Chapter Text
MISSING
MONKEY D. SHANKS
Navy Intelligence Director, G-80
Residing: West Blue
Last seen: Marine Base G-80, 1 March
Appearance: Short red hair, red eyes, tan complexion, no facial hairPlease call your nearest Marine branch with any information.
G-80 had been in complete disarray for the past week over one issue: their leading intelligence officer had disappeared into thin air. After a volatile argument with his family, Monkey D. Shanks had stormed out of his home in G-80’s residential area. He hadn’t been seen by any of the Cameko snails, and his last public sighting was him staring at Dracule Mihawk’s wanted poster, put up on the base’s main bulletin board. His subordinates and colleagues were worried about him, spinning up countless morbid theories about what could’ve happened to him. The consensus was that he’d been captured by the Marine Hunter to interrogate, torture, and, eventually, kill.
Even so, all the scenarios they’d conjured up were nothing in comparison to the horrors that had been plaguing Dragon’s mind. Endlessly, visions of the horrible torture the Marine Hunter was likely bestowing upon his longtime target kept invading his consciousness. Garp had said it before—they didn’t know what Mihawk was capable of when he was truly enraged. Who knew what he was putting Shanks through right now? Was Shanks even still alive? Dragon couldn’t help but wonder: had he handled that stupid argument better, would his son be home right now, safe?
It wasn’t as though he didn’t understand why Shanks was so angry, either. He just wanted to know if they had purposely left his family to die. In actuality, Dragon had wanted to quit the Navy after the God Valley Incident, riddled with guilt over his failure to save the rest of Shanks’s family and intending to dedicate his life solely to giving Shanks the life he deserved (or as close to it as he could get), but Garp had insisted he stay. ‘A better chance of protecting that baby within the system than outside of it’, he’d reasoned back then.
Now, Dragon wasn’t so certain it’d been the right decision to listen to his father.
“Hey, enough speculating,” Dragon barked at the Marines near him in the cafeteria debating how the Marine Hunter was tormenting Shanks. Recognising him as Shanks’s adoptive father, the Marines shut up and even moved several tables away. Dragon had no doubt in his mind that they relocated just to continue their conversation without him eavesdropping. Eventually, Dragon couldn’t take it anymore and took his lunch home to finish. He hated that everyone there was talking about Shanks as if he were already dead.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Dragon, eating at the dining table at home, looked over his shoulder. Garp stood at the doorway with his own takeaway bento box. He shrugged and resumed eating as Garp settled down across the table from him. “I was sick of everyone talking about him.”
“Me, too,” Garp agreed. He unboxed his food and began to eat, while Dragon slowed to a stop before putting the plastic utensils down. Garp raised an eyebrow at him and asked, “You alright?”
“I should’ve quit,” Dragon muttered. “You told me to stay, and that Shanks would be safer with us than otherwise. I should’ve quit.”
“And then what? Go on the run with him? In case you haven’t realised it, the World Government wouldn’t be happy about a God Valley kid out and about!” Garp pointed out. “If he were a Marine who didn’t know a thing about the Incident—and a damn good Marine, at that—he would be valuable. Protected. Has he not been protected since he joined the Navy?”
“He has, but he wasn’t happy!” Dragon snapped. “I always thought he looked so distant, and now that everything’s out in the open, I finally realised why. He didn’t feel like he belonged because people like you and me kept lying to him—or, at least, keeping information from him that he would’ve wanted to know. All along, I thought it was trauma, but it was really an inability to be himself with us, because look at you! At us! We hid his history from him, and he turned into a completely different person. He’s portrayed himself as a different person to appease us, but he was never happy with himself.”
Garp frowned, setting his utensils down, too. He gave Dragon that condescending look he gave when he thought his son was being naive. “How long do you seriously think Shanks could’ve lasted out there with just you for protection? Do you remember how weak you were back then? Big league pirates and Holy Knights were clashing, and you weren’t even half their size, cowering as close as you could to the ground. Do you think you could’ve protected him? Answer me!”
Dragon bit his lip and looked down, simmering with rage. “No, but he could’ve been happier, even for a little bit.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Keeping him in the Navy was your best shot at keeping him safe,” Garp said, irritated. “He may not realise it now, but it’s true. Say you took him and ran away—”
“No! You know what?” Dragon interrupted, feeling angrier at his father than he’d ever been before. “You keep saying ‘you’ instead of ‘us’! ‘With just you for protection’. ‘Do you think you could’ve protected him’? ‘Say you took him’. What does that mean? If I had taken Shanks and left, you wouldn’t have come with us?”
