A salty breeze drifted through the coastal village of Foosha, stirring the trees and rustling the laundry hanging outside cottages. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the quiet town. Birds chirped softly, and the distant sound of waves lapping against the shore added a melancholic rhythm to the calm of the late afternoon.
The door to Makino's bar creaked open, and in walked a tall, lean figure draped in a dark navy-blue kimono. Two swords hung at his waist—an odachi and a katana—both worn but meticulously maintained. His medium-length pink hair was tied neatly in a ponytail, a few strands falling across a fresh scar that ran vertically over his left eye. It wasn't just his appearance that had changed—it was the air around him. There was a weight to his movements, a silent burden that clung to his every step.
Haru.
It had been a year since Naomi's death, and in that year, Haru had transformed from a promising young Marine officer to one of the most feared bounty hunters in the seas. He moved like a shadow, striking down pirates without mercy, always searching—always hunting—for one name.
Gale.
Makino looked up from behind the counter, momentarily caught off guard by the quiet intensity in the young man's gaze. Her eyes drifted to the scar, to the katanas, to the solemn expression. She offered a polite nod, sensing he was not a man here for idle talk.
In the corner, Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp sat at a small wooden table, arms crossed, a cup of sake in front of him, already half empty. When he saw Haru, a flicker of emotion crossed the old man's face—relief, pride, and perhaps a tinge of guilt.
"You've grown," Garp said gruffly, gesturing to the seat across from him. "Sit down, boy."
Haru nodded wordlessly and took the seat. For a moment, they said nothing. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from the other side of the bar seemed distant. They didn't belong to this moment.
"I see you've made quite a name for yourself as a bounty hunter," Garp said after a long pause, eyeing Haru's new scar. "Seventeen years old, and already pirates piss themselves at the mention of your name."
Haru allowed a faint smile to tug at the corner of his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"I do what I can," Haru replied. His voice was deeper now, quieter, as if his soul had been weighed down with every battle. "You holding up alright, Garp?"
"Still breathing," the old man said with a chuckle, knocking back the rest of his sake. "Though it's not easy watching someone that young carry so much anger."
Haru looked down at his hands. Calloused, bruised, scarred. They had spilled blood—more than he cared to admit.
"I don't hate the Marines," Haru said softly. "But I couldn't stay. Not after what happened to Naomi. Not after seeing what was hidden behind the uniforms."
Garp sighed. He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. Haru raised an eyebrow as the older man slid it across the table.
"Word on the black market," Garp said. "A broker claims to have spotted a man matching Gale's description. Unconfirmed, of course. But it's something."
Haru picked it up, unfolded it, and studied the crude sketch and location scrawled across it—an island in the New World, half-forgotten and lawless.
"Thanks," Haru said, folding the paper and tucking it into his robe.
Garp studied him. "You've changed. Not just your looks."
"I had to," Haru said. "After Naomi… I couldn't be the same person. She was my future. She gave me peace, hope. When she died in my arms, everything I dreamed of died with her."
Garp's eyes softened. He remembered that day with perfect clarity—the moment Gale's weapon pierced Naomi, the anguish in Haru's voice, the lifelessness in Naomi's final words. It had scarred them both.
"You know," Garp said, his voice quieter now, "Naomi was proud of you. Every time we spoke, she had something to brag about. 'Haru learned Soru faster than I did,' or 'Haru's getting too good with that blade—he almost beat me in a spar today.' She adored you."
Haru's throat tightened, and he clenched his fists.
"I still see her," he whispered. "In my dreams. In the way the wind moves the trees. Sometimes I hear her voice when I'm alone. Telling me to keep going. Telling me she's proud."
They fell into silence again. Garp poured himself another cup of sake but didn't drink.
"I don't blame you," Haru said suddenly. "For what happened."
Garp looked up sharply.
"You weren't supposed to protect us. We were Marines—we knew the risks. You fought Gale with everything you had."
Garp's eyes shone with emotion. "You remind me too much of your grandfather. Always carrying the weight of others. But Haru…" He leaned forward. "Don't lose yourself to vengeance. That's not what Naomi would want."
Haru looked away, blinking rapidly. "I know. But I have to see this through. I can't move on knowing he's still out there."
Garp didn't argue. He knew there was no changing Haru's mind.
When Haru stood to leave, he pulled a few coins from his kimono and left them on the table for Makino. As he turned to go, Makino approached, cleaning a glass in her hands.
"He didn't say much," she said quietly to Garp after Haru exited. "Who is he?"
Garp watched Haru's silhouette vanish through the door.
"An old friend," Garp replied, his voice heavy. "One who's lost more than anyone should."
Makino glanced at the coins and then toward the door, sensing the storm that followed Haru wherever he went.
Outside, Haru stood at the edge of the village, the sea breeze tugging at his robes. He looked toward the horizon, where the ocean stretched endlessly, mysterious and unforgiving. His grip tightened around the note Garp had given him.
He had fought warlords, pirate crews, bounty hunters who had come for his head. He had trained until his bones ached and bled in places no man should. He had studied every scrap of information he could find on the Eyes and Gale.
But nothing had brought him peace.
Naomi's smile haunted him. Her voice echoed in his memory. Her dream of a house, of children, of growing old together—it played in his head like a broken record. He hadn't cried since her death, not once. The tears had dried, replaced by rage, discipline, and silence.
But inside, he was still broken.
Still seventeen. Still in love.
Still lost.
He drew his sword slowly, letting the moonlight catch the steel. Its edge gleamed, a perfect mirror of his resolve.
"I'll find you," Haru whispered to the wind, his eyes sharp. "I swear to her memory—I will find you, Gale."
And with that, he turned toward the path leading to his next hunt, his next battle, his next step on a road paved with pain and revenge.
He wasn't a Marine anymore.
He was something else.
A shadow born from sorrow. A blade forged in love and tempered in loss.
And somewhere out there, the man who had taken everything from him was waiting.