"Gion, sounds like there's a commotion up ahead. Want to check it out?" Chaton followed closely behind Momousagi, trying to curry favor.
Momousagi sighed helplessly. "Don't you have anything better to do today, Chaton?"
As Vice Admiral Momousagi, she was growing increasingly annoyed by Chaton's constant pursuit. She'd used the excuse of taking a walk to get away—only for him to follow her again.
Chaton grinned, revealing a row of crooked teeth. "Nothing's more important than you, Gion."
"...Fine. Let's take a look."
She was clearly exasperated. She had turned him down 42 times already.
She'd wanted to punch him more than once, but every time they sparred, Chaton would deliberately throw the match, making it hard for her to go all out.
If he weren't a decent guy—and a fellow vice admiral at that—she would've already gone to ask Tsuru for help.
From the chatter around them, Chaton quickly gathered what was happening.
"Just a bunch of kids fighting? Nothing worth watching. Gion, how about we head to that new dessert shop in the backstreets?"
"No thanks. I'm actually interested in seeing how this generation of Elite Camp marines measures up." Momousagi said calmly.
"Alright, I'll clear the way." Chaton straightened up, wiped the grin off his face, and cleared his throat with a thunderous ahem.
His voice drew immediate attention.
"Damn, who's coughing like that? Got white lead disease or something?"
Chaton's face turned dark.
"Ch-Chaton Vice Admiral!"
"And Vice Admiral Momousagi!"
The rowdy atmosphere fell instantly silent.
That brave soul from earlier quickly lowered his head.
The crowd instinctively split apart, clearing a path—such was the power of reputation.
"Alright, Gion, shall we?" Chaton turned to her with a smile of renewed flattery.
None of the marines were surprised—Chaton's reputation as the Navy's number-one simp was well-known across HQ.
In the arena's center, four marines simultaneously drew their standard-issue swords and exchanged glances—then rushed toward Akira.
Bang!
A shot rang out.
A bullet flew straight at Morsley.
"Trick shot. Judging from the angle... target is the thigh!"
Morsley smirked and deflected the bullet with a precise strike. Clang!
"Wait—there's another one?!"
But the moment he parried the first, another bullet struck his nose dead-on before he could react.
Clatter—
His sword fell to the ground as Morsley clutched his reddened nose, hopping in pain.
Turns out, Akira had fired both pistols at once—the shots were so close together they sounded like a single gunshot.
"What a crafty little brat. But that aim's not bad." Momousagi chuckled.
Seeing her smile, Chaton's impression of Akira improved a bit too.
The crowd was stunned by Morsley's swift defeat.
"No way… he took one out already? Is Akira really that strong?"
"I've got a bad feeling Morsley's crew is screwed."
Morsley, eyes tearing from pain and frustration, stepped to the side.
If that bullet had been real, he'd be dead now.
Akira casually tossed the now-empty guns aside.
These old-style guns required manual reloading after each shot—no time for that with enemies closing in.
"You're finished!"
"Die!"
Three swords came at him from different angles. Akira's eyes narrowed. "Shave!"
In a flash, he vanished, leaving behind afterimages.
"He's so fast!"
"Shave."
Akira reappeared beside the buzz-cut guy and delivered a powerful punch to his ribs.
Had his Shave still been at entry level, using it twice in succession wouldn't be possible—but thanks to the shop upgrade, it was.
"Ugh—!"
The man tumbled to the ground, doubled over in dry heaves, like he was about to vomit bile.
"Shave?" Momousagi glanced at Chaton. "If I'm not mistaken, Six Powers training only starts during week two of Elite Camp. Today should be…"
"Day nine," Chaton confirmed.
"So not even a full day in…"
Chaton was shocked—he'd taken half a week to learn Shave himself. Was this kid more gifted than him?
Momousagi smiled. "Looks like Teacher Zephyr found us a pretty impressive junior."
Never underestimate the power of a retired Admiral—especially one who'd spent sixteen years as an instructor.
Nearly 60% of the current high-ranking Navy officers were Zephyr's former students.
"He's already taken down half of them—Akira's a beast."
"Note to self—never mess with that guy. I don't want to end up a human punching bag."
The crowd erupted as Akira downed a second opponent.
Joseph looked terrified as he glanced at his fallen comrades, then at Akira.
"Hey—you just used Shave, didn't you?! I know it! That was Shave, right?!"
Akira nodded calmly.
"Damn it, we haven't even learned Moonwalk yet, and he's already using Shave?! What is this freak?!"
They had even chosen an indoor arena to prevent him from using aerial moves—yet still got wrecked. They probably looked like clowns to him.
Joseph and his last teammate exchanged glances:
"Still want to fight?"
"Hell no."
They threw down their swords. "We surrender!"
Akira looked at their tossed weapons and smiled. "Did I say you were allowed to surrender?"
"C'mon man, we give up!"
Joseph looked like he was about to cry—was he really going to get beaten anyway?
"Of course not. If you get to choose when to fight and when to quit, what kind of lesson is that?"
Akira stepped forward, and the two closed their eyes in fear.
But the expected beating never came—he simply patted both on the head.
"Your life is your own. Next time, think before acting. Don't let a few words push you into taking the lead—that kind of recklessness is deadly on the battlefield."
"We're sorry, Brother Akira!" The two of them sobbed with gratitude, moved by his mercy and nobility.
Literally sobbed—their tears flowed like fountains, forcing Akira to once again marvel at how weirdly resilient the human body was in this world.
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