The Greatest Disgrace in Marine History-Chapter 149 - 51 – The Name of That Blade

A vibrant maple tree stood in the courtyard. Its crimson leaves danced through the cool breeze—stunning in their autumn glory.

"Why didn't you stay in the hospital a few more days?"

Darren set down the fruit basket and sat casually on the steps, glancing at the mummy-wrapped Yamakaji.

The Marines provided free medical treatment for all personnel, and officers ranked Captain or higher had access to private recovery rooms and advanced care.

Yamakaji rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"The injuries weren't too serious. Didn't want to bother the doctors or nurses."

He nodded toward the kitchen.

"Besides... I don't feel comfortable leaving the old man alone. As you can see, his eyesight's not great."

Darren gave a quiet nod.

He took a look around the courtyard. Everything was neat and well-maintained. A few scruffy kittens were dozing lazily in the shade beneath the wall.

Just then, a shaggy yellow mutt came bounding out of the house and licked Yamakaji's hand with enthusiasm, its tail wagging like a fan.

Darren suddenly understood the claw marks on Yamakaji's arm.

"You like animals?"

Yamakaji scratched the dog's head and smiled.

"Not really. It's just... seeing them out on the streets, barely surviving day to day—I can't just ignore them."

Darren was silent for a moment, then pulled out a fine cigar and handed it to him.

"Smoke?"

Yamakaji glanced at the gold-embossed label, blinked, then accepted it.

"Sure."

And so the two men sat on the steps, sharing a smoke in the cool autumn breeze.

"Young man, stay for lunch. The food's ready."

The blind old man's voice came from the kitchen.

"It's not often this grumpy brat has a friend over. Don't turn us down."

Darren chuckled.

"Alright. Thank you."

The dishes were simple, home-cooked fare. But Darren found himself genuinely enjoying it—soothing, heartfelt, something he hadn't felt in a long time.

After the meal, Yamakaji took over dishwashing duty, leaving Darren at the table with the old man.

"My brat of a son—he's given you trouble, hasn't he?"

The blind man suddenly broke the silence. He pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and offered one to Darren.

Darren shook his head.

"Actually, it's the opposite. I'm the one who's brought trouble to Captain Yamakaji."

As he spoke, Darren studied the man in front of him.

He looked about fifty, but his face bore the weight of far more years.

His skin was rough and tanned, his hands calloused and scarred. A brutal slash scar ran diagonally from his left eye down across his cheek—ugly and unmissable.

Noticing Darren's gaze, the old man pointed at his face and grinned—a wild, dangerous grin.

"Don't worry. I made sure that pirate didn't get off easy."

Darren was caught off guard for a moment.

"You've got a strong voice, kid. Sounds like you're the firm and decisive type... that's good."

The blind man took a drag from his cigarette, then sighed.

"My boy's too soft. A Marine, yet always bringing home stray cats. I've wanted to toss them all out more than once... Tell me, kid—do you think a brat like him can ever really take down pirates?"

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Darren exhaled a steady stream of smoke.

"You don't need to worry. Captain Yamakaji is an excellent Marine."

"His determination to fight pirates runs deeper than anyone's."

He paused, then added with a smile,

"And I'm guessing you haven't heard yet? In this year's training camp, Captain Yamakaji placed fifth overall."

The old man went silent.

Just then, Yamakaji came back from the kitchen.

"You boys talk," the old man grunted, rising from his seat. Without another word, he walked out of the room.

Yamakaji looked embarrassed.

"Sorry. The old man's kind of... peculiar."

Darren smiled.

"Not at all. I like his style."

Yamakaji fell quiet for a moment, then suddenly asked,

"Darren... back in that fight... you didn't go all out, did you?"

He stared directly at the Commodore, eyes full of anticipation.

"No, I didn't."

Darren answered without hesitation.

Yamakaji sighed, clearly disappointed.

"I thought I'd finally come up with a new sword technique... thought I was ready to keep up with monsters like you."

"You will."

Darren's tone turned serious, his praise sincere.

Anyone with the courage to swing their blade at the strong... deserved respect.

"That slash was already powerful."

"Really?"

Yamakaji's eyes lit up.

He thought for a second, then suddenly looked excited, like a kid with a new toy.

"Hey, Darren—my dream is to become a hero like Garp! A real man that people look up to!"

"Heroes always have cool names for their moves... I've been trying to think of one for my slash, but I can't come up with anything. Could you help me name it?"

There was such youthful fire and innocence in his voice that Darren couldn't help but chuckle.

After all, Yamakaji was still just a kid—not even twenty yet.

"You know..."

Darren remembered the fierce, blazing strike he had unleashed in that match. After a beat of thought, he smiled and said,

"How about this—the name of that slash is 'Inferno Peak' What do you think?"

(Fun fact: Yamakaji's name in Chinese is '火烧山'—and now, so is the name of his signature sword technique.)

...

After a bit more small talk, Darren didn't linger.

As he reached the courtyard gate, he saw Yamakaji's father emerge from the kitchen—holding a steaming pot of chicken rice, grumbling as he bent down to serve the food to the cats and dogs.

Darren watched for a moment, smiling softly, then turned back to wave.

"Darren!!"

He heard the shout behind him just as he reached the street.

He turned back.

There stood Yamakaji, still covered in bandages, standing beneath the crimson maple tree. With sunlight behind him, he raised a fist toward the sky.

"I'll keep training! One day, I'll catch up to monsters like you!"

His eyes burned with resolve, gleaming with sweat and sunlight.

"I'll make that slash—and my name—echo across the world!"

Darren froze for a second... then broke into a wide, unrestrained grin.

"Good. I'll be waiting."

...

Every glorious, epic life—

Every battle-scarred, wise soul—

Was once a youth, standing in the sun, sweat dripping, fists raised high.

This vast and endless sea gleams brightly,

Because of dreams like these—

Burning, naïve, and pure.

---

To be continued...