Time always seems to slip by in the blink of an eye. Another half month had passed unknowingly. Since the introduction of combat training into their regimen, Foxy had been riding high for the first ten days. Regardless of who he faced, they always lost, and he made them wash dirty socks in humiliation.
However, as time went on, his peers began to figure out Foxy’s weaknesses, gradually gaining the upper hand. In the last three days, Foxy found himself on the losing end and had to wash dirty socks himself. The first time he entered that room, the stench nearly knocked him out.
He finally understood why those who had to wash socks came out acting like maniacs, driven by the sheer horror of having to return to that hellhole.
Early in the morning, the group gathered on the training ground as usual. Today, Foxy noticed that Zefa had returned. It had been 20 days since Zefa left, a time that had flown by.
“Good morning, Zefa-sensei,” they greeted in unison, standing straight and saluting.
“Cut the formalities. You all look pretty spirited. It seems you’ve been enjoying yourselves,” Zefa remarked, his hands behind his back, face stern.
“Same routine, but all tasks are doubled. Run six laps, then 2,000 push-ups. Two logs are ready. Move out,” Zefa commanded crisply. Though it was only a doubling, it was still hellish for Foxy and the others.
They rolled down the hill four times, but by now, they were used to it and found it the most straightforward task. They swam four laps in the quicksand swamp, with some nearly drowning. They completed the 100 kilometers of frog jumps and other grueling tasks. Finally, they drew lots and fought each other with relentless fury.
Zefa watched the entire time. Though his face was stoic, his eyes betrayed satisfaction.
After everything was done, they soaked in the blood medicine bath, ate dinner, and were called together again. It was just dusk, but they noticed they had finished much earlier than usual.
“You’ve all barely met the requirements, so you’re ready for the next phase,” Zefa announced, making everyone tense up. Was there a new training module?
“Rokushiki,” he began, “is a martial art that transcends human physical limits. I’m sure you all know about it.”
The sudden joy hit Foxy like a truck. He hadn’t expected to learn Rokushiki so soon and was caught off guard. He focused intently on Zefa, afraid to miss anything.
“Shigan, Tekkai, Kami-e, Geppo, Rankyaku, Soru—all of these techniques are powerful and serve different purposes. Each one is powerful. However, mastering any of them requires rigorous training, and mastering all six can potentially lead to awakening a technique called ‘Life Return.’
“For now, ‘Life Return’ is too far off for you to consider. After all this training, you’re barely qualified to learn one technique. Today, I will teach you one: Soru. As for the remaining five, you’ll need to earn military merits to learn them.”
Foxy frowned. He had assumed that joining the Marine Academy meant he would learn Rokushiki for free. But learning these techniques required earning merits. If that were the case for Rokushiki, the cost of learning Haki would be even higher.
Just as he thought, there was no free lunch.
Still, learning one technique was thrilling enough for Foxy. With his abilities, he could earn merits by capturing pirates. Pushing aside his thoughts, Foxy focused on Zefa.
“Soru involves moving at high speeds by kicking the ground ten times in 0.36 seconds, generating explosive power.”
Zefa’s explanation was as efficient as his movements. He demonstrated by slowly stepping his right foot on the ground, then increasing the speed until he vanished in a blink.
“To learn Soru, you must apply force correctly with your legs. If you do it wrong or your legs aren’t strong enough, you’ll end up crippling yourself,” Zefa warned, reappearing behind them, eyes glinting.
“Now you can give it a try. If you have any questions, ask me now, because in two days, you’ll be leaving,” Zefa said.
“Zefa-sensei, are you no longer teaching us?” one student asked, raising his hand.
“Without experiencing the blood and death of battle, it’s hard to truly grow just by doing these exercises. So, kids, work hard and stay alive for the next phase of your training,” Zefa replied with a grin that made everyone’s scalp tingle.
“Tomorrow, you get a day off. Say goodbye to your families. And if you want to quit, now’s the time.”
Zefa’s smile terrified everyone. When Zefa smiled, it usually meant bad news. They realized they were being prepared for actual combat, to experience blood and death firsthand. Was this the hell level or the nightmare level of training?
Suppressing his unease, Foxy started practicing Soru as Zefa had shown. He tried to kick the ground ten times in 0.36 seconds, but he barely managed three kicks in over a second. The gap seemed impossible.
Everyone else was also struggling, stuck at two or three kicks.
If Zefa hadn’t demonstrated it himself, Foxy would’ve thought it was impossible. But he felt a strange confidence like he could do it. Gradually, he managed four kicks.
Perhaps it was due to the intense training they had undergone, like the single-leg jumps, frog jumps, and toad jumps. These exercises had prepared their legs, even if they didn’t realize it.
Mastering Soru was proving to be extremely difficult. Knowing they had a day off tomorrow, Foxy spent the entire night practicing, even postponing his usual Devil Fruit training. He asked Zefa for advice several times but couldn’t break past the four-kick barrier. In 0.36 seconds, he could only manage two and a half kicks.
The next day, Foxy could barely get out of bed, his legs numb. After some stretching, he regained some feeling.
Everyone else had gone home.
After washing up, Foxy went to the dining hall for breakfast and found Gasparde there.
“Why are you still here?” Foxy asked, sitting across from him.
“Why can’t I be here? Aren’t you here too?” Gasparde retorted, chewing on his food.
“The others went home. You…”
“I have no family,” Gasparde replied calmly.
“Neither do I,” Foxy said, though he could sense Gasparde’s melancholy despite his calm demeanor.
“Aren’t you connected to Vice Admiral Tsuru?” Gasparde asked, surprised.
“My home was destroyed by pirates. Tsuru saved my life,” Foxy explained with a smile.
“Your eye…”
“Also taken by pirates.”
Gasparde fell silent, focusing on his food.
“And you?” Foxy asked.
“Same story,” Gasparde replied, not elaborating.
“Well, Gasparde, from now on, you’re my friend,” Foxy declared, patting Gasparde’s shoulder with a sincere smile.
Gasparde looked at Foxy in a daze before scoffing. “Who’d want to be friends with you?”
“You won’t make friends with that attitude. I’m probably your only friend,” Foxy teased, using his fork to steal a piece of meat from Gasparde’s plate.
“That’s mine! You always steal my food!” Gasparde yelled, slamming the table in frustration.
“Keep it down. Show some manners,” Foxy replied nonchalantly, stealing another piece.
“Foxy, I’m going to kill you!”
“Don’t sweat the details.”
“I’m going to fight you!”
Their noisy argument filled the dining hall, with Gasparde’s angry shouts and Foxy’s calm retorts echoing throughout.
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