Morning at the G-5 base. Sunlight pierced through the thin mist, shining over this "city of miracles" woven from steel and gold.
Although there was still a month before the finals, the newly promoted elites showed no signs of relaxing.
On the contrary, after witnessing just how vast the world truly was, the sixty-plus new Colonels had all fallen into a frenzied state of competition.
Especially for Shelby, who had just eaten the Logia-type Flame-Flame Fruit and fancied himself a "chosen one", every second now was priceless.
G-5 Base, S-Class Comprehensive Training Ground
This was a restricted zone accessible only to officers of Rear Admiral rank and above.
The ground was paved with a special alloy as hard as diamond, surrounded by energy-absorbing force-field generators.
Boom!
A burst of orange-red flames exploded at the center, heat waves distorting the air.
Shelby stood shirtless, his pale skin flushed red from sweat and firelight.
His blade burned with roaring flames. One slash sent a ten-meter-long arc of fire crashing into the test target.
Yet looking at the target, only slightly reddened, his brows furrowed.
"Not enough… still too scattered."
He stared at the flame burning in his palm.
"The Flame-Flame Fruit is powerful, but I rely on it too much. Against someone like Aramaki, or anyone with strong Haki or heat resistance, this level won't deal real damage."
Shelby wasn't stupid.
He might be narcissistic, but when it came to getting stronger, his obsession was real.
He needed guidance.
Someone with a Logia ability, top-tier Haki, and mastery in combining elements with physical combat.
In all of G-5, no, in the entire New World, there was only one such person.
"Chief Rehn!"
Shelby extinguished the flames, put on his treasured white coat, and turned.
In the corner, under a parasol, Rehn lounged in a recliner, sipping iced coconut juice, wearing diamond-studded sunglasses, reading a financial newspaper, occasionally tapping a calculator and chuckling.
Hearing him, Rehn lazily lowered the paper.
"Oh? Our Flame Emperor stopped training already? That move just now, 'Burning Butt Slash'… oh right, 'Flame Slash', looked flashy enough."
There was teasing in his tone, but no malice.
Shelby stepped forward, took a deep breath, and bowed deeply.
"Mr. Rehn, please teach me!"
The bow was perfect, none of his usual arrogance.
"I want to grow stronger. Not just through luck, but strong enough to stand behind Lord Renzo."
He raised his head, silver eyes blazing with ambition.
"My Haki isn't refined enough. My fruit usage is superficial. You're a Lightning user, a master of Logia development and Haki-body fusion. Please… guide me!"
Rehn looked at him, surprise flickering into approval.
"Now that's more like it."
He stood up. His round body wobbled slightly, but an overwhelming aura leaked out.
"If you thought eating a fruit made you the protagonist, I'd be disappointed."
He stepped closer.
"Shelby, what do you think is the biggest weakness of Logia users?"
"Is it… Haki?" Shelby guessed.
"Wrong. It's arrogance."
Rehn said bluntly:
"Logia is too strong. Strong enough to make people ignore fundamentals. Many become spell-casting mages who just throw abilities. In the New World, those die fastest."
"You are a swordsman first. Then an ability user."
Rehn pointed a finger, Zzt!
A thin arc of lightning shot out, not explosive, but like an indestructible needle, piercing straight through the alloy target Shelby couldn't damage earlier.
Leaving a perfectly smooth hole.
Shelby gasped.
"See that?" Rehn smirked.
"That's efficiency. Compress twenty million volts into a single point, wrap it in dense Armament Haki, this is 'point kill.'"
"Your fire is too spread out. Like splashing water, it looks big, but only scalds the surface."
"What you need isn't bigger flames."
"It's to compress them."
"Compress…?" Shelby murmured.
"Exactly!"
Rehn clapped his shoulder.
"Compress the fire onto your blade. Turn it into high-pressure, high-temperature plasma. Wrap it with Haki, restrain it!"
"When your flames turn from orange to blue, or even colorless…"
"One swing could burn through even Kaido's dragon scales."
It hit Shelby like enlightenment.
"Compress… change color…"
His eyes shone.
"I understand! Thank you!"
"Heh, don't thank me yet."
Rehn rubbed his hands like a merchant.
"Private lessons aren't cheap. But since you're one of us, 20% discount. Deduct it from your salary. Or your next few years' salary."
"No problem! Even ten years is fine!"
Shelby didn't hesitate.
Money was just numbers. Strength was everything.
"Good!"
Rehn laughed.
"Then let's begin! If I don't beat that pretty face of yours into shape today, I'm not Rehn!"
Zzt!!
Boom!!
Lightning and fire clashed again.
Shelby's occasional screams echoed, as the rising star of G-5 rapidly transformed.
.....
Meanwhile… G-5 Base, "Eden" District
High-Level Officers' Dining Hall
Completely different from the noisy mess hall.
Red carpets from the West Blue. Famous paintings. Mahogany tables. Soft classical music.
Food was prepared by Sanji and his disciples.
"Slurp."
In a corner sat Blake, in a black training outfit, wooden sword on his back, devouring a huge bowl of beef ramen.
"Delicious…"
Juice burst in his mouth.
He almost teared up.
"So this… is a Comander's life?"
He glanced around, high-ranking officers dining elegantly.
It felt both new and suffocating.
Then, the doors opened.
A man in a black hat, crimson shirt, cross pendant, and a massive black blade on his back entered.
Silence fell instantly.
It was Dracule Mihawk.
The world's greatest swordsman.
He walked to the counter.
"A salad. Red wine."
His voice was calm.
The chef trembled while serving him.
Mihawk scanned the room, his gaze briefly landed on Blake.
"…Hm?"
Two seconds.
Blake's body tensed like prey before a predator.
But he didn't look away.
Their eyes met.
A clash of swordsmen.
No words, only will.
After a moment, Mihawk nodded faintly and walked away.
Blake's heart pounded.
"He looked at me…"
He clenched his fists.
To him, Mihawk was a god.
"This is my only chance."
He finished his food in seconds, stood up, grabbed his wooden sword, and walked over.
The room buzzed quietly.
"He's not challenging Mihawk, is he?"
"He's insane…"
Blake stopped before him.
Mihawk didn't look up.
"Something?"
Blake dropped to one knee.
He raised his wooden sword with both hands, a formal swordsman's plea.
"Lord Mihawk."
"I am Commander Blake. I know I am weak, like an ant before you."
"But I don't want to remain an ant."
"I want to know… how far my sword is from the peak."
"Please… teach me."
Silence.
Then, Clink.
Mihawk set down his utensils.
He looked at Blake.
He remembered him, the cold slash on Icefield Island.
A raw gem.
Untouched.
"…Blake."
"Your sword is full of resentment. It was forged for survival, sharp, but narrow."
Blake trembled.
"But…"
Mihawk glanced outside.
"…I've been bored lately."
"The cabbages are growing well. Perona keeps asking for dresses. That lazy Renzo only sleeps…"
He sighed.
Then looked back.
"If you want to learn… show me your potential."
He stood, picking up, a tiny dining knife.
"Follow me."
"Where?" Blake asked.
"The back hill. Vegetable field."
Mihawk said calmly, "Till the soil. Use sword energy to make it as fine as flour, without harming the worms."
"…What?!" Blake froze.
'Farming?!'
"Unwilling?" Mihawk glanced at him.
"No! I'm willing!" Blake jumped up, eyes burning.
"Then come."
Mihawk walked out.
Blake followed like a disciple.
The officers stared.
"…That works?"
"I'd till soil too if I could learn from him!"