The salt-laced air, a constant companion for what felt like an eternity at sea, finally yielded to the gentler, earthier scent of land. Foosha Village. It unfurled before my eyes, a fellow Vice Admiral's perspective taking in the familiar simplicity of a rural outpost – rustic wooden houses clustered together, a scattering of docks, and the lazy turning of windmills against the clear East Blue sky. Looming in the background, the verdant bulk of Mt. Colubo watched over the peaceful scene.
He won't say it outright, but I know why I'm here. Garp wants me to… guide his grandsons. Gently steer them away from any… undesirable paths. He'd practically shoved me onto the dock, a gruff farewell that held a strange undercurrent of… expectation?… leaving his formidable division bobbing patiently offshore. He'd just clapped me on the shoulder, a force I'd grown accustomed to over the years, and grunted, "Go on now, Lazarus! Don't just stand there gawking!"
A short, wiry man with spectacles perched precariously on his nose and a noticeable cleft chin approached us, his posture stiff and his expression decidedly humorless. This had to be Major Whoop Slap. He looked every bit the practical village elder, the kind who likely kept meticulous records of everything and frowned upon any deviation from the norm. His irascible nature seemed to simmer just beneath the surface. "Garp, welcome to Foosha Village," he said, his voice tight with what sounded like a mixture of respect and thinly veiled annoyance.
Mentor clapped the Major on the back with a force that made the poor man stumble, his spectacles nearly flying off his face. "Whoop Slap, you old dog! Still keeping this sleepy little place in order, eh?"
Whoop Slap visibly winced, adjusting his glasses with a precise, almost irritated gesture. "Trying my best, Garp. Though it's not always easy. That boy of yours…" His gaze flickered towards me, a fellow officer, his bespectacled eyes conveying a silent, somewhat suspicious query.
"This here's Lazarus," Mentor announced, as if presenting a particularly interesting tactical maneuver. "He'll be… around for a bit."
Around for a bit. A deliberate vagueness, no doubt. He wants me to observe, to subtly influence.
"Come on, Lazarus!" Mentor boomed, already striding towards a quaint-looking building with a sign creaking in the gentle breeze: 'Partys Bar'. "Let's wet our whistles!"
Inside, the air hung thick with the mingled scents of stale sake and something frying, and the boisterous laughter of the local patrons mixed with the comforting clinking of glasses. Mentor, seemingly immune to the cramped space, immediately clapped Whoop Slap on the shoulder again and bellowed, "Sake for everyone, Whoop Slap! My treat!"
Whoop Slap sighed, a deep, weary sound that resonated with the countless bureaucratic battles I myself had fought. He pinched the bridge of his nose above his spectacles, his expression bordering on pained. "Garp, with all due respect…"
"Nonsense!" Mentor roared, already pulling up a stool at the counter. "A little celebration is in order!" He turned to me, a wide, toothy grin splitting his weathered face. "Welcome to the East Blue, Lazarus!"
I managed a weak smile and perched on the stool next to him. Whoop Slap, after a brief, exasperated glance towards the heavens, signaled the barkeep with a curt nod.
Mentor immediately launched into a loud and animated conversation with Whoop Slap. "So, how's that grandson of mine doing, eh? Still causing you trouble, I bet! And tell me, Whoop Slap, is that little menace still going on about being a pirate?"
Whoop Slap's jaw tightened noticeably. "Trouble is… well, as I was saying, we mostly hear about it secondhand. He spends most of his time up in the mountains, with Ace and that… Dadan and her bandits." There was a clear note of disapproval in his voice. "And yes, Garp, unfortunately, the rumors persist. He still spouts that nonsense about wanting to be the King of the Pirates."
"Ha! I knew it!" Mentor roared, slapping the counter with a force that made the mugs jump. "That little rascal! Got my spirit, that one!"
A troublesome spirit, one that needs… redirection. That's my task here.
As the evening deepened, and the sake flowed freely, my initial confusion began to give way to a more focused understanding. This sleepy village, this troublesome grandson living separate from it with his outlandish dream, and the clearly exasperated but duty-bound Major Whoop Slap… they were all pieces of a puzzle Mentor had laid out for me. A puzzle where I was meant to be the guiding hand, the subtle influence that would steer these young lives towards the right course. Pirate King? Preposterous. I took another slow sip of my drink, the sweetness doing little to mask the weight of the unspoken mission: I am here, Mentor, to ensure your grandsons embrace the path of righteousness, even if they don't yet know it.
The next morning, the boisterous energy of the previous night had dissipated, leaving a quiet hum over Foosha Village. Mentor, however, seemed as energetic as ever. He clapped me on the back, his usual forceful greeting, and announced, "Alright, Lazarus! Time for a change of scenery. We're heading up to see those brats."
