Andrew Slayn
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Chapter Four: Storms in Loguetown
🕑 Added 2025-06-22 10:00:06 +0000 UTCTwo weeks aboard Garp's ship had taught Andrew many things.
First, that the "Fist of Love" was not merely a humorous nickname but a terrifyingly accurate description of Garp's training methods. Second, that the Hero of the Marines possessed an intuition about combat that bordered on the supernatural, even without actively using Observation Haki. And third, that no matter how much Andrew thought he had pushed his limits before, he hadn't even approached his true potential.
"Again!" Garp bellowed from the center of the training deck. "You're still telegraphing your transitions!"
Andrew wiped sweat from his brow, his lungs burning as he forced his body back into his fighting stance. Every muscle screamed in protest. Even with his regenerative abilities working overtime during rest periods, Garp's training regimen was brutal enough to leave lasting fatigue.
"Yes, sir," he managed, launching once more into the sequence Garp had been drilling him on for the past hour.
The Way of the Cycling Fist was evolving rapidly under Garp's tutelage. What had begun as an approximation of video game combat mechanics was being forged into something more practical, more efficient, and significantly more devastating.
"Better!" Garp called as Andrew completed the sequence without the subtle hesitation that had been plaguing his transition between "Waterkick" and "Mach Kick." "Your body's finally starting to understand what your mind wants it to do."
That was perhaps the most valuable insight Garp had shared—the distinction between intellectual understanding of a technique and the body's unconscious mastery of it. "Training your muscles to think for themselves," as the old Marine put it.
Andrew completed the sequence once more, then collapsed to one knee, chest heaving. He had been pushing his regenerative abilities to their limits, using them to recover between training sessions and during brief rest periods. But there was only so much even the Saisei-Saisei no Mi could do against Garp's relentless pace.
"Enough for now," Garp decided, tossing Andrew a towel. "We'll dock at Loguetown in an hour. Ship needs supplies, and you need a break before you collapse."
"I can continue, sir," Andrew protested, though his trembling muscles told a different story.
Garp laughed. "Reminds me of my grandsons. Stubborn to the core." He approached, studying Andrew with his keen eyes. "You've been healing yourself, haven't you?"
Andrew froze. He had been careful to use his abilities discreetly, never displaying the telltale glow when others might see it. But nothing seemed to escape Garp's notice.
"I..." Andrew began, unsure how to respond.
"Devil Fruit user," Garp stated matter-of-factly. "Noticed it during our first sparring session. Too much resilience for someone taking hits from me, even pulled punches." He folded his massive arms. "Some sort of recovery ability, I'm guessing?"
Seeing no point in denying it, Andrew nodded. "Saisei-Saisei no Mi. The Regeneration-Regeneration Fruit."
"Hmm." Garp scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Paramecia type?"
"As far as I know," Andrew replied, keeping Amaterasu's hints about the fruit's true nature to himself.
Garp's expression brightened suddenly. "Well, that explains why you can handle triple sessions! I thought you were just exceptionally stubborn." He slapped Andrew on the back, nearly sending him sprawling. "This opens up new training possibilities!"
Andrew felt a chill at those words. "New... possibilities?"
"Of course!" Garp's grin widened alarmingly. "If you can heal faster, we can train harder! Marine Headquarters has excellent facilities for Devil Fruit users to maximize their potential."
"Marine Headquarters?" Andrew echoed. That was not part of the plan.
"Eventually," Garp clarified. "Still have business in Water 7 first, and you're not ready for that level yet. But someday!" He turned toward the ship's bow, where the distinctive silhouette of Loguetown was appearing on the horizon. "For now, enjoy a few hours of shore leave. Ship won't depart until tomorrow morning."
Andrew released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The delay in visiting Marine Headquarters was a relief, though the prospect of even more intense training was not.
As he made his way to his small cabin to clean up before arrival, Andrew assessed his progress. Despite the brutal pace, he couldn't deny the results. His physical capabilities had improved dramatically. The Way of the Cycling Fist was becoming more refined, more adaptable to real combat situations rather than just demonstrations.
But the greatest improvement was in his understanding of his Devil Fruit. The constant need for recovery had forced him to explore subtle aspects of the Saisei-Saisei no Mi that he might have overlooked with a gentler training regimen.
He had discovered that he could direct the regenerative energy with greater precision, accelerating healing in specific tissues while conserving energy elsewhere. He could temporarily enhance particular muscle groups for explosive power at the cost of reduced healing capacity. And most intriguingly, he had begun to sense a deeper connection to the Ouroboros aspect of his power during meditation, though it remained tantalizingly out of reach.
An hour later, the ship docked at Loguetown's main harbor. As the gangplank was secured, Garp addressed the crew.