Garp pursed his lips and folded his arms. “Of course not.”
“What?” Dragon gaped, so furious that he could only stare blankly at Garp. “How could—”
Garp began explaining himself, “Someone needs to stay to protect the good Marines that are still here—”
“What about your own son?” Dragon snapped. “The baby whose home we helped destroy?”
Garp closed his eyes, in that way that Dragon knew the argument was as good as over. “If you had up and left with Shanks, I would’ve left you be, but I became a Marine to protect people. You cannot expect me to leave just for two people.”
Pushing through the end, Dragon shouted, “We weren’t just any two people, though!”
“You make your own choices, Dragon,” Garp said. “You ultimately chose to stay. If you really wanted to leave, I couldn’t stop you. You can’t blame me for that.”
Before Dragon could respond, a knock on their front door interrupted them. Dragon stayed in place, still seething, but Garp got up to see who it was.
One of Shanks’s subordinates was there—Lara, if Dragon recalled correctly. She saluted Garp and said, “Vice Admiral Garp and Commander Dragon! We have a visitor from the Holy Land, demanding to speak to the entire base! Please be at the main square in five minutes! Thank you!”
Lara promptly left, likely to tell other Marines the announcement, and Garp turned back to Dragon. “You heard her.”
“What the hell is a Celestial Dragon doing here?” Dragon asked, feeling a strange pit at the bottom of his stomach. Did it have to do with Shanks’s disappearance? Did the Knights of God send someone to investigate the Marine Hunter? He was becoming quite a big deal, so Dragon wouldn’t be entirely surprised by such an extreme decision…
“Let’s check it out,” Garp muttered. “Then, if you still want to continue your tantrum, go ahead.”
𖥠
“I hope they grow up to be as bright as you.”
“This island won’t be around much longer.”
Shanks shot up in bed, dragging in ragged breaths as he tried to compose himself. He felt ill, but no bile was coming up his throat, so he stayed in bed and tried to level his breathing. Silently, he looked around the room, wanting to calm down by focusing on his surroundings. The run-down hut had a few desecrated paintings on display, some broken glass and ceramic furniture like vases or picture frames, and cracks crawling up the peeling walls. There was one bed and a couch, where Dracule Mihawk was sleeping. He had Yoru in his loose grip, her length taking up most of the couch—even partnered up with Shanks, he still had his guard up. Other than that, he looked to be in a fairly deep slumber.
Shanks sighed and ran a hand over his face. Never would the past him have believed that he would one day think of the Marine Hunter as his only friend. Not just that, but someone he’d be relying on for truth, safety, and justice.
He had the faintest vision of that red-haired baby and woman again, but now, he knew those were his mother and brother…
Shanks felt an indescribable emotion well up within him. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine his fingers lacing themselves between his brother’s—stubby, infant hands that weren’t all that dextrous. The sound of a woman laughing above them… A strange pressure swelled in Shanks’s chest, like someone pushing down on him with oppressive force. Shanks chewed his lower lip when he felt it begin to tremble, and then he could do little about stopping the tears.
“Fuck,” Shanks whispered to himself, trying to wipe them off on his sleeves. “Stop it.”
He got up and went to where he and Mihawk had stashed their food and water. Grabbing one of the water bottles, he chugged it down, and then he took one of the biscuit packs to eat, hoping it would make him feel better. He sat against the wall, fingers positioned to tear the packet open, but he ended up shaking as he couldn’t hold the sobs back. They came at him even stronger than the initial tears, and he cried against the wall.
“Director.” Shanks looked up with tear-blurred eyes at Mihawk, staring down at him. “Did something happen?”
“Just… Everything just hit me,” Shanks said. “My mom and brother. I’ve been seeing them in my dreams countless times, but I thought my brain made them up, because I wondered about my family a lot…”
“I apologise,” Mihawk said. He clearly wasn’t good at comforting people, as he’d mentioned before, but Shanks appreciated his effort.
Sniffing, Shanks asked, “What about your family?”
“They’re gone.”
“Gone?”
Mihawk looked away, as if uninterested in continuing this line of questioning. “They left.”
