The Vice Admiral's reaction, though a subtle shift, spoke volumes. He didn't bat an eye at my "coating" tale, but a keen, almost eager, enthusiasm lit his features when the Marine Elite Camp came up. It wasn't surprise, but the quiet satisfaction of confirmation, a knowing glance at something unspoken.
"Prepare diligently," he repeated, a new weight in his voice. "The next two years, you'll be joining the camp. It's...essential for your development, and train more and don't disgrace G-3's good name later during Elite Camp because only marines with potential can join elite camp."
Essential? The word echoed. Not just helpful, but essential. He knew. He knew what I was hinting at.
That emphasis hung heavy, a clear sign the camp wasn't just training. It was a crucial step, a necessary path for those showing even a glimmer of the power I'd unknowingly described.
The Elite Camp wasn't a question of if it would reveal Haki, but a certainty. The Vice Admiral's carefully constructed calm couldn't hide his knowledge. He knew what I implied, and he knew the camp was where I'd learn control.
But next two years?
The fabricated "coating" wasn't a shock, but a trigger. A catalyst confirming my potential, a potential the Marines clearly intended to nurture. The Elite Camp, I realized, wasn't about discovering Haki; it was 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 steady, "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 real drive, though, was simpler: bounties. I kept the blunt truth to myself, but the need burned within me. Every pirate down meant more 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 plausible.
The Vice Admiral's gaze sharpened, but he remained silent, considering. 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 over two years away. And two years on the Grand Line was an eternity. He also knew bounties were a fast way to gauge growth, and real-world experience was key to mastering something so volatile.
After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "A transfer... is possible."
And just like that, I was transferred to Captain Daigin's Squad, the base's powerhouse. Captain Daigin's strength was Commodore-level; he was just waiting for an opening.
Being in the strongest squad meant a wider patrol area, a bigger net for Simulation Points.
My luck seemed to be turning. Captain Daigin was setting sail on a long voyage, a year or more, chasing big-name pirates. More plunder, more power, he'd said. Orders were orders, and mine came sharp: report today, before they weighed anchor tomorrow. A long, dangerous trip, and if luck was on my side, plenty of pirates to take down... more points.
The report ended, leaving a thick silence. Captain Daigin's jaw was tight, his eyes flicking over me with open disapproval. The rest of the crew, a sea of hardened faces, echoed 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 my way.
As they filed out, my fists clenched. Five years. Five years I'd scrubbed decks, hauled ropes, and taken orders. Five years they'd looked down on me. And now? They thought I'd gotten lucky? That Haimon had just fallen 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 dripped 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 crackled, a harsh symphony of ozone and steel. My Flickloct pistol spat bolts of crackling energy, each shot a desperate, strategic retreat against Daigin's relentless advance.
He's a master, but I'm faster.
I danced back, my boots scuffing the stone floor, creating distance, buying time. Daigin, a whirlwind of polished metal and grim intent, lunged, his sword a blur. My basic shooting, though crude, was augmented by my superior speed. I weaved, dodged, and fired, a constant barrage of energy, forcing him to defend. A bolt grazed his arm, a hiss of burnt cloth, a flicker of frustration in his eyes.
I can wear him down, maybe.
He parried, the sword a blur, deflecting a shot. He closed the distance. I sidestepped, my speed a crucial advantage. He lunged, a swift, merciless strike, but I was already moving.
Almost got me.
The fight stretched, a tense dance of speed and skill.
Finally, the blade found purchase, a searing line across my ribs.
Damn it.
The Flickloct pistol slipped from my numb fingers.
Daigin stood, his sword dripping, his gaze cold, but a flicker of respect. "You possess strength," he declared, "and an unusual speed. Strength and speed we can use." A rare smile touched his lips. "You will be my right hand in this mission."
A wave of surprised murmurs rippled through the soldiers. "He's fast," one muttered. "Welcome, comrade! Your speed will be vital."
"He almost had the Captain," a younger soldier exclaimed.
"Indeed," Daigin confirmed. "He has potential. And we particularly welcome a stronger comrade."