The Marine training grounds were located along the eastern edge of Marineford, where crashing waves constantly battered the shoreline. The area was a sprawling expanse of open fields and towering buildings, constructed like fortified strongholds built for war.

Tachibana Kyūjō walked in silence, his katana Rairyūken sheathed at his hip. He followed a uniformed soldier without complaint, his expression calm—but the sharp glint in his eyes revealed a mind ready for whatever awaited him.

When they arrived at the central training field, the escorting soldier stepped forward and saluted a towering man standing in front of a line of Marine recruits.

"Instructor Zephyr, this is the new recruit. He was personally referred by Fleet Admiral Sengoku."

The man in question—tall, built like a battleship, muscles carved like solid steel—stood motionless for a moment. His spiky purple hair and pitch-black sunglasses made him look like the embodiment of discipline and fury.

He gave a brief nod, but didn't speak. His attention immediately returned to the recruits.

"What do you think you're doing, Smoker?! That's not how you use Tekkai!"

"You think being a Smoke Logia makes you untouchable?! Out on the Grand Line, Haki isn't a luxury—it's basic survival! You'll be crushed if you treat it like an afterthought!"

Then his gaze snapped to a girl with pink hair.

"Hina! You too! You think a Devil Fruit makes you invincible? Wrong! Your body and your Haki—that's the foundation of true strength!"

He took a long breath before barking another order:

"All of you—thirty laps around the entire base! Bottom ten? Add ten more laps!"

A wave of groans filled the morning air.

"Seriously… this is gonna kill me…"

But the moment one of them dared to whine out loud—

"FIFTY LAPS!!"

Silence.

And then—panic.

The entire squad took off running like their lives depended on it. Fear was a hell of a motivator.

Zephyr's attention drifted toward Kyūjō, who was still standing calmly nearby. There was something in his expression—disapproval? Suspicion?

'Another special recruit, huh?' Zephyr thought.

But after taking a second look at Kyūjō's frame—disciplined posture, battle-hardened aura—his irritation softened just a bit.

"You! Yeah, you! You're one of the recruits, aren't you?! Why aren't you running?! I don't repeat myself!"

Kyūjō looked up, about to say something, then thought better of it. He gave a short nod… and started running.

In the very back of the pack, a wide-eyed recruit named Mashyu nearly fell over as a gust of wind whooshed past him.

"...What was that?! A mirage?!"

Moments later, the wind blew by again—harder.

"W-Wait... I just got overtaken again?! BY THE SAME GUY?!"

One and a half hours later…

Kyūjō returned to Zephyr, not even winded. He stood tall and executed a flawless military salute.

"Report, Instructor! Lap assignment completed!"

The rest of the recruits—still dragging themselves across the field—could only stare in stunned silence.

"...Where the hell did that monster come from?"

Zephyr narrowed his eyes at Kyūjō.

That sharp glint from earlier was gone—replaced with something that looked eerily like respect.

"Good," he said simply. "Name, young sergeant?"

"Tachibana Kyūjō, Instructor Zephyr!"

To Kyūjō, this kind of training barely even qualified as a warm-up. Only the crushing pressure of the deep sea—where light vanished and his body fought to move under ten thousand meters of force—had managed to push his limits lately.

Zephyr nodded. "Alright. Rest up."

Then he turned back to the rest of the squad, voice raised.

"THE REST OF YOU ARE PATHETIC!! DON'T YOU FEEL SHAME BEING OUTRUN BY A NEW RECRUIT?!"

"Last twenty finishers—add twenty more laps!"

From the middle of the pack, Hina let out a strangled whimper.

"S-Seventy laps… Hina's gonna die…"

Nearby, Smoker clenched his jaw.

Even with his Smoke Logia powers, he was only mid-tier in stamina. Up until now, he hadn't cared—no one had ever really outclassed him among the recruits.

But this guy… Tachibana Kyūjō… was a physical monster.

For the first time, Smoker felt a surge of competitive fire ignite in his chest.

Two hours later, the last batch of recruits staggered across the finish line. Zephyr didn't bother waiting for all of them.

He left the field in Vice Admiral Diaz's hands and led the completed recruits into the indoor training hall.

Inside the massive combat dome, he stepped into the center of the circle. Dozens of trainees gathered around as he cast a quick glance at Kyūjō.

Then his voice rang out.

"Sit down! Today, we're going over Tekkai again."

At that, Smoker raised an eyebrow. He stood up, sounding just a bit impatient.

"Zephyr-sensei, haven't we been drilling Tekkai for over a week now? Can't we move on to Rankyaku already?"

Other voices joined in.

"Yeah, Sensei, everyone's got Tekkai down already!"

"Can we at least try a new technique today?"

Zephyr sighed, arms crossing over his chest.

"Smoker. Is your Tekkai perfect?"

"And the rest of you—John. Donovan. Nirall. You all think you've mastered it?"

"Fine. Anyone who believes their technique is flawless—come forward and prove it."

His gaze swept the room.

Silence.

Not one of the earlier volunteers moved a muscle.

Zephyr scoffed. Then his eyes landed back on Kyūjō.

"You! The new guy! Don't even think about hiding. Step forward."

Kyūjō blinked. He really hadn't planned on standing out again today—but refusing a direct command wasn't an option.

He rose and walked calmly to the front.

"What is it, Instructor Zephyr?"

"I need a demonstration partner," the man said while peeling off his Marine coat—revealing a torso built like iron, covered in old scars and the stories of war.

A strange shimmer ran across his skin.

"Draw your blade, Sergeant. Strike me. For real."

Kyūjō hesitated.

He knew exactly what this meant.

If he truly went all out—if he unleashed his blade at full force—and Zephyr wasn't using Haki, only relying on Tekkai… there was a real chance he could injure the legendary instructor.

Tekkai might resist bullets. But against a high-level swordsman?

It might not be enough.

But orders were orders.

Kyūjō slowly gripped the hilt of Rairyūken.

As he drew the blade, faint arcs of blue lightning crackled along its edge.

In a calm, serious voice, he spoke:

"Instructor Zephyr… please brace yourself."

And in the next instant—

Kyūjō vanished from sight.

He moved like a thunderbolt falling from the sky.

And the real battle… began.

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