When Zephyr's voice fell, the atmosphere over the training ground instantly turned restless and uneasy.
Instructor Iron Jaw stepped forward. His booming shout rolled across the entire field:
"Second round, stress test! Simple rules—stand under my killing intent. If you fall, you fail!"
Before his words had even fully faded, a terrifying pressure crashed down like a physical weight.
It wasn't Conqueror's Haki, but something even more focused and raw—iron-blooded killing intent, forged from mountains of corpses and oceans of blood.
The air seemed to thicken. The phantom sounds of battlefield slaughter boomed in everyone's ears. Some even saw visions of rivers of blood in front of their eyes.
Thump! Thump!
In an instant, nearly a hundred recruits turned ghostly pale and collapsed like cut wheat. Some even foamed at the mouth and passed out cold.
Rosinante was trembling all over, sweat pouring down his face like a stream, but he clenched his teeth so hard his jaw shook. His legs were nailed to the ground—no matter what, he refused to fall. Hina, T. Bone, and others also stood rigid with grim faces, holding on with everything they had.
Only Smoker, though under immense pressure, still stood tall, his face full of stubborn defiance.
Most of his attention, however, wasn't on Zephyr—it was locked, from the corner of his eye, on the "shivering" figure at the very back. He wanted to see with his own eyes just how far this monster was willing to take the act.
At the very back of the formation, Rain played the role of "tough but ordinary elite" perfectly.
His legs were shaking in a very controlled, rhythmic way. A fine sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead at just the right level. His breathing was heavy but not collapsing. He looked like a sapling in a raging storm—about to snap any second, but still standing by sheer stubbornness.
Inside his mind, though, everything was crystal clear.
"So this isn't Conqueror's Haki," he calmly analyzed the crushing aura Zephyr was releasing. "There's none of that innate 'kingly' presence. This is more like… pure killing intent and will, tempered again and again in life-and-death battles into a power that only true monsters possess."
He couldn't help comparing it. "Interesting. If Conqueror's Haki is a natural-born talent, then this is like a trained, artificial 'pseudo-Conqueror's,' huh?"
While analyzing, he made sure not to forget his performance.
"Hm. Increase the leg tremble frequency a bit, and add just a touch more pain to the expression… that should do it."
When the aura finally faded, fewer than a hundred recruits were still standing.
"Third round—combat assessment!" Zephyr announced. "One-on-one sparring with an instructor, time limit one minute. I don't care about who 'wins'—I'm looking at your potential!"
Smoker's opponent was Instructor Iron Jaw himself. Smoker took the initiative, using his Smoke Fruit to constantly harass and restrain, then chaining into brutal close combat. The two traded blows fiercely; he even forced the instructor to take a step back in the end. His performance was rated as "Excellent."
Rain's opponent was a standard Headquarters major who specialized in hand-to-hand combat.
Rain threw away his [Top-Tier] swordsmanship entirely and stuck to basic unarmed Marine techniques.
The major was no slouch, of course. But under Rain's [Peak] Observation Haki, every move he made might as well have been telegraphed in slow motion: from muscle contractions, to shifts in balance, to the path of the next attack—every detail was laid bare. His whole body was full of openings.
This is hell… Rain was screaming in his head. Deliberately exposing flaws, letting myself get hit on purpose while I'm staring at a walking, talking bundle of openings—that's way harder than finishing him in one move!
The fight began.
Rain "clumsily" twisted his body to the left, just barely dodging a straight punch.
He then "frantically" flung his arms up, barely managing to block the follow-up roundhouse kick.
In the latter half of the fight, he "luckily" spotted an opening after his opponent's attack string and landed a punch to the major's shoulder.
Then, as time was almost up, he "ran out of strength," reacted a beat too slow, and took a solid kick to the chest that sent him staggering back a few steps—but he stubbornly stayed on his feet.
"Solid fundamentals. Admirable willpower. But severely lacking in actual combat experience, and reaction speed needs work," the major concluded. "Overall evaluation: upper-middle."
Once all three tests were complete, the placement results were posted on a central board.
Smoker, Hina, T. Bone, and a handful of others went straight into the Monster Class, as expected. A huge chunk of people were assigned to the Elite Class. Those with truly miserable scores shuffled off in despair toward the Prep Class area.
Instructor Iron Jaw stood in front of the list and began reading out names.
When he called, "Rain… Elite Class!"
Rain put on an expression of just-right relief and gratitude, then melted into the crowd of the Elite Class, completely unremarkable.
In his mind, he was already calculating what kind of Sea King dishes the Elite Class mess hall might serve for lunch.
That noon, after placements, all recruits—no matter their class—packed into the same enormous central cafeteria.
Because it was only the first day of placements and logistics hadn't caught up yet, everyone was still eating from the same big pot.
Rain queued up with the crowd, carrying the kind of bright expectation you'd have when "leaving the past behind and welcoming a new life."
Finally done…
His heart was full of hope for the future. After more than a year of eating pig slop in Loguetown, surely the Marine HQ cafeteria—especially for the Elite Camp—is going to be different, right? Legendary Sea King dishes, here I come!
He eyed the huge soup cauldron behind the serving window, imagining hefty, juicy Sea King steaks churning inside, stuffed full of protein.
But when the lunch lady dipped her ladle in and slammed a serving onto his tray, Rain's smile froze.
It was a ladleful of gray, slimy stew that gave off a heavy fishy stink, with ingredients so mangled you couldn't even tell what they were.
He glanced around.
He quickly noticed that not just the "Elite Class," but even those full-of-pride Monster Class recruits—Smoker included—had the exact same thing on their plates. That same indescribable gray stew.
Rain mentally collapsed on the spot.
What kind of joke is this? This is 'Sea King cuisine'? This is literally just Sea King meat, bones, guts, and random mystery vegetables boiled together for three hours into "protein feed"!
Staring at the mound of food in front of him, unable to identify a single component, he rotated the tray two or three times and still had no idea where to even start.
This is a crime. An open insult to high-quality ingredients. I ate ten straight years of gutter-oil takeout in my last life and never suffered like this!
He tried to comfort himself. It's only today. Placements just finished. They probably haven't separated the menus yet and everyone's eating "Prep Class" food. Tomorrow it'll improve… probably… right?
In the end, with his stomach loudly protesting, Rain pinched his nose, shut his eyes, and choked the entire serving down like bitter medicine.
To his surprise, once the "feed" hit his stomach, a powerful feeling of fullness and a wave of intense warmth spread rapidly through his body.
Rain froze.
Okay… so this stuff tastes like it crawled out of hell, but the effects are the real deal.
He grudgingly analyzed it. The ingredients are actually solid, and the energy content blows normal food out of the water. In terms of recovery after high-intensity training, this stuff is insanely effective.
But just as that rational thought took shape, another voice in his heart started screaming in protest.
But eating this every day?! Are you kidding me?!
How's that any different from turning yourself into a machine to chase KPIs? Sure, your body gets stronger, but life is supposed to have at least a little joy in eating, isn't it? A whole year of this and I'll absolutely spiral into depression!!