"Supply acquisition and routine maintenance only," he announced. "We depart at 0800 tomorrow. Anyone not aboard will be left behind." He glanced at Andrew. "That includes apprentices."
"Understood, sir," Andrew replied with a respectful nod.
Garp grinned. "And try to stay out of trouble. Loguetown might be a Marine stronghold, but it's also the last stop before the Grand Line. All sorts pass through here."
With those words of caution, the crew dispersed, many heading eagerly into town after two weeks at sea. Andrew followed more slowly, taking in the sights of this historic location.
Loguetown—the place where Gold Roger was born and executed, marking the beginning of the Great Pirate Era. In the timeline Andrew knew, Luffy would visit here just before entering the Grand Line, confronting Smoker and Buggy before a timely intervention allowed his escape.
Now, years before those events, the town had a different atmosphere. The Marine presence was strong but not oppressive. Citizens and visitors moved about freely, commerce thriving in the shadow of history.
Andrew's first destination was obvious—the execution platform where the Pirate King had died with a smile that launched a thousand dreams. Following the main street, he soon found himself in the town square, staring up at the imposing scaffold where history had turned on a single moment.
"Humbling, isn't it?" came a voice from behind him.
Andrew turned to find a Marine ensign—a young woman with short dark hair and serious eyes, wearing glasses and carrying a katana at her hip. He recognized her immediately, though she was younger than her appearance in the series.
Tashigi.
"Yes," Andrew agreed, turning back to the platform. "Hard to believe one man's death could change the world so dramatically."
"For the worse," Tashigi said firmly. "That criminal's last words cursed this era with lawlessness and bloodshed."
Andrew studied her from the corner of his eye. This was a younger Tashigi than the one who would eventually serve under Captain Smoker, but her rigid sense of justice was already fully formed. The black-and-white worldview that saw pirates as inherently evil and Marines as forces of good.
"One person's curse is another's inspiration," he replied carefully. "Perspective matters."
Tashigi frowned. "There's no valid perspective that glorifies criminals. The man was a monster who ravaged the seas, stealing and killing as he pleased."
"And yet the World Government feared him enough to make a public spectacle of his execution," Andrew pointed out. "Makes you wonder what they were truly afraid of."
"Justice being served is never something to question," Tashigi replied, her tone growing colder. "As a civilian, you might not understand the importance of maintaining absolute law and order."
Andrew felt a flicker of irritation. He had forgotten how dogmatic Tashigi could be before her experiences in Alabasta and beyond began to nuance her worldview.
"Actually, I'm traveling with Vice Admiral Garp," he informed her, not without a touch of satisfaction at her widened eyes. "And absolute anything tends to become corrupt eventually. Even justice."
Tashigi's surprise at his connection to Garp quickly gave way to indignation. "That's a dangerous perspective. The Marines stand for justice without compromise."
"Really?" Andrew turned fully toward her now. "No corruption whatsoever in the entire organization? Every Marine officer perfectly just and fair at all times?"
"Of course there are occasional individuals who fail to uphold our standards," Tashigi admitted reluctantly. "But they're the exception, not the rule."
"And pirates? Are they all uniformly evil? No exceptions there either?"
Tashigi's hand tightened on her sword hilt. "Pirates choose to fly a flag that declares their intention to live outside the law. That makes them criminals by definition."
"Laws can be unjust," Andrew pressed. "Governments can be corrupt. What about revolutionaries? Freedom fighters? Or are those just convenient labels for more criminals?"
"You sound like a sympathizer," Tashigi said accusingly.
"I sound like someone who thinks for himself instead of accepting a doctrine without question," Andrew countered. He hadn't intended to antagonize her, but something about her rigid certainty grated on him. Perhaps it was seeing the early version of a character who would eventually develop more nuance, or perhaps it was simply the culmination of two weeks of physical punishment making him less diplomatic than usual.
"Is the Marine stick shoved so far up your ass that you can't see the world has shades of gray?" he added, immediately regretting the crude phrasing but too committed to back down now.
Tashigi's face flushed with anger. "How dare you! You know nothing about what Marines stand for or the sacrifices we make to protect people from lawless scum!"
"I know that blind obedience to any system is dangerous," Andrew replied, his voice rising to match hers. "I know that true justice requires discernment, not just following orders."
Several passersby had stopped to watch the escalating argument, creating a small circle around them in the square.
"Vice Admiral or not, you should be ashamed to associate with someone who mocks Marine values," Tashigi declared, her hand now unmistakably gripping her sword. "You owe me an apology."
"I'll apologize for my crude language," Andrew offered, "but not for suggesting that justice requires critical thinking rather than dogma."
Tashigi fully drew her sword now, pointing it directly at Andrew. "Then perhaps you need a lesson in respect. If you're Garp's apprentice, you should be able to defend yourself."
