He slept for three full days.
On the morning of the fourth day, KING awoke to the gentle scent of sea air drifting through an open window.
For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming.
He was seated on a finely crafted calfskin sofa — firm yet soft, the kind that seemed to cradle the body without swallowing it whole.
Above him stretched a mahogany ceiling carved with marine emblems, while a crystal chandelier scattered sunlight into shimmering prisms across the room.
KING slowly pushed himself upright.
His surroundings came into focus.
This was an office.
But not the kind filled with sweat, tobacco smoke, and dented filing cabinets.
The room was enormous — easily one hundred square meters.
A thick West Sea wool carpet silenced every movement underfoot.
Opposite him stood a reinforced panoramic window.
Beyond it—
Marineford's crescent harbor unfolded like a living painting.
Marines drilled in perfect formation across the plaza below.
Warships cut through the blue water, leaving white wakes that stretched toward the horizon.
"…Where am I?"
KING rubbed his stiff cheek and looked down at the massive desk before him.
A seal rested upon it.
Pure gold.
Heavy.
Official.
Engraved on its base:
[Marine Headquarters — Chief of Logistics: KING]
Electric shock shot up his spine.
"I… I made it?"
His fingers trembled as he traced the cool metal.
"Chief of Logistics… no New World… no Yonko… no Admirals trying to kill me…"
"All I have to do is stamp papers and drink tea…"
Isn't this retirement life?
Low risk.
High salary.
Absolute safety.
Even if the world burns, as long as Marineford stands, he can coast forever.
"System… you finally did something right."
KING leaned back, placed his feet on the expensive desk, picked up the prepared tea, and took a long satisfied sip.
This.
This is life.
Then he froze.
If this is logistics…
why is the view this good?
Logistics offices are supposed to be near storage depots… supply routes… lower levels…
This height…
Slowly, stiffly, he turned his head toward the corridor.
Through the open doorway he saw the brass plates mounted on the walls.
Left:
Fleet Admiral's Office
Right:
Vice Admiral Garp
The smile drained from his face.
Thud.
The golden seal slipped from his hand.
He sat between Sengoku and Garp.
Not in a quiet corner.
But at the epicenter of Marine Headquarters.
(…It's over.)
The Door Explodes
BANG—!!!
The door to the right flew inward.
Splinters scattered.
Monkey D. Garp's laughing face burst into view.
"Hahaha! King! Up already?! Time for morning exercise!"
Morning exercise?
Before KING could react, Garp strode in, seized him by the collar, and yanked him off the sofa like a sack of rice.
"No—NO!!"
"I'm a desk worker!!"
KING clawed at the doorframe, leaving white grooves in the hardwood.
"What desk worker? Once you're next door to me, you're my sparring partner!"
Garp picked his nose casually.
"Sengoku wants you to master Haki quickly. You're a Vice Admiral now!"
"I'm not going! I have documents to approve! The logistics department needs me!"
"You can stamp later. Training first!"
With casual brute force, Garp peeled him off the doorframe and dragged him down the corridor.
"Fleet Admiral Sengoku! Save me!!"
At the far end, the door to Sengoku's office opened slightly.
He adjusted his glasses, glanced at the claw marks gouged into the frame, and calmly told the messenger:
"Order reinforced doorframes."
"Also triple the soundproofing in Vice Admiral King's office."
"…I have paperwork to finish."
Marineford — Underground Training Chamber
Third basement level.
A restricted training hall carved from dense volcanic stone.
The walls were pitted with old fist impacts and blast scars — relics from decades of high-level combat drills.
No windows.
No surveillance.
Once sealed, nothing escaped.
Garp's "morning exercise" meant one thing:
combat conditioning.
He removed his coat and tossed it aside.
His forearms flexed like coiled iron cables.
Black Armament Haki flowed over his fists — not mere hardening, but dense compression that absorbed light.
"Ready?"
KING swallowed.
He never got to answer.
WHUMP.
A fist drove into his abdomen.
His body folded and launched backward.
(I'm going to die!)
System Response
[WARNING: Severe Armament Haki impact]
[Damage detected: 5%]
[Host under extreme stress — AFK Combat Adaptation activated]
[Armament Haki +500 — Beginner level]
[Observation Haki +500 — Beginner level]
"Get up!" Garp barked, already stepping in.
"Only near death does Haki bloom fastest! You felt it, didn't you?!"
Another punch descended.
Instinct moved before thought.
A faint black sheen flickered across KING's forearm.
"Oh?"
Garp's punch struck.
KING blocked.
Barely.
A thin layer of hardening absorbed part of the blow.
Garp grinned.
"See? Told you!"
"Again!"
That's system points, you old demon!!
KING screamed internally.
But his body moved.
Shockwaves
Boom!
The impact rattled the hanging lights.
KING's boots carved twin trenches across the stone floor.
Bone creaked.
He held.
Garp stopped, eyes gleaming.
"Two punches and you're already coating an arm?"
He smiled wider.
"Good. I won't hold back."
"WAIT—"
"Iron Fist!"
One-Sided Massacre
For the next thirty minutes:
It was annihilation.
And evolution.
From instant collapse…
to sensing trajectories…
to hardening just before impact…
to surviving multiple blows.
Each strike forged him.
Like raw iron hammered into shape.
Two hours later—
"That's enough for today's warm-up," Garp said casually.
"We'll continue tomorrow."
…tomorrow?
KING's vision swam.
He nearly collapsed.
Garp reached the door, then paused.
"Oh, right."
He turned with a bright grin and gave a thumbs-up.
"You're tough. That's good."
"Sakazuki's been wanting a proper sparring partner."
"…not a punching bag."
"He hates weaklings."
He left.
The door shut.
Silence returned.
KING stared into the dim training hall.
Akainu?
The Admiral whose punches leave magma craters?
He suddenly felt letting Garp kill him earlier would have been the kinder option.