Marine Academy, Training Camp.
The morning mist had long since burned away beneath a punishing sun. Heat shimmered over the vast, empty parade ground, yellow sand skittering in the glare.
Clusters of Marine Academy freshmen in training uniforms stood scattered across the grounds, their young faces bright with excitement as they chatted.
"Hey, did you hear? Besides Zephyr-sensei, the chief instructor, they're bringing in some heavy hitters from Headquarters as special instructors for our camp!"
"Really? That's amazing! Headquarters must be taking our class seriously!"
"I wonder who we'll get…"
"I'm hoping for Vice Admiral Garp! Training under him would be a dream!"
"Don't get your hopes up. Vice Admiral Garp's busy hunting the Great Pirate Roger. He wouldn't have time for us rookies…"
"Then Admiral Sengoku? He just sips tea and reads the paper in his office…"
"No way! I heard the special instructors this time are those monsters from Headquarters!"
Someone leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
The words rippled through the group. Eyes widened; gasps broke out.
"Really?!"
"Unbelievable!"
"Vice Admirals Sakazuki, Borsalino, Kuzan… and Vice Admiral Darren too?!"
"Those terrifying monsters are going to be our instructors?!"
…
The fourth-term cadets stood stunned, hearts pounding, faces alight.
For young officers from the Four Blues and the Grand Line, Sengoku and Garp were towering legends—pillars of justice. But these four rising stars were the future of the Marines.
They were the faces of the next generation, shining even brighter in the eyes of countless youths than veterans like Sengoku, Garp, and Zephyr.
And because all four had come up through this very Training Camp, the cadets felt an instinctive kinship. They were, in a sense, fellow disciples.
"And I heard," the cadet added, "that the top performers in our class will even have the chance to become aides to the special instructors!"
"That's right," someone said.
At that, nearly everyone on the grounds went still, eyes burning with anticipation.
Aides!
This wasn't just instructor and student. This was a chance to become trusted lieutenants. To serve at the side of a future Marine Admiral—beyond the gains in strength and perspective, the prestige alone could rocket a career.
Kuzan, newly promoted to Headquarters Vice Admiral, was the perfect example. After a brief stint assisting Vice Admiral Garp during the Roger Pirates campaign, he'd vaulted from Headquarters Rear Admiral to Vice Admiral in one leap.
"This… this is incredible!"
"So we get to choose our instructors too, right?"
"Vice Admirals Sakazuki, Kuzan, Borsalino, and Darren… how are we supposed to choose?"
"I wonder what their personalities and teaching styles are like…"
"Hey, Arthur—didn't you serve under Vice Admiral Darren? What's he like?"
All eyes shifted to Arthur, a gentle-looking youth with black hair.
Arthur blinked and scratched his head. "Vice Admiral Darren… he's a very unique person."
He still hadn't quite come down from the shock of standing on the Training Camp's parade ground at all. He could barely believe he'd earned a spot.
"Tch! That's as useful as a hole in the head!"
"Seriously!"
They shot him irritated looks.
But at the name "Darren," someone else in the crowd stirred.
A buzz-cut youth with a lightning-bolt tattoo by his temple stood stiffly at the edge of the group, half a slab of steak stuck to his cheek. He looked out of place among the chatter.
If Darren were here, he would have recognized him at a glance: Vergo, one of his godson's subordinates.
He wasn't the only outlier.
A gaunt man with long, curly black hair and a missing upper tooth—his skin a pallid, grayish blue—methodically polished a knight's sword, murmuring to himself, "Straight-sword techniques…"
—T-Bone.
Not far away, a hulking figure soaked with sweat forced out push-ups, teeth bared as he counted, "813, 814, 815…" His bare torso gleamed bronze; cords of muscle shifted like forged steel. Black hair was braided into a thick rope on his crown.
—Shuzo.
Across the courtyard, a tall woman sat astride a cannon turret like a queen on a throne. Long, powerful legs; perfect proportions; a cigarette dangling from her lips as she watched the crowd with amused, sharp eyes. A short-sleeved top bared a slender, handspan waist; her chest was surprisingly full. A spiked collar, earrings, and tattoos winding up her arms completed the feral impression—a panther at rest.
—Doll.
The murmurs died at once.
A towering figure with an overwhelming presence strode onto the parade ground, short purple hair blazing in the sun.
"Zephyr-sensei!"
The recruits snapped to attention, conversation cut off as they formed ranks and saluted.
Zephyr's tigerish gaze swept over them one by one. A faint smile touched his lips.
"Alright, let's keep this simple," he said with a frown. "You all know the training schedule, yes?"
He paused, counting heads. "Wait. Someone's missing."
He counted again, brows knitting. "Where's that Magellan kid?"
The trainees traded puzzled looks and shook their heads.
"Zephyr-sensei," Arthur raised a hand. "Magellan's got a bad case of diarrhea. He said he'd be late."
Zephyr's mouth twitched. Because of his… unique abilities, Magellan had been assigned a private dorm.
"Um… Zephyr-sensei? I'm over here…" a weak voice called from the shade.
The recruits froze, then turned.
Far off, a pale youth crouched in the shadows. Enormous black wings spread behind him; demonic horns curled from his head. Hugging his knees, he peered over at them with a miserable expression and gave a feeble wave. Wisps of purple gas leaked from his mouth and nose.
"I'm better off over here," Magellan said, self-pity thick in his voice. "I don't want to contaminate anyone."
Zephyr: ...
To be continued...