Andrew assessed the situation rapidly. A public sword fight with a Marine officer could create serious problems, regardless of who started it. On the other hand, backing down completely might make his future interactions with Garp's subordinates more difficult.
"I have no quarrel with you or the Marines as a whole," he said, adopting his fighting stance. "But I'll defend my position that blind justice is no justice at all."
Tashigi charged, her blade moving in a precise arc that spoke of extensive training. Andrew sidestepped, careful not to counter with a strike that might escalate the situation further.
"You're quick," Tashigi acknowledged, adjusting her grip and coming at him again with a series of controlled thrusts.
Andrew moved through the attacks with the fluidity Garp had been drilling into him, letting each evasion flow naturally into the next position. "And you're skilled with that blade," he replied, genuine respect in his voice despite their disagreement.
The crowd around them had grown larger, many spectators clearly enjoying the unexpected entertainment. Neither combatant had landed a blow yet—Tashigi's attacks were measured, clearly intended to test rather than harm, while Andrew was deliberately avoiding counter-strikes that might force her to escalate.
"Why won't you attack?" Tashigi demanded after another exchange left them both unscathed. "Afraid to hit a woman?"
"Afraid to hit a Marine officer without just cause," Andrew corrected, evading another slash. "This isn't a real fight—it's a philosophical disagreement that got heated."
Tashigi's eyes narrowed. "So you look down on me as an opponent?"
"Not at all," Andrew replied honestly. "I respect your skill. I simply disagree with your absolutist worldview."
Something in his tone must have further provoked her, because Tashigi's next attack came with noticeably more force and speed. The blade whistled past Andrew's cheek, close enough that he felt the air displacement.
"Enough exhibition," Andrew muttered, deciding it was time to demonstrate that he wasn't merely on the defensive out of necessity.
As Tashigi began another combination attack, Andrew finally initiated the Way of the Cycling Fist. He moved into her guard with "Rush"—three quick jabs that she was forced to interrupt her attack to evade. Before she could recover, he transitioned into "Beat Rush," driving her backward with straight punches that came perilously close to connecting.
Tashigi's eyes widened at the sudden change in tempo. She adjusted quickly, using her sword to create distance, but Andrew had already shifted into "Waterkick," his flowing kick forcing her to retreat further.
"Your style," she managed between breaths, "it builds momentum."
"That's the general idea," Andrew confirmed, continuing his pressure with "Mach Kick," which nearly took Tashigi off her feet when she blocked rather than evaded.
The crowd was fully engaged now, cheering at particularly impressive exchanges. Neither combatant was landing clean hits—Tashigi's swordsmanship was excellent, and Andrew was deliberately holding back from his finishers—but the demonstration of skill was undeniable.
"ENOUGH!"
The booming voice cut through the noise of the crowd like cannon fire. Spectators scattered as Vice Admiral Garp strode into the circle, massive arms folded across his chest.
"Sir!" Tashigi immediately stood at attention, sheathing her sword with a swift motion.
Andrew stepped back, bowing respectfully to both Garp and Tashigi to signal the end of the confrontation.
"Causing trouble already, Slayn?" Garp asked, though his tone suggested he was more amused than angry. "And with one of our promising young officers, no less."
"A misunderstanding that escalated, sir," Andrew replied carefully.
"Ensign Tashigi, correct?" Garp turned to the young woman, who stiffened further under his gaze.
"Yes, Vice Admiral! Stationed at Loguetown Marine Base under Captain Bremen, sir!"
"At ease before you sprain something," Garp said, waving a hand dismissively. "Explain what happened here."
Tashigi hesitated, glancing at Andrew before responding. "A disagreement about justice, sir. I... may have overreacted."
"Justice, eh?" Garp scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Always a topic that gets the blood flowing. And what was your take, Slayn?"
Andrew chose his words carefully. "I suggested that justice requires discernment rather than absolute adherence to rules. Ensign Tashigi felt this disrespected Marine values."
"And so naturally, you decided to settle a philosophical debate with combat," Garp concluded, shaking his head with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. "At least you had the sense to keep it from turning serious."
He studied both of them for a moment, then suddenly grinned. "Actually, this gives me an idea. Ensign Tashigi!"
"Yes, Vice Admiral!" she replied immediately.
"When's your shift end today?"
Tashigi blinked in surprise. "1800 hours, sir."
"Perfect. Join us for dinner at the Harbor Inn at 1900. That's an order." Garp turned to Andrew. "And you—no more philosophical debates in public squares. Save it for dinner."
"Yes, sir," Andrew agreed, somewhat bewildered by this turn of events.
"Good! Now I need to find where they sell those rice crackers I like in this town." With that, Garp strode away, leaving Andrew and Tashigi staring after him.
An awkward silence fell between them.
"I apologize for my language earlier," Andrew finally said. "It was crude and unnecessary."
