...
Continued here.
...
As the last echoes of laughter and bickering faded, the room's atmosphere shifted like the tide turning at dusk. Sengoku, reclaiming authority with a single breath, seated himself behind his broad desk. Golden sunlight lit his cap and goatee in sharp relief, and he steepled his fingers—each motion deliberate, every inch the Fleet Admiral.
Tsuru, poised and professional, settled into the chair at his right, clipboard balanced on her lap. Her eyes were keen, expression composed, yet softened by an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.
Kuzan melted deeper into his battered chair, one leg propped on the frame, his chin tilted up as if he might nod off again at any moment. But the faint quirk of his mouth and the way his eyes never quite left Krishna's figure betrayed an interest sharper than his posture suggested.
Garp, grinning like a pirate who'd just stolen the moon, perched at the edge of the meeting table. He bounced his heels with childish anticipation, eager to see the prodigy sweat under official scrutiny.
Krishna stood before them, his posture as natural and effortless as still water. The pale morning light touched the barest blue highlights in his loose, jet-black hair. His uniform jacket hung from one arm, revealing lean muscle and quiet power beneath a simple black shirt. The air about him was hushed—not fearful, but expectant.
Medha's digital presence hovered at the edge of Krishna's mind, her amusement silent but unmistakable.
...
Sengoku broke the silence, his gaze hard and assessing. "Name. Age. Place of origin."
Krishna's voice was quiet, but it carried. "Krishna. Sixteen. Foosha Village, East Blue."
A flicker of surprise touched Sengoku's brow at the brevity—then he pressed on. "You understand this isn't a normal enlistment. Why do you want to be a Marine intern?"
Krishna met his eyes, neither nervous nor defiant—just unshakeable calm. "I want to see justice from the inside. To learn how the world works before I decide how I will serve it."
For a moment, even Tsuru paused in her note-taking. Sengoku studied him, expecting bravado or hidden arrogance, but found neither.
Tsuru took the next round, her tone light but watchful. "Have you ever committed a crime? Any history of violence?"
Krishna shook his head. "No crimes. Violence, yes, but only when necessary."
A small, approving smile tugged at Tsuru's lips. "And your grades at school?"
"I've never been to one," Krishna replied with honesty.
Tsuru blinked, then scribbled briskly on her clipboard. "You'll be the most educated intern we've ever had anyway."
Kuzan cracked one eyelid open, considering, then closed it again as if filing the detail away for later.
...
Suddenly, Kuzan straightened, a lazy spark of mischief in his gaze. "Ever surfed on a Sea King?"
Krishna blinked once, so calmly it was almost teasing. "Yes. And I've also surfed with one."
Garp's laughter exploded, shaking the table. "That's my boy!"
Kuzan, half-smiling, tilted his head. "If you had to pick, would you rather have a flamingo for a pet or be stuck on an island with Buggy the Clown for a week?"
"The flamingo," Krishna answered without hesitation. "It can't betray me."
Tsuru gave Kuzan a look so sharp it could cut steel. "Kuzan, this is not a schoolyard."
Kuzan shrugged, completely unbothered. "Just checking for priorities."
...
Tsuru softened, her questions turning personal. She leaned forward, searching Krishna's face for the flickers of honesty hidden beneath silence. "Do you have family? Close friends?"
A subtle hesitation—a fraction of a second, a drop in the stillness. "Not by blood, but yes. Family by choice."
Tsuru made a note, her features warming with approval. "Good. Everyone needs someone."
She glanced sidelong at Sengoku, who nodded, his demeanor almost approving despite himself.
Kuzan's voice drifted in, flat but genuine. "You got a girlfriend?"
The room froze. Even Sengoku's expression wavered—caught off guard by the directness.
Tsuru, surprised, glanced at Krishna and then, with a frankness that left the others stunned, said, "Honestly, with your looks, your aura, and that calmness? I assumed you would."
Krishna, caught entirely off guard for the first time since entering Marineford, stared blankly for a moment. "No. I don't."
Garp cackled, slapping his knee. "That's the spirit! Don't get tied down so young!"
Tsuru shot Kuzan a withering glare. "That's hardly relevant, Kuzan."
Kuzan shrugged again, his tone utterly deadpan. "Just trying to understand his priorities."
Tsuru sighed, a little flustered, and actually apologized. "Sorry, Krishna. That was unprofessional. I shouldn't assume."
Krishna shook his head, awkward and sincere. "No, I'm sorry. For… not having one."
Garp doubled over, tears of laughter in his eyes. "HAHAHAHA! Best interview ever!"
...
The dynamic loosened, the tension giving way to playful chaos. Garp leaned in with a wolfish grin, and Kuzan's eyes took on a rare gleam as the two conspired to throw Krishna off balance with rapid-fire questions.
"Ever arm wrestle a gorilla?"
Krishna considered, then tilted his head. "Does a Sea King count?"
Garp's laugh echoed off the marble. "I'll allow it!"
"If you could only eat one thing forever, what would it be?" Kuzan chimed in.
"Makino's curry," Krishna replied, his tone deadpan but his eyes just faintly softer at the name.
Garp nudged Kuzan. "He's got taste."
Kuzan eyed Krishna, then asked, "Biggest fear?"
"Losing myself," Krishna answered quietly.
The room fell silent for half a beat—unexpected depth rippling through the air. Sengoku regarded him with a new kind of respect, Tsuru's gaze grew gentler.
Garp was undeterred, pushing on, "If you had to choose between saving a kitten or stopping a villain, which would you choose?"
Krishna's reply was instant, honest. "Why not both?"
Tsuru had had enough. She fixed the pair with a look that could sink a battleship. "Enough, both of you. If you keep this up, I'll assign you both to paperwork duty until you're eighty."
Kuzan pretended to be scandalized. Garp just snorted. Sengoku, Buddha-like as ever, almost—almost—smiled.
