The salt-laced air of Marineford stung my nostrils, a harsh welcome after a week of deceptively calm seas. This was it. My first time. The fortress loomed, a steel behemoth, a symbol of the power I yearned for. My stomach twisted with a knot of nerves and anticipation as they pointed me towards the elite camp dorms.
Three years. Three years I'd spend here, honing myself, pushing past my limits. This camp, they said, was for young Marines with high potential. The best of the best. A flicker of hope sparked in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, I'd see Garp, the legend himself. Growing up in the orphanage, his stories were all I had: Marine Hero, the strongest, rival to Roger, the man who captured the Pirate King. I respected him, idolized him, but... a dark undercurrent of resentment simmered beneath. He captured Roger, yes, but he didn't kill him. A mistake. A weakness.
"I won't waste this," I muttered, a silent vow, a promise to myself. "I'll learn Haki from Zephyr, I'll become strong, I'll prove myself. I'll become one of them, no matter the cost. No matter what it takes. And I'll never make the same mistake." My gaze hardened, fixed on the distant horizon. "I'll become an Admiral. The strongest. And I'll cleanse this sea. Every pirate, every last one, will pay for their crimes. I'll finish what Garp couldn't. I will live up to my potential."
In past month I always think about 'Gold Simulation' – a constant mental exercise. Capture, don't kill. Information is the new weapon. My expulsion from the Marines stemmed from assassinating the Sorbet Kingdom's monarch. A clean kill, but politically disastrous. Given the Sorbet Kingdom's affiliation with the World Government, and the Marines' position as their enforcers, my actions were deemed a grave transgression. They saw it as a declaration of war, not justice. Perhaps more than just a crime, the World Government interpreted my actions as a direct affront, a sign of blatant disrespect. Their pride is their weakness. Now, I'm exploring an alternative for future simulation: capturing the king and compiling irrefutable evidence of his misdeeds. Step one, infiltrate. Step two, secure the target. Step three, extract data. Step four, public exposure. This approach might allow me to expose his corruption without the same level of perceived insubordination. A calculated risk, but a necessary one. This time, I'll play their game."
The sterile, white walls of the Marine dorm seemed to amplify the restless energy swirling within me. Today, the Elite training camp began, a moment I'd anticipated for a year, yet a strange unease gnawed at me.
"After fighting Ace... something's changed." I exhaled, a large, iridescent bubble forming from my breath, easily the size of a human head.
It shimmered, catching the harsh fluorescent light, a fragile, beautiful paradox in this rigid room.
"Why... shouldn't he be executed?" The question hung in the air, as large and unsubstantial as the bubble itself.
"Why save him? Is he... good?"
I watched the bubble drift, its surface reflecting my troubled expression. The word 'pirate' felt like a shard of glass in my throat.
"But pirates... a good person wouldn't be a pirate, right? Like a thief, still stealing... how can they claim to be 'good'?" I checked my pistol, the cold steel a familiar weight, but it offered no comfort against the swirling doubts. The anticipation of the camp, usually a sharp, focused excitement, was now a dull, heavy ache.
"Luffy... that name. It's a persistent, intrusive thought, like a bubble trapped in my mind." I blew another massive bubble, watching it join the first, the two orbs floating together like strange, silent sentinels. A strange, unsettling warmth stirred within me when I thought of him, a feeling I couldn't understand. "Who is he? He can't be a pirate...".
"I only killed Doflamingo in that war. A Warlord, not a Marine. So, even if I were to intervene for Ace... my enemy is pirates, not Marines." My logic was sound, the rules absolute. Yet, the foundation of my convictions seemed to be crumbling, like a bubble about to burst.
But that name, Luffy... it continued to resonate, a low, persistent hum, as strong as the air I used to form my bubbles. "But Luffy... what if he's a Marine? Young, yes, but with a potential that surpasses my own? Maybe even Admiral... Fleet Admiral material?what relationship I have with him?" I scoffed, blowing a stream of smaller bubbles that scattered like frightened fish, their tiny explosions a sharp, momentary release. The idea was absurd, a dangerous deviation from everything I believed. A Marine with that kind of spirit? It was a contradiction. Yet, the world felt like it was shifting beneath my feet, the rules I had lived by suddenly malleable.
The Elite training camp, a symbol of my unwavering dedication to justice, was about to begin, and I, a soldier of absolute conviction, felt the unsettling tremors of doubt shaking my very core, even as I filled the room with the fragile, impossible beauty of my bubbles.
A sudden crash startled me, and I whipped around to see a guy I didn't recognize burst into the dorm. His eyes were hard, and his face was set in a grim, serious expression, the severity of his features accentuated by a distinct x-shaped scar on his chin.
"You. Assembly point. Now."
My stomach dropped. How had I missed this? I'd been so caught up in... well, honestly, just spacing out, thinking about "Luffy," and wondering is he/she male or female, that I'd completely lost track of time. I'd assumed someone would have told me, or that I'd hear the call, but apparently, I'd completely spaced it.
"I... I didn't hear the call," I stammered, scrambling to my feet, my heart pounding.
He grabbed my arm, his grip firm.
"Zephyr." He didn't elaborate, just pulled me towards the door.
As we raced down the corridor, I managed a quick, "Thanks. I'm Lazarus."
"Drake," he replied, his voice clipped and devoid of any warmth. "Sailing. Island. Training."
"Sailing?" I asked, my mind racing. "Should I grab my gear? Water, rations…?"
"Weapons only." He gave me a look that brooked no argument.
"Weapons only?" I repeated, a chill running down my spine.
What kind of training required only weapons, and nothing else? This wasn't just a screw-up; this felt like a whole new level of intense. I knew Instructor Zephyr's reputation. Missing the assembly was a massive screw-up, but now, this island thing… it felt ominous. I could only hope I could explain myself, though I doubted any excuse would soften Zephyr's anger, and even more, I was now extremely worried about what this island training was going to entail. And seriously, what was "Luffy"? It sounded like some kind of weird animal. The x-shaped scar on Drake's chin looked like it had a story behind it, but I figured now was not the time to ask.