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"Drake…?" Atlas was momentarily stunned. Isn't that the name of the future fallen Rear Admiral?
According to the timeline, Drake should still be suffering from his undercover father's abuse right now.
Besides, the man in front of him didn't even look like that Drake. Must be a coincidence.
"Ah, hello, Lieutenant Drake. I look forward to working with you," Atlas quickly responded with a respectful nod once he came back to his senses.
"I'll take you to your assigned quarters so you can get some rest," Drake said hurriedly.
An impatient type, he didn't waste any time chatting and quickly led Atlas toward the dorms.
About half an hour later, they arrived. Drake had arranged a private room for Atlas — a gesture of courtesy, especially since Zephyr himself had put in a word.
Knowing that Atlas had just completed a long journey, Drake only gave a few brief reminders before leaving him to rest.
Atlas took a quick shower, changed out of his uniform, and collapsed into bed.
He hadn't had a proper rest in days — even someone with a superhuman body needed sleep.
As night fell and darkness draped over the Grand Line, G-8 Fortress remained brightly lit. Marines patrolled in a steady rhythm, keeping everything in order.
"Hmm~" Fresh from his nap, Atlas stretched lazily and looked out at the fortress under the moonlight.
He decided to get some dinner and then explore the area — after all, this was where he'd be staying for the next three months.
Following the signs posted around the base, he soon found his way to the mess hall.
"Ugh! It's all vegetables. I hate broccoli and carrots."
"What's the second rule of the G-8 branch?"
"Okay, okay, I got it! See? I'm eating them!"
Hearing the conversation between a man and a woman as he approached the door, Atlas paused, a little surprised.
Strange — the dining hall should be mostly empty at this hour. But he didn't think much of it. After all, people have weird habits — maybe they just liked late-night meals.
He pushed open the door and walked in.
At a corner table sat a man and a woman. The man had dark red hair, a square face with a thick moustache, and wore a Marine uniform.
The woman was beautiful, wearing a chef's hat, part of the kitchen staff. They looked rather... close.
As the door creaked open, both turned their heads in surprise. They had deliberately chosen this quiet hour to avoid being seen.
"Hey, Marine over there — are you new? Don't you know the rules of the fortress?"
The woman — Jessica — snapped at Atlas with a fierce tone.
The man beside her, Vice Admiral Jonathan, said nothing at first, his eyes studying Atlas closely with a hint of curiosity.
"I'm Kanos Atlas, a recruit from Marine Headquarters. As for the rules of the fortress… Sorry, this is my first day here, Vice Admiral Jonathan."
Atlas answered calmly. He hadn't met Jonathan before, but the shoulder insignia on his Justice coat gave him away — few at this base would hold the rank of Vice Admiral.
"Rule number one: wash your hands before meals!"
"Rule number two: no food left behind!"
"Rule number three: no discussing work during meals!"
"Rule number four: brush your teeth after eating! And you haven't washed your hands, young man!" Jonathan chimed in, almost theatrically.
"Yes, sir!" Atlas responded loudly, heading straight for the kitchen's wash station.
He was the type to respect local customs — if he was going to stay at G-8, he'd follow its rules.
"Excuse me, Miss Chef, could I trouble you for a hearty dinner?" Atlas asked after washing up.
His stomach was already grumbling in protest, and he wasn't in the mood to worry whether this woman — who might be Jonathan's wife or girlfriend — was easy to get along with.
"Ah, just call me Jessica. As for the food, take a seat and wait a moment — I'll prepare something for you."
Thankfully, Jessica turned out to be far more easygoing than she first appeared. At least in her role as a chef, she was excellent, which gave Atlas a great sense of relief.
"Ugh… These vegetables are awful." Jonathan muttered while chewing, face scrunched in distaste.
Still, he dutifully polished off everything on his plate, clearly taking his own rules seriously.
"Vice Admiral Jonathan, I'd like to start taking on missions tomorrow — I want to begin hunting pirates."
Atlas took the seat across from him and got straight to the point, feeling more motivated now that dinner was sorted.
Jonathan didn't answer. Instead, he asked, "Hey, kid — what's the third rule again?"
Atlas raised an eyebrow, then quietly fell silent, waiting for his meal.
Later that night…
"Well then, kid — follow me." Jonathan stood up after Atlas finished eating, having observed the younger man clean his plate with incredible speed.
To Atlas's bewilderment, Jonathan returned with a bundle of fishing rods and led him to a secluded corner of the fortress to go fishing.
"Ah, sorry, I only have one rod. Hope you don't mind," Jonathan said with a sheepish grin.
Oh, come on! You don't look sorry at all! Atlas silently grumbled but kept a polite front. "No worries, Vice Admiral. I'm not really into fishing anyway."
"Ha ha ha! Good — but listen, kid…" Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "I never fish for anything."
"Huh? About the mission I asked for earlier?"
"Talk to Drake tomorrow." He chuckled. "You're an impatient one, huh…"
Meanwhile, somewhere in Paradise, the first half of the Grand Line...
