The next morning, dawn's early light brushed against their faces. The large training ground buzzed with activity as recruits gathered to begin a new day.
Perched high above them, Zephyr surveyed the spirited newcomers below. Teaching these students after retirement might not be so bad.
"Has everyone arrived?" he called down.
An adjutant standing beside him replied with a steady voice, "Report, Atticus has not yet arrived."
Zephyr shook his head slightly. "In that case, we needn't wait. Let's begin training."
Just then a figure came rushing in with powerful strides. "Report — Atticus has arrived!"
Zephyr nodded and addressed the other trainees, "Fall back into formation." He gave no sign of anger toward Atticus for interrupting.
Inwardly, he felt both relief and pity. He had assumed Atticus might not make it today, but clearly the youth's resolve was stronger than expected.
All around them, surprised expressions broke out. Atticus looked wretched — his face bruised, his body marred by purplish bruises and contusions.
Some blinked. Did he fight again last night?
They turned their eyes to Akainu, questioning.
Akainu's face flickered, cold and impassive, and he snorted, though no words came.
"Hey, what happened last night? Why do you look like that?" Aokiji called out, standing next to Atticus, eyeing him suspiciously. "You didn't sneak off doing something... and got caught, did you?"
"Shut up," Atticus replied, his tone dark and low. Only now did he realize Aokiji harbored such a mocking edge. He clenched his jaw. "I just overdid it during training last night."
Aokiji's expression shifted — from amused to bewildered. "You madman…" he muttered.
From then on, the academy fell into a rhythm.
Mornings were devoted to physical training; afternoons to practicing the Six Powers. Occasionally, Zephyr would pause to explain the nature of Haki, so the days ended feeling full yet demanding.
At night, while others slept, Atticus continued training. Except for meals and four or five hours of rest, he spent nearly every waking moment sweating.
Strangest of all: over the past month, he repeatedly arrived at assemblies bearing fresh injuries.
People began whispering, speculating whether Atticus had a masochistic streak.
For a week straight, Aokiji badgered him with invasive questions, but after meeting Atticus's exhausted glare, Aokiji finally relented and stopped.
A month passed almost without notice.
On this day, the academy welcomed a new instructor. It had been intended for Garp, but since he was off pursuing the Roger Pirates, the assignment went to Sengoku instead.
Zephyr himself had left on a separate mission to hunt pirate crews elsewhere.
Under Sengoku's instruction, Atticus absorbed every lesson. If he failed to understand something, he wouldn't hesitate to seek Sengoku late at night for clarification.
Gradually, Sengoku came to know Atticus well.
When asked who had left the deepest impression on him, Sengoku would not hesitate: Atticus.
His relentless drive, his madness even — and above all, his readiness to ask even the simplest questions — left Sengoku astonished.
Despite the brevity of a month, Atticus lived each day with urgency. The routine repeated: train, learn, rest, repeat — but always pressing forward.
Once more it was Zephyr's turn to teach.
That night, in their usual clearing, two figures clashed — one large and imposing, the other lean and driven.
Fists met flesh, dust billowed, wind roared. Atticus moved at incredible speed.
Soru, he thought, vanishing briefly then reappearing behind Zephyr. His five fingers snapped out — a merciless strike.
"Finger Pistol," he felt in his mind.
Zephyr didn't even turn his head. He raised his right hand, cloaked in Haki energy, and met Atticus's attack head-on.
"Armament: Straight Punch."
Atticus pressed on, emotion flickering in his eyes.
"Finger Pistol: Armament: Dark Night."
His five fingers glowed faintly with a dark, almost invisible energy as he struck again.
Boom.
Zephyr stood firm.
Atticus was thrown back, skidding across the ground before he came to a struggling halt.
"Again."
Zephyr's voice was calm, almost detached.
He vanished — a mere blur — and reappeared directly in front of Atticus.
Atticus's pupils shrank with sudden alarm. He twisted his body, narrowly dodging Zephyr's strike, then vanished using Soru.
He reappeared in the air, mid-Moonwalk, tension visible in every muscle. Fear lingered in his eyes.
Minutes passed.
Then Atticus collapsed, gasping for breath, collapsing powerless to the ground.
Zephyr, barely winded, dust swirling at his feet, regarded him calmly. He could have ended it at any moment — but tonight, he chose to teach instead of finish.
Atticus struggled to rise, bitterness etched on his tired face. "I didn't expect that I could only last five or six minutes against you, Master. What a failure."
Zephyr shook his head gently, sitting down beside him.
"You're already very strong. After just one month, your control of the Three Powers and Haki is only at entry level. Yet I am genuinely pleased."
There was warmth in his voice, pride even. For so many surprises had come from this disciple.
Atticus wiped the sweat and grime from his face, then spoke quietly.
"Master, did you hear anything about Shiki the Golden Lion on your trip?"
A flicker of anxiety crossed his eyes. A month ago he had asked Zephyr to look into Shiki's whereabouts, hoping to find news of Hazel.
Zephyr's face softened with regret.
"I did encounter Shiki during the journey. He was fighting the Roger Pirates somewhere in the waters near Wano. But because of terrible storms and the chaos at sea, I couldn't capture him."
Atticus nodded slowly, disappointment tracing his features.
But he recovered, determination returning.
The famous battle — the Battle of Edd War — had taken place. Soon, the Roger Pirates would reach their peak. There were only a few years left in that saga.
Atticus resolved to use this time to grow stronger, to become either a Vice Admiral or even an Admiral. Only then could he leverage all Marine intelligence to search for Hazel's whereabouts.
"Thank you, Master."
Zephyr placed a steady hand on his shoulder, smiling faintly.
"No need for formality. By the way — in a few days you'll join an expedition. After that, the Marines will hold a friendly competition."
"The top ten will graduate, and the top five will receive Captain's badges. With that badge, you'll be allowed to go after pirates and accumulate achievements."
He paused for a moment, gaze steady.
"If you want to find Hazel as soon as possible, your strength and achievements depend solely on you."
Atticus's eyes blazed. "I won't let you down."
"Good. Remember — you must aim for the top three in that competition, preferably first place."
Zephyr's manner seemed almost conspiratorial as he spoke.
"Top five all get rewards; but first place is always the best."
A spark of ambition flickered in Atticus's eyes. "First place will be mine."
Zephyr nodded.
"That's enough for tonight. Focus on consolidating your skills. In about five or six days, we head to Beast Island for training."
After Zephyr departed, Atticus lingered for a while, then made his way toward the sea. Tonight, he would allow himself a brief respite.
Standing in silence on the beach, he gazed at the endless stars and the dark ocean, listening as the tide brushed the shore.
His thoughts drifted to Hazel — wondering whether she was eating well, sleeping soundly.
He sighed deeply.
Then, with quiet purpose, he stepped into the water.
In the depths of the ocean, his thoughts stirred. Contrary to ordinary Devil Fruit users, Atticus felt no weakness at sea.
His Devil Fruit power remained unaffected.
He had discovered this peculiarity some time ago.
It puzzled him. Perhaps this Devil Fruit was different — after all, he had eaten it in his previous life, not this world's.
Whatever the reason, this difference could become a decisive advantage. The water pressure of the deep sea could serve as a natural training ground.
Most importantly, it could become a trump card.
In a fight on the sea, if necessary, this ability might provide unexpected leverage.
Yet, he decided to conceal this.
He told no one — not even Zephyr.
Unless it became absolutely necessary, he would pretend to have the usual sea-weakness, blending in with other Devil Fruit users.
Tonight, he swam slowly under the moonlight, the sea embracing him silently, his resolve hardening like steel under the waves.
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