Chapter 32: Bonds in the Forge
In the end, Zephyr was forced to accept the reality. He had once believed his mastery of physical combat was supreme—after all, he'd reached the rank of Admiral on pure skill, a testament to relentless hard work, if not god-given talent. It had taken him over a fortnight to master the basic forms of Shigan and Rankyaku. He'd thought that record was unassailable.
His new apprentice had not only shattered it; he had ground the pieces underfoot in the span of minutes.
Though, Zephyr consoled himself, surely no future apprentice will ever surpass this. This is the peak of absurdity.
"I feel like a rather useless master," Zephyr sighed later, his usual imposing demeanor replaced by a profound, weary slump. The confidence he'd carried as the Navy's ultimate instructor had taken a direct hit.
Satoru wasn't sure how to comfort him. He was, after all, the source of the problem. Maybe he should have just treated me as a normal student, he mused.
"But!" Zephyr suddenly boomed, slapping his own knee, the gloom vanishing as quickly as it came. A brilliant, proud grin split his face. "Having such a monstrously talented apprentice also brings glory to the master! Hahaha!"
He'd figured it out. This was the ultimate bragging right.
"From now on, I won't dictate your training regimen. You clearly know your own path. Come to me only with specific questions. However," his tone turned serious, "you will continue attending daily classes. Strength is crucial, but so are bonds. The Navy runs on trust and camaraderie as much as it does on power. You need to make friends here."
"Yes, Master. I understand."
Satoru agreed. It was a valid point. His social circle was, frankly, microscopic. A life of only training and solitude would eventually become its own prison.
Because of Satoru's one-sided domination, the elite class had been given the day off. The next morning, they reassembled on the same training ground. The same thirty faces, but the atmosphere was transformed. The challenge and contempt were gone, replaced by a wary, deep-seated respect—and a flicker of fear. The memory of yesterday's effortless defeat was a fresh scar on their collective pride.
However, over the following days, something unexpected happened. Satoru, despite his overwhelming strength, didn't act aloof. He began to form connections. His main circle included Chris, the speedster he'd one-punched; Herac, the muscular powerhouse; and a quieter cadet named Bosra, whose raw strength was the lowest in the class.
Satoru's Six Eyes, however, saw what others missed: a dormant, immense potential within Bosra. If nurtured, it could one day rival Zephyr's own. The idea of having a future Admiral-level "junior brother" was a strangely appealing thought to Satoru, though it would require years, perhaps decades, of cultivation.
After another grueling training session, Chris and Herac were slumped on the ground, gasping. Bosra was flat on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering when his peaceful, low-expectation life had vanished, replaced by this daily crucible of exhaustion.
Yet, he couldn't deny it—in just these few days, he felt markedly stronger.
"I don't get it," Herac groaned, watching Satoru, who wasn't even breathing heavily. "What are you made of? Don't you ever get tired?"
"Of course I get tired," Satoru replied, wiping non-existent sweat from his brow. "I just hide it well."
"Liar," all three chorused, seeing through the blatant falsehood.
"Hey, Bosra," Chris said, turning to the prone cadet. "You've improved a lot. Seriously."
Herac nodded in agreement. The "eternal crane-tail" was visibly catching up. It was baffling.
"I... have?" Bosra mumbled, still dazed. "I don't know why..."
"Because you have immense latent potential," Satoru stated, squatting down beside him. He pushed his borrowed sunglasses—taken from Zephyr's extensive collection—up onto his forehead, fixing Bosra with his pale blue gaze. "I saw it. That's why I dragged you into our group. Letting talent like yours rust away would be a crime."
"R-really?" Bosra asked, hope and disbelief warring in his voice. No one wanted to be the dead weight.
"Absolutely. My eyes are never wrong. If you train diligently and gain real combat experience... you have the potential to reach Instructor Zephyr's level one day."
The statement landed like a depth charge. Chris and Herac froze, staring at Bosra with new eyes. Zephyr's level? That was Admiral-tier. The ultimate aspiration for any Marine.
"Me? A... an Admiral?" Bosra whispered, the concept too vast to grasp.
"That's... amazing," Herac breathed, then turned eagerly to Satoru. "What about me? Do I have that potential?"
Satoru scrutinized him. "Hmm... Not with your current abilities alone. But if you found the right Devil Fruit... an Animal Type, perhaps a gorilla variant... that could change your destiny."
"Devil Fruit..." Herac murmured. He'd shared Zephyr's disdain for them, preferring raw strength. Now, the idea took root, glowing with possibility.
"As for you, Chris," Satoru said, turning to the speedster. "A balanced approach. Hone your physical skills relentlessly and develop your Speed-Speed Fruit. Push both to their limits. Becoming an Admiral is not an impossible dream for you."
Chris's eyes lit up, a fierce determination settling in.
Compared to Bosra's deep, untapped well, Chris's path was narrower, requiring him to break through his own limits in life-or-death crucibles. But the seed of belief had been planted.
In the forge of the Naval Academy, amidst sweat and exhaustion, bonds of rivalry were slowly transforming into bonds of fellowship, and the outlines of future legends were beginning to be sketched by the perceptive eyes of a boy who saw not just the present, but the shimmering threads of possible futures.
(End of Chapter)
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