...
Sengoku, regaining the room's gravity, cleared his throat. "You do realize, Krishna, that being here is a privilege. Not even Garp got to be an intern."
Garp, sulking with an exaggerated huff, grumbled, "I'd have shown 'em all up."
Krishna nodded, every word measured and sincere. "I won't waste the chance."
Tsuru rose to her feet, hand outstretched. "Welcome to Marineford, Krishna. You survived the worst interview in history."
Kuzan finally stood as well, giving Krishna a lazy but genuine salute. "Hope you like paperwork."
Garp, beaming, delivered a congratulatory slap to Krishna's back—hard enough that the room's windows trembled.
Krishna managed to stay upright, lips twitching at the madness that surrounded him.
...
The energy in the office shifted yet again—from interrogation to celebration. Sengoku's lips twitched at the corners. Tsuru's eyes glinted with pride. Garp thumped Krishna's shoulder with the affectionate brutality of a man who'd never learned to be gentle. Kuzan, slouching, snuck a glance at the snack stash on Sengoku's desk.
Krishna found himself at the center of this unlikely storm—awkward, dignified, but quietly amused at how even the world's most powerful could be so gloriously, stubbornly human.
He glanced at the door still resting on the floor. Medha's voice, quiet and wry, tickled the inside of his mind. "Only you could make legends act like schoolchildren."
Krishna nearly smiled, but caught himself. He adjusted his uniform jacket, feeling the weight of possibility settle across his shoulders.
The morning sunlight caught in his hair, blue glinting at the edges, eyes dark as night—calm, deep, impossible to read. For all his otherworldliness, he looked every inch the sixteen-year-old he was, young, poised at the edge of destiny, and—for the first time since he'd left Foosha—almost at home.
...
Outside, beyond the shattered door and echoing halls, the fortress was waking up. News of "Garp's brat" was already spreading among the staff, stories growing wilder with every retelling.
In the office, the legends continued their banter. Garp and Kuzan were back at it—arguing over who'd last replaced the coffee, while Sengoku calculated the repair bill in his head and Tsuru gently ushered Krishna toward the paperwork that awaited.
Krishna let it all wash over him—the absurdity, the camaraderie, the welcome and the challenge. This, he realized, was what justice was meant to be, not a system, not a set of rules, but people. Flawed, loud, complicated people trying their best to hold chaos together.
He felt the first, fragile stirrings of hope.
...
The laughter from the interview still echoed faintly when Sengoku cleared his throat and pulled the room back to business. The sun, now high, shone through the tall windows and cast long lines across the battered office and its new, doorless threshold. The legends of the Marines sat scattered—Garp sprawled in his chair, Tsuru straightening her clipboard, Kuzan lounging, all eyes inevitably drawn back to the quiet storm at the center, Krishna.
Sengoku slid a stack of heavy, official papers across the desk. "Your schedule, Krishna. Training. Classroom study. You'll shadow officers in all departments—navigation, strategy, law, logistics. First time for everything, so you'd better learn fast."
Krishna took the paper with a slight nod, scanning the densely written lines. "Understood. But—if I may—I've already mastered the Six Powers. My observation of the law is… sufficient. I've never attended school, but my knowledge is broad."
A silence rippled outward from the statement. Even the Den Den Mushi in the wall seemed to pause, their eyes swiveling.
Sengoku blinked, his composure cracking for half a second. Tsuru's pen stilled mid-stroke, and even Kuzan's head rose a fraction, curiosity winning over boredom.
Garp snorted, waving one broad hand. "He's not lying. I showed him Soru once when he was six. Bastard had it down by the time I came back a month later."
Tsuru's brows furrowed, skepticism coloring her usually gentle voice. "That's impossible. Even elite officers take years—"
Garp shrugged, propping his boots up on the desk, completely unbothered. "You weren't there, Tsuru-chan. The kid's a sponge. Absorbs everything."
Sengoku narrowed his eyes, analytical. "Bloodline?"
Krishna's answer was soft, measured. "None known."
Sengoku pressed. "Special physique?"
Garp answered for him, a grin tugging at his lips. "Just special training."
Kuzan, voice low and honest, chimed in. "Most grown men snap their knees trying Soru at full speed."
Krishna shifted, almost sheepish. "I reinforced my joints."
Tsuru let out a quiet sigh, setting her clipboard down. "I suppose there's only one way to prove it."
Sengoku's eyes gleamed with challenge. "Let's see it, then. If you're so confident, show us."
Garp sprang to his feet, delight sparkling. "You heard the Buddha, kid."
...
They filed out—a parade of legends and one silent sixteen-year-old—moving down the polished corridors toward the largest open training ground in Marineford. The fortress was alive with the pulse of drills, instructors barking orders, the distant crash of waves against the outer wall. But as the command staff approached, the atmosphere shifted. Recruits and officers alike slowed, then stopped, curiosity overcoming discipline. Even the vice admirals took note as the group approached the heart of the training yard.
Sengoku's voice cut through the morning air. "Return to your drills. Just pay attention—you might learn something."
The assembled marines snapped to attention, eyes wide as the Fleet Admiral, Great Staff Officer, Admiral, and the Hero of the Marines took their places on the edge of the field. From a distance, Vice Admiral Momousagi—Gion and Vice Admiral Chaton—Tokikakejoined the growing audience, both noted for their skill and as top candidates for the title of admiral.
Krishna stepped forward into the center of the ring, the sun catching on his jet-black hair and highlighting the poise in his every movement. He felt the weight of every eye—suspicion, skepticism, hope. Medha's voice hummed in his mind, quietly wry. "No pressure."
Garp's voice boomed. "Start with Soru."
Krishna nodded once, lowering his stance with silent confidence. Then—he vanished.
One heartbeat he was there, the next, only a swirl of dust remained. He reappeared twenty meters away, completely upright, breathing slow and even.
