Among the sixth training class, Diarmuid was actually a special case.
Everyone else belonged to a Marine command structure.
While studying, they still carried out missions assigned by the Navy.
But Diarmuid was different.
He had been transferred directly from the North Blue.
Then he was injured on duty during the trip and hospitalized.
Normally, if he hadn't been hospitalized, he would have been assigned under a Rear Admiral upon arriving at Headquarters.
But that never happened.
As a result—
He became a Marine Headquarters officer without an assigned unit.
And because of that, he had no missions.
It was quite unusual.
It was unclear whether Sengoku and Zephyr had forgotten about it or simply ignored it.
Either way, no one had come to address the matter.
Under these circumstances, Diarmuid didn't bring it up either.
Honestly, he preferred it this way.
Compared to rushing out on missions, he would rather stay at Marine Headquarters and quietly improve his strength.
Once he gained enough strength to protect himself, he could go out and pursue justice.
That would be ideal.
So recently, Diarmuid had been living in the training camp dormitory.
Every day he trained steadily.
Thanks to his Iron Will, he woke up precisely at 7 a.m. every morning.
After washing up and eating breakfast, he headed to the training field to practice the basics of swordsmanship.
At noon, he rested briefly and ate lunch in the training camp cafeteria.
Then he returned to the field for physical training, preparing his body for future Six Powers development.
The dormitory stood right beside the training field.
At that moment, on the second floor corridor window, Momonga had just finished placing his belongings in the dorm room.
"Strawberry, what are you looking at?" Momonga asked curiously.
Standing by the window, Strawberry held a cigar in his mouth as he watched the field.
He exhaled a cloud of smoke and smiled.
"I'm watching our roommate."
"I've been staying here lately since I don't have missions."
"And I noticed something."
"Every single day, right on schedule…"
"Our roommate shows up on the training field and repeats the same routine."
Momonga stepped closer to the window.
Sure enough—
Diarmuid was running laps around the track.
Diarmuid had been assigned to a three-person dormitory with Momonga and Strawberry.
However, because those two were often away on missions, he usually lived there alone.
Momonga and Strawberry were both cheerful people with strong senses of justice.
Especially Strawberry, whose personality was very gentle.
He had taken good care of Diarmuid recently.
Their relationship was quite good.
Looking at Diarmuid—wearing a white training vest soaked with sweat—Momonga asked:
"How many laps?"
"Forty-two," Strawberry replied with a smile.
"If today's the same as usual, he still has eight left."
"Fifty laps every day?" Momonga said.
"That's a lot of exercise."
"Looks like Diarmuid really wants to become stronger."
Strawberry shook his head slightly.
"That's only part of it."
"In the morning he trains swordsmanship."
"That's already intense."
"After finishing the laps, he rests for fifteen minutes."
"Then he does push-ups, weight training, and other strength exercises."
"Every day he pushes himself with high-intensity training."
"From sunrise…"
"Until sunset."
Momonga looked a little surprised.
"Every day?" he asked.
"Yeah," Strawberry nodded. "The day before yesterday it was pouring rain, and he didn't change his schedule at all."
After saying that, Strawberry rubbed his chin and added,
"Ah, today's Wednesday. After dark, he'll go to the sparring hall for free combat."
"How about it? Interested in exchanging a few moves with him?"
Inside the Officer Training Camp there were various activities.
Every Wednesday there was a sparring session.
Calling it a competition was a bit exaggerated—it was really just informal exchanges between trainees.
Anyone without a mission often joined.
On Fridays there were swordsmanship exchange matches, and on weekends there were small competitions like wrestling or shooting.
In short, the place was lively.
These informal events weren't limited to current trainees either.
Graduates from previous classes often came to watch if they were free.
In many ways, it functioned like a small club for those from the Officer Training Camp.
"You know what?" Momonga said thoughtfully.
"I'm actually interested."
"I wonder how strong he is."
"But if his training routine is really as intense as you say, his physical condition must already be incredible."
Strawberry glanced at him.
"His strength is impressive too."
"Oh?" Momonga's eyes lit up. "You watched his match before?"
"I fought him last week," Strawberry replied casually.
Momonga: ???
"So you two already fought?"
