Inside the bright and spacious mess hall of the Navy warship—
Trace devoured ten full servings of food in one go, like a ravenous whirlwind.
And this wasn't ordinary fare. These were specially prepared high-calorie, high-protein meals crafted by the ship's cooks for elite marines. Much of it was made from the meat of powerful Sea Kings.
Normally, just one serving would leave most marines completely full—maybe even stuffed.
But for Trace, it wasn't enough. His belly was like a bottomless pit, eagerly accepting every dish without a hint of bulge.
Trace suspected it might be a side effect of his new trait: [Primal Body].
But he had no proof.
Still, as more food entered his system, he could clearly feel his body getting stronger. The weakness he'd felt earlier faded away, replaced by a surging sense of power.
Delicious… dangerously so.
As the white plates—polished clean—stacked higher and higher on the table, Hina, who sat across from him, couldn't help but gulp.
Delicious food, an elegantly wild handsome man… the two combined into an oddly intoxicating experience that was filling her with even more hunger—
But why…
Why was she getting so hungry too?!
While Hina was swallowing her saliva like mad, Trace had already polished off enough food for twenty people. His pace finally slowed, and for the first time, he could spare some breath to speak to the charming Navy girl.
"Sorry about that, Miss Hina. I may have gotten a bit carried away."
"Just call me Hina."
Watching him eat with such enjoyment, she reflexively swallowed again, though she pulled herself together quickly.
"You were seriously injured and only just woke up. It's really not a good idea to eat so much all at once."
"It's fine. I can feel my body's condition is—slurp—excellent!"
Even as he spoke, Trace wiped out another dish with ease.
"Grrr…"
Hina quickly covered her mouth with one hand to stifle the embarrassing sound—and wiped away imaginary drool from the corner of her lips.
"I'd better go ahead and explain the rules of the training camp to you."
"Much appreciated!" Trace chimed in between bites.
Hina didn't waste time with minor details. She cut straight to the important stuff.
There were two key rules in the Elite Training Camp:
"Combat Assessments" and "Military Merit Rewards."
The camp trained the absolute best of the Navy's new recruits.
No exaggeration—anyone who graduated from the elite camp could walk into a branch in any of the four seas and be made a commissioned officer on the spot.
Even in Paradise's G-branch, they could start as a lieutenant!
So, the assessments were designed with "future officers" in mind, covering a wide range of content.
There were minor exams every week, and major exams every month.
Tests included hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship, marksmanship, navigation, administration, survival training, simulated naval warfare—you name it.
Of course, not every recruit had to take every subject.
Except for navigation, which was mandatory, all the other courses were electives.
That came as a huge relief to Trace, the ultimate imposter with zero native skills.
He didn't know how to fight, didn't wield a sword, and had never touched a gun—but so what?!
Navigation? That was just written exams. A modern man like him had nothing to fear!
As for the Military Merit System—it was the second pillar supporting the training camp.
During the course of the program, Navy warships would roam Paradise, using intel from HQ or local bases to assign missions to the recruits.
These missions usually involved subduing pirates causing trouble in specific regions. Occasionally, the targets were unusual threats like those from Zombie Island—situations too complex for ordinary bases to handle.
The difficulty of the missions would never exceed what elite recruits could handle.
In the process, marines earned military merits.
Those merits determined a recruit's post-camp assignments.
But more importantly—they could be exchanged!
Perks, money, firearms, famous swords… all were on the reward list!
And that included the Navy's most closely guarded advanced techniques—the legendary Rokushiki (Six Styles).
Trace was especially interested in that last part.
Rokushiki was a unique martial art system native to the Grand Line, with six core moves: Soru, Tekkai, Kami-e, Geppo, Rankyaku, and Shigan.
Of all of them, Trace had his eye on Tekkai—the move said to make your body as hard as iron.
In the original story, sure, Tekkai never actually stopped anything it was supposed to. But still…
He had a hunch this technique might hold the key to unlocking the Haki stat he hadn't yet activated.
Armament Haki, specifically.
Trace tucked that bit of intel away. For now, he was just starting out—zero merit, no access to any of the Rokushiki. That would come later.
Once the big stuff was covered, Hina brought up a lesser-known rule.
"According to Instructor Zephyr, every recruit must help with ship chores outside of daily training."
Trace asked, "What kind of chores?"
"Cleaning the cabins, doing laundry, scrubbing the deck, maintaining weapons…" Hina counted them off on her fingers. "There's a lot to do! Sometimes I get overwhelmed just thinking about it."
Trace suddenly looked a little uneasy. He licked his lips.
"Hina, does kitchen duty count as one of those chores?"
"K-Kitchen duty?"
Hina blinked, clearly misunderstanding.
"You're not thinking of sneaking food while working in the kitchen, are you?"
"Of course not!" Trace replied, exasperated.
"It's just… I've recently developed a rare condition where I get physically uncomfortable unless I slay Sea Kings."
"What kind of ridiculous illness is that?!"
Hina rolled her eyes and chucked a cleaning ball at him.
"That said, yes—kitchen work is one of the listed chores. And they always need extra hands."
"Perfect…"
Trace let out a sigh of relief.
In truth, his condition had a name:
"If I don't get Victory Bait soon, I'm going to lose my mind."
Ever since joining the Marines, Trace had been wondering how he'd keep earning Victory Bait—those rewards that boosted his system.
Unlike Zombie Island, the training camp had stricter controls, and fewer people to harvest for bait.
But now, opportunity had come knocking.
"You're really not just doing this to sneak snacks from the kitchen?" Hina asked again, still skeptical.
"I swear I'm not," Trace said helplessly. "If you don't believe me, how about coming to the mess hall with me when I'm on duty?"
Hina instantly nodded. "No problem! I'll keep a close eye on you, glutton!"
Just as she finished speaking, new lines of text flashed across the edge of Trace's vision.
[You've gained an F-rank Trait: Little Chow Bucket!]
[F-rank Trait: Little Chow Bucket]
Effect: +1 to Endurance (F-rank bonus)
"…"
Trace was speechless.
All I did was eat… like… twenty-something servings…
Did you really have to give me a trait called "Little Chow Bucket"?!
Life is hard. Trace sighed.