Tsuru's frown melted into something resembling awe. "Technique is… flawless. No wasted motion."
Kuzan watched, lips pursed, muttering beneath his breath. "Never seen a rookie move that clean."
Sengoku's gaze sharpened. "Geppo."
Krishna leaped. His body arced through the air, not simply rising but dancing—each step a perfect, controlled redirection. He twisted mid-flight, changed direction as if he were bending gravity, then landed without a sound.
Garp's grin widened. "He's showing off."
Sengoku nodded, voice even. "Tekkai."
Krishna turned, facing Garp directly. The vice admiral's fist blurred—a blow that could shatter steel. It landed with a metallic echo, but Krishna merely absorbed the impact, letting it ripple down through his frame, dissipating harmlessly through his toes.
Tsuru's eyes narrowed, analytic. "He's not just using muscle…"
"Shigan," Sengoku commanded.
Krishna's hand flashed. His fingers drove into a steel training post—puncturing through the metal like it was rice paper. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion—only surgical precision.
"Rankyaku."
Krishna swept his leg in a silent, almost gentle motion. A crescent of compressed air shot forth, so thin and sharp that it shaved bark from the training ground's distant trees.
"Kami-e."
Garp hurled a series of weighted practice knives, his movement nearly invisible to the untrained eye. Krishna's body weaved, not dodging in the conventional sense but seeming to anticipate each attack before it left Garp's hand. His limbs folded and flowed, impossible to pin down—his form so relaxed that the wind barely shifted.
...
A murmur rose from the gathered marines. Whispers darted through the crowd, rumors already mutating. Some officers stared, mouths agape, a few recruits dropped their swords. Even the Vice Admirals at the back exchanged glances—first incredulity, then grudging respect.
Sengoku, not content to let the demonstration end there, glanced at Garp. "He's holding back, isn't he?"
Garp just grinned. "Always."
Sengoku turned back to Krishna, challenge in his eyes. "Can you go beyond?"
Krishna inclined his head, stepping forward. This time, he moved with a different rhythm—each action just slightly out of phase with what came before. He ran through the techniques again, but now each one shimmered with subtle power, as if his body had shed the limitations of human movement,
Soru became something more—Tārakā Gati—Stellar Motion. Krishna moved not just before the eye, but before intent itself. He would appear at a destination as if his very will had rewritten causality.
Geppo flowed into Vyomagaṅgā—Heaven-Step Stream. He rose into the air, moving in three dimensions as if the wind itself answered his call. His trajectory bent like water, his body lighter than thought.
Tekkai transformed into Vajrāṅga Kāya—Diamond-Body Principle. Krishna's skin and muscles shimmered with an unseen armor, impact rolling off him as if he was woven from something not entirely of this world.
Shigan—now Aṅguli Astra—Finger Weapon of Will—became a living rune. His finger pierced not just steel, but left a faint trail of glowing script, the mark of intent more than violence.
Rankyaku unfurled into Padma Chidra—Lotus-Cleave. The air slashed open in delicate arcs, visible only as ripples in the dust, slicing through not just matter, but the mood—leaving the training ground in an uncanny hush.
Kami-e became Trikala Līlā—Three-Times Play. Krishna dodged, not with reflex, but with memory—his body folding through possible futures, evading attacks that hadn't even been launched.
He named none of these forms. He simply moved, and the world moved with him.
...
Kuzan watched, lips parting, his slouched posture forgotten. "That… that's not even possible."
He ran the forms through his own mind, trying to imagine the mechanics—how would you bend air like that, move before intent, leave a script in steel with a finger? Can the human body even move like that? But the logic unraveled, these techniques were simply inhuman.
Tsuru, voice barely more than a breath, whispered, "It is now."
All around the field, marines stared. The air crackled with a silent charge—respect, awe, even fear. Vice Admirals Momousaigi and Chaton nodded, their gazes sharp. Sengoku stood with arms folded, the wheels in his mind spinning. Tsuru leaned closer, as if wanting to study every muscle. Kuzan just shook his head, marveling.
Tsuru murmured, "If he's this advanced at sixteen…"
Kuzan finished her thought. "He'll pass us all in a few years. Or sooner."
Garp, chest out and pride shining, shouted, "Show them your Haki next, Krishna!"
Krishna closed his eyes, letting the hum of the world recede. Garp rolled his shoulders, fists already crackling with black-and-gold energy—iron fist, legend made flesh.
The first challenge was silent, Observation Haki. Garp's fist blurred toward Krishna—once, twice, a dozen times. Each strike should have crushed stone, but Krishna—eyes still closed—flowed through the barrage, his body folding with Trikala Līlā—Three-Times Play. Each dodge was effortless, as if his body remembered what had yet to happen.
Gasps spread through the crowd. Even Sengoku's stoicism faltered as he watched Garp, the Hero of the Marines, unable to touch the boy.
Garp grinned, the challenge accepted. He drew in breath, Armament Haki flaring, his arm turning midnight black with a subtle red sheen. He launched his punch.
Krishna opened his eyes, a single moment of golden-black resolve blazing. His own arm shimmered—not just with Armament Haki, but with something deeper, as if intent itself was woven into the aura. His arm flared black and gold.
Fist met fist. The sound was thunder, raw and primal. Shockwaves cracked the earth, dust and pebbles thrown in every direction. Marines staggered back, a few falling to one knee.
For a moment, time paused. The might of two worlds had met in a single, echoing instant.
Sengoku's command snapped the spell. "Enough!"
Garp, pouting like a boy denied another round, lowered his fist, still shaking out his knuckles. "Was just getting fun…"
Krishna stepped back, bowing to the gathered officers. "I hope that was sufficient."
...
The marines began to drift back to their drills, but every so often, eyes would flicker Krishna's way—some in awe, some in fear, many in hope. The legends—Sengoku, Tsuru, Kuzan, Garp—watched as Krishna gathered his breath, not a bead of sweat on his brow.