"Was the gap big?" Momonga asked eagerly.
"In terms of technique, I might have had a slight advantage," Strawberry said with a gentle smile.
"But unfortunately…"
"That guy is incredibly tough."
"In terms of stamina and physical condition, I was completely defeated."
"In the end, I was the one who couldn't stand up."
Strawberry didn't sound bitter at all.
His personality was genuinely gentle.
Even after losing, there was no jealousy or resentment.
"Is that so?" Momonga said, excitement rising in his eyes.
"Then tonight I definitely want to spar with him."
Just then, both Momonga and Strawberry suddenly noticed something.
They leaned out of the window curiously.
"Hey, hey—what's going on?" Momonga raised an eyebrow.
"Is he that close with Gion?"
Strawberry also widened his eyes slightly.
"I don't know."
"But from what I've seen these past days, they've barely interacted."
The reason both of them were so excited was simple.
The most popular girl in the sixth class, Gion, had actually approached Diarmuid.
Gion, however, was a very considerate person.
She didn't barge over and interrupt his training just because she was beautiful and popular.
Instead, she simply sat down on a bench beside the field and waited quietly.
Like Strawberry, she had been observing Diarmuid for a few days.
She knew his routine.
Fifty laps every day.
Right now he was on lap forty-eight.
Just two more to go.
Waiting a little longer was no problem.
Diarmuid had naturally noticed her presence.
But he didn't stop running.
He continued his laps silently.
A few minutes later, the two laps were finished.
Gion stood up, preparing to approach him.
But then she noticed—
Diarmuid hadn't stopped.
He kept running.
Gion froze slightly.
She stopped mid-step.
"Did we count wrong?" Strawberry muttered.
But then he shook his head.
"No."
"That guy just increased his workload."
"What do you mean?" Momonga asked.
"I heard when he first started," Strawberry said seriously,
"he only ran thirty laps a day."
Diarmuid's white training vest was already dripping with sweat.
Yet he still didn't slow down.
He steadily finished sixty laps.
Then he walked around the track once more to calm his breathing.
Only then did he stop.
"Catch."
A crisp voice rang out nearby.
Diarmuid turned his head just as a bottle of water flew through the air.
He caught it easily.
The person who had tossed it was Gion.
"Thanks," Diarmuid said with a nod.
He twisted the cap open and drank deeply.
Gion walked over slowly and stopped nearby.
"Sixty laps now," she said with a smile.
"Your endurance has improved again."
"This level isn't really anything impressive," Diarmuid replied modestly.
And he meant it.
It really wasn't that extraordinary yet.
Still, he was a little puzzled.
They had barely spoken since he arrived here.
Why was she suddenly talking to him today?
Holding the water bottle, Diarmuid even wondered if his charm had finally caught her attention.
"I've been observing you for a while," Gion suddenly said.
Diarmuid blinked.
Here it comes.
That sentence was usually the prelude to a confession.
After nineteen years in this world… is my spring finally arriving?
The problem was—
He had absolutely no experience with this sort of thing.
"Uh…" Diarmuid hesitated awkwardly.
Before he could respond, Gion continued.
"Your swordsmanship fundamentals look very solid."
"You're a swordsman too, right?"
She pointed toward the bench nearby where Diarmuid had placed his belongings.
"If I'm not mistaken…"
"That blade should be one of the Twenty-One Great Grade Swords."
"Nagasone Kotetsu, correct?"
"That's right," Diarmuid nodded.
So I misunderstood…
"That's a fine blade," Gion said with a smile.
Diarmuid glanced at the sword at her waist and returned the compliment.
"Your Konpira is excellent as well."
"A famous blade."
Gion's eyes brightened.
"You've got good eyes."
"Not many people recognize Konpira at a glance."
Diarmuid: ???
In truth, he only knew these things from his knowledge of the future.
"Anyway," Gion said seriously,
"I came to invite you to the Friday swordsmanship exchange match."
"I'll be competing this time."
"I hope to fight you."
Diarmuid scratched his head.
"To be honest, I haven't achieved much in swordsmanship…"
He originally intended to refuse.
But seeing the determination in her eyes, he reconsidered.
Participating wouldn't hurt.
It could be good practice.
"Alright," he agreed.
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