While he knew Mihawk didn’t seem like he wanted to talk more on the subject, Shanks figured it didn’t hurt to ask. “Why did they leave?”
“They were scared,” Mihawk answered, to Shanks’s surprise. “The local priest told them I was a demon. My eyes are anomalous, as you can see.”
Mihawk’s eyes—two peculiar shades of gold with a thin black ring separating them. The multi-toned irises made Mihawk’s pupils near pinpricks. Even when Mihawk was looking at someone neutrally, his gaze was off-putting enough to make one freeze in their tracks. The fact that Mihawk was such a well-trained killer probably didn’t help his case.
“I’m sorry about that,” Shanks sympathised. “Your eyes are really pretty, though.”
Mihawk’s mouth twitched like he was unconvinced, or perhaps surprised by the compliment, and he turned away to organise their supplies. “We should get a move on; we can’t stay here. This place will fall apart eventually; it’s only a matter of time. I’ll take you to Crocodile’s base.”
“Crocodile? As in the casino owner Sir Crocodile?” Shanks questioned, his mouth falling open. He’d never crossed paths with the pirate before, though he’d heard stories of him. He owned a casino in Arabasta, but that was the extent of Shanks’s knowledge of him.
Mihawk nodded, packing their things into bags. “He’s employed me for freelance assassinations for several years. It’s a good way for me to earn money. No, he is not my boss—just a broker for murder.”
Shanks watched Mihawk pack their things up and asked, “The first time we spoke in person, you implied someone was making you do all this. You said it was the same person making me do what I do.”
“The World Government,” Mihawk muttered, sliding Yoru into the crucifix-shaped sheath on the back of his jacket. “Its corruption forced my hand; I was sick of seeing them ruin the world. They destroyed your life, which forced you into the position you were in—serving them, because they ‘saved’ you. They made me act out like this, the same way they make you do things by way of orders to follow. No?”
Shanks couldn’t find it in him to argue back, now that he knew the truth. He understood more and more why Mihawk hated the Navy and World Government so much now. To a less extreme extent, he was beginning to understand why Mihawk was hunting Marines so fervently. It was undoubtedly an aggressive and violent way to go about it, but it was effective to some level.
“I guess you were right, after all,” Shanks admitted. Mihawk stood upright, carrying everything they had with them, and Shanks added quietly, “I never thought we’d be here together. I guess you’re just finding a good place to dump me before you get back to your mission.”
“Don’t presume to know what I’m going to do, Director,” Mihawk muttered. “I extended an invitation for you to join my mission because I believed you have a valuable skill set that would’ve been useful when aiding the right purpose. I assume that you’re still willing to partake… Unless, of course, you’ve mulled it over long enough and have decided to back out. It’s the only reason I hadn’t put you to work immediately. I thought you’d want more time to think everything over. In which case, I would ‘find a good place to dump you before I get back to my mission’.”
He could. Shanks could say that he didn’t want to do it, and Mihawk would find some remote village that owed him a favour—perhaps even the one he’d done that assassination job for—to take Shanks in. Shanks could live there, away from World Government control, and he’d just follow Mihawk’s attempts to destroy the organisation through news clippings. One day, he’d see the article that Mihawk had either succeeded, or that he’d been violently executed.
He didn’t want to.
“I told you I went into investigation because I wanted to get true justice for everyone,” Shanks said as Mihawk leaned against the wall, folding his arms as he listened. “That still stands, even if I’m not a Marine anymore. If that’s what you’re fighting for, then count me in. I don’t want them to do to others what they did to me.”
Mihawk smirked and pushed off the wall with his shoulder. “Good answer, Director. Let’s go.”
𖥠
G-80’s main square was buzzing with curiosity. Right at the bulletin board stood a cloaked figure. The only features of the person Dragon could make out were a shiny pair of black leather boots at least three inches high. He muttered under his breath, “Can’t see who it is from this far away.”
“Whoever it is, they’re strong,” Garp mumbled, folding his arms as he glowered suspiciously at the figure. He and Dragon were standing off to the side, not wanting to mix in with the excitable crowd of other Marines. Sakazuki was supposed to be off-base that day, but with a Celestial Dragon present, it looked like he’d made time to come down and stand guard. He stood close to the cloaked visitor with an unmoving frown.
The stranger turned to Sakazuki and asked something, and when Sakazuki nodded, they turned to the Marines and shouted, “Silence!”
