CHAPTER 7: VS GARLING

Michael locked eyes with Garling as the latter unsheathed his sword—a sleek, fencing-style blade honed for precision. Without warning, Garling lunged. He eschewed flashy techniques or ranged slashes, relying instead on raw skill and flawless footwork to close the distance. His blade thrust toward Michael's torso, but the younger man deflected it with a sharp clang, using the momentum to pivot into a counterattack.

Michael spun in a full 360-degree arc, his sword carving a diagonal slash from the right. Garling, unfazed, parried the strike with a dismissive flick of his wrist and swiftly retaliated, this time aiming for Michael's ribs. Metal screeched as Michael intercepted the blow, his blade trembling under the force.

Garling intensified his assault, lunging forward with blinding speed to overwhelm Michael's defenses. Desperate, Michael hurled his sword at Garling, forcing him to halt mid-lunge and parry the spinning blade. Michael leapt to retrieve it midair, repeating this tactic as he studied Garling's movements. Gradually, he blended techniques from Shamrock and Garling into his evolving style—a relentless pursuit of efficiency.

Noticing Michael's adaptation, Garling accelerated, his strikes growing faster and heavier. Yet Michael matched him effortlessly, his Observation Haki synergizing with the Hercules Method's precognition to anticipate every move.

Then Garling unleashed his own advanced Observation Haki, eclipsing Michael's foresight. His attacks turned lethally precise, each strike a potential deathblow. For an hour, they clashed until Michael's precognition faltered—a delayed warning left him a fraction too slow.

Instinct took over. Michael's body twisted midair as Garling's slash grazed his torso, narrowly missing vital organs. Blood seeped from the wound, but his accelerated healing sealed it instantly. He refused to yield, fueled by overclocked adrenaline and the combined talents of Roger, Luffy, Cain, and his original self.

Another hour passed. Garling's Observation Haki, once infallible, began to wane. Michael's intentions dissolved into pure instinct, rendering him unreadable. When his blade finally nicked Garling's arm—a split-second delay in defense—the older man froze, ending the spar.

"It seems now is a fitting time to cease," Garling said, his voice tinged with exhilaration. Michael stared back, bewildered.

"Confused, aren't you? Your body runs on fumes, sustained only by will. I sought to test your limits, yet you surpassed them entirely."

As Garling spoke, Michael's adrenaline faded. He collapsed, unconscious. Garling summoned servants to prepare a feast of the finest Sea King meat and beasts—a banquet to replenish his son's drained strength.

Two hours later, Michael awoke in a lavish room. Maids hurried to deliver towering platters of food. Ravenous, he devoured everything in sight, his body demanding fuel for recovery. Two hours of gluttonous feasting later, he slumped back into sleep, leaving the exhausted kitchen staff to breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Seeing the mountain of food arriving, Michael's eyes lit up. He bolted upright and began devouring the towering platters as soon as they reached him. His body, still recovering from its overclocked state, demanded fuel—and he obliged, voraciously emptying plate after plate. The feast lasted over two hours before he finally slumped back, sated, and drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Five hours later, Michael awoke and stormed through the castle to find Garling. He burst into the office where his father sat reviewing documents. Garling didn't look up as Michael approached, his expression unreadable.

"What happened to me?" Michael demanded, voice flat.

"You collapsed," Garling replied, finally meeting his son's gaze with a mocking smirk. "Hardly surprising, given you pushed yourself against a foe far beyond your current limits. Worry not—you'll grow into it… eventually." His tone dripped with condescension, as if fainting mid-battle against One Piece's pinnacle of strength were a trivial failing.

"You do not have to worry, I managed to hit you in the face in our first spar, how long do you think it would take before I match your strength and possibly surpass you?" Michael just replied, with an equally prideful tone, which made Garling frown, as he knows that he was hit by Michael cleanly, and what's terrifying about it is that Michael was slowly becoming immune to the Observation Haki, if Michael completely mastered all of his abilities and added with haki, he would be a powerhouse, something that even the God's Knight can't do anything.

Michael then made Garling teleport him back to the Marijoa, wanting to sleep in his room and bed in the Shepherd castle, leaving Garling alone in his office, contemplating what would happen in the future.

------------

After Michael left Garling's office, Shamrock entered the room, summoned by his father.

"Did you observe his strength during the Den Den Mushi transmission?" Garling asked, seeking confirmation from Shamrock, who had first battled Michael.

"Yes, Father. His power is nothing like what I saw yesterday. It appears his growth accelerates when facing stronger opponents or extreme pressure," Shamrock replied.

"We must ensure his loyalty remains with the Holy Land. A traitor of his caliber would be… problematic," Garling said coldly. Shamrock nodded, silently weighing the repercussions of Michael rejecting their ideals.

Meanwhile, in Mary Geoise, Michael materialized at the God's Knights' main quarters. He spotted Sommers and Killingham mid-conversation as they prepared to depart. They noticed him too.

"Odd—I didn't see you at the Holy Knights' training grounds today. Did Shamrock drag you elsewhere?" Sommers asked, curiosity lacing his tone.

"The Supreme Commander trained me personally. Guess he prefers a private island," Michael answered casually.

Killingham and Sommers exchanged stunned disbelief. "Do you have any idea how rare it is for recruits to survive the Supreme Commander's training—let alone walk away unharmed?" Killingham sputtered. "Preferential treatment for his bloodline, no doubt."

"He did try to kill me," Michael countered. "Stabbed at my heart, my skull. In our final clash, he nearly split me diagonally. I barely parried in time."

Sommers gaped. "You matched the Supreme Commander? That's unheard of!"

"His Figarland blood must run strong in you," Killingham muttered.

"Strength isn't solely about bloodlines," Sommers retorted, defending the Shepherd name. "His Shepherd heritage—"

Michael tuned out their bickering. With a mental command, Ingrid flew to his hand. He mounted the blade, and it soared into the sky, carrying him toward his residence as the two knights continued arguing below.