Tashigi adjusted her glasses. "And I apologize for drawing my weapon. It was an overreaction."
Another silence, slightly less tense.
"Your fighting style is... unusual," Tashigi offered. "I've never seen combinations built that way before."
"Your swordsmanship is impressive," Andrew replied sincerely. "You clearly train diligently."
Tashigi nodded, then glanced in the direction Garp had gone. "Do you know why he wants me at dinner?"
"With Garp, it's hard to predict," Andrew admitted. "But he has an eye for talent. He probably saw something in our exchange that interested him."
"I should return to my patrol," Tashigi said, still seeming unsure about the situation. "I suppose I'll see you at dinner."
"Looking forward to it," Andrew replied, meaning it despite their rocky introduction. Tashigi was a complex character with real potential for growth—something he had appreciated in the series and could now see firsthand.
As Tashigi walked away, Andrew turned back to the execution platform, considering the strange twist of fate. His first encounter with a canonical character beyond Garp had been confrontational rather than cooperative. Yet somehow, it felt right—challenging Tashigi's rigid worldview might help nudge her toward the more nuanced perspective she would eventually develop.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly as Andrew explored Loguetown, visiting the sword shop where Zoro would eventually find his cursed blade and the market where Sanji would shop for ingredients. Everywhere he went, history and future events seemed to overlap, creating a surreal sense of déjà vu for locations he had only seen in manga panels and anime episodes.
At 1845, Andrew arrived at the Harbor Inn, a respectable establishment catering to Marine officers and wealthy merchants. Garp was already there, demolishing what appeared to be his second appetizer at a corner table.
"Ah, Slayn!" he called, waving Andrew over. "Just in time. Try these crab cakes—best in East Blue!"
Andrew joined him, accepting a sample of the admittedly excellent seafood. "Will we be discussing my behavior today, sir?"
Garp grinned. "What behavior? A little sparring match in the town square? Hardly worth mentioning." He leaned forward. "Though I am curious about what got under your skin. You're usually more diplomatic."
Andrew considered how to respond. "I dislike absolutist thinking," he said finally. "Especially when it's used to justify actions without questioning them."
"Hmm." Garp studied him thoughtfully. "There's a story there, I think. But everyone's entitled to their secrets." He popped another crab cake into his mouth. "Ah, here she is!"
Ensign Tashigi had arrived, now dressed in a more formal Marine uniform rather than her patrol attire. She saluted Garp crisply before taking the seat he indicated.
"At ease, Ensign," Garp said. "This isn't an official debriefing. Just dinner with an old Marine who's curious about the next generation."
The meal progressed pleasantly enough, with Garp doing most of the talking at first—sharing outrageous stories from his early days as a Marine and devouring enough food for five people. Gradually, he drew both Andrew and Tashigi into the conversation, asking pointed questions about their training methods, motivations, and goals.
"So, Ensign," Garp said as the main course arrived, "your captain tells me you're particularly interested in sword hunting. Collecting famous blades?"
"Not collecting, sir," Tashigi corrected respectfully. "My aim is to recover meito—named blades—from those who don't appreciate their significance or misuse them for criminal purposes."
"Like pirates," Garp nodded. "Admirable goal. What sparked this interest?"
Tashigi's expression grew more animated than Andrew had seen all day. "These aren't just weapons, sir. They're pieces of history, art forms with souls of their own. To see them in the hands of criminals who use them for evil deeds is a disgrace to their craftsmanship and legacy."
"And you, Slayn?" Garp turned to Andrew. "What's your ultimate goal with this 'Way of the Cycling Fist' you're developing?"
Andrew had considered this question often during his training sessions. "To create a fighting style that builds upon itself—where each successful technique opens pathways to stronger ones. Eventually, I hope to integrate it fully with my Devil Fruit abilities."
"The two of you have something in common," Garp observed, looking between them. "You're both innovators in your own way. Tashigi's not content to simply be a swordswoman—she has a mission to preserve sword history. And you're not satisfied with existing martial arts—you're creating something new."
Andrew and Tashigi exchanged surprised glances, neither having considered this similarity before.
"You also both have strong opinions about justice," Garp continued, his tone growing more serious. "That's good. Marines who don't think about what justice means often become tools rather than protectors."
Tashigi looked startled by this statement. "Sir?"
"Justice isn't a fixed point, Ensign. It's a direction we strive toward, knowing we'll never perfectly reach it." Garp took a enormous bite of roast, talking while chewing. "That's why the Marines have different interpretations—'Absolute Justice,' 'Moral Justice,' 'Lazy Justice'—each representing a different understanding of how to serve the greater good."
"Which do you follow, sir?" Andrew asked, genuinely curious.
