At The Peak of One Piece

Chapter 49: Chapter 49: First Day of Training



Victor found Smoker's assessment reasonable. Not everyone could hone their body into a monster before twenty, master swordsmanship, and awaken Observation Haki like he had. 

In the original timeline, Smoker hadn't awakened Haki until pursuing the Straw Hats post-Marineford—well into his thirties. By then, he stood in the Marines' fourth combat tier. Those above him—veteran Vice Admirals, Admirals, and legends like Garp—were decades older. Even prodigies like Momousagi and Chaton were older than Smoker. 

Kuzan (Aokiji), exceptionally gifted, became Admiral before 46. Yet most Haki users in the Navy were seasoned veterans. Coby's early mastery was a fluke—forged under Garp's brutal fists. The notion of "every Marine using Haki" during Dressrosa's birdcage incident? Exaggeration. Those were Fujitora's elites—a Admiral's privilege. 

Haki required tempering through battle. Boot camp teens lacking it made sense. Victor felt ready to graduate—'if' he learned Armament Haki. But the Navy wouldn't promote an unvetted recruit. Loyalty checks mattered. 

'Zephyr's the key.' The former Black Arm still had both arms. His expertise outweighed any camp. Victor would enter the Elite Camp just to learn from him. 

────── 

As Victor feasted with friends, Lieutenant Colonel Andrew received a late visitor. 

"Sir, a situation in the recruit dorms." 

"Report." 

"Recruits are complaining about Victor. He's cooking in his room—aromas are overwhelming the wing. Refuses to share. Disrupting sleep." 

"It violates New Recruit Zone regulations. Your orders, sir?" 

Andrew massaged his temples. "First-night leniency. Give him a public dressing-down tomorrow. Emphasize—" 

'CRACK!' 

The office window shattered. A skewer of grilled meat impaled Andrew's desk, steaming. 

Attached was a note: 

'"Complaints require evidence. Taste first. —Victor"' 

Andrew pulled the skewer free. The aroma disarmed him. He took a bite. 

'Gods…' 

He devoured it whole. 

"Regulations," he mumbled, grease on his chin, "can wait till breakfast." 

────── 

At dawn, recruits assembled on the training ground. Andrew stood stern-faced before Victor. 

"Recruit Victor! Cooking in dorms violates Article 7! Explain yourself!" 

Victor shrugged. "Regulation states: ''No open flames in living quarters.'' I used an electric hotplate. No flames." 

Andrew froze. He'd never actually read Article 7. 

Murmurs spread. Smoker facepalmed. Hina bit back laughter. 

"Then…" Andrew scrambled, "the smell constitutes 'disorderly conduct' under Article 3!" 

"Disorderly?" Victor raised an eyebrow. "Sir, are you penalizing excellence? Should I burn rations like the mess hall instead?" 

Andrew's face purpled. "Twenty laps! Now!" 

As Victor sprinted off, Andrew muttered to an aide: 

"Get me that hotplate model. And… invite Victor to instruct the mess chefs." 

"...a minor reprimand should suffice," Andrew concluded after a moment's thought. 

"Understood, Colonel. Goodnight." 

"Dismissed." 

────── 

Victor absorbed the intel on the training zone before diving back into the feast. The night ended with satisfied faces flushed from drink. Victor collapsed onto his bunk; Rebecca cleared the table. Smoker and Hina left staggering arm-in-arm, Hina slurring drunken promises. 

────── 

Dawn broke. Rebecca shook Victor awake. They reached the assembly ground to find it crowded. Andrew checked his pocket watch. Precisely at 0500, his whistle shrieked. 

"Form ranks! Latecomers—stand aside! No re-entry without orders!" Andrew barked. Instructors corralled the stragglers. 

Once assembled, Andrew addressed them: 

"All recruits will run twenty laps around the New Recruit Zone perimeter! Late arrivals add five laps! Recruit Victor—violating dorm regulations with unauthorized cooking—adds ten laps! Follow Instructor Marcos! Memorize the route! Assistants—record penalty runners!" 

Gasps erupted. 

"The Zone? One lap must be six miles!" 

"Twenty on day one? Brutal!" 

"They're trying to kill us!" 

"SILENCE!" Andrew's roar cut through the panic. "MOVE! NOW!" 

Then Victor stepped out of formation. He walked straight to Andrew, stopped, and stared—arms crossed. The message was clear: 'I'm not running.' 

Shock rippled through the ranks. 'Rebellion on day one?' Andrew's face darkened. Defiance on his first command? Discipline would collapse. 

"Alright, since it's his first day and he's unfamiliar with the rules, let's just give him a warning and a minor punishment in front of the other recruits as an example." Lieutenant Andrews pondered for a moment before responding. 

"Understood, Colonel. I'll take my leave now. Rest well." 

"Dismissed." 

... 

Having learned much about the basic structure of the recruit training zone, Victor proceeded to eat and drink with the other two. By the end of the night, everyone was satisfied, their faces flushed red from alcohol. 

Victor simply collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep. Rebecca took care of cleaning up the table, while Smoker and Tashigi staggered off arm-in-arm, the latter muttering drunken nonsense the entire way. 

The night passed without incident. The next morning, Victor was awakened by Rebecca. By the time they arrived at the assembly square, it was already packed with recruits. Lieutenant Andrews checked his pocket watch, then surveyed the gathered trainees. The moment the clock struck exactly 5:00 AM, he blew his whistle sharply. 