The parade of command staff returned to the office, energy changed. Sengoku reached for a folded uniform—standard whites with blue trim, but with a custom black-ink INTERN patch and a faint silver emblem.
Tsuru, voice teasing but fond, held it out. "You'd better keep it clean."
Garp, arms crossed, bellowed, "Best intern we'll ever have!"
Kuzan, a rare smile on his lips, added, "Try not to make us look too bad."
Krishna took the uniform with a small bow. "Thank you. I'll do my best."
...
He stepped into the hallway, new uniform folded under his arm, pausing to glance back at the office, then out the tall window that framed the red cliffs and the distant, endless sea.
Medha, voice gentle in his mind, whispered, "You've set the first stone, Krishna. Now—walk the path."
Krishna gazed at the horizon, the sun shining gold over the world's greatest fortress, feeling the twin weight and lightness of destiny.
Far off, a low rumble of thunder rolled across the morning—soft, ominous, and full of promise.
Marineford, and the world, would never be the same.
...
Omake: Breakfast, Bootcamp, and Brat Names.
It was barely sunrise, yet the mess hall at Marineford already throbbed with noise and hunger. The building was a vast chamber—vaulted ceiling, tall glass windows catching the early light, polished floors echoing the boots and laughter of a hundred marines. In one corner, a flock of seagulls perched outside, pecking at crumbs on the sill. The air was thick with the scent of eggs, toasted bread, and a hundred varieties of coffee strong enough to strip paint.
Krishna walked in with Garp at his side, the two an odd pair—the Hero of the Marines barrel-chested and loud, Krishna tall and lean, his steps so quiet he barely left a shadow. He was still learning the rhythm of the place, still new to the weight of so many eyes, but already he moved through the hall with the effortless presence of someone who knew how to read a room—and be unread by it.
Behind them, Sengoku marched in, all authority and order, adjusting his cap and glancing at his watch as if even time should salute. Tsuru drifted at his elbow, eyes sharp as ever, hair tied in its elegant bun. Moments later, Admiral Aokiji slouched in, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his justice coat trailing behind him like a blanket. Admiral Akainu arrived next—face set, fists smoldering faintly, steam rising from the metal tray in his hands. Admiral Kizaru strolled in last, sunglasses glinting, whistling a tune, moving with the speed and carelessness of sunlight bouncing through glass.
Vice Admiral Momousagi—Gion—took her place at a side table, posture immaculate, every inch a model of marine elegance. Beside her, Vice Admiral Chaton—Tokikake—enormous, eyes on the dessert cart—tried to look dignified while sneaking pastries under his napkin.
Sengoku clapped for attention. "All right, everyone. Today's a special day—our first official intern at Marineford. I expect order, decorum, and a proper marine breakfast. Understood?"
Garp's response was to snatch a stack of plates from the nearest server and set them—loudly—at Krishna's seat. "Order? Please, old man. This is a celebration!"
Krishna nodded politely. "Thank you, Grandpa Garp."
Garp's hand dropped another plate on the growing pile. "Eat up, brat. Can't train on an empty stomach!"
Tsuru set a cup of tea before Krishna with careful precision, then turned on Garp. "He doesn't need to eat a year's rations before drills. Moderation is a virtue."
Garp beamed. "Not in the Garp family!"
Kuzan slid into his seat, head down on the table before anyone could stop him. Within seconds, a gentle snore vibrated through the silverware.
Sakazuki tray hissed as he set it down, eggs steaming—no, boiling—against the metal. "Breakfast should be functional. Protein, carbohydrates, no nonsense."
Borsalino drifted to the toaster, put six slices of bread in, and hummed. The machine whined, then sparked as a laser-flick of light zipped from his finger. In two seconds, six slices shot out—charred black, trailing smoke. Borsalino smiled. "Yare yare. Toast, anyone?"
Tokikake, already on his third slice of strawberry shortcake, mumbled through a mouthful, "I could toast for dessert..."
Gion's fork hovered, perfectly poised. "Please sit up straight, everyone. A marine's discipline is reflected in their posture, even at breakfast."
Garp hunched further, grinning. "Discipline comes later. First, fuel!"
Krishna thanked everyone as food appeared on his tray—omelets, fried fish, toast (half-burnt, courtesy of Borsalino), perfectly brewed tea, a mountain of rice, and—oddly—a small bowl of chocolate mousse. Tokikake's guilty smile said everything.
Sengoku, ignoring the anarchy, stood at the head of the table. "Krishna, welcome. Today you begin as a marine in training. Take your breakfast as you take your duties, seriously, but not too seriously."
Garp nudged Krishna. "He means eat as much as you can. Trust me."
Krishna took a quiet breath, surveying the chaos. Garp was shoveling food onto his plate at a rate that defied logic. Sakazuki sliced hard-boiled eggs with magma fingers, muttering about "lazy recruits." Borsalino made more burnt toast, each batch worse than the last. Kuzan slept with his face in a stack of pancakes. Tsuru made notes on everyone's table manners, eyebrows furrowing deeper with every passing second.
Medha, flickering in Krishna's mind, whispered, "You should invent a new power: Infinite Digestion."
Krishna answered silently, "If I do, Garp will train me in person."
Tokikake, eyes wide, saw his chance and swapped Krishna's mousse for another piece of cake. Krishna just moved it back without a word. Tokikake tried again, failed again, and finally settled for pouting.
Gion sipped her tea, unimpressed by Garp's noise. "Is this how all new marines are welcomed?"
Tsuru smiled without humor. "Only when Garp is involved. And only when Sengoku hasn't had his coffee."
Sengoku took his first sip. "Coffee, order, discipline. In that order. That's how you build a marine."
Sakazuki frowned, the air around him heating. "Discipline is built by fire."
