The usually gentle and polite Tashigi suddenly flared up, her temper snapping like steel drawn from its sheath.
The sight alone sent the live chat into fits of laughter.
[Hahaha, our cute Tashigi's gone full rage mode!]
[Oh no, he made her mad—our precious Sergeant Tashigi! He's doomed!]
Viewership for the four-player stream skyrocketed—many had migrated over from Kaka's channel.
Kaka was still busy experimenting with her rain ability, while here, the tension between Drunkard and Tashigi promised drama.
[Streamer, how can you say you've mastered swordsmanship after half an hour?!]
[Yeah! That's Tashigi we're talking about! You're dead meat, bro.]
White-Clad Drunkard just smirked at the chat and gave a dismissive chuckle.
"Heh."
The arrogance only fanned the audience's fury.
[This guy's asking for it—Tashigi, teach him a lesson!]
[Spray him down, boys! He needs a reality check.]
But Drunkard didn't flinch. He turned toward Tashigi, eyes sharp, and said loudly:
"Sergeant Tashigi, if you don't believe me—please inspect my swordsmanship!"
That did it.
Hands on hips, eyes narrowing behind her glasses, Tashigi's irritation turned to disbelief.
He wasn't joking—he was serious.
Half an hour of practice and he claimed to have learned her basic sword forms?
Impossible.
Tashigi's entire world revolved around swords—discipline, devotion, respect.
To belittle the blade was to insult her very soul.
"Fine! Show me your 'mastery,' then!"
With a swift, clean motion, she drew her beloved Shigure, blade glinting coldly in the sun.
[RIP, Streamer. We hardly knew you.]
[You're insane to challenge Tashigi. Half an hour of training vs. years of practice? LOL.]
Then gasps filled the feed.
White-Clad Drunkard had unsheathed his own standard-issue sword, stance firm.
"Forgive me, Sergeant Tashigi."
He lunged forward, sword flashing down in a rough, unrefined arc—but the power behind it was unmistakable.
Tashigi's gaze sharpened; she met his strike head-on.
Clang!
The blades crashed together. A shock ran up Drunkard's arm, numbing his grip and burning his palms.
He staggered a step back, astonished by her strength.
'She's stronger than she looks,' he thought. 'But so am I.'
He charged again.
Metal rang against metal, echoing across the yard as the two traded quick, decisive blows.
Then, with a sharp crack, his standard Marine sword split in two under the might of Shigure.
Silence.
Tashigi lowered her blade, eyes narrowing again—this time not in anger but in surprise.
Even in that brief exchange, she'd seen it: his footwork, his timing, his instinct. He wasn't bluffing.
"You've trained before, haven't you?" she asked, sheathing her sword.
Her tone had softened; the earlier irritation was gone.
Someone who could actually grasp the basics that quickly didn't deserve ridicule.
The chat exploded.
[Wait, wait, he actually kept up with Tashigi?!]
[How?! No way he learned that in half an hour!]
[He must've used that attribute point from earlier! It's gotta be a stat buff!]
[Bro cheated with his free point, that's how! Damn sneaky move!]
White-Clad Drunkard glanced at the scrolling wall of comments and grinned.
"Did I train before? Nope," he said lightly. "Maybe I'm just a natural-born swordsman?"
The chat howled.
[SHAMELESS!]
[This man's ego has no limits!]
Tashigi rolled her eyes but said nothing more. She didn't buy his "genius" act for a second.
Still, the fact remained—he'd really absorbed her lessons faster than anyone else.
She had no idea that his "luck" came from the game system itself, not some hidden mastery.
"Sergeant Tashigi," he said at last, "since I've mastered the basics, may I end today's training?"
It was the same challenge he'd thrown earlier, but now, with proof.
Tashigi hesitated, then nodded.
"Your swordsmanship has entered the beginner stage," she admitted. "But your physique is weak—your strikes lack power.
Train your body more, or your technique will mean nothing."
"I understand. Thank you, Sergeant!"
He bowed respectfully, then hurried off, leaving her to gather the stunned recruits.
"Back to training!" Tashigi barked, her tone crisp once more.
White-Clad Drunkard dashed into his quarters, excitement bubbling over.
"Guys, I wasn't showing off—I just really want to open this chest!" he said, rubbing his hands together.
"Purple-Gold tier! What if I get a Devil Fruit too?"
[Keep dreaming, old man!]
[No way you pull another Fruit—it's lottery odds!]
[You already flexed enough for today, don't push it.]
He chuckled, ignoring the jeers, and pulled out the shimmering Purple-Gold Chest.
He turned it in his hands like a priceless relic—nearly licking it at one point, which made chat erupt in disgust.
[Gross! Someone take that chest away from him!]
Finally, with an eager grin, he touched the lid.
A blinding white light filled the room, washing over the stream.
When it faded, a single blade hovered before him—long, flawless, with a faint silvery gleam like rippling water.
Drunkard's eyes widened as the system prompt appeared before him:
[Congratulations! You have opened a Purple-Gold Chest and obtained the Great Grade Sword — Seijū (Clear Sake), one of the Twenty-One Ō Wazamono!]
For a moment, he could only stare—then broke into a wild laugh that echoed across the feed.
◇ I'll be dropping one bonus chapters for every 10 reviews. comment
◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ You can read the ahead chapter on P@treon if you're interested: patreon.com/HorizonStudios0