"All present recruits, form ranks! Latecomers, stand to the side and await further instructions—do not rejoin the ranks without permission!" he barked, ordering the assistant instructors to keep an eye on the stragglers. 

Once everyone was accounted for, Andrews began his briefing. 

"All recruits will now run laps around the training grounds—twenty laps each! Latecomers will run an extra five. Additionally, Victor violated regulations by cooking in his dorm last night and will run an extra ten laps. Follow the assistant instructors and memorize the route. Other assistants will record those with extra laps." 

He pointed to one of the assistants. 

"Huh? The entire training zone?! That's gotta be at least ten kilometers per lap!" 

"They're hitting us with this on the first day? Isn't this too brutal?" 

"Are they trying to kill us? Holy—" 

"SILENCE! No talking! Follow the instructors and start running—NOW!" Andrews roared. 

At that moment, Victor stepped out of formation and walked straight toward Andrews, staring at him without a word. His expression practically screamed, 'I'm not running. Let the others do it.' 

The other recruits were stunned. 'Rebelling on the very first day? This guy's insane.' Andrews' expression darkened. If his authority was challenged this early, how could he possibly maintain discipline in the future? 

"VICTOR! What the hell do you think you're doing? If you don't want to be a Marine, then GET OUT! Nobody here will coddle you!" Andrews snapped, no longer caring about Garp's influence. 

Victor remained silent, continuing to advance until he stood right in front of Andrews. The lieutenant's heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively took a step back. Despite his rank, Andrews was more of an administrative officer—his combat skills were lacking, and he feared getting punched. 

"Instructor Andrews, here's the thing—those laps won't do anything for me. How about you get me some heavy weights instead? I'll run with those. Preferably enough for two people." 

His tone was calm, as if Andrews' anger meant nothing to him. 

Andrews was dumbfounded. 'Who the hell' asks 'for extra training?' Still, he waved over an assistant. 

"Go to the equipment room and bring two sets of the Elite Camp's training weights." 

Then, eyeing Victor, he muttered, "So, from now on, cooking in the dorms means extra laps, huh?" 

Andrews' eye twitched. 'This brat's already planning to break the rules daily, and I'm just supposed to allow it? Hell no!' 

…Or so he thought, until Victor stomped his foot—leaving a crater in the stone pavement. 

With a smile, Victor cheerfully suggested, "How about a friendly spar, Instructor? I'd love to learn some of your techniques." 

Andrews immediately reconsidered. "...Extra laps it is." 

'Yes. This was always my decision. Definitely not because I'm terrified.' 

When the assistants returned with the weights, Victor tested them—then tossed the 500-kg set aside like they were made of paper. 

"Too light. Way too light. Got anything heavier?" 

Andrews' eyelid spasmed. "That's the standard Elite Camp load!" 

Victor said nothing, lifting one of the weights with a single finger. The surrounding recruits' jaws hit the floor. 

With a sigh, Andrews nodded to the assistants. They returned with a set so heavy it took six men to carry. Victor tried it on, then immediately discarded it—the impact cracking the stone beneath. 

"Still too light. Next." 

"That's the set Vice Admiral Kizaru used! You're still not satisfied?!" 

Victor shrugged. The other recruits stared at the shattered ground in horror. 'That's "too light"? I'd die on the spot if I tried wearing that!' 

"Light." 

"This was Vice Admiral Kuzan's—" 

"Light." 

... 

"Light. Whose is this one?" 

"Vice Admiral Sakazuki's!" 

"Hmm. Next." 

The recruits were numb at this point. These were legendary figures in the Marines—and their training weights had left craters in the ground. 'And you're still complaining?!' 

"This'll do for now. Whose was it?" 

"Former Admiral Zephyr's! Finally satisfied?!" 

By now, it took twelve men to carry a single set. 

"Still a bit light. Bring heavier ones next time—we're wasting daylight here." 

Andrews nearly choked. 'YOU'RE the one wasting time!' 

"This one's just barely acceptable. You should prepare even heavier sets—I'll need them soon. Who used this one?" 

"Vice Admiral Garp!" 

Andrews didn't take Victor's words seriously. 'Do you even realize whose weights these are? The Hero of the Marines used these! You won't outgrow them before graduation!' 

The other recruits were utterly terrified. 'Garp's weights… and this is just the beginning? What kind of monster is he?!' 

Ignoring the stunned crowd, Victor stretched briefly before breaking into a sprint. "Rebecca, put on the 500-kg set!" 

And with that, he was gone—his speed unaffected by the absurd weight. 

The recruits numbly picked their jaws off the ground and began running, their faces pale with despair. 'Do I even belong here…?' 

Andrews wiped cold sweat from his brow. 'Thank god I didn't agree to spar. That would've ended… poorly.' 

'Just where did Garp find this freak of nature? Are they related or something?' 

'If you need weights this heavy, why not just train directly under Garp?! Why torment a weak, innocent man like me?!' 

Unfazed by the chaos behind him, Victor ran with effortless grace. Thus, the first day of training began in the most polarized atmosphere imaginable. Before long, Rebecca, too, strapped on weights and followed. 

Despite running 30 laps, Victor finished first—his speed undiminished by the load. Many recruits collapsed mid-run, unconscious on the roadside. Only a handful completed the ordeal, their performance meticulously recorded for future assignments.


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