The low hum of the other marines, finally finding some rest, was a welcome sound that filled the otherwise quiet barracks. A faint ache lingered in my back from the mess hall scrubbing, but it was a satisfying ache, a testament to a task completed. For now, peace reigned.
My gaze drifted towards the simulation system, a bulky piece of technology that usually stood dormant, a silent monolith. In my stolen moments of free time, I'd been wrestling with its manuals, trying to unlock its purpose, its potential. Ten points. The faded text had indicated that cost for a bronze-level simulation. Ten of those elusive 'points' the system seemed to track.
It felt like a small wager, a tiny investment in understanding this strange power that had inexplicably become a part of me.
"Alright," I murmured to myself, a sense of anticipation stirring. With a mental push, I focused on the system, willing it to activate, to claim those ten points. A faint, almost inaudible chime echoed within my mind. Then, clearer, sharper, a direct question resonated in my thoughts.
Ding! Host wants to use bronze simulation?
The directness of the mental query startled me, even though I'd been expecting some form of confirmation. The system… it communicated directly with my thoughts.
A shiver, a blend of excitement and trepidation, traced its way down my spine.
This is it. No turning back now. Let's see what you're capable of, you enigmatic piece of technology. Let's see what a bronze simulation can reveal. What kind of world, what kind of challenge, lies beyond this mental prompt? I just hope those ten points are a worthwhile price.
"Yes," I affirmed mentally, the word echoing in the silence of my mind. "Use bronze simulation."
Ding! Host use bronze level simulation opportunity, life simulation started.
Abruptly, a translucent screen materialized before me, and text began to scroll across its surface.
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.
In your 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 embrace of finality tightened around me, then just as suddenly released its grip. The simulation, whatever its bizarre purpose, had concluded.
Ding!, your Attribute before death: Endurance 22, Strength 30, Agility 20, Spirit 25.
Then, a solitary instruction pulsed beneath the attributes, a stark command in the digital void:
Choose one attribute to retain.
My gaze flickered across the numerical values. Twenty-two for Endurance… did that imply I was easily exhausted? Twenty for Agility… slow, perhaps? Twenty-five for Spirit… some inner resilience I couldn't consciously feel? But then there was Strength. Thirty. The highest among them.
Thirty… that felt… significant.
Even without a personal history to draw upon, a primal understanding resonated within me. Strength suggested force, the capacity to overcome, to push back against whatever this… this reality was.
"What do these even mean?" I muttered, a wave of frustration washing over me. The system remained impassive, offering no explanations, only the stark choice.
Agility… perhaps quickness, useful for evasion, but what if I couldn't withstand an impact? Endurance… the ability to last 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 was going to face whatever lay ahead, I needed to be able to… to act. To exert force.
Strength felt like the fundamental key, the essential building block.
"Why only one?" I demanded of the silent screen, a knot of annoyance tightening in my chest. "Why not… anything else?" The digital display remained stubbornly fixed, the single instruction blinking insistently.
There was no guidance, no rationale, only the raw data and the stark decision. 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 the recesses of my mind.
That's what I need.
With a mental nudge, a decision made without conscious deliberation 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 singular, potent attribute, divorced 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 solitary 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 concluded, but something else, something unknown, was about to commence. And all I possessed was a number. Thirty. Strength. It would have to suffice.