"Rear Admiral Roldy, are you finished over there?"
"Yeah. That was the last time. You can clean up."
Before leaving, Roldy slipped two thick stacks of Berries into the hands of the prison guards.
They politely refused at first—smiling all the while—before swiftly pocketing the money.
Not taking leave today had clearly been the right decision.
Those colorful stacks were worth nearly half a year of their salary.
Watching the two men hurry off in high spirits, Roldy shook his head.
Consider it psychological compensation.
The return voyage was noticeably quieter.
The lively atmosphere the rookies once shared with Roldy had faded. After witnessing his brutality, a certain distance had formed between them.
Roldy didn't care.
They would get used to it eventually.
And if they didn't?
It made no difference to him.
He had never concerned himself with the opinions of others.
Roldy's Cabin
"That strange feeling earlier… what was it?"
He muttered to himself.
Something had awakened within him.
A good thing.
A powerful thing.
It had burst forth after he crushed the final slave trader. In that moment, he had felt a profound lightness in his soul—clarity, liberation.
But when he tried to grasp that force again—
It vanished.
No matter how he searched, he couldn't find it.
"…Forget it. I'll ask Zephyr when we get back."
He stopped overthinking.
As the emotional surge faded, exhaustion set in.
He lay down on his bed. His eyelids grew heavy.
Before he knew it—
He was asleep.
He dreamed of that island again.
The sunlight there was warm.
When Roldy awoke, the ship had already docked at Marine Headquarters.
After greeting the Marines responsible for unloading the spoils, he strode casually toward Zephyr's office.
"Old man, I'm back!"
He knocked perfunctorily twice and pushed the door open without waiting.
Inside, Zephyr was seated behind his desk, a cigar in his mouth, piles of paperwork stacked high before him.
At the sound of the door, he panicked for half a second—but with well-practiced smoothness, he stubbed out the cigar and tossed it into the trash bin before looking up with an awkward smile.
"You're back? Sit down. What do you think of the new recruits?"
Roldy rolled his eyes.
He walked to a cabinet nearby, opened it without hesitation, and took out a bag of rice crackers from the top shelf.
Slumping into a chair, he tore open the bag and began crunching loudly.
"What's there to think? They're veterans who've spent years in the Four Blues. Each one knows exactly what to do in combat. As for strength—it's decent. More than qualified to be the first class of the Officer Training Camp."
He paused mid-bite.
"And how many times have I told you? You're not allowed to smoke cigars anymore! The last medical report clearly said you've developed mild asthma. What, you can't control yourself? Not taking your own health seriously?"
Zephyr wasn't even forty yet.
But the doctors had diagnosed him with early-stage asthma, caused by excessive smoking.
His wife had demanded he quit.
So at home, she kept him in check.
And outside the house—
That responsibility fell to Roldy.
After all, only two people in this world could truly rein Zephyr in.
The officers selected for the first Officer Training Camp could be called elite—even by the standards of future generations.
The reason was simple.
In later years, the training camp would likely impose age limits, focusing primarily on gifted young talents.
But this first class was different.
Many were already in their thirties. They were seasoned commanders in their own seas. Now they had been granted the opportunity to refine themselves further and be molded into the backbone of Marine Headquarters.
Zephyr nodded. The assessment matched his expectations.
"By the way, old man," Roldy suddenly said, flexing his fingers, "for some reason, my hands are itching. How about we spar a bit?"
If other people's childhoods were filled with warmth and laughter—
Roldy's had been spent beneath the fists of Zephyr and Garp.
Now that he possessed the formidable power of the Moa Moa no Mi, the first thing he wanted to do—
Was properly challenge the teacher who had been his childhood nightmare.
Zephyr sensed something slightly off.
But as an Admiral of Marine Headquarters, he had his pride.
He rolled his wrists, clenched his fists, and his bones cracked audibly.
"You brat want another beating? Fine. Let me see how much you've improved."
They immediately reached an agreement.
Master and disciple.
Each harboring their own thoughts.
They walked toward the training grounds—the place where it had all begun.
"Looks like all those missions have given you the wrong idea," Zephyr said. "You think you can arm-wrestle with me now?"
"Come. Let me wake you up with these black arms you know so well."
Since joining the Marines, Roldy's beatings had never truly stopped.
At first, he couldn't even fight back.
Now—
Zephyr had to rely on his pride and joy—Armament Haki—to face him.
That alone proved how far Roldy had come.
"Hmph. Don't underestimate me, old man. Even the body gets worn down by illness. You're getting old."
"Give it a few more years—I won't even need both hands to beat you."
Roldy snorted.
In perfect sync, master and student shrugged off their coats.
Zephyr rolled up his sleeves.
Roldy went further—he removed his shirt entirely, revealing a body of razor-honed muscle.
"Brat. If you think you can defeat me, you're still decades too early."
Zephyr stepped forward with his left foot.
The solid ground fractured beneath the force.
Then he shot forward like a cannonball.
His massive arm darkened—
Armament Haki coated it so densely it swallowed all light.
This was his signature technique.
The source of his epithet.
"Black Arm" Zephyr.
An advanced application of Armament Haki.
Even Garp had once admitted that in terms of Armament alone, Zephyr stood at the very peak.
As Garp himself had put it:
Zephyr's Armament Haki had reached the summit of advanced mastery—so refined it faintly hinted at something beyond.
A step above flowing Haki.
A top-tier Armament.
Zephyr's punch moved so fast that ordinary eyes could not track it.
The power behind it was obvious.
Yet Roldy—
Looked completely at ease.
He had long since grown accustomed to this.
Instead of dodging—
He chose to meet it head-on.
"Careful, old man!"
Dark purple-black Armament Haki wrapped around Roldy's forearm.
After all—
He had been born with Armament Haki.
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