At The Peak of One Piece

Moments later, several officers in captain-grade uniforms approached. Spotting Garp and Tsuru, they hurried over. 

"Vice Admirals Garp, Tsuru—thank you for escorting the recruits. I'll take charge from here," Andrew said with a bow. 

"Easy work, Andrew," Garp clapped his shoulder meaningfully. "If anything... unusual happens at boot camp, stay calm. Just report to me quietly." 

Andrew blinked, baffled. Tsuru, busy advising Rebecca, offered no explanation. 

"Secretary—hand the roster to Andrew. We're done here!" Garp boomed. "Find me in Sengoku's office if needed!" 

As Garp and Tsuru walked toward headquarters, Garp called over his shoulder: "Victor! Enjoy recruit life! My door's open—hahaha!" His gleeful tone dripped with mischief. Victor's face darkened. 

'Laugh while you can, old man. I'll collect this debt.' 

────── 

The roster detailed every recruit: birthplace, gender, height, weight, skills, Devil Fruit status, ambitions... 

Andrew began roll call. All answered—except Victor. Three shouts echoed unanswered until Victor stepped forward silently. Andrew glanced at the secretary, who nodded grimly. 

"A mute recruit this year?" Andrew muttered—loud enough for nearby ears. 

The secretary winced. Victor's glare promised violence. 

"He 'can' speak," the secretary whispered urgently. "Just hates roll-call formalities. Handle him separately." 

Victor refused to shout "Here!"—too juvenile for his prowess. 

Andrew noted the anomaly. 'Garp's special mention? Grant privileges.' 

He assigned dorms and dismissed the recruits. 

────── 

Elite trainees lingered, buzzing. 

"Smoker—who 'is' that Victor? Garp singled him out." 

"I know what you're thinking. Don't." Smoker's cigar glowed. "He'll wreck you." 

Marineford had traditions: veterans "humbling" rookies under the guise of "attitude correction." Smoker's Smoke-Smoke Fruit had spared him harassment. Victor lacked such protection. 

"Exaggerating, Smoker? Protecting your pet rookie?" A hotheaded elite trainee sneered. 

Smoker exhaled a smoke ring. "Met him two years ago. I was nobody. He wiped out 10-million-berry pirates—in 'one move'." 

A beat of silence. 

"That killing intent? Chills your spine. His gaze? Like being sliced open." Smoker's voice dropped. "Now? His edge is 'hidden'. Reckon how strong that makes him." 

Although Hina had heard Smoker mention Victor before, he had only described him as "a really strong guy." Now, hearing the specifics of his exploits, she couldn't help but gulp. 'A 10-million-berry bounty head? I'm not even sure I could handle that myself right now—and I have a Devil Fruit!' 

The others nearby broke into cold sweat, silently thanking Smoker for the warning. 'If we'd actually tried to pick a fight with that monster...' They immediately started showering Smoker with gratitude, offering to buy him drinks. 

Smoker waved them off. "Not tonight. I've got plans with Victor." 

Hearing this, Hina immediately piped up, "I'm coming too!" 

Smoker hesitated but eventually relented. 'Well, they've met now. It's not like it'd be rude.' 

--- 

Passing through the administrative district near the docks, Victor's group arrived at the bustling residential zone. The streets were lively, lined with shops selling everything from daily necessities to luxury goods. 

This area housed Marine personnel and their families. Many stores were family-run, while others were government-managed enterprises. With regular supply ships coming and going, there was no shortage of food, clothing, or other essentials. 

At the far end, nestled against the Red Line, lay the sprawling training grounds—the lifeblood of the Marines' elite forces. 

Walking across the hardened earth, Victor could almost feel the weight of history beneath his feet. 'This ground's been tempered through decades of sweat, blood, and tears. Countless stories—triumphs, struggles, regrets—are buried here.' 

--- 

The new recruits were led to their dormitory area. Thanks to Garp and Tsuru's influence, Victor and Rebecca were assigned single rooms—a privilege none of the others enjoyed. 'At least until they prove themselves,' Lieutenant Andrews had muttered. 

Before leaving, Andrews barked orders: "Assembly at 0500 tomorrow in the central square. Settle in, rest up, and no wandering around! Dismissed!" 

After tidying his room, Victor headed out to explore. The dormitories were gender-segregated, with occupied rooms indicating this wasn't just for new recruits. 

He swung by the women's quarters to fetch Rebecca for dinner, then made his way to the marketplace to stock up on ingredients, cookware, and—most importantly—alcohol. 

'Gotta prep for Smoker's visit.' His room lacked even basic kitchen tools, and if he planned to cook regularly, he'd need the works. 

Weaving through the streets, Victor mentally mapped out the area. Certain zones, guarded by Marines, were clearly high-ranking officers' residences. He didn't linger. 

An hour later, he returned to the dorms under bewildered stares, arms stacked with pots, pans, seasonings, firewood, and enough groceries to feed a platoon. 

Back in his room, he got to work—kneading dough for steamed buns (over a hundred, given this world's appetites), cooking rice, then finally preparing eight dishes and a soup. 

With his body's innate mastery, culinary tasks were effortless. Drawing from Earth's eight great cuisines, his cooking was frankly overqualified for this world. 

As twilight fell, the feast was ready. But Victor sighed. 

"Can't keep doing all the prep work myself. Need to delegate the grunt work and just handle the actual cooking. This eats up too much training time." 

Tonight's meal had taken hours. While homemade food beat cafeteria slop any day, efficiency was key. 'Maybe Rebecca can help next time...'