Across the Grand Line, long queues formed in front of the New Navy's recruitment centers.
Before the morning sea mist had fully dispersed, through the hazy fog, crowds from the Four Seas could be seen gathering at the ports.
Among them were retired veterans, their eyes reflecting determination;
There were passionate young adults, their faces brimming with youthful vitality;
There were even parents with children, their eyes sparkling with anticipation for the future.
Everyone clutched their phones, the screens displaying the image of Zephyr standing side-by-side with the New Navy, that photo full of justice seemed to call out to everyone.
"I want to sign up!" A blond-haired youth squeezed to the front, his arm still wrapped in a bandage, clearly injured while traveling.
His voice trembled slightly with excitement, his eyes showing an unyielding fighting spirit: "After watching that video, I rushed here overnight from the West Blue!"
His fingers left sweaty prints on the application form, as if expressing his determination in this way.
At the recruitment point,
The Marine clerk responsible for registration stared dumbfounded at the endless line before him, his hands fumbling as he recorded each name, his eyes showing a hint of shock.
He had never imagined so many people would answer the call of the New Navy.
"I watched that video twenty times!" A boy wearing a baseball cap was excitedly gesturing, his eyes sparkling with admiration for the New Navy, "What Mr. Zephyr said about 'true justice' was so cool!"
Behind him, an old man with a fishing rod on his back, the furrows etched by time on his face now shone with long-lost brilliance.
He nodded, his voice carrying a hint of Vicissitudes: "Yes, justice, that's what we've always pursued."
Not far away, a young Mother stood in the line holding her child, her eyes showing a blend of gentleness and determination:
"I want my child to see that there are still people in this world who fight for justice."
Although her child was still young, a hint of curiosity and longing was already visible in their eyes.
In the line, a retired veteran patted the shoulder of the young man next to him, his eyes showing a hint of relief: "When I was young, I was as passionate as you. Now, seeing you all, I know that justice will never be late."
As time passed, the line grew longer, and their hearts to join the New Navy burned hotter!
...
Marineford Reserve Training Camp,
An oppressive silence hung over the training ground in the early morning.
The training field, which should have been filled with the shouts of morning exercises, was now empty, only the gentle breeze blowing through, bringing a touch of coolness.
Instructor Blank stepped on the dew-soaked grass, his boots making an unsettling creak, as if each step spoke of some unease.
He abruptly pushed open the wooden door of the third barracks, and the sight before him caused his pupils to suddenly contract.
Twenty beds were neatly arranged, with neatly ironed Marine uniforms folded on each one.
Sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting dappled light and shadow on the dark blue fabric, appearing particularly harsh.
Beside the bed closest to the door, the blond youth Wattas was carefully folding the last shirt.
His movements were meticulous, as if performing an important ritual.
Blank's voice exploded in the empty barracks: "Wattas! Do you know what you're doing?!"
His voice held a hint of anger and confusion, his fist slamming heavily against the doorframe, making the training schedule on the wall rattle.
Wattas's fingers paused slightly on the collar of the uniform, the seagull feather-shaped collar pin glinting coldly in the sunlight.
He looked up, his emerald green eyes showing unprecedented determination: "Instructor, I've watched that video twenty-seven times."
His voice was calm, but his eyes held a hint of persistence.
Blank suddenly noticed that on Wattas's bedside table, the phone screen was still lit, the image frozen on the scene of the New Navy's establishment.
The densely packed comments in the video's comment section crawled like ants across half the screen, each comment seemingly expressing support and anticipation for the New Navy.
"Leaving before completing your military service, you're deserting!" Blank grabbed Wattas's shoulder, but felt the young man's tensed muscles remain motionless.
He smelled the scent of the sea breeze, Wattas already carried that salty, free scent from the New Navy video.
Wattas gently broke free from the instructor's hand, and as he sat on the edge of the bed, the springs groaned under the strain.
He stroked the Marine emblem on the uniform, then suddenly showed a relieved smile: "In that case, I'll leave after completing my military service in the Marine.
The sunlight danced on his golden eyelashes, his voice carrying a hint of firmness: "But my justice will ultimately go where it belongs."
Blank's lips trembled a few times, he looked around, those empty beds like silent protests.
Finally, he took off his glasses and wiped them, the hem of his coat drawing a heavy arc as he turned: "...Suit yourself."
His voice held a hint of helplessness, but his eyes showed a bit of understanding.
Wattas watched the instructor's retreating back, a complex emotion surging in his heart.
He knew that the decision he had made would not only change his own fate but also make things difficult for those around him.
But he also knew that the flame of justice had ignited in his heart and could not be extinguished.
...
South Sea · Shell Island,
In the brown-haired youth Laien's bedroom, fragments of the Marine application form were scattered like snowflakes on the floor.
Sunlight streamed through the window onto these fragments, appearing particularly harsh.
On Laien's phone, the New Navy video had been playing on repeat for the ninth time.
His eyes showed a hint of confusion and unwillingness, as if struggling with his inner self.
When the old veteran who had lost his right arm smiled while holding the rescued little girl in the video, Laien suddenly raised his hand and slapped himself.
"I'm such an idiot!" he shouted at his reflection in the mirror, his voice filled with anger and self-blame.
The sound startled his Mother cooking downstairs, and footsteps gradually approached.
In a flash, Laien tore down the Marine propaganda poster from the wall, revealing the peeling paint behind it.
The moment the poster was torn off, it seemed to also tear away the last trace of hesitation in his heart.
He turned and quickly began packing his luggage, stuffing the last shirt into the suitcase.
"Laien?" When his Mother pushed the door open, she saw her son stuffing the last shirt into his suitcase.
Her well-maintained hands were still covered in flour, and upon seeing the fragments of the Marine application form on the floor, she suddenly understood something.
A complex look flashed in her eyes, but more than that was worry.
"I'm going to join the army that can truly protect everyone!"
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