Ever since Tsugikuni Yoriichi had learned the Navy's Six Styles from Aokiji, he had been sparring with the Admiral day and night, forcing his body to adapt through relentless combat.
The Six Styles placed an enormous strain on his body, yet even a short rest was enough for Yoriichi to recover, allowing him to push himself again. With every exchange, his understanding deepened.
Before long, he began experimenting—blending the Storm Leg's kicking techniques into his swordplay.
By noon that day, he finally succeeded.
A sharp, cutting sound split the air as Yoriichi swung his bamboo sword. Invisible blades of compressed air tore forward, racing toward Aokiji.
The slash was nearly soundless, frighteningly fast. Only Aokiji's Observation Haki alerted him in time.
Even so, he hadn't expected Yoriichi to attack from such a distance. With no time to evade, he instinctively turned to ice.
The slash cleaved him cleanly in half. His upper body hit the deck with a heavy thud.
"BOOM!!!"
The slash roared on, tearing into the warship's railing and leaving behind a gaping breach.
Aokiji reformed, brushing ice crystals from his abdomen. His eyes flicked from his unscathed body to the splintered railing, wide with shock.
"That's… a Flying Slash!" he muttered. "So you're a swordsman after all."
Yoriichi gripped his bamboo sword tighter, Ecstatic. With a swift motion, he unleashed two more slashes, even sharper than before.
This time, if anyone had been watching closely, they would have seen crescent-shaped blades of air—three meters long and half a meter wide—cutting straight for Aokiji.
"You're trying to slice me apart?" Aokiji sighed, spreading his arms. A breeze stirred, and his figure vanished.
The slashes smashed into the deck behind him.
Bang! Bang!
Two explosions rocked the ship, carving deep scars into both the deck and railing.
"Good power," Aokiji admitted, his voice laced with reluctant admiration.
"I can finally feel my progress," Yoriichi said, his eyes gleaming. "No doubt… in this world, my limits will only keep rising!"
But before he could unleash another strike, a shadow loomed behind him.
A massive fist crashed down onto his head.
Wham!
"OW!" Yoriichi dropped to his knees, clutching his skull.
"Bastard!!" Garp's thunderous voice bellowed behind him. "Do you think my warship is your personal training ground?! Are you sparring or dismantling it?!"
Yoriichi turned, sheepish. Garp loomed over him, nostrils flaring with fury.
"Uh… I'm sorry," Yoriichi mumbled. In his excitement, he had completely forgotten his surroundings. One glance at the wrecked deck made his face burn with embarrassment.
"Vice-Admiral Garp, I… don't exactly have the money to pay for this," he admitted with an awkward laugh.
"Tch. Forget it. I'll dump the bill on Zephyr." Garp picked his nose casually, as if nothing had happened. Then he jabbed a finger at Yoriichi.
"Now fix the guardrails and deck. No dinner until it's done!"
Before Aokiji could sneak away, Garp's sharp eyes caught him at the cabin door.
"Hey, Kuzan! Don't think you're off the hook. You're helping too. If you don't, no dinner for you either!"
Aokiji froze mid-step, then forced a smile, glaring at Yoriichi like this was all his fault.
---
Da! Da! Da!
With a wooden hammer in hand, Yoriichi crouched by the broken railing, carefully fitting a shaped board into place and securing it with nails.
He was surprisingly skilled at carpentry. Back when he lived alone in the mountains, he often built his own furniture. He wasn't an artisan, but he knew his way around mortise and tenon joints.
Da… da… da…
Beside him, Aokiji worked clumsily, hammering nails at odd angles, boards sticking up like crooked teeth.
"There, good enough," Aokiji said, stepping back to admire the disaster he'd created.
Yoriichi fell silent. The Bulging plank was… painful to look at.
"Forget it," he sighed. "Colonel Aokiji, I'll redo it later. It was my fault anyway."
But Aokiji wasn't offended. "It's fine. Just a small issue." He conjured a blade of ice in his hand and began shaving down the excess wood until the patch fit seamlessly.
"Wow… the power of a Devil Fruit really is convenient," Yoriichi muttered with genuine admiration before returning to his own work.
After a pause, he asked casually, "So, Kuzan—why did you join the Navy?"
As any carpenter knew, small talk made the work pass easier.
"You're Zephyr's disciple, right? And we're shipmates now. Just call me Kuzan, no need for 'Aokiji.'"
Kuzan wasn't distant with Yoriichi. Zephyr had been his own teacher, and he recognized Yoriichi's bond with Garp. Add to that the boy's frightening talent, and Kuzan regarded him more as a peer than a subordinate.
"Why I joined?" Kuzan's eyes brightened. "To serve justice, of course. Isn't that why you're here too?"
"Justice…" Yoriichi repeated softly. "I don't know if I'm as noble as you. I just don't want to see burned villages and innocent people slaughtered anymore."
His voice was quiet, but his hammer never stopped.
Kuzan's hands, however, stilled. He studied Yoriichi, his tone suddenly heavy.
"What you want… that's far greater than what I fight for. But this world is huge, Yoriichi. What you seek won't be easy. Without overwhelming strength, it's impossible. And even with it, it may still be beyond reach."
He shook his head, then suddenly laughed.
"Hah! Now I understand why you ended up on this ship. You and I—both of us are lucky to serve under Vice-Admiral Garp."
But no sooner had he spoken than Garp's booming voice thundered across the deck:
"You two! Less talking, more working!"
"…."
Kuzan scratched his head, embarrassed. "Right. Forget what I just said."
read 2 weeks ahead at
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(End of Chapter)