Instantly, the whole square’s noise dissipated, and all heads turned to him. From the sound of the voice, the person was male. Once he was satisfied by the noise level, he said, “I don’t enjoy leaving home, much less mingle with lowlifes. You better heed my words well so I won’t have to waste time repeating them.”
Dragon stared in shock as the stranger lowered his hood, revealing a young-faced man who looked strikingly similar to the boy he’d raised for the past twenty-four years. Though his hair was longer, cascading over his collarbones, and his skin was paler, he was Shanks’s spitting image. His black and gold uniform was crisp, something this man clearly took great pride in maintaining. He could feel an incredible power emanating from him, but he resisted the urge to put distance between them.
Right then, the image of the two twin red-haired babies he held twenty-four years ago flashed through his mind, and his mouth went dry at the idea that this was the twin he thought had died.
The man looked around at all the Marines surrounding him, and then declared, “My name is Figarland Shamrock. I am a Knight of God, like my father—the commander.” Everyone fell silent to listen to his authoritative voice. “I am the elder twin brother of your missing Director.”
Instantly, a hushed murmur spread throughout the Marines, and though Dragon and Garp were shocked to hear it, they weren’t surprised. They’d always known Shanks’s twin brother had disappeared when Dragon lost him in the mess, attacked by a Knight of God. Shamrock must’ve been retrieved, and while Dragon was glad that the boy hadn’t died, he wasn’t so sure that this was considered a fate much better.
“‘Missing’,” Shamrock repeated with a sarcastic smirk before he reached into the small bag strapped around his person. He retrieved a rolled-up wanted poster and, as he unfurled it to reveal its print, said, “I just received the most recent bounty issue for Dracule Mihawk, and it answers where my brother’s whereabouts lie. He’s being hidden in plain sight.”
There, right behind a Mihawk attempting to be covert in public, was Shanks. He looked as unhappy as Mihawk and was dressed in civilian wear, but his short red hair was unmistakable. His face wasn’t clear enough to see if he was injured or not.
“As an aside…” Shamrock stared at the poster, and then pulled out Mihawk’s previous one featuring a bounty of one billion, nine hundred and eight-five million, five hundred thousand. He held it up next to the new one of two billion, and said, “There is a fourteen million, five hundred thousand difference between these. Is my brother really worth so little to you? A measly fourteen million?”
Fourteen million is considered measly? The average Marine wouldn’t warrant even a single Berry. Mihawk’s bounty had increased purely due to his growing confidence to launch larger, more impactful attacks on the Marines, and not for any specific Marine he’d murdered. Dragon fought for having such a huge increase in Mihawk’s bounty for Shanks, and he’d had to reduce Shanks to just “a security vulnerability, should the Marine Hunter torture critical information about the Navy and World Government out of him.” It’d made him feel horrible, even when Sakazuki had agreed with him and permitted the increase in Mihawk’s bounty. Dragon felt sick to his stomach.
“I will be taking this investigation into my own hands, since, evidently, my brother meant nothing to you useless people,” Shamrock said snidely. “I’d like to begin by speaking to his closest acquaintances.” He regarded a piece of paper he’d tucked behind one of the bounty posters before reading out, “The Monkey D. Family.”
𖥠
Shanks stared at his missing poster—designed similarly to a wanted poster, but the bounty, ’dead or alive’ text, and the little blurb warning that the criminal was dangerous were all replaced with brief information about Shanks. The photo they’d chosen for him was one where he grinned widely, donning his then-new coat on his first day as Director. He’d been so proud of his accomplishment, becoming the Navy’s youngest Intelligence Director yet. Dragon and Garp had taken him out to celebrate, treating him to all his favourite foods and watching him let loose at a karaoke bar, drunk off a good bottle of saké.
The memories felt distant, now. Ruined.
“That will make things difficult,” Mihawk muttered, looking at the poster from over Shanks’s shoulder.
“No reward money listed,” Shanks noted.
“Because the reward money was added to my bounty. They believe you were abducted by me,” Mihawk said before he showed Shanks his latest wanted poster. It must’ve been hot off the press, since Shanks hadn’t seen it until now. Behind Mihawk in the photo was Shanks in civilian clothing. His face was barely visible even with the high print quality, but the hair was distinct enough for anyone who knew Shanks to identify him. “We need to hide your hair and get you a new name to hide behind. If they find you, they’ll find me. How open are you to dyeing your hair?”
