That night,
Guided by Jinmu, Kisame and the others sat down to a hearty mess hall dinner at the Navy training camp.
With the very first bite,
Kisame realized something—Zeff's cooking skills weren't just empty boasting!
After dinner,
They all went their separate ways. Kisame and his group headed back to their dorm.
Once inside, with no outsiders around, Revy's childish side came out, and she started playing around with Sanji.
Kisame slumped into the sofa, his mind wandering.
Ever since arriving at Navy Headquarters, memories of his time in the Hidden Mist Village kept surfacing.
Those painful memories etched deep into his soul, they didn't fade with time.
If anything, they only became clearer with age. He remembered how, for the sake of the village, to protect its secrets, he'd once killed his own teammates with his own hands.
He used to believe he was born to be a shinobi of the Mist.
But when his hands were soaked in blood, when he became more executioner than comrade, mercilessly cutting down those he once called allies—That was the moment he realized—he'd been wrong.
Not about himself, but about the entire shinobi world.
That was why he eventually agreed to join that man—and the Akatsuki.
"We really just… joined the Navy like that?"
Zeff's voice snapped Kisame out of his thoughts. He glanced over. Zeff was leaning back on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.
"You don't like it?"
"Not exactly. Just… not used to it yet."
Leaning by the window, Zeff looked out toward the training field. Even as night fell, there were still young recruits hard at work.
He sighed softly.
"Once a pirate, now a soldier… This identity switch is happening a bit fast."
"Hah. Let's just give it a try."
"If it doesn't work out—then we leave. Simple as that."
Kisame didn't care much either way. He'd already been a rogue ninja back in his own world.
So if he ended up a rogue soldier in this one…?
No big deal. Then again, maybe he wouldn't even need to go rogue.
———
The next day.
As the first rays of morning sunlight bathed the training grounds, Kisame and the others, now familiar with the routine, went to the mess hall again for another round of big-pot breakfast.
Honestly, if conditions allowed, Kisame would've started his own kitchen.
That thought made him glance at Zeff.
They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach.
A saying with some double meaning, sure—But in this context? Still perfectly valid.
Fed and fueled, they made their way to the training grounds.
Nearly every trainee was already gathered, waiting for the instructor to arrive.
Before long,
a towering figure with a powerful build slowly stepped onto the field, bathed in sunlight.
It was the instructor of the Navy Headquarters' Elite Training Program—
the former Navy Admiral, Black Arm Zephyr.
Even though Kisame had seen him just yesterday, facing him again today, he could still feel that overwhelming pressure radiating from the man
A forceful, commanding presence that screamed power, that was the aura of a true powerhouse.
Even Kisame had to admit—he couldn't quite compare.
But when it came to technique, he wasn't so sure he'd lose that badly.
He wasn't Hidan, after all. He didn't go out of his way just to get beaten up.
Zephyr scanned the trainees, then gave a brief glance at Kisame and the others—who clearly didn't quite fit in.
He said nothing. No motivational speeches or barking orders.
He simply turned to his assistant instructor and quietly handed over the training schedule.
A few moments later, once the assistant got things started,
Kisame finally understood what elite really meant.
Just look at those training programs—Everything started in the thousands.
Thousands of push-ups, sit-ups, drills. Even laps around the field went into the thousands.
With that kind of regimen, even a pig would get trained into a musclebound ox.
The training grounds weren't just about basic physical conditioning, either.
A few select trainees were sparring—hand-to-hand, sword fighting, even some brutal-looking iron-finger thrusts into metal plates.
Kisame winced when he saw those iron boards, pockmarked with tiny dents.
This wasn't an elite training camp—This was a hell camp.
"Interested?"
A voice pulled him back. Kisame turned and realized—at some point, Zephyr had walked up right beside him.
"Hm? In what?"
"A match."
"You want to fight me?"
Kisame eyed Zephyr, who looked like a walking fortress, and instinctively started to shake his head.
"I've already looked into your group," Zephyr said calmly. "Besides you and Zeff, the two kids—well, they're embarrassingly weak."
"So how about it? A one-on-one match. Win or lose, I'll personally train those two brats."
Zephyr's tone was steady, emotionless.
Even though Sengoku and the others spoke highly of this group, Zephyr wanted to judge them with his own eyes.
Sure, part of it was because his fists were itching—but mostly, he wanted to get a feel for who these people really were.
Kisame had been about to turn him down, but the moment he heard that—
A challenge, with stakes?
He glanced back at Revy and Sanji, who looked like they were already shell-shocked by the training regimen.
He started to think.
They hadn't been together that long, but to say there weren't any feelings between them would be a lie.
Having a former Admiral of the Navy personally train them?
That kind of opportunity didn't come every day.
It was tempting—very tempting.
After weighing it all in his head, he figured this would also be a great chance to test his own strength.
"Heh… Alright. I accept," Kisame said, nodding.
There wasn't just one assistant instructor in the elite training program.
A few of them stood nearby, and when they overheard the conversation between Zephyr and Kisame, they all looked utterly stunned.
Their eyes instinctively turned toward Kisame—seeing his fishman features, they secretly guessed:
Could this guy be that newly-recruited Warlord of the Sea from a few days ago?
But even if he was one of the Seven Warlords…
There was no way he could be a match for Instructor Zephyr.
Was this guy seriously that full of himself?
Then again, He was a pirate. Arrogance came with the territory. Probably didn't even know how terrifying Zephyr truly was.
Even with those thoughts in their heads, a few of the assistant instructors couldn't help but feel a little gleeful inside, exchanging amused glances.
Ignorant fool.
Wait until Zephyr throws the first punch—you'll be crying then.
To them, Zephyr wasn't just any instructor,
He was one of the top military forces in the entire World Government.
Forget his status as a former admiral, Just his mastery over all three types of Haki made him a walking natural disaster.
And that infamous name "Black Arm" wasn't just for show. It came from his overwhelming proficiency in Armament Haki.
Those two words alone were enough to strike terror into the hearts of pirates across the seas.
And now this fish-brained fool dared to challenge him?
"Come on! To the back field!"
Zephyr let out a hearty laugh, clearly amused, and led the group off the main training grounds.
———
The assistant instructors glanced at each other, then at the trainees still on the field. After a moment's hesitation… they started sneaking off after Zephyr and Kisame.
One of them even discreetly pulled out a Den Den Mushi to notify Sengoku.
Meanwhile, the trainees, curious as ever, craned their necks to watch the group leave.
"Is Zephyr-sensei giving them some kind of secret training?"
"Man, that's totally unfair!"
"Are you stupid? Zephyr-sensei's going to fight that fishman shorty!"
"Seriously?!"
"That short guy's gonna get punched into oblivion!"
"You know jack. That fishman was personally brought in by Admiral Kizaru yesterday."
"Think about it—someone escorted in by a fleet admiral, and not even as a trainee? That guy's no pushover."
Among the group of cadets, a self-proclaimed "analysis genius" broke it all down like an expert.
Hearing this, a white-haired young man's eyes lit up with excitement.
A fight between two powerhouses?
This was going to be a rare show.
Seeing the instructors sneaking off, the white-haired youth hesitated briefly…then quietly slipped away too.
But—The moment the rest of the cadets saw him leaving,
they all followed suit, abandoning their training and sprinting toward the special combat field in the back.
The white-haired youth glanced behind him, dumbfounded.
"…You bunch of idiots!"
Cursing under his breath, the young man's legs transformed into smoke,
and with a burst of speed, he shot ahead, flying faster than the rest.
(End of Chapter)
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