Borsalino, stretching, pointed at the toast. "Looks like your discipline is a little burnt, Sakazuki."
Garp burst out laughing. "Heh! Even his toast is angry!"
Sakazuki grunted. "At least it's not asleep." He glared at Kuzan, who didn't move.
Tsuru leaned in toward Krishna. "Do not mistake this for normal. On other bases, breakfast is quiet. Here, it's… well. It's Marineford."
Krishna bowed his head. "It's good to be here."
Gion surveyed the table—half-mess, half-warzone. "Intern or not, you'll need composure to survive this crew."
Sengoku, desperate for some authority, tapped his mug for silence. "Everyone! It's time to welcome our intern properly. I propose a toast—"
He looked at Borsalino, who held up a burnt slice of bread.
Sengoku sighed. "A real toast, not that… thing."
Everyone lifted cups, mugs, or whatever breakfast item was nearest.
"To Krishna!" said Sengoku.
"To breakfast!" said Garp.
"To coffee," muttered Tsuru.
"To naptime," mumbled Kuzan, not even lifting his head.
"To justice," Sakazuki said, holding up a cup of boiling water.
"To light and speed!" cheered Borsalino, to nobody in particular.
"To cake," said Tokikake, already mid-bite.
Gion raised her cup. "To elegance."
Krishna smiled, letting the moment settle. "To the marines, and to the day ahead."
Everyone drank (or, in Garp's case, devoured).
For a moment, the mess hall was united—chaotic, noisy, but unmistakably whole.
But the peace lasted only as long as the food. Garp began retelling old stories ("I once threw a cannonball so hard it circled the world!"). Sakazuki started a debate on the nutritional value of rice versus eggs. Borsalino challenged anyone to a "toast-off," which nobody accepted. Gion corrected posture for the fifteenth time. Tokikake sneaked more dessert, until Sengoku caught him and threatened to assign him to vegetable duty. Tsuru kept notes for a future "Table Manners Bootcamp," targeting Garp, Kuzan, and—quietly—Borsalino. Kuzan, somehow, ended up wearing a pancake on his head.
Krishna finished his meal with quiet grace, undistracted by the commotion around him. He noticed the small details: Garp pretending not to smile as he watched Krishna eat, Sengoku trying (and failing) to regain order, Sakazuki quietly pushing extra hard-boiled eggs toward Krishna's plate, as if the fate of Marineford rested on protein intake. Borsalino sliding a burnt toast to Tokikake, who swapped it for a cookie with a wink.
Medha asked quietly, "Is it always like this?"
Krishna thought for a moment and replied softly, "I think it is now."
...
As the meal ended, Tsuru stood and tapped her clipboard, her voice sharp but amused. "Training begins in twenty minutes. I expect you all to show better form than you showed here."
Gion finished her tea, eyes on Krishna. "The first test is survival. You passed breakfast. The next will be harder."
Kuzan groaned, slowly sliding out of his seat, still wrapped in a blanket of napkins.
Sengoku rose, gesturing toward the door. "All right, marines. Let's show the intern what Marineford can really do."
Garp threw an arm around Krishna, steering him toward the exit with the cheerful energy of a one-man parade. "You ready for the real test, brat?"
Krishna, voice calm and steady, answered, "Always."
As the legends of the Marines and their newest member filed out, the mess hall settled back into its usual rhythm, servers cleaning up the debris of chaos and laughter, the sun climbing higher in the sky.
One day at Marineford had already turned into an adventure.
...
Sunlight gleamed on the parade ground as the chaos of breakfast faded into history, replaced by something only slightly less hazardous—Marineford's infamous morning bootcamp. Krishna followed the senior officers out into the open, his uniform crisp, face serene, steps quiet as dawn mist. The air buzzed with anticipation, marines lined up along the periphery, eager to see what "Garp's brat" could do, while the command staff organized the most unorthodox training day in Marine history.
Garp clapped his hands together with all the subtlety of a thunderclap. "Let's get moving! Can't let the kid get soft after all that food!"
Sengoku, Tsuru, and the rest fanned out, each admiral and candidate ready to unleash their own brand of 'training.' Sengoku and Tsuru stood together, clipboards in hand, prepared to rate not just Krishna but also the marines and, occasionally, their fellow legends.
Medha flickered in Krishna's ear. "It's a test. But they're testing each other as much as you."
Krishna hid a small smile, waiting for the games to begin.
...
First Up: Admiral Akainu's "Justice Jog"
Admiral Akainu stood, arms crossed, at the start of the obstacle course—only, instead of the usual sandbags and hurdles, sections of the ground had been superheated, steam wafting from blackened stones. Pits glowed faintly red. Sakazuki's fists crackled, a warning and a dare.
"Justice is built on pain and discipline," Sakazuki announced, glaring at the assembled group. "Only those who can withstand the heat of adversity are worthy to serve."
Garp grumbled, "He says that about everything."
Borsalino, sunglasses gleaming, muttered, "Yare yare… This again?"
Sakazuki gestured at the lava-lined course. "Who's first?"
Krishna stepped forward. "I am."
With a curt nod from Sakazuki, the signal was given. Krishna broke into a run—barefoot, by Sakazuki's command ("No cheating with boots!"). The stones hissed under each step, but Krishna's movements never faltered; his stride flowed from one obstacle to the next, each landing precise, balanced, and entirely unhurried. He made it to the finish, barely a blister on his feet, and stood tall, not a bead of sweat on his brow.
Gion's eyes widened in rare approval. "Perfect control."
Tokikake, fanning himself and sweating, panted, "How's he not melting?"
Garp grinned. "Brat's got tougher feet than me!"
Behind Krishna, Kuzan tried to take the course at a shuffle, pausing halfway to make an ice patch and lying down for a nap. Borsalino zipped through in an afterimage, but still managed to singe his pants. Sengoku ticked boxes on his clipboard, Tsuru wrote: "Needs improvement: ice napping."
