For four consecutive nights, Doflamingo and Dragon met inside the Tree of Knowledge.
At first, there was nothing unusual about it.
But after several nights of secretly meeting in the library after dark, even they began to feel that the arrangement had become strangely awkward.
During those meetings, Doflamingo spoke at length about all kinds of political theories, social structures, and philosophical ideas.
Dragon listened with obvious interest and seemed to gain a great deal from their discussions.
Doflamingo did not believe his words would fundamentally reshape Dragon’s beliefs, however.
Dragon was not the sort of man who heard one inspiring speech and immediately devoted his life to it.
To him, Doflamingo’s ideas were no different from the philosophy recorded in the books around them.
They were lights illuminating possible paths.
The real answers could only be found by walking those paths himself.
On the fourth night, Dragon handed Doflamingo a notebook he had compiled over the past several days.
It did not contain the Dragon Claw Fist Doflamingo had secretly hoped to receive.
Dragon probably had not yet developed the technique into a complete martial arts system.
Even if he had, he would hardly hand over one of his most valuable skills so casually.
“You told me that you know only a few basic fighting techniques and have never received proper martial arts training.” Dragon watched as Doflamingo flipped through the notebook.
“So I organized a foundational training program suited to your current level.” “It isn’t anything advanced, but every exercise has been refined through generations of practical use.” “If you build a solid foundation, you’ll be able to transition into almost any combat style later.” Dragon paused.
“And if you are patient enough to keep refining those fundamentals, you may eventually develop a style of your own.” Doflamingo skimmed several pages before looking up.
“Thank you.” He could not fully understand everything at a glance, but Dragon did not seem like the sort of person who would deliberately mislead him.
A training method designed to strengthen his fundamentals was exactly what he needed.
Doflamingo suspected that the notebook might contain the essential foundation of the Marines’ hand-to-hand combat system.
“It was an equal exchange,” Dragon replied, taking no credit for it.
Then he added, “Haki was not part of our agreement, but since our meeting was a fortunate coincidence, I summarized a few important principles on the final pages.” “They may prove useful someday.” Professor Clover had promised to deliver the advanced Haki material in two days.
Doflamingo could compare Ohara’s information with Dragon’s notes.
Perhaps studying them together would give him a deeper understanding.
His eyes brightened.
“Fuffuffuffu… Then I owe you a favor.” Dragon waved dismissively and glanced toward the moonlight shining through the skylight.
“My leave is almost over.
I won’t be returning after tonight.” “If fate allows it, perhaps we’ll meet again somewhere on the seas.” “Next time, the drinks are on me,” Doflamingo replied.
As the words left his mouth, the skylight above them shifted slightly, opening a narrow gap.
A faint breeze stirred the pages of the notebook in Doflamingo’s hands.
By the time he looked up again, Dragon had vanished completely.
“The man’s abilities really may be connected to the wind,” Doflamingo murmured.
Now that he possessed useful knowledge for improving his strength, his interest in wandering through the library faded.
He returned to his hotel to study the notebook and rest.
Training would begin the following morning.
For some time afterward, Doflamingo stopped roaming around Ohara.
He and Vergo withdrew to the mountains behind the town, where they devoted themselves to intense training.
While Doflamingo trained in seclusion in the West Blue, a storm was beginning to gather elsewhere on the seas.
At Marine Headquarters in Marineford, Monkey D.
Garp strode away from the military harbor with a box of rice crackers in one hand.
A Marine coat bearing the word Justice hung loosely from his shoulders, and the insignia of a vice admiral rested upon them.
He shoveled crackers into his mouth without the slightest concern for his appearance.
A tall, lean man followed beside him.
It was Kuzan, who currently served as something resembling Garp’s protégé.
Calling him merely a subordinate was misleading, however.
The insignia on Kuzan’s shoulders already marked him as a rear admiral, placing him among the senior officers of Marine Headquarters.
Not far ahead, Vice Admiral Tsuru was walking with her own young companion, Gion.
Gion would never formally become an admiral, but she would eventually be considered a leading candidate for the position.
Her strength was exceptional, and she shared an extremely close relationship with Tsuru, whom she treated like an elder sister.
“Tsuru!” The moment Garp saw her, he shouted loudly across the harbor.
Tsuru’s steps paused for only an instant.
She neither stopped nor looked back.
Instead, she began walking faster.
Unfortunately, she had barely taken a few more steps before Garp caught up with his long strides.
“Tsuru!
I’m calling you!
Didn’t you hear me?” Realizing there was no escaping him, Tsuru slowed down.
“I heard you.” “Then why were you walking faster?” Garp demanded unhappily.
“Because I heard you.” Tsuru sighed.
“If you possessed even the slightest ability to read the room, you would understand that I was trying to avoid you.” “Why would you avoid me?” Garp asked in genuine confusion.
“Aren’t we friends?” “Because every time you involve me in something, trouble follows.” Behind them, Kuzan and Gion both laughed.
They knew that despite the constant bickering, Garp and Tsuru shared an exceptionally close bond.
They were comrades who had fought together for decades and trusted each other with their lives.
Garp was far too shameless to care about Tsuru’s complaint.
After stuffing another handful of rice crackers into his mouth, he asked, “Has your intelligence division found Roger yet?” “Everyone seems to be searching for Roger these days.” Tsuru rubbed her brow in frustration.
“What makes that man so irresistible?” “Who else is looking for him?” Garp asked curiously.
“You might know if you ever bothered reading the newspapers.” Tsuru’s expression turned serious.
“Shiki has been gathering information about Roger’s whereabouts from every corner of the world.” “According to our reports, he wants Roger to join forces with him.” “If that happens, the consequences could be disastrous.” “Our influence in the New World has weakened steadily over the past several years.” “If Roger and Shiki truly unite, they may become another Rocks.” Garp placed a hand on Tsuru’s shoulder.
“You don’t need to worry about that.” “Shiki is wasting his time.
Roger would never join him.” Tsuru glanced at him.
“How can you be so certain?” Garp brushed the crumbs from the corner of his mouth and grinned confidently.
“My fists gave me the answer.” “How many times do you think I’ve fought Roger?” Tsuru fell silent for a moment.
“I hope you’re right.” Garp did not continue asking about Roger.
Instead, he changed the subject.
“What plans does the intelligence staff have for Shiki and his fleet?” “We can’t simply allow him to establish himself as the undisputed ruler of the New World.” “The greatest difficulty in dealing with Shiki is his mobility,” Tsuru explained.
“Normally, the Marines’ greatest advantage is our manpower.” “But against an enemy who can move an entire fleet through the sky, we can’t bring that advantage to bear effectively.” Shiki was undeniably powerful.
But the seas contained several pirates who could rival him in personal combat.
Whitebeard, Roger, and Patrick Redfield were all monsters in their own right.
What made Shiki particularly troublesome was his Devil Fruit.
He called himself a pirate, yet he and his fleet spent most of their time flying above the sea.
For the Marines, pursuing him was an unending nightmare.