Garp laughed. "Me? I follow 'Garp's Justice'—protect the innocent, punch bad guys really hard, and don't let rules get in the way of doing what's right." He shrugged his massive shoulders. "Hasn't failed me yet."
The conversation continued through dessert, ranging from sword techniques to combat training to the challenges of maintaining order in a changing world. To Andrew's surprise, Tashigi gradually engaged more openly with him, their earlier antagonism softening into a cautious professional respect.
As the meal concluded, Garp leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. "You know, watching you two spar gave me an idea."
"Sir?" both Andrew and Tashigi said simultaneously.
"Tashigi, your swordsmanship is excellent for your experience level, but you could benefit from hand-to-hand combat training. And Slayn, you need experience against armed opponents." Garp's grin widened. "So... Ensign Tashigi will be joining us for the journey to Water 7."
"What?" Tashigi exclaimed, then quickly added, "I mean, sir, I'm stationed here in Loguetown. Captain Bremen—"
"Has already approved the temporary reassignment," Garp finished for her. "I arranged it while you were on patrol this afternoon. Consider it specialized training under a Vice Admiral—looks excellent in your service record."
Andrew maintained a neutral expression, though his mind was racing with the implications. Tashigi joining them would change the dynamic considerably—adding another canonical character to his direct sphere of influence far earlier than expected.
"You two will train together daily," Garp continued, clearly enjoying their surprise. "Tashigi will improve her unarmed combat, Slayn will learn to handle sword opponents, and I'll supervise to ensure neither of you kills the other by accident."
"For how long, sir?" Tashigi asked, still looking stunned.
"Until we reach Water 7, at minimum. After that, we'll see." Garp stood, stretching expansively. "Report to the ship by 0700 tomorrow, Ensign. Bring whatever you need for an extended assignment."
"Yes, sir," Tashigi replied automatically, her training taking over despite her evident shock.
"Slayn, walk with me," Garp said, heading for the exit. "Goodnight, Ensign. Looking forward to seeing what you're truly capable of."
Outside, as they walked toward the harbor in the cool evening air, Andrew finally asked the question that had been forming since dinner began.
"Was this your plan all along, sir? Even before you saw us sparring?"
Garp chuckled. "Let's just say I have an eye for potential... and for chemistry."
"Chemistry?" Andrew repeated, momentarily confused.
"You two sparked against each other like flint and steel," Garp explained. "That kind of natural tension either ends in someone getting killed or in both parties becoming stronger. I'm betting on the latter."
Andrew considered this. His relationship with Tashigi had indeed begun antagonistically, but there had also been genuine respect underneath the conflict.
"She needs her worldview challenged," Garp continued more seriously. "Too rigid, too black-and-white. Could make her a less effective Marine in the long run. And you need someone who'll push back against your unorthodox methods—keep you grounded."
"So we're supposed to... balance each other?" Andrew asked skeptically.
"Something like that," Garp agreed with a grin. "Plus, it amuses me to watch young people argue about justice. Reminds me of my own training days."
They had reached the ship, now quiet as most of the crew enjoyed their final night of shore leave.
"Get some rest," Garp advised. "Tomorrow begins a new chapter in your training—one with sharper edges."
"You just enjoy the thought of me getting cut up, annoying geezer," Andrew muttered, thinking he was quiet enough.
A massive hand immediately clapped him on the back, nearly sending him sprawling forward. "What was that, apprentice?" Garp asked with a dangerously cheerful grin.
"Nothing, sir! Just, uh, looking forward to the new challenge," Andrew recovered quickly, wincing internally.
Garp's laugh boomed across the deck. "That's what I thought you said! Get some sleep—you're going to need it."
As Andrew made his way to his cabin, rubbing his now-sore shoulder, he reflected on the day's unexpected developments. His path had diverged significantly from any plan he might have made. First Garp, now Tashigi—canonical characters were entering his life years before they should have, creating ripples that would inevitably grow larger.
"The butterfly effect in action," he murmured to himself as he prepared for bed. His very presence was altering the timeline in ways he couldn't fully predict.
The question now was whether these changes would ultimately help or hinder when the true main characters—Luffy and his crew—finally made their entrance onto the world stage.
One thing was certain: training with both Garp and Tashigi would accelerate his development far beyond what would have been possible in Shell Town. And if the hints about his Devil Fruit's true nature were correct, he would need every advantage he could get for the challenges that lay ahead.
As sleep claimed him, Andrew's last conscious thought was of the execution platform standing tall against the Loguetown sky—a monument to an end that had become a beginning, much like his own journey from one life to another.
Morning aboard Garp's ship began as it always did—with the aroma of Andrew's cooking wafting through every corridor and compartment, pulling drowsy Marines from their bunks like a siren's call. By the time Andrew had finished arranging the breakfast spread in the mess hall, a line had already formed, sailors shuffling impatiently with plates in hand.
