Chapter 41: Chapter 41
"Rear Admiral Michael, with just the five of us, is this really going to work?" asked Marine Headquarters Lieutenant Shu, wearing a face mask.
"Of course it will."
Michael looked at the five before him—the oldest among them were the eighteen-year-olds Rosinante and T-Bone.
Even Shu, who had just spoken, was only seventeen.
T-Bone was one of the Marines who left a relatively deep impression in the original story.
After all, he was the righteous Ship-Slicing Knight—morally speaking, he was practically a saint.
Aside from his unfortunate appearance, he had almost no flaws.
Yet this famously kind-hearted man ended up dying at the hands of the very civilians he had fought so hard to protect.
Michael didn't want someone like T-Bone to meet such an end in this world.
But as for Shu… at first glance, no one would remember who he was!
He was the Marine captain at Enies Lobby who used his Rust-Rust Fruit powers to destroy Zoro's fine-grade sword, Yubashiri!
This Paramecia-type Devil Fruit was undoubtedly top-tier.
And Shu, who had almost no screen time or even lines in the original story, turned out to be an incredibly sharp thinker upon closer interaction.
He even had his own unique insights into the factionalism within the Marines, which was why he and his friend T-Bone had never joined any faction.
Of course, perhaps it was precisely this behavior that led to talented young Marines like them being ostracized by the so-called "factions." Maybe no one intended to harm them, but the end result was still stunting their growth.
The Marine training system still had its flaws.
The lack of new talent couldn't be blamed entirely on recruitment issues.
Now, the SWORD had basically taken shape.
Aside from Michael as the unit commander, SWORD already had two Logia-type Devil Fruit users—Stella and Smoker—two Paramecia-type users—Hina and Shu—and T-Bone, a promising young swordsman.
This setup is truly not bad at all.
Although both Logia-type Devil Fruits are of the lower tier, they are more than sufficient.
Lower-tier fruits overturning higher-tier ones isn't an impossibility.
Next, all he needed was to set sail and recruit someone he had long had his eye on—that would be enough!
As Michael was plotting in his mind, a voice suddenly rang in his ears.
"Oh? Michael, done poaching already?"
Michael froze.
That lazy tone, that slow voice…
Turning around, sure enough—
The Marine's King of Slacking, Borsalino.
Michael couldn't help but grumble inwardly.
Some things about a person's aura just never change.
The Borsalino before him was only thirty-six, still in his prime, yet somehow already exuding the vibe of a decrepit old man.
"Tch, dear Vice Admiral Borsalino, don't go spouting nonsense! Just because you're a vice admiral doesn't mean spreading rumors isn't a crime!"
"Besides, what do you mean by 'poaching'? Comrade Borsalino, how shallow, so very shallow! I'm merely providing talented to overlooked Marines with an opportunity to fulfill their ambitions!"
"Only then can they grow into the true pillars of the Marine, stronger and better!"
Borsalino had only meant to tease Michael a little, but he didn't expect him to fire back with such a practiced string of bureaucratic nonsense.
In a flash of light, he appeared right in front of Michael, eyeing him with amusement.
"Ara ara, as expected of you, Michael." Borsalino patted his shoulder.
"Truly a man raised under Admiral Sengoku's wing. Just promoted to rear admiral, yet already so skilled at bureaucratic… I'm envious."
"Cut the crap, Borsalino. Even if you're a vice admiral and I'm a rear admiral, I'm currently the commander of a special unit directly under Acting Fleet Admiral Sengoku and Chief of Staff Vice Admiral Tsuru. If you keep up that sarcastic tone… don't blame me for actually taking action."
Michael shot a sidelong glance at the still-smirking Borsalino and turned to leave with his men.
But before he could, Borsalino reached out to stop him.
"Oh? You really want to test me?"
Michael felt his temper flare.
So what if he'd poached a few people?
Was Kizaru really that bothered?
"Hahaha, you're as entertaining as ever, Michael." Borsalino laughed carelessly before adding.
"Speaking of secret special units, Admiral Sengoku asked me to take you to receive your battleship."
"…What? Receive a battleship?"
The mention of benefits instantly cooled his temper and even Borsalino's ugly face seemed a little more tolerable in Michael's eyes.
"Indeed. A special battleship, exclusively for your secret special unit."
"Wait, what kind of battleship requires you to personally escort me to receive it? That's some serious prestige."
Michael suddenly felt a flicker of anticipation.
Honestly, if it were just an ordinary battleship, there'd be no need for a future admiral to deliver the message, right?
"Well, well, since I'm the head of the Marine's Science Division, this prototype battleship loaded with classified tech naturally has to go through me first."
It must be said that Borsalino truly had a good temper.
He didn't mind Michael's earlier blunt and almost rude tone in the slightest.
If it had been Sakazuki standing there instead, he and Michael would probably already be fighting like hell.
"Prototype warship… Wait, classified technology too?" Michael suddenly seemed to remember something, his gaze burning as he looked at Borsalino.
"This isn't from Egghead Island, isnt it!?"
"Oh, Michael, you really know your stuff!" Borsalino nodded with a chuckle.
"Indeed, there are quite a few new inventions from Vegapunk. Consider this an opportunity for you to test them out as well."
Hearing the name "Vegapunk" from Borsalino's lips, Michael felt his excitement rising.
The old man and Grandma Tsuru were being incredibly generous.
It seemed they also understood that the Marine had some serious internal issues.
But at this point, Michael no longer had the patience to ponder just how much the old man and Grandma Tsuru were willing to tolerate his current motives.
"Let's go, hurry up, Borsalino! Move faster!"
"You're really impatient, aren't you? Young people ought to be more composed."
"Composed? If I were any more composed, I wouldn't be young—I'd be a miserable middle-aged man like you, aging before my time."
"...Are you insulting me?"
"I'm complimenting you. Praising your maturity, which far surpasses your age."
"That sarcastic tone of yours… really does remind me of myself. Are you sure we're not related by blood?"
"Glad you're self-aware!"