Day two of Marine boot camp began at 4 AM with what Commander Ripper cheerfully called "character building exercise number one."
Jake called it "legalized torture."
"Ten kilometer run, full pack, no breaks!" Ripper bellowed as the recruits assembled in the pre-dawn darkness. "Last five to finish get kitchen duty for a week!"
Jake looked at the heavy pack he'd been issued and did some quick mental math. Ten kilometers with at least twenty kilos of equipment. In his previous life, he got winded walking up stairs. In this life, he had a younger, fitter body, but still.
This is fine. Just don't be last. Middle of the pack. Forgettable. That's the goal.
The run started, and immediately half the recruits sprinted ahead like their lives depended on it. Jake settled into a steady jog alongside Marcus, who seemed annoyingly comfortable with the pace.
"Beautiful morning, huh?" Marcus said, not even breathing hard.
"I hate you," Jake wheezed.
"Come on, it's not that bad! Just think of it as—"
"If you say 'character building' I'm going to trip you."
Marcus laughed, which used up approximately zero percent of his apparently infinite stamina. "I was going to say 'good training for chasing pirates,' but sure."
Jake focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not dying. Around him, other recruits were already struggling. Some were falling behind, faces red and gasping. Others were pushing too hard too early and would probably collapse before the halfway point.
Pacing. It's all about pacing. And not standing out.
By kilometer five, Jake had found his rhythm. He wasn't fast, but he was steady. He'd positioned himself firmly in the middle of the pack—not so far ahead that anyone noticed him, not so far behind that he'd get kitchen duty.
"Morrison!" Ripper's voice cut through the sound of pounding feet. The Commander was running alongside them on a bicycle, because apparently that was less exhausting than actual running for someone his size. "You're holding back!"
No, I'm not. This is genuinely my maximum sustainable pace.
"Just conserving energy, sir!" Jake called back.
"Conserving energy? This is a TEST, not a leisure jog!"
"With respect, sir, sprinting for ten kilometers isn't sustainable! Better to maintain a steady pace than burn out halfway!"
Several recruits who'd been flagging nearby seemed to take this as advice and slowed down slightly. Ripper noticed and his eye twitched.
"Morrison, after this run, you're doing fifty extra push-ups for being a smartass!"
"Yes, sir!"
Worth it, Jake thought. Fifty push-ups is nothing compared to collapsing from exhaustion and getting noticed for being weak.
The run continued. By kilometer eight, the group had spread out significantly. The fastest runners were nearly a kilometer ahead. The slowest were barely visible in the distance behind them. Jake remained exactly in the middle, which was exactly where he wanted to be.
Marcus, who could have easily been in the lead group, stayed beside him. "You know, your strategy makes sense. Half the guys who sprinted at the start are walking now."
"It's not strategy," Jake lied. "I'm just not that fast."
"Right. And I'm sure it's a coincidence that you're perfectly positioned to not be first or last."
Jake glanced at his new friend. Marcus was smiling, but there was something knowing in his expression.
Great. I've been here two days and someone's already figuring out that I'm trying to be mediocre on purpose.
"Look," Jake said quietly, "I'm not trying to be a hero, okay? I just want to do my job and not die."
"Nothing wrong with that," Marcus said easily. "But you're smarter than you're letting on. That's going to be hard to hide for six months."
"Watch me."
They finished the run in 47 minutes, landing them squarely in the middle of the pack. The first recruit finished in 39 minutes and looked insufferably smug about it. The last five stumbled in after an hour, and Ripper made good on his threat to assign them kitchen duty.
Jake tried not to think about the fact that in the One Piece world, even kitchen duty could somehow become life-threatening.
After a five-minute water break—which wasn't nearly enough—they moved on to combat training.
"Pair up!" Ripper ordered. "We're doing basic hand-to-hand drills. I want to see blocks, strikes, and counters. Remember: a Marine who can't fight is a dead Marine!"
Jake paired with Marcus, because at least his friend would probably not try to actually kill him during training.
Probably.
"Alright," Marcus said, settling into a fighting stance. "Ready?"
"Define ready."
Marcus threw a slow, telegraphed punch. Jake blocked it, feeling the impact jar his arm even though Marcus was clearly pulling his strength.
Right. Even 'normal' people in this world are stronger than normal people in my old world. This is going to suck.
They went through the basic drills—block, strike, counter, repeat. Jake focused on the fundamentals, trying to build muscle memory. He wasn't going to become a combat monster overnight, but he could at least learn enough to not be completely helpless.
"You're doing good," Marcus said during a brief pause. "Your form is solid."
"I'm slow."
"You're precise. That's more important than speed when you're starting out."
Around them, other pairs were sparring with varying degrees of success. Some recruits were natural fighters, moving with confidence and power. Others, like Jake, were clearly struggling with the basics.
Good. Lots of other people are worse than me. I can blend in.