I followed him out of the bar, the morning sun already beginning to warm the dusty village streets. Whoop Slap stood near the entrance, looking even more harried than the night before. "Garp," he began, his voice laced with concern, "are you sure about this? Dadan and her… methods…"
Mentor waved a dismissive hand. "Nonsense, Whoop Slap! They're tough, I'll give them that, but they're looking after the boys. Besides," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, though it was still loud enough for half the street to hear, "Lazarus here is coming along. A little… marine influence might do them some good."
Whoop Slap's spectacles nearly slid off his nose again as he stared at me, a mixture of apprehension and resignation in his eyes. He simply sighed and shook his head. "Just… try not to break anything, Garp."
The path leading towards Mt. Colubo was a winding track, gradually ascending through lush greenery. The air grew cooler and carried the scent of pine and damp earth, a stark contrast to the salty tang of the sea. Mentor set a brisk pace, his large frame surprisingly agile for his age. I followed, my mind still trying to piece together the exact nature of my mission.
After walking for a good while, the sounds of the village faded behind us, replaced by the chirping of unseen birds and the rustling of leaves. It was then, as we rounded a bend in the path, that Mentor finally spoke of his true intentions, laying out the full scope of my assignment.
"Lazarus," he began, his usual booming voice slightly softened, "I brought you here for a reason. A very specific reason that will require your… extended presence."
I nodded, waiting for him to elaborate on the duration of this unexpected assignment.
"You know about the orphanage you grew up in, right?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.
"Of course, sir," I replied, a flicker of warmth touching a corner of my usually stoic demeanor. The orphanage by the sea had been my first real home.
"And you know how all the children there… how they all looked up to you?"
A faint blush touched my cheeks. It was true. For reasons I never fully understood, the younger children had always been drawn to me, mimicking my posture, repeating my words, their eyes shining with admiration.
Mentor continued, his voice taking on a more earnest tone. "They all wanted to be marines, Lazarus. Every single one of them. They saw you, a boy from the same place, striving for justice, for a better world. You became their hero, their inspiration."
My brow furrowed slightly. I hadn't thought of it in such terms before. I had simply done what I believed was right, what I was trained to do.
"My grandsons…" Mentor's voice held a hint of frustration and he gestured vaguely upwards, towards the unseen peak of Mt. Colubo, "that Luffy… he's obsessed with pirates. Pirates, Lazarus! Can you believe it?"
He stopped walking, turning to face me, his expression a mixture of exasperation and a deep, underlying worry. "I've tried everything! Fists of love, lectures… nothing gets through that thick skull of his. And Ace… he's also want be pirate, ahh".
He sighed, running a hand through his unruly white hair. "The worst part about Luffy's… fascination… is the reason behind it." Mentor's gaze hardened slightly. "It's that blasted Red-Haired Shanks. That good-for-nothing pirate captain has filled my grandson's head with all sorts of ridiculous notions about freedom and adventure on the seas."
A low growl rumbled in Mentor's chest. "That pirate even cost him an arm! And yet, Luffy still idolizes him! He wants to be just like him, a carefree, lawless… pirate!"
He turned to me, his eyes pleading. "I see the way those orphanage kids looked at you, Lazarus. The respect, the admiration. You showed them a path, a noble path. And that's why I brought you here… and why I need you to stay here."
My eyes widened slightly as the full weight of his request settled upon me.
"I want you to live here, Lazarus," Mentor stated, his gaze unwavering. "For six months. That's how long I reckon it'll take. Six months to be a constant presence in their lives. Six months to show them what a real hero looks like. Six months to counteract the poisonous influence of that Red-Haired pirate and that ridiculous dream of becoming King of the Pirates."
He continued, his voice filled with conviction. "You have a way with young ones, Lazarus. I saw it myself. Make them see the honor, the strength, the purpose of being a marine. Make them want to be great marines when they grow up, just like you. This is your mission now, Lazarus. For the next six months, Foosha Village and the slopes of Mt. Colubo are your battlefield."
The weight of his assignment settled upon me. Six months. It was a significant amount of time, a temporary detachment from the familiar structure of the Marine Corps. But the urgency and sincerity in Mentor's voice were undeniable. He truly believed I could make a difference.
"I understand, sir," I said, my voice firm despite the unexpected duration of my stay. "For six months, I will do everything in my power to guide them towards the path of becoming great marines."
Mentor clapped me on the shoulder again, this time the force carrying a different weight – one of profound hope and expectation. "I know you will, Lazarus. I know you will. Now, let's go meet those rascals."
We continued our ascent, the reality of my six-month mission settling in. The lush greenery of Mt. Colubo now felt like my temporary home, and the two unruly grandsons awaiting us at the top, my primary objective. Countering the allure of piracy, especially the influence of this "Red-Haired Shanks," and instilling a desire for the disciplined life of a marine in their young hearts… it was a daunting task, but one I was now committed to for the foreseeable future.