The low murmur of the other marines, finally catching some rest, was a welcome sound. My back still ached a little from scrubbing the mess hall, but it was a good kind of ache, the kind that meant the work was done. And for now, at least, it was.
My gaze drifted over to the simulation system, a hulking piece of tech that usually just sat there, silent and imposing. I'd been poring over the manuals in my scant free moments, trying to decipher its purpose, its potential. Ten points. That's what the faded text had indicated for a bronze-level simulation. Ten of those nebulous 'points' the system seemed to track.
It feels like a small gamble, a tiny investment in understanding this strange power that has somehow become a part of me.
Alright, let's do this. With a mental nudge, I focused on the system, willing it to activate, to take those ten points. A faint, almost imperceptible chime resonated somewhere within the recesses of my mind. Then, clearer, sharper, a direct question echoing in my thoughts.
Ding! Host wants to use bronze simulation?
It startled me, even though I'd been expecting some kind of confirmation. The system… it speaks directly to my mind.
A shiver of something akin to excitement, mixed with a healthy dose of the unknown, ran down my spine.
This is it. No turning back now. Let's see what you've got, you mysterious piece of technology. Let's see what a bronze simulation can show me. What kind of world, what kind of challenge, awaits on the other side of this mental prompt? I just hope those ten points are worth it.
Yes, use bronze simulation.
Ding! Host use bronze level simulation opportunity, life simulation started.
Suddenly, the screen appeared and text begin emerge.
In your first year, Captain Darius's ship arrived at Marine G-3 after three days, reporting the elimination of the Bloodsucker Pirate and Haimon's death by you. Vice Admiral then met with you, awarding you 30% of Raimon's bounty for the kill. Recognizing your achievement and potential, you were also promoted to Lieutenant and assigned to Captain Darius's command.
In your second year, pirates, alerted by Captain Darius's investigation into the coastal towns' destruction, retaliated ruthlessly. Under the cover of night, a lone pirate infiltrated Darius's ship. A fierce but desperate battle ensued, leaving a grim toll. Only Captain Darius and you survived the onslaught; the rest of the marines were lost. The physical cost for Darius was immense: the loss of his right hand forced his resignation, his decorated career abruptly ended by the pirate's attack. You transferred to Vice Admiral.
On the third year, you chafed under the Vice Admiral's command, yearning to hunt pirates instead of being confined to base. The Vice Admiral, unconvinced of your strength despite your Lieutenant rank, initially refused your requests to go to sea. Undeterred, you persisted. Finally, Vice Admiral relented, agreeing to let you pursue your ambition, but with a condition: you must first undergo three years of rigorous training at an elite camp under the tutelage of Marine Instructor Zephyr, commencing the next year.
In your fourth year, after a year in the elite camp, your strength surged beyond old limits. Weapon training and basic Rokushiki (only two techniques mastered at a basic level) became ingrained. Though dramatically improved, you remained the camp's weakest. The others wielded Rokushiki with terrifying skill, their movements fluid and powerful. You trained relentlessly, the gap a constant reminder of how far you still had to go in this brutal, superhuman world.
In your fifth year, despite two years in the elite camp, you were still the weakest. Instructor Zephyr occasionally took some students on real pirate hunts, aiming to provide genuine experience with his division. These dangerous excursions tested their skills and courage, highlighting the gap between your abilities and the demands of the elite training.
In your sixth year, Zephyr's arm was cut off by an unknown pirate with a Devil Fruit power, and his entire division and the elite camp who followed him were massacred, with only two people surviving. You also died in this incident.
The cold, suffocating grip of finality tightened, then abruptly released. The simulation, whatever twisted purpose it served, had ended.
Ding!, your Attribute before death: Endurance 22, Strength 30, Agility 20, Spirit 25.
Then, a single instruction pulsed beneath the attributes, a stark command in the digital void:
Choose one attribute to retain.
My gaze flickered across the values. Twenty-two for Endurance… could that mean I was easily worn down? Twenty for Agility… slow, perhaps? Twenty-five for Spirit… some inner resilience I couldn't feel? But then there was Strength. Thirty. The highest.
Thirty… that feels… significant.
Even without a past to draw upon, a primal understanding resonated. Strength implied force, the ability to overcome, to push back against whatever this… this is.
"What do these even mean?" I muttered, frustration bubbling within me. The system remained impassive, offering no answers, only the stark choice.
Agility… quickness, maybe? Useful for dodging, but what if I couldn't withstand a blow? Endurance… lasting longer in a fight? But what if I lacked the power to end it? Spirit… an inner fortitude? Perhaps important, but too abstract, too reliant on a self I didn't know.
My eyes kept returning to the bold "30" beside Strength. It felt tangible, real. A concrete advantage in an incomprehensible situation.
If I'm going to face whatever comes next, I need to be able to… to act. To make things happen.
Strength felt like the key, the fundamental building block.
"Why only one?" I demanded of the silent screen. "Why not… anything else?" The digital display remained stubbornly fixed, the single instruction blinking insistently.
There was no guidance, no explanation, only the raw data and the stark choice. Driven by an instinct born solely from the presented information, a gut feeling that resonated deep within my nonexistent memories, I focused on the "30."
Strength, I decided, the word forming silently in my mind.
That's what I need.
With a mental nudge, a decision made without conscious thought or emotional baggage, I selected Strength. The screen flickered once, a silent acknowledgment.
"Is that it?" I asked the empty space, a sense of finality settling over me. This single, potent attribute, detached from any personal history, was now mine. My sole inheritance.
The translucent screen dissolved, the digital "Ding!" fading into the echoing silence. I was left with nothing but the abstract concept of Strength, a single point of data in the vast emptiness.
Thirty Strength, I thought, a flicker of something akin to determination igniting within me.
Let's see what that can do.
The simulation had ended, but something else, something unknown, was about to begin. And all I had was a number. Thirty. Strength. It would have to be enough.