At The Peak of One Piece

Smoker and Hina arrived precisely on time—lured by the intoxicating aroma wafting from Victor's dorm. Neighboring recruits stared longingly, realizing Victor's earlier shopping spree had been for this. A private feast while they choked down mess hall rations. 

Hopeful diners knocked, offering bribes. Victor shooed them away. "Not for sale." 

Rebecca arrived first, recognizing the scents. She'd helped chop vegetables. When Smoker and Hina appeared—Smoker awkwardly clutching two bottles of wine—their mouths watered instantly. 

"Shouldn't have brought gifts," Victor smirked, eyeing the wine. 

"Smelled… impressive," Smoker mumbled. Hina strode past him, unabashed. 

"Sit. Perfect timing." 

They barely heard him. The table hypnotized them: vibrant dishes in large bowls, steam rising from a bamboo basket overflowing with fluffy white buns. Victor had cooked seriously. Respect warmed them. 

"Meet Rebecca," Victor gestured. "Grew up together." 

Then to Rebecca: "White-haired mountain's Smoker—met in Loguetown. Pink-haired beauty's Hina—made friends today. We watch each other's backs now." 

Rebecca waved at Smoker, then slid beside Hina for whispered gossip. Victor poured wine for Smoker. 

"Hina?" 

She thrust her cup forward wordlessly. Smoker didn't blink—used to her boldness. Only Rebecca seemed surprised. 

"Eat first. Judge later." 

They needed no urging. First bites froze them. Ecstasy. Mess hall slop? Forgotten. Even upscale Marineford eateries paled. They sampled every dish, thumbs up, mouths full. Victor and Rebecca exchanged amused glances. 

Only when the initial rapture faded did they slow down. 

"Victor," Smoker managed between bites, "you could retire and open a restaurant. Never tasted—Oof!" 

Hina's heel crushed his boot. He glared. 

"Save some compliments, blockhead," she chided, then beamed at Victor. "Forgive him. Provincial palate. But this…" She closed her eyes dramatically. "Hina sees music. Dances in an ocean of food. Pure rapture." 

Victor choked back laughter. What manga has she been reading? 

He refilled glasses as Hina joined the drinking. Rebecca sipped juice—Victor's strict "too young" decree earning a faint pout. 

"Smoker, how long have you been at HQ?" Victor finally got down to business. 

"About ten months now." 

"So how much do you know about the place?" 

"Just the basics. The administrative zone up front is off-limits for now. The residential area is pretty straightforward—you've seen it when you went shopping. The guarded sections are high-ranking officers' quarters, nothing interesting. The part I know best is the new recruits' training zone. That's where we spend most of our time." 

Smoker, happily stuffing his face, saw no harm in sharing. It was all information Victor would learn eventually anyway. 

"Then tell me about the new recruits' area. I want to know how things work." 

"It's divided into several sections. Fresh arrivals spend their first six months in basic training, then get assigned to specialized departments based on aptitude, preferences, Devil Fruit abilities, and performance." 

"We've got Logistics, Science, Navigation, Intelligence, Shipbuilding, Medical, Artillery, Commerce, Finance, Legal, Merit Systems, Propaganda, Combat, Weapons Development... and more. These are advanced training programs for specialized roles." 

"Those are just the major branches. There are also smaller, niche divisions. After completing their training, recruits get assigned directly to their respective departments." 

"The Combat Division—where I am now, the Elite Training Camp—is different. Top graduates usually get assigned as warship captains. They then handpick essential personnel from other departments to form a complete crew. That's the general career path here. Some of this is just hearsay, though. I haven't seen it firsthand." 

'Damn.' Victor mentally shook his head. 'The manga really oversimplified things.' The Marines were far more systematic than he'd assumed. 

An organization this massive 'had' to operate with precision. Every cog in the machine mattered. 

You might see warships on the surface, but each one was its own self-sustaining unit. 

Ships needed builders. Weapons needed smiths. Meals needed cooks. Supplies needed procurers. Navigation needed experts. Battles needed commanders. Achievements needed record-keepers. Promotions weren't handed out for free. Loot had to be logged. Budgets had to be requested. 'From who?' 

Could you just wander the seas blindly? You needed intel—'where are the pirates?' Who gathered that? 

This was a real world. You didn't need to be strong enough to solo pirates, but you couldn't just let ships drift aimlessly, either. Expect crews to fight barehanded? Let damaged ships sink because no one could repair them? Eat raw food because no one could cook? 

'Who'd join the Marines under those conditions?' If you had to do everything yourself, why not just become a freelance adventurer? 

Victor's mind raced. Everything he needed to know was here. Everything he wanted could be found within this training zone. 

"Smoker, how tough is the Elite Training Camp? Who's the instructor? What are you learning? Do they teach Haki?" He needed to gauge his own progress. 

"Hic—! Mostly physical conditioning, Rokushiki, and combat techniques. Swordsmanship and weapon specialties depend on individual choice, but they've got instructors for everything." 

"Our teacher is former Admiral Zephyr. He insists we call him 'Sensei.' As for Haki... it's rare in the Elite Camp. Most recruits don't awaken it during training—they lack the foundation. Only freaks of nature or those born special unlock Haki this early." 

"The rest either awaken it after deployment... or never do. Hard to say. Some graduates from past batches still haven't managed it, even after years in the field. Right now, Haki's just theory for most of us."