"Patience, you animals," Cook Renzo chided, though his own eyes never left the golden-brown pastries Andrew was setting out. "It's just food."
"Just food?" Lieutenant Morse scoffed from his place near the front of the line. "You clearly haven't been paying attention these past weeks. The kid's cooking makes standard rations feel like punishment."
Andrew smiled to himself as he put the finishing touches on a platter of egg-stuffed flatbreads seasoned with herbs he'd discovered in Loguetown's market. He'd quickly learned that well-fed Marines were happy Marines, and happy Marines made his apprenticeship under Garp marginally less painful. The Vice Admiral himself had given Andrew free rein over breakfast preparation after the first week, recognizing his talent in the kitchen rivaled his potential in combat.
"Is this display really necessary every morning?" came a crisp female voice from the entrance.
Andrew looked up to see Ensign Tashigi standing in the doorway, uniform impeccably pressed despite the early hour, sword secured at her hip. Her expression conveyed equal parts confusion and disapproval at the eagerness of the crew.
"Ensign Tashigi," Andrew greeted with a polite nod. "Just in time. First breakfast aboard deserves a proper welcome." He gestured to an empty place at the officers' table, where he'd arranged a specially prepared plate.
Tashigi approached cautiously, eyeing the assembled food with clinical detachment. "This seems excessive for a standard naval breakfast."
Lieutenant Morse laughed as he loaded his plate. "Standard? Nothing standard about Slayn's cooking, Ensign. You're in for a treat—assuming your Marine discipline allows you to enjoy something without regulations governing it."
Andrew shot Morse a warning look, but the damage was done. Tashigi's back stiffened, and her mouth formed a thin line.
"I assure you, Lieutenant, I'm perfectly capable of appreciating skilled work in any field," she replied coolly, taking a seat at the table.
The mess hall quickly filled as the crew claimed their portions. Andrew finished serving before taking his own modest plate to join the officers' table—a privilege Garp had insisted upon despite his civilian status.
Tashigi had not yet touched her food, instead watching with thinly veiled skepticism as the hardened Marines around her made sounds of appreciation bordering on indecent.
"Is something wrong with your breakfast, Ensign?" Andrew asked quietly.
"Nothing's wrong," she replied, picking up her fork. "I simply don't understand the fuss. Food is fuel for duty, not entertainment."
"Maybe try it before passing judgment," Andrew suggested, hiding his amusement as she finally took a bite of the egg-filled flatbread.
The change was subtle but unmistakable. Tashigi's eyes widened slightly, and she paused mid-chew, clearly processing the combination of flavors. Though she maintained her composure better than most, Andrew didn't miss the slight flush that rose to her cheeks or the way her posture softened almost imperceptibly.
"This is..." she began.
"Yes?" Andrew prompted, unable to suppress a small smile.
"...adequate," she finished primly, though the speed with which she continued eating told a different story.
Across the table, Lieutenant Morse snorted into his coffee. "High praise from our new sword hunter. We'll make a normal human of you yet, Ensign."
Tashigi ignored the comment, but Andrew noticed she had already finished half her plate with remarkable efficiency. By the time Vice Admiral Garp entered the mess hall—late as usual—Tashigi was using a piece of bread to collect the last bits of sauce from her plate.
"Ah, good! You've all met our temporary addition," Garp boomed, slapping Tashigi on the back hard enough to make her glasses slide down her nose. "Ensign Tashigi will be joining our combat training sessions from today. I expect you all to make her feel welcome."
Garp's eyes fell on Tashigi's now-empty plate, and his grin widened. "I see you've discovered our apprentice's other talent. Good, isn't it?"
Tashigi adjusted her glasses, a hint of color returning to her cheeks. "It was... surprisingly well-prepared, sir."
"Ha! From you, that's practically poetry," Garp laughed, then turned to Andrew. "Training deck in thirty minutes. Both of you. We'll see if your combat skills measure up to your cooking today, Slayn."
The training deck had been cleared of all equipment, leaving an open space for the morning's session. Andrew arrived first, using the time to stretch and warm up. His muscles still ached from the previous day's exertions, despite the accelerated healing his Devil Fruit provided.
He was midway through a flexibility sequence when Tashigi arrived, now dressed in training clothes—loose pants and a fitted navy top that allowed freedom of movement while maintaining Marine modesty standards. Her sword remained at her side.
"You're early," she observed, setting down a small bag containing what Andrew presumed were first aid supplies.
"Always," Andrew replied, straightening. "Hard to break the habit of someone who's had to fend for himself most of his life."
Something in his tone must have caught her attention, because Tashigi paused in her own preparations to study him.
"Garp mentioned you were orphaned," she said, her voice notably softer than their previous interactions. "I... was also raised without parents."
