Raising Legends in Roger's Shadow

Chapter 360: Will You Take Responsibility

He gently patted the back of the girl's hand in his arms, signaling her to stay calm. Only then did he speak, slow and unhurried. His voice was not loud, yet it cut cleanly through the noise around them."Oh? The Navy leading a raid?"

He turned toward Gales, whose face had gone ashen, his tone filled with pure curiosity.

"Black Hawk Admiral… looks like your Navy has quite a few parasites inside, huh?"

"So… are you going to carry this blame, or not?"

As his words fell, every gaze in the area converged on Gales.

In an instant, all the pressure shifted onto the Navy.

The air grew heavy, thick enough to suffocate. The villagers' cries and accusations, Joy Boy's confusion, the Marines' shock and unease, and Gales's tightly restrained fury all tangled together into a suffocating tension.

Then Ritter moved.

Not in a flash, not with speed, but with a slow, languid motion that somehow carried an invisible weight. He pushed himself off the broken wall he had been leaning against, blood mist trailing around him like a living shadow.

Step by step, he walked between Gales and the agitated villagers, placing himself squarely at the center, like a line drawn to divide two worlds on the verge of collision.

He raised both hands slightly, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Go on, Admiral. Your choice."

His crimson eyes did not look at the villagers, nor at Joy Boy. They stayed fixed on Gales, half amused, half expectant. He enjoyed this kind of moment, watching those who claimed to stand for justice struggle with what that truly meant. Whether they earned his respect or his contempt always came down to a single decision.

Gales clenched his jaw, veins pulsing at his temple.

The boy named Buffon felt it immediately. That pressure. It pressed down on him like a mountain, almost enough to crush his resolve. Despair flickered across his face.

Ritter noticed, of course. He was doing it on purpose.

Strength decided whether your words meant anything at all.

Ritter smiled casually. "Relax, kid. I might even help you."

As a Navy Admiral, it was his duty to uphold justice and the reputation of the Marines. Yet now he stood here, accused face to face of harboring criminals within his own ranks.

Gales drew a deep breath, forcing down the storm raging inside him.

"Accusing a Navy Admiral requires evidence."

His gaze locked onto the boy.

"You said you saw it. Then show me proof. Anything will do."

That last line sounded as much like something he was telling himself as it was directed at the boy.

The boy trembled under Gales's presence, but the hatred and grief in his chest burned hotter than fear.

With a sudden motion, he pulled something from his clothes, clenched tightly in his fist, and hurled it straight at Gales.

It was a Navy shoulder insignia, stained dark red with dried blood, its edges torn. Even so, its distinctive markings and serial number were still visible.

"This is the proof!"

The boy's voice cracked.

"My father… he tore it off the leader's uniform with his last breath. He gave it to me before he died… told me to remember… to remember this hatred. To remember that the people wearing this uniform brought disaster to us!"

Under the sunlight, the bloodstained insignia looked painfully vivid.

Gales's pupils shrank.

With his rank, he recognized it instantly. It belonged to a specific internal Navy unit, and not a low-ranking one. This was no ordinary soldier.

And this sea region was under his jurisdiction.

Silence fell.

After a long moment, Gales slowly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were filled with something far more complex than anger. Shock. Rage. Guilt. And something deeper. The pain of betrayal.

He pushed aside the aide who tried to stop him and walked forward, step by step, until he stood before the boy.

Under the wary and hostile stares of the villagers, this powerful Admiral lowered his head.

Deeply.

Completely.

"I'm sorry."

The words were heavy with guilt.

"For the scum within the Navy… for the suffering they caused you… I, on behalf of the Navy, offer my sincerest apology. To you, and to everyone on this island."

The boy's body trembled violently.

That apology was the final spark.

With a choked roar, he swung his fist with everything he had and slammed it into Gales's face.

"I don't want your apology! I don't need your pity!"

The blow landed solidly.

Gales did not dodge. He did not defend. He did not even use Haki.

He took the punch head-on.

His face tilted slightly from the impact, but he remained bowed, silently accepting the boy's anger.

The second punch never came.

The boy stood there, breathing hard, fist still clenched, tears streaming down his face.

Looking at the man who had taken his blow without resistance, something in his hatred wavered.

Through gritted teeth, his voice still trembling, he spoke again.

"I can tell… you're not like them."

"The one I want revenge on isn't you."

He wiped his tears roughly, his eyes sharpening with renewed resolve.

"I want the one who led them. The bastard who took everything from us. The pirates who killed my father."

He stared straight at Gales.

"Tell me where he is."

Then, louder, firmer:

"Are you going to do something about it?"

"I'm not asking the Navy. I'm asking you."

"Will you take responsibility?"

Behind him, the beasts stirred again, their forms evolving further under the influence of his emotions and newfound power. Ritter glanced at them with interest.

So fast. He just ate the fruit, and it's already awakening?

What a peculiar ability… or maybe this boy truly was its chosen owner.

Gales slowly straightened, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth.

He looked at the boy, at the weight of vengeance he carried, and his gaze became sharp and unwavering.

"I will."

"I swear in the name of Black Hawk, I will root out the traitors within the Navy and wipe out those scum."

"I will give you, and every victim, the justice you deserve."

As his vow rang out, the suffocating tension eased slightly.

But the beasts did not calm down.

If anything, their ferocity intensified. Their bodies swelled, muscles bulging, fangs gleaming coldly. Low, murderous growls rumbled from their throats as they teetered on the edge of losing control.

The villagers' brief relief vanished, replaced by fresh fear.

And right at that breaking point, Buffon turned.

The strange black markings on his face glowed faintly, his tear-streaked eyes now filled with clarity and a resolve stronger than ever before.

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