Sakazuki cracked a faint, grim smile. "Better than expected. Not bad, intern."
...
Next: Admiral Kizaru's "Light-Speed Reflexes"
The marines moved to a cordoned-off section where Admiral Kizaru was busy adjusting reflective panels and mirrors. "It's simple," he drawled. "Dodge the light. If you can."
Krishna faced a gauntlet of bouncing, ricocheting laser beams, each one whistling past at speeds barely visible. The marines gaped as he slipped between the blasts with preternatural grace, his body folding, weaving, anticipation dancing in every movement. At the end, he stood untouched, hair only slightly mussed.
Borsalino whistled, clapping lazily. "That's a new record."
Garp howled with laughter. "You see that? Not even a small singe!"
Kuzan, now awake and watching, blinked. "Was he even moving?"
Gion checked her watch, then nodded in silent admiration. Tokikake, who'd tried and ended up with scorched sleeves, sulked in the corner. Sengoku wrote, "Outstanding." Tsuru underlined it twice.
Sakazuki huffed. "Speed isn't everything. What matters is strength."
...
Admiral Aokiji's "Ice Bath Meditation"
Next, Admiral Aokiji led the crew to a long, steaming pool. In a flash, the water froze solid. "Sometimes, true strength is in doing nothing at all," he mumbled, stretching out on the fresh ice.
Marines lined up, shivering. Some barely lasted a minute before scrambling out, teeth chattering. Gion slid in, refusing to show discomfort. Garp plunged in and immediately started doing laps, declaring, "Reminds me of winter in Dawn Island!"
Krishna slipped into the water, legs crossed, posture meditative. Frost rimmed his hair, his breath visible in the air, his whole body steaming, but his pulse remained calm. After ten minutes, Kuzan dozed off next to him. Tokikake tried, but clambered out seconds later, looking for cocoa.
Tsuru timed everyone, jotting notes. Sengoku peered over his glasses. "Remarkable discipline."
Gion watched Krishna, curiosity warring with her pride. "How is he…?"
Garp grinned, popping up from under the ice, "He's built different, that's all."
Sakazuki rolled his eyes. "Ice baths don't build character."
Borsalino snorted. "Neither does yelling at a volcano or swimming in magma."
...
Vice Admiral Garp's "Cannonball Challenge"
On the field, Garp hauled out a stack of cannonballs. "Strength training! Toss these as far as you can, brat!"
Marines stepped up, struggling to lift even one. Gion tried with dignity and managed a respectable throw. Tokikake rolled his, chasing after it for dessert.
Krishna lifted a cannonball in each hand, stance easy. With a single, fluid motion, he sent them arcing across the yard—landing with twin booms a hundred meters away.
Garp, not to be outdone, loaded two cannonballs under each arm and chucked them even farther. Then, in a fit of bravado, leaped up and challenged Krishna to "try tossing me, if you're so tough!"
Krishna, gentle as a breeze, picked up Garp (to the horror and delight of the entire Marineford staff) and set him down on a padded training net at the other end of the field.
Garp howled with laughter. "Best training ever!"
Sengoku's clipboard trembled. Tsuru looked appalled, but her mouth twitched with suppressed mirth.
Sakazuki barked, "That's not regulation!" Borsalino winked, "Yare yare, new world record."
...
Vice Admiral Momousagi's "Elegance and Etiquette" Class
After the madness, Vice Admiral Momousagi summoned Krishna, Garp, Tokikake, and a handful of marines to the Officer's Lounge.
She demonstrated the "proper" way to sit, pour tea, address superiors, and walk in parade formation.
Krishna mirrored every movement perfectly—back straight, chin high, not a wasted motion. Gion nodded, quietly pleased. Tsuru, watching through the door, scribbled more notes.
Garp failed within seconds, accidentally spilling tea on his lap. Tokikake tried to eat the saucer. Marines snickered until Gion fixed them with a stare.
"Elegance is as much a weapon as your sword," she intoned. "Remember that, intern."
Krishna bowed, "I will."
Gion's eyes glinted. "I believe you."
Borsalino, passing by, cracked, "Is elegance a new Admiral requirement?"
Sakazuki muttered,"Discipline is all that matters."
Garp blanched, "Bah! Elegance never won a brawl."
...
Vice Admiral Chaton's "Dessert Duel"
For the final trial, Vice Admiral Chaton led everyone to the mess, where a banquet of sweets waited. "Last test—who can resist eating the longest?"
Marines barely made it five seconds. Garp, grinning, dove in headfirst. Borsalino and Sakazuki ignored the table altogether—one out of boredom, the other out of disdain. Gion took a single, delicate bite and stepped back, victorious.
Krishna stood by the table, hands at his sides, not tempted at all. Tokikake eyed him, circling, waving pastries under his nose. Nothing.
Kuzan, having wandered in, muttered, "Is it still naptime?" then fell asleep atop a tray of donuts.
Tsuru and Sengoku tallied the "results." Sengoku, deadpan, "Winner: Krishna. Special mention for 'Excessive Composure.' "
Tokikake stared, defeated. "Not even one bite?"
Krishna smiled. "Dessert is sweeter when earned."
Garp, crumbs everywhere, patted Krishna on the back. "You're a tougher nut than me!"
...
Throughout every trial, Sengoku and Tsuru tracked performances on their clipboards, rating everything from posture to "overall marine spirit" to "creativity in chaos management."
Sakazuki: "Strength—ten. Flexibility—zero. Teamwork—minus three."
Borsalino: "Speed—eleven. Focus—variable."
Gion: "Elegance—exceptional. Humility—needs testing."
Tokikake: "Endurance—depends on dessert. Willpower—undetermined."
Garp: "Chaos generation—off the charts."
Krishna: "Composure—unbreakable. Adaptability—limitless."