The personal admission surprised Andrew. This was a detail about Tashigi's background he didn't recall from the series.
"It shapes you," he offered. "Makes you self-reliant."
"And perhaps too rigid sometimes," she added thoughtfully, before her expression hardened again. "But it also teaches discipline and appreciation for order—something pirates and criminals lack."
Andrew sighed. "And we're back to absolutes."
"Because some things are absolute," Tashigi countered, drawing her sword and beginning a warm-up kata. "The law exists to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Without it, the strong simply devour the weak."
"The law is a tool," Andrew argued, watching her precise movements with professional appreciation. "Like that sword. It can protect or harm depending on who wields it and for what purpose."
Tashigi's rhythm faltered slightly. "That's a dangerous perspective."
"Dangerous? Or just uncomfortable because it requires judgment rather than blind obedience?" Andrew settled into his own stance, flowing through the opening sequence of the Way of the Cycling Fist.
"There's nothing blind about following a moral code," Tashigi replied, her sword cutting the air with increasing speed as her irritation grew. "The Marine code exists because generations of experience proved its value."
"Including Absolute Justice?" Andrew challenged. "The philosophy that justified the destruction of Ohara? The execution of children whose only crime was being born to the wrong parents?"
Tashigi stopped mid-movement, her sword hanging in the air. "What are you talking about? The Marines don't execute children."
Andrew realized he'd ventured into dangerous territory. Buster Calls and the hunting of Roger's bloodline weren't common knowledge, especially not to lower-ranking Marines.
"I'm speaking hypothetically," he backpedaled, cursing himself for the slip. "My point is that systems can become corrupted. Justice without compassion becomes tyranny."
"And compassion without justice becomes anarchy," Tashigi countered, sheathing her sword with a decisive click. "You speak as though you've seen corruption firsthand."
"Haven't you?" Andrew asked, genuinely curious. "In your time as a Marine, have you never witnessed a superior abusing their power? Never seen someone punished too harshly for a minor offense? Never questioned an order?"
Tashigi's silence was answer enough. Her gaze dropped momentarily before she squared her shoulders again.
"Individual failings don't invalidate the system," she said finally. "And questioning every order would make coordinated action impossible."
"I'm not suggesting questioning every order," Andrew clarified. "Only those that violate your personal understanding of right and wrong. The moment you surrender your moral judgment to any authority—even one as structured as the Marines—you risk becoming complicit in injustice."
"And your alternative? Everyone deciding for themselves what laws to follow?" Tashigi challenged, stepping closer. "That's the pirate way—chaos and selfishness disguised as freedom."
"ENOUGH PHILOSOPHY!" Garp's voice boomed as he entered the training deck, interrupting what had become an increasingly heated debate. "Save your breath for fighting! You two can continue your justice seminar while trying to punch each other."
Both Andrew and Tashigi turned, startled by the Vice Admiral's arrival. Garp was grinning broadly, clearly amused by their argument.
"Sir," Tashigi saluted sharply.
"Today's lesson is simple," Garp announced, taking a position at the edge of the training area. "Tashigi, you'll be teaching Slayn how to defend against a sword with bare hands. Slayn, you'll be teaching Tashigi the basics of your Cycling Fist style for close-quarters combat when her sword isn't an option."
"But sir," Tashigi protested, "Marine swordsmanship already includes unarmed techniques. The standard curriculum—"
"Is standard," Garp interrupted. "And sometimes standard gets you killed. Slayn's approach is unorthodox but effective. Learn from it, adapt what's useful, discard what isn't."
Tashigi looked unconvinced but nodded respectfully.
"As for you," Garp continued, turning to Andrew, "a real opponent with a real sword will focus your mind wonderfully. Wooden training swords don't cut. Steel does. Nothing accelerates learning like genuine risk."
"You want us to spar with actual weapons?" Andrew confirmed, eyeing Tashigi's katana with newfound concern.
"Of course!" Garp laughed. "Don't worry, I'm sure Ensign Tashigi has enough control not to kill my apprentice." He paused, then added with a wink, "Probably."
"You just want to get me back for the geezer comment yesterday," Andrew deadpanned, not bothering to lower his voice.
Tashigi's jaw dropped, her eyes darting between Andrew and the Vice Admiral in shock. No one spoke to a Marine of Garp's rank that way—at least no one who valued their continued existence.
Garp stared at Andrew for a long moment before erupting into booming laughter. "You're learning, kid! Good instincts—never let your opponent know they've rattled you!" He slapped Andrew on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward. "But yes, that's exactly why."
Tashigi slowly closed her mouth, reassessing everything she thought she knew about Garp's apprentice. This civilian was either extraordinarily brave or catastrophically foolish. Possibly both.
