"Good morning, Trace! This is Smoker—we joined the Navy together back then."
With a bright smile, Tashigi cheerfully introduced her two friends to each other.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Smoker."
Trace nodded politely at Smoker, but his gaze quickly returned to Tashigi.
"Tashigi, why are you here so early? Don't you guys have training today?"
"The instructor gave us a day off."
Tashigi explained briefly.
"As for why we came here… actually, Smoker has something he wants to discuss with you."
Smoker?
Trace raised an eyebrow.
He was pretty sure he had never interacted with this so-called "White Hunter" before.
"Well then, Mr. Smoker…"
Trace glanced at the man, whose eyes gleamed with intensity. A faint chill crept into his heart.
"…what can I do for you?"
Smoker looked him straight in the eye and got straight to the point.
"I want to challenge you. Do you have time now?"
"…"
That ominous feeling came true.
Trace's lips twitched slightly.
Just yesterday, he had been mentally estimating his rank in the Navy training camp's power hierarchy.
Back then, he'd noted Smoker—already a user of the Plume-Plume Fruit—as one of the "absolutely cannot handle for now" types.
And yet… here that very man was, knocking on his door the next day.
Looking into Smoker's razor-sharp gaze, then glancing at Tashigi's eager expression, Trace understood that this "challenge" was not something he could walk away from.
Besides, with his enrollment into the Navy's elite training camp imminent, he did need a good opportunity to "make a name for himself"—to discourage the cannon-fodder types from bothering him later.
The only problem was… this so-called "ideal opponent" seemed way over the line.
Originally, Trace had planned to establish dominance by taking down Vergo, the undercover agent that Donquixote Doflamingo had secretly placed within the Navy.
He even had a threatening line prepared:
"Mr. Vergo, you wouldn't want Admiral Zephyr discovering your little undercover gig now, would you~?"
A classic villainous bluff.
But before he could make his move, Smoker had shown up instead.
Based on the intel Trace had gathered these past two days, Smoker wasn't just headstrong—his raw power had him firmly seated at the top of the training camp's rankings, without contest.
It couldn't be helped.
At this early stage of everyone's development, Logia-type Devil Fruits were straight-up cheat codes—impossible to deal with unless you had very specific counters.
Still… even smoke must have its weaknesses, right?
Trace narrowed his eyes, as though trying to see through Smoker entirely.
"…I accept your challenge."
---
The duel was set on the forward deck.
Not Trace's idea, but Smoker's.
Smoker believed that against someone strong enough to challenge Kaido, he, the underdog, needed as much open space as possible to fully leverage the Plume-Plume Fruit's potential.
Yes, you heard that right…
Smoker thought he was the underdog.
Trace: What the hell, man.
On the broad, open forward deck, a sea of Navy soldiers had gathered tightly into a massive human ring, leaving just enough space in the center for a proper battle ring.
They'd all come the moment they heard Smoker intended to challenge Trace, with more arriving by the minute.
And it wasn't just the soldiers—even the instructors, including Zephyr himself, had turned their attention toward the match.
"What a lively bunch of kids…"
From the warship's top-level office, Admiral Zephyr stood by the window, gazing down at the bustling forward deck with mild amusement.
Yesterday's failed attempt to recruit the two captains of the Giant Warrior Pirates hadn't bothered him in the slightest.
He never liked the Shichibukai system anyway, and hadn't expected much from trying to recruit pirates.
Those two giants who rejected the Navy's offer were currently recovering from their injuries. Given giant physiology, they wouldn't be back on their feet for at least a few weeks.
Behind Zephyr stood several senior officers draped in justice-embroidered coats.
Aside from his longtime aide, there was one man of particular note—a Marine Rear Admiral.
This man was a rare "longhead", with a skull length far beyond normal. He had to wear a specially made bearskin Navy cap just to cover it up.
Beneath that cap was a deadpan face, eyes half-lidded, with two slightly ornate sabers sheathed at his waist.
Rear Admiral Strawberry.
Now that he had been promoted, Strawberry had applied to join this year's elite training program—his goal was to handpick one or two promising rookies to serve as his personal aides.
"Strawberry, the camp is already halfway through. Found anyone worth training yet?"
Zephyr gave him a side glance, his tone not exactly warm.
Strawberry knew why.
He was, after all, a known follower of Vice Admiral Borsalino.