By the end of the day, their notes covered several pages—most filled with Tsuru's dry commentary and Sengoku's increasingly exasperated "must improve" recommendations.
...
As the sun set over Marineford, Krishna and the senior staff stood by the parade ground, the sky turning from blue to flame. Marines filtered past, exhausted but laughing, rumors of the "intern who survived everything" spreading like wildfire.
Garp stretched, hands behind his head. "Not bad for your first day, brat."
Borsalino adjusted his glasses, lazy grin in place. "Fastest rookie I've ever seen."
Sakazuki grunted. "We'll see if he can keep it up."
Gion, posture perfect, nodded once. "You have my respect."
Tokikake patted Krishna on the back, sneaking a sweet roll into his hand. "Welcome to Marineford, Intern."
Krishna stood quietly amid the chaos, the last light of day gilding his hair, eyes reflecting both storm and serenity.
Tsuru checked her clipboard one last time. "Congratulations, Krishna. You've survived the impossible—Marineford's finest."
Sengoku gave a rare, honest smile. "Now let's see what you do tomorrow."
Krishna bowed to them all, calm and steady. "Thank you. I look forward to it."
As the others wandered off, arguing about dinner, Krishna lingered, listening to the laughter and the easy bickering—knowing that, for all their power, these legends were as human as anyone. The chaos, the challenges, the unexpected warmth—it was all part of the same strange, beautiful order.
...
Night had fallen on Marineford, painting the fortress in cool blues and golds. The mess hall, usually reserved for the morning chaos of caffeine and orders, now glowed with a softer light. Tables were drawn together, plates stacked high, and the air was thick with the easy laughter of marines winding down from a day both legendary and ludicrous.
Krishna entered with Garp, the two drawing glances and half-bows from everyone they passed. The tales of the day—lava runs, laser drills, etiquette classes, the infamous "Dessert Duel"—had already grown in the telling. Some said Krishna could run barefoot on magma. Others swore he dodged lasers in his sleep. The truth, as always, was somewhere in the silent spaces between.
Kuzan was sprawled at one end of the table, still in partial uniform, arms folded behind his head. His eyes were open this time, a lazy smile flickering whenever he caught someone staring. Borsalino leaned in a chair with sunglasses propped atop his head, idly bouncing a spoon between his fingers at the speed of light. Sakazuki sat rigid and unsmiling, but even he looked more relaxed than usual, sipping his customary tea with an odd air of contemplation.
Gion and Tokikake had claimed the corner nearest the dessert cart. Gion sat upright, the perfect image of marine composure, while Tokikake had already "liberated" a plate of pastries and was eyeing the rest with careful calculation.
Sengoku took his usual spot at the head of the table, cap polished, coat perfectly pressed. Tsuru sat at his right, clipboard set aside at last, her expression softer now, touched by the glow of camaraderie.
Sengoku rapped his knuckles on the table, commanding instant attention. "Before we all collapse from exhaustion—or dessert—we have one final matter of business. Krishna, as Marineford's very first intern, you deserve a proper nickname. Tradition demands it."
A murmur of anticipation rolled down the table. Krishna, as always, met the moment with that calm, unreadable gaze.
Garp grinned. "A nickname, huh? Make it good, old man."
Sengoku steepled his fingers, as if meditating on the weight of tradition and mischief all at once. "We'll do this the proper way. Everyone gets a vote. Krishna, you can veto only if you truly object."
Krishna inclined his head, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Understood. Just—nothing that will haunt me on wanted posters."
Garp slapped the table, already roaring. "No promises!"
...
First Proposal: Fleet Admiral Sengoku's Choice
Fleet Admiral Sengoku cleared his throat, voice deep and ceremonial. "I propose: 'The Quiet Revolution.' He brings change without raising his voice. That's the kind of marine I respect."
Garp snorted, half-mocking, half-impressed. "Sounds like a newspaper headline."
Kuzan chimed in, "Or a yoga pose."
Krishna bowed slightly. "Thank you, Fleet Admiral. It's… dignified."
Sengoku nodded. "Dignity never goes out of style."
...
Second Proposal: Vice Admiral Garp's Turn
Vice Admiral Garp didn't even pause to think. "I say we call him—'Brat 2.0.' He's a handful, just like me, but twice as sneaky."
The table burst into laughter. Even Sakazuki's lips twitched.
Krishna kept a straight face. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Kuzan gave Krishna a lazy thumbs-up. "You're officially in the family now."
Tsuru rolled her eyes. "We don't need another Garp."
Garp grinned. "Ha! Every generation deserves one!"
...
Third Proposal: Great Staff Officer Tsuru's Pick
Great Staff Officer Tsuru leaned forward, eyes sharp and affectionate. "Storm-in-the-Stillness. Because you bring calm to chaos—but underneath, there's something unstoppable."
A hush settled, respect and recognition in every glance.
Krishna met her eyes, a hint of warmth breaking through. "Thank you, Madam. That means more than you know."
Gion inclined her head, silent approval in her posture.
...
Fourth Proposal: Admiral Aokiji's Suggestion
Admiral Aokiji yawned, stretching, then sat up. "How about…'The Awake One?' I never see you tired. Maybe you can teach me."
The table chuckled. Krishna's expression didn't change, but Garp nudged him, stage-whispering, "He's right, you know. You never nap."
Krishna replied, "Someone has to keep watch while the legends sleep."
Kuzan tipped an imaginary cap. "Respect."
...
Fifth Proposal: Admiral Akainu's Input
Admiral Akainu set his teacup down, eyes burning with conviction. "Rulebreaker. You walk your own path, even when it makes no sense to anyone else. Not sure if that's a virtue, but it's rare."
Sengoku raised a brow. "High praise from you, Sakazuki."
Sakazuki shrugged. "Just calling it like I see it."
Krishna considered the name. "Sometimes rules need breaking to make way for justice."