“Not open. That’s all I have left of my mother,” Shanks said, and Mihawk didn’t insist further.
“Fine. A wig?”
“I could do that,” Shanks agreed. “Or I could just tuck my hair under a hood or something.”
“Whatever is agreeable with you. I’ll leave it to your discretion. The cloak will do for now,” Mihawk said, losing interest in discussing hair concealment techniques. He’d lent Shanks his cloak for now, not feeling any particular need to hide his identity in Crocodile’s domain. “Are you ready?”
Shanks tucked the wanted poster away and looked up at the towering casino. It looked like a striped pyramid with little rounded windows lining the sides. A golden crocodile head sat atop the pyramid, and a signboard reading ‘Rain Dinners’ adorned the grand entrance. He asked, stepping closer to Mihawk as he adjusted his cloak hood, “Is his base really in there?”
“Underneath it, yes,” Mihawk answered, leading Shanks towards the entrance.
Shanks watched Mihawk—the way he walked up the front steps of the casino with familiarity. For a moment, Shanks pondered not just him, but everyone else with a life like Mihawk’s, where they lived off what they could get in the criminal underworld. “How did you even find places like this?”
“They would be the only places that would have me,” Mihawk said, and then they stepped through the entrance. Some security guards saw them, but they didn’t make a move on them since they recognised Mihawk. A young girl in a white coat and hat approached them, and Shanks paled when he recognised the features to match those of that girl with the eighty million bounty. “Miss All Sunday.”
“Follow me,” she said, giving Shanks a brief look-over. “Did you tell Mr 0 about your guest?”
“He should expect me not to give him updates,” Mihawk muttered, and she smiled as she led them to an elevator. Shanks stayed quiet, leaving the talking to someone who actually knew what he was doing. Was that really Nico Robin, or just a girl who looked like her? In the elevator, Mihawk said, “I’m quitting.”
“Really?” Miss All Sunday questioned, raising her eyebrows.
“I’m going to request a final job that pays well. The path I’m going down is one he won’t want to follow, but I still need funds for supplies,” Mihawk said.
Miss All Sunday nodded, and then leaned forward to look at Shanks. “Is it because of him?” Though Mihawk didn’t respond, she gave Shanks a small smile.
The elevator doors slid open to reveal a spacious office made of blue stone, with floor-to-ceiling windows showing off a large tank full of bananawani. Several huge cages forged from sea stone were lined up on the side. Miss All Sunday didn’t follow them out, but she said to Shanks as he exited the elevator, “It was nice meeting you in person, Director. And I’m sorry about what happened to you.”
The doors slid shut before Shanks could say anything, but he wanted to thank her for the kind sentiment. She must be Nico Robin. Shanks didn’t know too much about her, but he’d consistently been very much against Buster Calls, so he’d always felt some sympathy for her—not to mention the fact that an eighty million bounty was intense for a child.
“Crocodile, I want a last job,” Mihawk said, striding over him as if he’d been in this imposing office a thousand times. Shanks trailed behind, wary. “I’ll be out of your hair after that.”
“I’m guessing that’s your little Director,” Crocodile said, lighting up a cigar tucked between his teeth. Mihawk nodded over his shoulder, signalling Shanks to lower his hood. He did so, and Crocodile gave him an unimpressed once-over. “This man went through a lot of trouble to get all that proof for you.”
“I imagine…” Shanks said. He knew how hard the World Government worked to keep details of the Incident a secret, so it couldn’t have been easy to find it. If that girl really was Nico Robin, then she’d hailed from the country of archaeologists, so Shanks wouldn’t be surprised if he’d requested her help to find said proof.
“I told him I didn’t want him near my organisation if he got too deep into this Marine Hunter thing. As you can guess, the publicity isn’t good for a covert operation like mine,” Crocodile said wryly. He leafed through a stack of folders before tossing one at Mihawk. “Highest paying one I have. Three million Berry.”
Mihawk raised an eyebrow as he opened the folder. Shanks came closer, trying to read it from behind him as Mihawk muttered, “That’s higher than most pirates’ bounties.”
“That’s because it’s for a Knight of God,” Crocodile said. “Anonymous client.”
When Mihawk and Shanks saw the target’s photo, their eyes widened in shock—a man who looked identical to Shanks, named Figarland Shamrock.