"Morrison! Jenkins!" Ripper's voice made Jake's stomach drop. "Front and center! Demonstration time!"
No no no no no.
Jake reluctantly walked to the center of the training ground. Jenkins—the guy he'd "strategically tripped" to avoid yesterday—was grinning like he'd just won the lottery.
"Yesterday, Morrison here showed us a very interesting defensive technique," Ripper said with a smile that promised pain. "Today, I want to see if it was skill or luck. Jenkins, you're on offense. Morrison, defend yourself."
Oh, I am so dead.
Jenkins was bigger than Jake, more muscular, and clearly had at least some fighting experience. He settled into a stance that looked disturbingly competent.
"Begin!" Ripper ordered.
Jenkins came in fast with a straight punch aimed at Jake's face. Jake's body moved on instinct—or rather, on panicked self-preservation—and he ducked under the strike, stumbling backward.
"Reset!" Ripper called. "Again!"
This time Jenkins feinted high and went low. Jake tried to block and ended up just barely deflecting the strike enough that it hit his shoulder instead of his ribs. It still hurt like hell.
"Reset! Again!"
They went through this five more times. Each time, Jake managed to avoid the worst of the damage through a combination of luck, panic, and what he was starting to recognize as actual defensive instinct from this body.
He wasn't winning. He wasn't even really fighting back. But he was surviving, and in One Piece, that counted for something.
"Enough!" Ripper finally called. Jake was bruised and breathing hard, but still standing. "Morrison, your defensive awareness is adequate. Your offense is pathetic. Jenkins, good aggression but you telegraph your strikes. Both of you, fifty push-ups, then return to your pairs."
As Jake dropped to do his push-ups, he caught Marcus giving him a thumbs up. Several other recruits were looking at him with something like respect.
No. Stop that. I don't want respect. I want to be forgotten.
But it was too late. He'd been noticed.
The rest of the day was more of the same—grueling physical training, combat drills, and lessons on Marine protocol. By the time they were dismissed for dinner, Jake was exhausted, sore, and deeply regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.
"You know what the worst part is?" he muttered to Marcus as they sat in the mess hall with trays of surprisingly decent food.
"The pain?"
"The fact that this is only day two. We have six months of this."
Marcus laughed. "Look on the bright side—we're getting stronger every day!"
"I don't want to be stronger. I want to be asleep."
"Too bad. After dinner, we have navigation lessons."
Jake groaned and face-planted into his rice.
Navigation lessons turned out to be one of the few things Jake was naturally good at. Maybe it was his previous life's experience with maps and GPS, or maybe this body had some latent talent, but he found himself actually understanding the concepts of celestial navigation, reading charts, and calculating positions.
"Excellent work, Morrison," the navigation instructor, Lieutenant Kawa, said as she reviewed his practice calculations. "Have you studied navigation before?"
"No, ma'am. It just... makes sense."
"Natural talent, then. Good. The Marines need skilled navigators. With skills like this, you could easily qualify for officer training."
Absolutely not.
"I'm happy just being a regular Marine, ma'am," Jake said quickly. "Officers have too much responsibility."
Kawa gave him an odd look. "Most recruits would kill for a recommendation to officer training."
"I'm not most recruits, ma'am."
She shook her head but didn't push it. Jake returned to his seat, ignoring the confused looks from the other recruits.
Marcus leaned over. "Dude, she basically just offered you a fast track to officer status. Why'd you turn her down?"
"Because officers get sent to dangerous places and make important decisions," Jake whispered back. "I want to spend my career doing paperwork in a quiet office."
"That's insane."
"That's survival."
That night, lying in his bunk, Jake reviewed his performance. He'd managed to stay mostly unremarkable, except for the navigation thing. That might be a problem. If he showed too much talent in any area, they'd try to promote him or give him special assignments.
Note to self: be moderately competent at everything, exceptional at nothing.
"Jake?" Marcus's voice came from below. "You awake?"
"Unfortunately."
"Can I ask you something weird?"
"Weirder than anything else about today?"
"Do you... do you know something the rest of us don't?"
Jake's heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you're always thinking three steps ahead. You position yourself perfectly to avoid attention. You turn down opportunities that anyone else would jump at. It's like you know something bad is coming and you're trying to prepare for it."
Too perceptive. Way too perceptive.
"I just... I've thought a lot about what it means to be a Marine," Jake said carefully. "And I've decided that I'd rather be a living coward than a dead hero."
There was a long pause. Then Marcus said, "That's fair. But just so you know? I think you're going to end up being important whether you want to or not."
"That's a horrifying thought."
"Yeah, well. Get used to it."
Jake stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about the fact that Marcus was probably right. In a world like One Piece, trying to avoid destiny was like trying to avoid the ocean.
Eventually, inevitably, the waves caught everyone.
He just hoped he could learn to swim before he drowned.