A battered pirate ship rocked on the waves. The ship was in shambles, its mast cracked and its flag shredded. It had endured a brutal fight.
"Captain! Galil and the others… their Vivre Cards have completely burned up!" A crew member, wrapped in bandages, cried out in horror.
The tense silence aboard the ship shattered like glass. Pirates began sobbing in panic and despair.
"We should've never gone to the New World! Those monsters… they're not human!"
"Shut up already!"
A bald, dark-skinned man growled impatiently. He was the captain, but his face showed no sorrow for the fallen — only a trace of fear lingered in his eyes.
Maybe I should just retire and live a quiet life as a wealthy merchant… It wasn't just the loss of his men or the destruction of his fleet; it was the fear of that man.
That devil of a man and none of his crew realised yet… Their captain was planning to abandon them and run off with the last of the treasure.
But even if they knew… It wouldn't change anything. That's the tragedy of the weak.
...
The next morning at G-8 Fortress…
Atlas arrived early at the operations office. Only Lieutenant Drake was present — the office door was left open. Still, Atlas knocked politely.
"Something you need, Captain Atlas?" Drake looked up, a bit surprised. He quickly paused his work and asked what brought Atlas in so early.
"Vice Admiral Jonathan told me to come see you," Atlas explained.
"Vice Admiral Jonathan?" Drake was puzzled. You just arrived yesterday, and you already met the Vice Admiral? Still, he listened as Atlas concisely explained his request.
"You want to take on a mission outside the fortress?" Drake raised an eyebrow. "You just got here. Don't you want to rest for a few days first?"
"I'm fine, Lieutenant. I'm ready to go after pirates at any time."
"Well then…" After a brief hesitation, Drake rummaged through the mountain of documents on his desk.
Moments later, he shook his head apologetically. "Sorry, because G-8 is stationed in the early section of the Grand Line, this region is relatively peaceful."
"We don't have many live combat operations, but I can give you pirate intel. There's a rookie crew from the Four Blues entering the Grand Line soon. You should be more than capable of dealing with them."
Drake didn't fully believe Zephyr's high praise about Atlas's strength, chalking it up to a teacher's usual exaggeration for a prized student.
"I want intel on the crew returning from the New World," Atlas replied bluntly, uninterested in wasting time on small fry.
"But…"
Atlas noticed that Drake was about to say something more, but without hesitation, he snatched the intel report straight from his hands.
He gave a polite nod of thanks and turned to leave without another word.
What an arrogant brat!
Drake watched Atlas walk away, a flicker of annoyance flashing in his eyes.
But instead of dwelling on it, he quickly spun on his heel and rushed out of the strategy office, heading straight toward the base commander's office.
—
Unaware of Drake's reaction, Atlas casually began reading the freshly printed intel as he made his way out.
Ekrem Pirates.
Captain: Ekrem — Bounty: 200 million Berries
First Mate: Wirts — Bounty: 160 million Berries
Officers: Galil, Eibe, Durt — Bounties ranging from 50 to 90 million Berries
The crew had suffered a devastating defeat after encountering Charlotte Katakuri of the Big Mom Pirates in the New World.
Only one ship of their three-vessel fleet managed to escape. Most of the crew was killed or gravely injured.
The first mate's status is unknown, and all the high-ranking officers were left behind in the New World.
"Tch… I thought it was some big-name pirate crew. Turns out they're just beaten-down strays." Atlas sneered, clearly unimpressed.
Another arrogant band of rookies trying to challenge Big Mom — and they didn't even get to see her in person before getting completely wiped out.
The seas are full of idiots like that. Judging by their current course, the Ekrem Pirates were expected to pass near G-8's waters sometime tomorrow.
Which meant Atlas had some free time today. So he decided to check out the fortress's training grounds.
—
G-8's training area was massive.
The walls, floor, and even the ceiling were reinforced with thick steel plating — a space designed to withstand even the harshest training without concern for structural damage.
At Atlas's current level of physical strength, ordinary training methods could no longer satisfy his needs. Unfortunately, there was no one here like Zephyr or Xiu Zuo to spar with.
As for Vice Admiral Jonathan, even though he'd once trained alongside Sakazuki and was said to be on good terms with him — implying that his strength wasn't to be underestimated — there was no way a base commander would drop his responsibilities just to spar with a mere Captain.
So, Atlas chose the simplest approach: He went to the logistics department and requested a massive slab of forged steel. Then, he just started pounding it with his fists.
—
Time flew by as he trained. Before he knew it, night had fallen again.
Looking down at the battered, cratered slab of metal — now slick with fresh blood dripping steadily from his knuckles — Atlas exhaled deeply.
He hadn't used Armament Haki at all. Every punch had been thrown bare-fisted, which caused a constant cycle of injury and recovery.
But the results were clear — his body was adapting well. Glancing at the dark sky outside, he cleaned up the training area and headed to the mess hall.
Tonight, however, there was no sign of Vice Admiral Jonathan.
(T/N: Please give me some power stone, I hope it can at least reach top 100)
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