Sakazuki nodded, something unspoken passing between them.
...
Sixth Proposal: Admiral Kizaru's Angle
Admiral Kizaru swung his spoon in a lazy arc, grinning. "How about 'Shining Shadow?' You're quiet, but everyone notices when you move. Like a shadow with a flashlight."
Kuzan snorted. "That's a paradox."
Borsalino shrugged. "So is the kid."
Krishna inclined his head. "Thank you, Admiral."
...
Seventh Proposal: Gion's Contribution
Gion lifted her glass. "Midnight Lotus. Because you stand apart—dark, elegant, and rare. You don't need to be loud to change the room."
Garp nodded. "Not bad, Momousagi. Kinda poetic."
Tokikake cheered, "It's beautiful!", he paused, "Just like you." he winked at Gion, making Gion huff and turn her head away utterly uninterested.
Krishna's eyes softened. "That's very kind. Thank you."
...
Eighth Proposal: Vice Admiral Chaton's Suggestion
Vice Admiral Chaton jumped up, sending a fork flying. "Iron Intern! No one survives their first day like that unless they're made of steel."
Laughter erupted again. Krishna looked at the pile of desserts in front of Tokikake and said, "I'm not sure if I'm iron, but I'll take the compliment."
Tsuru added dryly, "Certainly more willpower than the rest of us."
Tokikake beamed. "Welcome to the dessert club, anyway!"
...
Ninth Proposal: Krishna's Own
As the laughter faded, Krishna spoke up quietly, but every ear turned to catch his words. "If I could offer one… My name is Krishna, but if you must give me another—let it be 'Kurohane.' Black Feather. It's what I am, what I bring, and what i was called back in East Blue. A shadow that carries hope, not just silence."
A pause—a respectful one—settled over the table. The marines exchanged glances, the admirals weighed the word, the meaning. Kurohane—Black Feather—a mark of humility, of darkness turned to purpose, of myth quietly written in the margins of history.
Garp's eyes shone with rare pride. "Now that's a name."
Sengoku nodded, a slow smile breaking through. "It suits you. Unique, and destined to become legend."
Gion's lips curved in approval. "Midnight Lotus was close, but Kurohane fits even better."
Tsuru set down her glass. "A name chosen is always stronger than one given."
Even Sakazuki offered a grudging, "Appropriate. You walk your own path."
Borsalino grinned. "Kurohane, huh? Rolls off the tongue."
Tokikake, mouth full of cake, gave a thumbs-up. "You'll need a dessert with that name."
Sengoku looked up and down the table, making it official. "Then it's decided. From this day at Marineford, our first intern will be known as Kurohane—the Black Feather."
Krishna nodded, a calm certainty in his gaze. "Thank you. I will carry it well."
The table erupted in applause and laughter.
Medha's voice echoed in Krishna's mind, bright and teasing, "Kurohane. A feather that unsettles gods. I like it."
Krishna let himself smile, just a little.
...
The rest of the evening rolled on with stories and laughter. Gion recounted the chaos of etiquette class, Tsuru threatened to write a book on marine breakfast disasters, Sakazuki and Borsalino got into a surprisingly heated debate over the nutritional value of pudding, and Tokikake attempted (unsuccessfully) to teach Krishna how to sneak dessert past Tsuru's gaze.
Kuzan dozed off mid-sentence, head on the table, but not before muttering, "He really is always awake…"
Garp and Sengoku swapped old stories—about marines past and present, victories and losses, and all the strange, beautiful mess that came with wearing the white coat. Krishna listened, letting their memories settle inside him, one more layer in the ever-growing legend.
As the night deepened and marines drifted away, Krishna lingered in the glowing light. He thought of home, of Makino's kindness, Ace's stubbornness, Sabo's laughter, and Luffy's wild, unbreakable spirit. Here, at the heart of the world's mightiest fortress, surrounded by chaos and camaraderie, he felt a strange sense of belonging—stranger still for how quietly it had crept in.
Tsuru collected her clipboard, nodding to Krishna as she left. "Kurohane suits you, Krishna. Wear it well."
Krishna bowed, the name settling over him like a mantle. "Thank you. I will."
As Sengoku herded the last of the admirals out the door, Garp threw an arm around Krishna's shoulders, steering him toward the moonlit balcony. The fortress below glimmered with a thousand lanterns, the sea whispering against stone far below.
Garp's voice, quieter now, held a note of real pride. "You did good, brat. Better than I ever did on my first day."
Krishna looked at the sea, at the horizon where thunder sometimes whispered, and smiled. "I had good teachers."
They stood together a long moment, legend and legacy, silent and content.
Below, in the heart of Marineford, rumors of the new intern—Kurohane, the Black Feather—spread like wildfire. No one quite agreed on the details, but all agreed on one thing:
Marineford would never be the same again.
...
Author's note:
Yo, divine degenerates and dharmic believers—
Before you ask: yes, that new book cover you just scrolled past? I'm still not sure how I managed to make it look half-decent. One day, a hundred YouTube tutorials, and enough ChatGPT prompts to melt a server farm. Let me know—does it look good, or should I just put Garp's face on everything from now on?
As for this chapter… What do you even call it when chaos, comedy, and the world's strongest "family dinner" collide? Krishna's first day at Marineford wasn't just a test of power—it was a test of survival. And table manners. And dessert theft. If you thought haki was the greatest force in the world, you've never seen Garp, Sengoku, Tsuru, and three admirals try to outdo each other for breakfast glory.
We had burnt toast, ice naps, and a naming war fiercer than any Yonko clash. Krishna might be "Kurohane" now, but he'll always be the intern who made it through Marineford's breakfast alive.
How's the cover? What's your favorite chaos moment from this chapter? And, if you had to survive a meal with any Marineford legend, who would you sit next to (and who would you avoid, like Akainu's magma egg salad)?
See you on the next tide—
—Author out.