"You're a dignified Marine Admiral, and now rumors are spreading everywhere that you got beaten by a trainee! You've thrown away all the Admiral's face and prestige!"
"Does the Admiral's reputation and honor mean nothing to you!?"
Inside the office, an old man standing 2.5 meters tall, with white hair and a youthful face despite 25 years of service, furiously questioned the towering Rampaging Bear.
"I just wanted to test Klein's strength. Who knew it would spread like this?" The bald Rampaging Bear looked completely innocent.
He kept repeating the motion of curling dumbbells, the veins bulging on his biceps.
On the side table sat a giant cup, filled with thick, white paste.
With one hand curling the dumbbell, the Admiral grabbed the container with the other and poured it straight into his mouth.
Gulp, gulp—
Chug!
He had to make his muscles bigger, stronger!
Diligent training would surely bring strength!
"Then tell me—why are people saying you've been beaten until you're half-paralyzed?!"
The Admiral put on an innocent look. "I overdid my training last night, cramped up, and had to be carried to the toilet."
"...." Fleet Admiral Oharden looked utterly speechless. So the rumor had gotten that distorted?
Who was it!?
Couldn't they have a shred of decency?
The one who spread that should be cursed to—(censored thought).
Oharden rubbed his forehead and waved the Rampaging Bear away. "Go. Just don't let something so easily misunderstood happen again."
"The Marine Admiral's reputation and dignity..."
The words stuck in his throat as he glanced at the Admiral still chugging protein paste and pumping iron—nearly giving himself a heart attack.
If you didn't know better...
You'd think he was drinking milk!
And he's almost sixty.
Headache!!
"Go take care of your own business," Oharden dismissed him.
Once the Rampaging Bear left, Oharden immediately opened his desk drawer and pulled out a pin-up magazine.
His eyes lit up!
"Oh!! Bonus points for the swimsuit designer on this one—so long, legs are so white!"
Schloop—
"Wow, this one's big—looks great!"
"This one's nice too!"
"Wait—"
Oharden suddenly froze mid-page, thinking: "Did Carter open a bathhouse?"
"Oh-ho!"
"And he didn't tell me!?"
"After I treated him like a brother, giving him such an easy post as instructor—he gets a good thing like this and doesn't call me? Unforgivable!"
He quickly tucked the magazine back in the drawer, locked it, and set off for the Marine Academy, hands clasped behind his back.
Marine Academy
Dressed in an eye-catching pink suit with the cloak of justice draped over his shoulders, Oharden walked straight through without hindrance.
Spotting Instructor Carter, Oharden asked with a serious expression, "Carter, I heard there's a genius in this class who beat Lincoln until he coughed blood. Is that true?"
"It's true. Klein is my most, most, most prized disciple. I spotted his extraordinary nature at first sight among the recruits, and under my careful guidance—"
"Stop!"
Oharden frowned. "Old man, do I not know your capabilities?"
"I could even guess the color of your underwear today!"
"Red!"
Carter's face darkened, and he quickly glanced down—no superhero-style underwear today, but… he'd worn the wrong pair.
How did this old guy know?
Creepy!
Little did he know, Oharden knew Carter like the back of his hand.
"Don't tell me you came here today just to meet my disciple—Marine history's most talented recruit, Klein?" Carter deflected.
"Ahem—" Oharden kept a straight face. "Two reasons. First, to learn more about Klein. Second, I hear you built a bathhouse here."
"Why wasn't this reported?"
Carter immediately countered: "Why should it need to be? Weren't you the one who always said—when there's a problem, think and solve it yourself first, use your brain? Only if it can't be solved should you report it up?"
"It's all to cultivate the Marines' ability to handle and resolve issues!"
One line shut Oharden's mouth.
…That was what he'd said.
Oharden nodded. "Fine. Then show me the bathhouse, and also have Klein's file prepared and sent to my office."
After securing a free annual pass, he returned to his office satisfied.
On his desk lay Klein's file.
Moretti Klein18-year-old prodigy. Enrolled Marine Year 1462. Mastered Rokushiki in one try. Monthly growth astounding…Parents: …Evaluation: Admiral Material!
Looking over the thorough report, Oharden's eyes gleamed. "Admiral, good… Admiral, good—"
"Too young though. Only 18. At least ten years to grow into an Admiral…"
"By then I'll be near death, nowhere close to retirement!"
"Guess my hope has to be in Kong instead."
"Hurry and grow up so you can take my Fleet Admiral seat…"
"This job, I don't want to do for even one more day!"
He put the file away and once again took out his pin-up magazine.
"This one's bigger!"
"This one's pale and tender!"
"These legs—on my shoulders, now that would be nice!"
…
Behind him, hanging on the wall, was a calligraphy scroll reading:
Justice with Style.
Platinum Han had officially opened, business was good. As for dividends, profits would be settled at the end of the month.
Every day, Klein still took time to teach the masseuses their craft.
The rest of his time went to training sessions—and to teaching Garp the 'Iron Fist'.
Level 2 Iron Fist…
Garp had been suffering!
Soon, the day of Garp's sparring match with Sengoku arrived.
Scrap Shipyard
The moonlight hung high and cold as ever.
Klein handed a bag of rice crackers to Zephyr. "Snack while you watch—that's the way to enjoy it."
"Bro, aren't you nervous?"
"Nervous?" Klein smiled faintly. "I'm not the one sparring. And besides, you only get nervous if your opponent is strong. Garp and Sengoku…"
"At their current level, they don't give me the slightest tension."
"Against those two, I'd only need to lift a hand to beat them black and blue!"
Crunch! Crunch!
Klein munched on the fragrant, crispy crackers. Delicious.
Once you start eating these… there's no stopping.
Then he shouted toward Garp: "Little Brother Garp, go get 'em! Win and you get your reward—lose, and it's full-powered Iron Fist with love!"
Full-powered Iron Fist with love?
Wouldn't that smash your skull in?
Hearing this, Garp couldn't help but shiver. The evening breeze swept over, like a broom brushing the sand and gravel on the ground.
His tiger-like eyes focused seriously on the afro-headed Sengoku. "Sengoku, this spar won't be like our usual ones…"
"I have to win!"
"I've also got my own reason to win!" Sengoku's expression was equally grim, fists clenched as he took his stance.