"The Vice Admiral's reaction, though subtly altered, still betrayed a significant shift. He didn't outwardly express surprise at my fabricated 'coating' experience, but a distinct, almost eager, enthusiasm crept into his demeanor when he spoke of the Marine Elite Camp. It wasn't the shock of revelation, but rather the satisfaction of a confirmation, a knowing nod to an unspoken truth.
"Prepare diligently," he reiterated, his voice now carrying a weight of expectation. "Next year, you'll be joining the camp. It's...essential for your development."
Essential? I thought, the word echoing in my mind. Not just beneficial, but essential. He knows. He knows what I'm hinting at.
The emphasis on "essential" hung in the air, a clear indication that the camp wasn't just another training program. It was a crucial step, a necessary rite of passage for those who had displayed even a hint of the power I'd unknowingly described.
It's no longer a question of if the Elite Camp would reveal the secrets of Haki, but rather a certainty. The Vice Admiral's carefully constructed facade couldn't fully conceal his knowledge. He knew what I was hinting at, and he knew the camp was the place where I would learn to control it.
The fabricated "coating" wasn't a surprise, but rather a trigger. It was a catalyst that confirmed my potential, a potential the Marines clearly intended to cultivate. The Elite Camp, I realized, was less about discovering Haki and more about mastering it. They weren't surprised I'd stumbled upon it; they were preparing me to wield it.
"Vice Admiral," I continued, my voice firm, "I've noticed a significant increase in my strength, speed, and overall physical capabilities since...since this 'coating' manifested. I feel stronger than ever." I paused, then added, "To better control this new strength, and to acclimate myself to these enhanced attributes, I request a transfer to another squad. Captain Darius's recovery will take time, and I believe active engagement in pirate hunting would be the most effective method for me to adapt."
My true motivation, however, was far simpler: I needed bounties. I held back the blunt truth, but the need was a burning ember within me. Every pirate I take down, I can get Simulation points.
"I believe that actively pursuing and capturing pirates would be the best way to test and control my new abilities, and to get used to my new attributes before the Elite Camp," I added, making the excuse sound more reasonable.
The Vice Admiral's gaze sharpened, but he remained silent, considering my request. He's weighing his options, I thought. He knows I'm not just asking for training. He sees the fire in my eyes, the hunger.
He knew, I suspected, that the Elite Camp was still a year away. And a year, in the unpredictable world of the Grand Line, was an eternity. He also knew that bounties were a quick way to measure one's growth and power, and that practical, real-world experience was essential for mastering such a volatile ability.
After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "A transfer... is possible"
And I was transferred to Captain Daigin's Squad, which is known as the strongest squad on this base. Captain Daigin's strength is comparable to a Marine Commodore; he's just waiting for a vacancy to be promoted.
Due to being the strongest squad, a wider monitoring area provides me with greater benefit, facilitating easier collection of Simulation Points.
My luck's turned, it seems. Captain Daigin's setting sail, a long haul, over half a year, chasing big-name pirates. More plunder, more power, he says. Orders are orders, and mine came sharp. I've got to report today, before they weigh anchor tomorrow. A long, dangerous voyage... but a chance to get more points.
The report concluded, a strained silence settling over the room. Captain Daigin's jaw was tight, his eyes flicking over me with unconcealed disapproval. The rest of the crew, a sea of hardened faces, mirrored his sentiment. I could almost hear their thoughts: "Lieutenant? Him? A chore boy yesterday, a hero today."
"Dismissed," Daigin's voice was clipped, sharp. He didn't even look at me.
As they filed out, I clenched my fists. Five years. Five years I scrubbed decks, hauled ropes, and took orders. Five years they looked down on me. And now? They think I got lucky? That Haimon just fell into my lap?
I stepped forward, my voice cutting through the lingering tension. "Wait."
They turned, a collective frown etched on their faces. Daigin's eyebrow arched. "Lieutenant Lazarus, is there something else?"
"Yes, Captain. I'd like to challenge any of you to a fight."
A ripple of disbelief spread through the room. Someone snorted, another chuckled. Daigin's eyes narrowed. "A fight? What are you trying to prove?"
Prove? I'm trying to prove I'm not some lucky nobody. I'm trying to prove I'm more than just a chore boy who stumbled into a victory. "I want to show you what I'm capable of. All of you."
"Lieutenant," Daigin's voice was laced with condescension, "I appreciate your… enthusiasm. But I hardly think this is necessary."
"It is to me, Captain. I know what you think. I know what they think." I swept my gaze over the crew. "You think I got lucky. You think I'm just some kid who stumbled into a promotion. You don't see the hours I've spent honing my shooting, the potential I've kept hidden. You only see the chore boy."
A murmur ran through the ranks.
"My shooting is my weapon, but my speed is my strength. And I'm willing to bet that I'm stronger than any of yours." I paused, letting the challenge hang in the air. "Including yours, Captain."
Daigin's eyes flashed. "Are you challenging me, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, Captain. I am." He's the only one who can truly test me. The only one who might even come close.
"This is absurd," Daigin scoffed, but I saw a flicker of something in his eyes – a spark of interest, perhaps. "Very well. If you insist. But don't come crying to me when you're on the ground."
"I won't, Captain." They'll see. They'll all see. I'm not just a lucky chore boy.
The air crackles, a harsh symphony of ozone and steel. My Flickloct pistol spits bolts of crackling energy, each shot a desperate, strategic retreat against Daigin's relentless advance.
He's a master, but I'm faster.
I dance back, my boots scuffing the stone floor, creating distance, buying time. Daigin, a whirlwind of polished metal and grim intent, lunges, his sword a blur. My basic shooting, though crude, is augmented by my superior speed. I weave, dodge, and fire, a constant barrage of energy, forcing him to defend. A bolt grazes his arm, a hiss of burnt cloth, a flicker of frustration in his eyes.
I can wear him down, maybe.
He parries, the sword a blur, deflecting a shot. He closes the distance. I sidestep, my speed a crucial advantage. He lunges, a swift, merciless strike, but I'm already moving.
Almost got me.
The fight stretches, a tense dance of speed and skill.
Finally, the blade finds purchase, a searing line across my ribs.
Damn it.
The Flickloct pistol slips from my numb fingers.
Daigin stands, his sword dripping, his gaze cold, but a flicker of respect. "You possess strength," he declares, "and an unusual speed. Strength and speed we can use." A rare smile touches his lips. "You will be my right hand in this mission."
A wave of surprised murmurs ripples through the soldiers. "He's fast," one mutters. "Welcome, comrade! Your speed will be vital."
"He almost had the Captain," a younger soldier exclaims.
"Indeed," Daigin confirms. "He has potential. And we particularly welcome a stronger comrade."