A week passed in the blink of an eye.
The events surrounding the Leviathan Island Colosseum Tournament began to quietly brew.
Inside a modest and somewhat disorganized newspaper office, Dale stared wide-eyed at the freshly printed draft of the next day's report in his hands.
"This style of writing is just... I can't believe the chief actually approved this…"
Adjusting his thick black-framed glasses out of habit, Dale's voice was full of disbelief.
When the Dada was tricked—no, recruited—into the World Economy Newspaper on Twin Island, it was easy to predict the rising success Dada would have as a journalist.
But even Dale, a veteran reporter, hadn't expected Dada to charge down the path of journalism like a lightning bolt, leaving sparks and fireworks in his wake—and without slowing down for a moment.
Not only had Dada's serialized column, The Path to Survival, gained immense popularity under the pen name Dede the Turkey, but now, even such a sycophantic draft of a report had been greenlit by the chief.
It spoke volumes about how highly the chief valued Dada.
"This is just absurd…"
Having reasoned through it, Dale still couldn't accept it.
Clutching the freshly printed draft, he navigated the chaotic and disorderly pathways to the office where Dada resided.
He knocked on the door as a formality before pushing it open.
The first thing to catch his eye was a massive photograph pinned to the opposite wall.
The photograph depicted Maude standing amidst a pile of corpses, his hand gripping the blood-soaked Chidori, his gaze cold and piercing as he looked back over his shoulder.
In the bottom right corner of the photo, several words were handwritten by Dada himself: "Eternal God."
"Hiss—!"
Seeing the photograph, Dale couldn't help but take a sharp breath.
"Oh, it's you, Dale."
Dada walked out of the washroom, looking relaxed and refreshed.
"So, what do you think? Impressive, right!?"
Dada's eyes lit up with excitement when he saw Dale staring at the photo on the wall.
Dale didn't want to engage with that topic. Instead, he silently walked to the desk, placing the freshly faxed draft from headquarters onto it.
"Dada, your draft was approved by the chief."
"Oh!"
Dada's eyes sparkled as he strode over, picked up the draft, and grinned. "As expected of the chief—he has an eye for talent."
"…"
Dale's face twitched. Sighing, he said, "I can understand your admiration for Maude, but seriously, Dada… in a single 22-word paragraph, you managed to use 20 words of unrestrained praise!"
"And what's the problem with that?"
Dada looked at Dale, confused.
Dale frowned. "It's a big problem. You must understand that a page has limited space. A 20-word string of praise can easily be condensed into four words. Yet your report is filled with paragraphs like this!"
"Dale."
Dada reached out and patted Dale on the shoulder, speaking with the air of a mentor. "That's where you don't get it. As long as the sentences aren't repetitive and the flow is smooth, more words… are king."
[TL/N: Tsk. This is how most chinese authors wrote. Filling up "water" on every chapter just to increase the word count when a paragraph could have been written in just one sentence.]
Dale was left stunned by Dada's logic.
Dada retracted his hand, continuing seriously, "And since the chief approved it, it proves my approach is correct."
"???"
Dale was utterly dumbfounded.
For some reason, he couldn't come up with a rebuttal.
The next day.
Thanks to the tireless efforts of the News Coo, the freshly printed newspapers spread across the world.
Marine Headquarters, Marineford.
"Bwahaha!"
A hearty laugh echoed from within a traditional Japanese-style building.
Crunch.
The sound of biting into a rice cracker punctuated the laughter.
Inside the office, Garp sat on the sofa with his legs crossed, holding a newspaper in one hand and a half-eaten rice cracker in the other.
On the sofa opposite him sat Vice Admiral Tsuru, her expression as serene as ever.
Garp tossed the remainder of the cracker into his mouth, then casually grabbed another from the tray. Grinning, he said, "This article is hilarious. Don't tell me Maude paid someone to write it?"
"Sigh…"
Watching Garp's carefree demeanor, Tsuru let out a soft sigh and extended her hand toward him.
Garp, misunderstanding her gesture, placed a rice cracker in her palm.
"…"
Tsuru stared at the cracker in her hand and calmly reminded him, "The newspaper."
"Oh, I thought you wanted a cracker."
Garp chuckled, took the cracker back, and handed her the newspaper instead.
Tsuru took the newspaper and silently read the report.
The entire front page was filled with exaggerated praise for Maude.
While the report didn't shy away from mentioning Maude's assassination of the Ahab Kingdom's king, those facts felt overshadowed by the overwhelming adulation.
What stood out most was how the report made a point of highlighting how Maude had injured Garp in the Battle of Mad Hat Town.
Although it was merely a minor scratch, the article emphasized the injury, as if deliberately using Garp as a foil to glorify Maude.
From a neutral perspective, the article seemed to diminish the Marines while elevating Maude and his crew.
Yet the very subject of this diminishment—Garp—sat here laughing without a care.
Lowering the newspaper, Tsuru remarked calmly, "It's amazing you can laugh about this. Sengoku is probably pulling his hair out by now."
"Bwahaha."
Garp remained utterly unconcerned, thinking, Well, that's Sengoku's headache, not mine.
Seeing through Garp's thoughts, Tsuru placed her hand over Maude's photograph in the newspaper and said, "If the Maude Pirates are left unchecked…"
Crunch.
The sound of Garp biting into another rice cracker interrupted her train of thought.
Tsuru shook her head, sighing in mild exasperation, before continuing, "I also came to discuss something else—Maude's clash with Gion."
"Oh?"
Garp looked up, intrigued.
Tsuru took a photograph from her pocket and placed it before Garp.
Glancing at it, Garp's brows furrowed.
The photo showed a woman holding a single-handed axe, her eyes slightly open as she looked off into the distance.
"This woman…"
Garp picked up the photo for a closer look, a flicker of familiarity crossing his face.
"Who does she remind you of?" Tsuru asked pointedly.
"Gaban," Garp replied instinctively, his expression hardening.
Tsuru tapped the photo and said, "Her name is Gaya. She's as strong as Gion. And she's just one member of the Maude Pirates. There's also the 'Demon Sheriff' Lafitte—another dangerous individual not to be underestimated."
"Hmm…"
Garp rubbed his chin, sinking into thought.
After a moment, he stood abruptly, grabbing the photo. "I'll go have a chat with Sengoku. Tsuru, the remaining rice crackers are all yours."
Tsuru cast a sidelong glance at the open door before lowering her head, deep in thought.
In Sengoku's office, the Fleet Admiral sat at his desk, massaging his temples as he reviewed the latest bounty posters.
When Garp barged in unannounced, Sengoku didn't even lift his head.
It wasn't until Garp approached his desk that Sengoku looked up, meeting his old friend's gaze.
"Garp."
"Oh, these are the new bounties for the Maude Pirates…"
Garp immediately noticed the bounty posters on Sengoku's desk, picking up Maude's poster first. His eyes scanned the bounty amount.
"360 million berries, huh?"
Sengoku nodded, his tone measured. "Considering the severity of his crimes—assassinating two kings of World Government member nations—and his growing threat level, this bounty is more than justified."
"Fair enough."
Garp set the bounty poster down beside the photograph of Gaya.
He hadn't expected her to also have a bounty among the newly issued posters.
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