𖥠
Dragon and Garp watched warily from the doorway as Shamrock walked through their home, his heels clicking on the hardwood floor. He stopped to look at each photograph on the wall that had Shanks in it, and he stared at the one they’d taken during a fishing trip. Shanks’s proud grin stared right back as he showed off the huge fish he’d caught.
“He was ten,” Shamrock murmured.
“How did you guess that?” Garp questioned, walking in to see the photo Shamrock was looking at. Dragon followed close behind, wondering what kind of questions he intended to ask them.
“That’s how I looked when I was that age,” Shamrock answered. He leaned in to get a better look at the photo. “What a colossal fish.”
“Biggest catch of the day,” Garp said gruffly. He clearly wasn’t happy about the visitor. “We were proud of our kid.”
Shamrock’s nose twitched as if holding himself back, and he ultimately said, “I think it’s disgusting.”
Dragon piped up from beside Garp, “The fish?”
Shamrock’s gaze slid from Garp to Dragon, and he hated the chill that went down his spine. The man was younger and shorter than him, but he had an air about him that warned people against challenging him. His eyes narrowed into slits, repulsed at the two men standing before him. “The way you slapped your repugnant little name over ours.”
Dragon and Garp’s eyes widened at the sudden rudeness, but then Dragon reminded himself that he was a Celestial Dragon. He’d never heard of one who was polite, after all, but it was shocking because this one wore Shanks’s face. Dragon had only ever associated his features with nothing but kindness and respect. Garp’s face twisted into irritation as he shot back, “The hell did you just say? We took him in because he had nobody left.”
“Oh? You didn’t steal him?” Shamrock replied, strikingly calm in the face of Garp’s annoyance reaching a boiling point. “Did Father gift him to you?”
Garp gritted his teeth, unfortunately unable to answer the question. He recalled when Dragon stole the infants, claiming that their mother had asked him to do so, but he hadn’t known that the father was a Knight of God. He didn’t want to put his son in Shamrock’s line of fire, so he decided to dodge the question by presenting a new one. “If you knew he was here, why did it take you so long to come for him?”
“We didn’t know he was here,” Shamrock muttered, glancing at a photograph of a five-year-old Shanks beaming widely, holding up a horrendous cupcake he’d helped decorate. “We believed Shanks was dead. As you know, the Navy and World Government’s Intelligence agents’ identities are highly restricted information, shared only if one would be making contact with the personnel. When G-80 printed his photo and name, we realised he was alive all along, holed up in this sad little hut with you.” He turned his cold gaze towards them, and Dragon hated seeing Shanks’s eyes look so dead inside. “My father was going to come here and punish you himself, but I offered to look for him in his place. Consider that a mercy.”
Shamrock began pulling photographs of Shanks off the walls, piling them into a stack in one hand. Dragon baulked and asked, “What are you doing with them?”
“He’s my brother. These photos are mine, so I’m taking them. You stole him from us; you don’t get to keep these pictures of him,” Shamrock said. Though there was no hint of emotion in his voice or expression, Dragon could feel rage radiating off him. Still, Dragon stepped forward, ready to fight to keep the pictures of his adoptive son, but Shamrock said without looking at him, “Don’t be stupid.”
“Stupid?” Dragon shot back. “We raised him! We took those pictures; they’re ours!”
“Any more of this insolence and your base will pay,” Shamrock said. Once he’d compiled all the framed photographs of Shanks, he began walking towards them to get to the door. He stopped between them and said quietly, “Know your place, lowlife. He doesn’t belong with you. He couldn’t possibly have been happy here.” Shamrock passed them, but stopped again at the doorway to leave a final warning. “If you locate my brother before I do and hide it from me…”
He didn’t finish his warning, but even the lack of one said a million words. Dragon didn’t turn around, listening until the sound of Shamrock’s heels faded out of earshot. Once he was gone, Dragon turned to Garp and snapped, “You’re a much higher rank than I am! You could’ve taken him on and gotten less punishment! Why didn’t you?”
“You heard him—the whole base would pay for it,” Garp muttered, moving to close the door. Dragon stopped him, feeling angrier than he’d ever been at his father.
“No, don’t close it. I’m just about to leave,” Dragon said, storming past him.
Garp shouted, “And go where?”
“Far away from you! I’m done!”