And everyone at Marine HQ knew Zephyr despised that flashy slacker.
"I've already found suitable candidates, Zephyr-sensei." Strawberry replied with impeccable courtesy, giving nothing for Zephyr to criticize.
Zephyr nodded slightly, then turned his gaze back to the deck below.
Spotting the young man standing across from Smoker, he asked casually, as if in passing:
"I heard that little brat Borsalino is looking to take over some special units lately—Science Division, SWORD, things like that. Got any inside scoop on whether he's planning something for you?"
The Navy Science Division—Vegapunk's revolutionary think tank.
SWORD—a covert ops unit focused on monitoring pirate movements.
Strawberry shook his head. "I'm not aware of any such plans, Instructor Zephyr."
Zephyr nodded faintly, arms crossed again, eyes fixated on the brewing storm below as though the topic had never come up.
---
On the forward deck.
Smoker shut out the noise around him and focused solely on Trace.
Without waiting for a signal, he activated his Devil Fruit power on the spot.
Both of his tanned arms turned into shifting tendrils of long, white smoke—flickering and formless—while his fists retained their solid form.
"White Blow!"
With a thunderous shout, Smoker launched both arms forward, the smoke fists tearing through the air, howling toward Trace like twin warheads.
But Trace's reflexes didn't fall short.
His nostrils flared. Without a sound, he activated Total Concentration: Beast Breathing, amplifying his physical abilities in an instant.
He raised his left arm and caught the incoming white fists.
A slight tremble ran down his forearm—but it didn't hinder him at all.
His palm shifted and locked around one of the smoke fists—and with a flick of his right hand, a glint of icy steel flashed between his fingers.
[Dismembering Virgin (Replica)]
A cold gleam cut through the air.
The white smoke fist was severed cleanly.
Before the crowd could react, Trace moved again—like he was slicing through squid tentacles in a kitchen. The second smoke fist met the same end.
Smoker remained calm. Having both "White Blow" arms cut meant nothing to a Logia user like him.
With a thought, he reactivated his power.
"White Out!"
The severed arms expanded and transformed—now massive floating tendrils of white smoke in midair.
From these, twisting appendages lashed out in all directions like the limbs of a smoke-covered kraken, aiming to bind and subdue Trace completely.
But Trace had seen this before.
Memories of chopping fish in the mess hall flickered through his mind.
Once again, he swung the scalpel in a blur—slicing through every writhing smoke limb like octopus legs until all of "White Out" was shredded.
It was only a brief delay, but that was all Smoker needed.
His eyes gleamed with cold precision.
"White Launcher!"
Smoker's lower body turned into an amorphous plume of smoke—then blasted out white particles with explosive force.
Using the smoke as propulsion, Smoker zipped across the deck, gliding like a missile on low altitude.
Simultaneously, he dispersed what was left of White Out, flooding the entire area in a thick smoke screen—a manmade fog of war.
He vanished into it.
Gasps rippled through the crowd of soldiers.
They'd seen this combo before—many had fallen to it during the first half of training camp.
Even Tashigi bit her lip and clenched her fists, staring into the murky fog.
But they didn't know—this was exactly the moment Trace had been waiting for.
"Beast Breathing: Total Concentration!"
Just before the smoke engulfed him, Trace drew in a deep breath.
Condensed vapor jetted from his nostrils, his strength surging.
"Eight Form: Explosive Rush!"
With a crack of his shoes against the deck, Trace launched forward like a missile.
He dove into the fog at full speed, a shadowy blur of motion like a beast on the hunt.
He held his breath to avoid inhaling smoke particles—but didn't slow for even a second.
With [Heightened Hearing], he pinpointed Smoker's location within fifty meters in a heartbeat.
Next moment—
Trace's left hand gripped the scalpel's hilt. His right palm pressed against the blade.
The blade sliced across his own skin—drawing blood.
Blood flowed freely, coating his right fist in red.
Smoke is, after all, made of airborne dust particles.
And as everyone in the Grand Line should know—thanks to Luffy's defeat against Crocodile:
Dust fears moisture.
By now, Trace had reached Smoker.
With a roar, he unleashed his blood-soaked fist in a crushing uppercut!
Wild, brutal, overwhelming!
"Beast Breathing, First Form: Pierce—Modified!"
Boom!
A solid blow.
Flesh met flesh.