkwardly, shot Sengoku a look, then gave a small nod.
Kyūjō grinned.
"Co on, Grandpa Garp. Don't make that face. I'm not the grudge-holding type. I know it wasn't on purpose. In battle, injuries happen. A man afraid of getting hurt… can never beco a true swordsman."
Sengoku stared blankly at the two of them.
When… exactly… did I promise him that?
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