1: Chapter 01: My Son Is Garp?!
1: Chapter 01: My Son Is Garp?!
“It hurts so much.” His head felt like it was splitting open, pain coursing through every part of it.
And moving made it even worse.
Jiro stopped any self-destructive actions, and forced his eyes open, taking in everything around him.
A strange thatched hut—simple, dilapidated.
The smell of decay filled the air, choking Jiro into a coughing fit.
His cheeks turned bright red as he struggled to catch his breath.
Just then, a small hand reached out from the side and firmly patted Jiro’s back.
The discomfort subsided slightly.
Now feeling a bit better, Jiro turned his head in confusion, and a small child came into view—thin, exhausted, with wide eyes staring directly at him.
Simple and Honest.
And a bit dull-looking.
Jiro strained to recall anything about his new body or the child.
No memories surfaced.
But he somehow knew he had transmigrated—that too without any memories of this new self.
He was a stranger to himself and a stranger to this world.
Whose child is this?
Did he wander into the wrong place?
Just as Jiro was about to ask, the child spoke first: “Dad, you’re finally awake?
If you didn’t wake up, I was going to have to bury you.” Listen to that Is this how a son talks to his father?
Ungrateful brat.
Wait, what did he just call me?
Father?
I’m his father?
He’s my son?
I have a son now?!
Jiro’s mind went blank.
He couldn’t process this reality for a moment.
He was a single youth—how could he possibly have a wife and child?
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember anything.
Enduring the pain, Jiro asked, “Hey, kid, some things can be done recklessly, but words shouldn’t be said carelessly.
Did you just say I’m your dad?” The child nodded, his large eyes fixed on Jiro.
He looks even more dumb now.
It seemed his son might not be very bright.
If not for the possibility of him being his son, Jiro would’ve labeled him as “mentally challenged.” The child suddenly slapped Jiro on the back again, hard.
Jiro almost coughed up blood, then glared at the child in anger.
The child wasn’t intimidated, stubbornly staring back at Jiro: “Old man, I am your son.
Don’t you recognize me anymore?” “It’s me, your obedient son.
Look at me again—do you recognize me now?” Jiro shook his head.
No, I don’t have an ungrateful brat like you.
Knowing I just woke up, you still gave me two slaps—are you trying to send me back into a coma?
And what kind of son thinks about burying his father?
We must not be biologically related!
— Fifteen minutes later.
Jiro finally accepted reality.
He, Jiro, was now a middle-aged man.
His chin was covered in stubble, and his hair was a mess.
Looking at himself in the mirror, Jiro couldn’t handle it.
He had transmigrated into a disheveled middle-aged man.
A penniless drunkard.
Apparently, he had spent last night drinking heavily.
And on the way back, he fell somewhere, was discovered by his son and dragged home.
The back of his head still hurt—several lumps had formed there.
Jiro couldn’t help but imagine a scene where his son dragged him by the legs, letting his head bump against the ground with each step.
“Stop thinking about it.” Thinking about it only made it hurt more.
Right now, he was more concerned about his wife’s whereabouts.
If he had a son, surely he had a wife too.
As he asked that, the boy’s eyes dimmed, sadness flashing in them.
He said sorrowfully, “Mother passed away giving birth to me.
She died from complications.
Afterward, you started drinking heavily and were never sober.” In his memories, he had never seen his mother.
His father had “raised” him single-handedly.
And from others, he had pieced together some stories about his mother.
It was said that his mother was gentle and beautiful—a great lady.
And his father used to work hard, never drank excessively, only occasionally indulging in a couple of drinks.
Life at home wasn’t too bad.
Although they were poor, things were improving.
With three to five years of hard work, they might be able to move to the town and leave this godforsaken place.
As their house was surrounded by mountains on all sides—a quiet, isolated place.
So isolated that even if you dropped dead, no one would know.
“I’ve been drinking heavily all this time?” Jiro asked.
The kid nodded.
“And I haven’t been taking care of you?” The kid nodded again.
“Then how have you managed to survive?” The boy hesitated before quickly raising his head, blinking as he said, “Aunties from the village helped look after me, and I found food for myself.” Then came the boy’s aggrieved gaze.
He had to feed himself and also support his drunken father.
If he ever had to write an essay, the title would definitely be: “My Alcoholic Father.” Every day, this old man was either drinking or on the way to drink.
Fortunately, even though Jiro drank, he didn’t become violent or caused a scene.
Cough, cough!
The fact that the boy was alive today wasn’t easy—his resilience must be remarkable.
Jiro couldn’t help but feel sorry for his son.
At six or seven years old, he had to learn how to take care of himself.
Kids in the countryside sure grew up fast.
Half an hour passed as Jiro pondered.
He wondered what kind of world this was.
His son, with his limited knowledge, couldn’t offer much insight.
So now the question was, how would he survive here?
Starting in a thatched hut, with nothing to his name, and surrounded by mountains.
Jiro struggled to step out of the house.
Looking up, he was greeted by—well—more mountains.
The air carried the salty tang of the sea, refreshing yet strange.
“Am I on an island?” For now, he couldn’t confirm it for sure.
But once his body recovered, he’d explore.
Before long, his son came over.
“Dad, time to eat.” A good son, looking after his father.
Jiro thought to himself.
The meal wasn’t much and didn’t taste great, but Jiro was moved to tears.
“You’ve worked hard,” he said.
His son looked up and gave a silly grin.
And Jiro became even more convinced: My son’s a bit dull.
As they ate, it suddenly occurred to Jiro—he didn’t even know his son’s name.
“Son, what’s your name?” At that, the boy looked at him as if he’d seen a ghost.
If he hadn’t watched his father wake up with his own eyes, he’d suspect this man wasn’t his real father but an impostor.
“Old man, don’t scare me.
I’m your son, Garp—Monkey D.
Garp!” “You named me yourself—have you forgotten?” His son—Garp—stood up in shock.
The food had lost its taste; he no longer had an appetite.
Jiro’s behavior was too strange.
Since waking up, he’d been acting weird.
And now, after hearing his son’s name, he seemed almost possessed-frozen.
Muttering things like, “My son is Garp,” “I’m Garp’s father,” and other nonsensical phrases.
“Dad?
Dad?” Garp worried his father had lost his mind, quickly nudged him, but Jiro didn’t respond.
So Garp stood up and gave his father a slap.
Smack!
It was a hard one.
The food stuck in Jiro’s throat flew out, and he almost fell to the ground.
Don’t be fooled by the boy’s small frame—he was surprisingly strong.
Jiro turned his head to look at him.
Seeing this, Garp let out a sigh of relief.
“Old man, you’ve finally come to your senses.
You scared me to death.” Though his back throbbed faintly in pain, Jiro didn’t get angry at Garp.
His obedient son had once again resorted to hitting his father.
It was simply outrageous.
Was there no justice left in the world?
Then suddenly— [Ding!] [The Care and Love System is delighted to serve you.
To nurture a new generation of outstanding youth, the Care and Love System will give its all.] [Let us spread love to every corner and fill this world with compassion!] *** [T/N: As it is indicated in the synopsis, this will be an AU, so character ages and locations will be different from Canon and some other things too.]