She drew her sword with formal precision that spoke to years of disciplined training. "I won't permanently damage him, sir. Though perhaps a few shallow cuts might improve his respect for authority."
"You're all heart, Ensign," Andrew replied dryly, settling into his defensive stance.
"Begin!" Garp commanded, stepping back to observe.
For a moment, neither moved, each assessing the other with new seriousness. The philosophical debate had shifted to physical form, but the underlying tension remained—rigid discipline versus adaptive innovation.
Tashigi struck first, her blade a gleaming arc aimed at Andrew's left shoulder. It was a controlled attack, deliberately slowed to give him ample time to respond, but with enough commitment to demand a proper defense.
Andrew sidestepped, employing the evasive movements Garp had been drilling into him. Rather than countering immediately, he used the opportunity to study Tashigi's form, her balance, the way she recovered from the strike.
"You're not attacking," she observed, circling cautiously.
"I'm learning," Andrew corrected. "Every fighter has patterns."
Tashigi's next series of attacks came faster, each strike flowing into the next with practiced grace. Andrew recognized the Marine sword style—economical, direct, designed for shipboard combat where space was limited and teamwork essential.
As he continued evading, Andrew gradually began incorporating elements of the Way of the Cycling Fist—not striking, but positioning himself for potential combinations, building phantom momentum that he didn't release.
"Your style," Tashigi noted between strikes, "it's like you're constantly preparing for something bigger."
"That's exactly right," Andrew acknowledged, finally seeing an opening. As Tashigi committed to a thrust, he initiated his "Rush" sequence—not aiming to strike her, but to create pressure that forced her to abandon her attack and defend.
The quick succession of jabs drove Tashigi back momentarily, her eyes widening at the sudden change in tempo. She recovered quickly, bringing her sword back into guard position, but not before Andrew had already transitioned into "Waterkick"—a flowing kick that extended his reach and nearly caught her side.
"Interesting application," Garp called from the sidelines. "But you're still thinking too linearly, Slayn! A sword doesn't attack in straight lines only!"
As if on cue, Tashigi changed tactics, her blade sweeping in unexpected arcs that exploited the circular nature of Andrew's combinations. Twice she nearly caught him, the edge of her katana passing close enough to his arm that he felt the displaced air.
"Control your space," Tashigi instructed professionally, even as she pressed her advantage. "A swordsman can attack from multiple angles. You need to manage distance better."
Andrew nodded, adjusting his footwork. Each exchange was a lesson, each near miss a data point. He found himself genuinely appreciating Tashigi's skill—her precision made her an excellent teacher despite their ideological differences.
The training continued for over an hour, Garp occasionally barking instructions or criticisms. By the time he called for a break, both Andrew and Tashigi were drenched in sweat, breathing heavily.
"Not bad," Garp assessed, tossing them each a towel. "Tashigi, your close-range defense needs work. When Slayn got inside your guard, you still tried to use standard sword techniques instead of adapting."
"Yes, sir," Tashigi acknowledged, wiping her face. "The Cycling Fist style creates unusual angles of attack."
"And Slayn," Garp continued, "you're still too hesitant against armed opponents. Yes, the sword is dangerous, but excessive caution leaves you reactive instead of proactive."
Andrew nodded, knowing the criticism was justified. Despite his Devil Fruit's healing abilities, the instinctive fear of being cut had made him more defensive than usual.
"Five minutes, then switch roles," Garp announced. "Tashigi, sword sheathed. Time to learn basic combinations from the Way of the Cycling Fist. Slayn, you'll use a training sword for basic Marine form instruction."
As they caught their breath, Andrew noticed Tashigi studying him with a thoughtful expression.
"Your style," she said finally. "It has potential, especially against multiple opponents. The way it builds momentum could be valuable in situations where I can't rely on my sword."
Coming from Tashigi, this was high praise indeed. Andrew inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"And your swordsmanship is exceptional," he returned honestly. "I've never faced someone with such precise control."
A hint of color touched Tashigi's cheeks at the compliment, but her response was professional. "Years of dedication to proper form. There are no shortcuts to mastery."
"Maybe not," Andrew agreed, "but there are different paths to the same destination. That's what I was trying to say about justice too."
Tashigi's expression tightened slightly, but before she could respond, Garp's voice boomed across the deck.
"Break's over! Positions!"
As they returned to the center of the training area, roles reversed, Andrew found himself reflecting on their exchange. Despite their fundamental disagreements, there was a foundation of mutual respect forming—each recognizing the other's dedication to their craft.
Whether that respect could eventually extend to their philosophical differences remained to be seen. But for now, as he began demonstrating the opening sequences of the Way of the Cycling Fist to an attentive Tashigi, Andrew allowed himself to hope that the rigid Marine might eventually see beyond black and white.
After all, personal growth was at the heart of every good story—both the one he'd read, and the one he was now living.
