Zephyr had once been officially recognized as the strongest combatant in Marine Headquarters.
Even now, retired from active duty, his strength ranked among the absolute peak of this world. Finn harbored no illusions about actually harming him. This wasn't a real fight. It was a demonstration.
So when Zephyr finished speaking, Finn didn't hesitate or posture. He simply nodded and placed his hand on the sword at his waist.
He drew in his focus, pulling his scattered thoughts into a single point. His concentration sharpened until even his breathing seemed to quiet. The aura was faint, barely perceptible, but it was there.
Zephyr's eyes brightened with approval. Honest. Decisive. Proactive.
"That blade..." Admiral Sengoku's attention caught on the sword. Something about it seemed familiar, though he couldn't quite place it. He wasn't a swordsman himself, so the recognition remained frustratingly vague.
"The sword is called Sōzai," Finn said, his voice low and focused.
The words were still hanging in the air when cold light flashed.
Sōzai cleared its sheath in a single fluid motion, the blade singing as it cut through the morning air. Without pause or ceremony, Finn struck directly at Zephyr's chest.
"Oh? One of the twenty-one Great Grade swords?" Zephyr murmured, a smile playing at his lips.
The distance between them was minimal. Finn had attacked first with full commitment.
Yet when the blade finished its arc, Zephyr had caught it between two fingers. The steel, sharp enough to cut through bone, was held motionless before it could touch his coat.
The strike that embodied Finn's entire spirit and technique couldn't move the Admiral even a millimeter.
Before Zephyr could comment, Finn released the sword's grip.
He stepped forward, driving his elbow toward Zephyr's chest in the same motion. All the immense physical power in his body, the strength that could shatter stone blocks, concentrated into a single point of impact.
Zephyr's body shifted slightly, absorbing the blow. He didn't even step backward.
"Impressive strength," Zephyr observed, nodding. "At nineteen, your physical power is genuinely outstanding."
Simultaneously, he noted other details. Finn's stance had remained stable throughout the sword strike. Especially in the moment when Zephyr caught the blade, when most fighters would have panicked or struggled, Finn had shown perfect calm. His fundamentals were rock-solid.
What surprised Zephyr more was the psychological aspect. Normally, when an Admiral demonstrated such overwhelming superiority, catching a blade with bare fingers in what could only be seen as slightly humiliating, most young fighters would falter. Their confidence would crack. Doubt would creep in.
Finn's eyes showed no such wavering. No hesitation whatsoever. He'd immediately abandoned the trapped blade and changed tactics, adapting to the situation with ruthless efficiency.
As a veteran Admiral, Zephyr understood the significance instantly. This demonstrated that while Finn had solid swordsmanship fundamentals, he wasn't bound by the identity of being a swordsman. He wasn't precious about his weapon or his style.
A true swordsman, someone who lived and breathed the philosophy of the blade, would never release their sword so decisively. They'd struggle to reclaim it, seeing the weapon as an extension of themselves.
But that was fine. Zephyr wasn't a swordsman either, so he had no issue with Finn's pragmatism.
What he admired was the decisiveness itself. On real battlefields, that quality often meant the difference between survival and death.
He'd seen enough. There was no need to test further. Finn was just a Branch Captain, after all. Performing at this level was already excellent. Did Zephyr really expect him to defy heaven?
"Grit your teeth, kid," Zephyr said, raising his hand to push Finn's elbow away from his chest.
The warning reached Finn's ears a fraction of a second before Zephyr's fist connected with his torso.
Overwhelming force crashed through Finn's body like a tidal wave. He couldn't resist it, couldn't brace against it, couldn't do anything except experience the impact. His feet lost purchase on the stone dock. His body launched backward like a cannonball, weightless and helpless.
He crashed into the stone pier behind him with bone-jarring force.
Zephyr had held back significantly. Otherwise, that punch would have liquefied Finn's internal organs.
But what Zephyr didn't expect was how quickly Finn recovered.
Within moments, Finn was already climbing to his feet, blade in hand, charging forward again.
"Rift Fang!" Finn roared, raising Sōzai overhead.
Despite the dramatic name, the technique was just a straightforward overhead slash. Nothing fancy or complex.
It still couldn't threaten Zephyr. The former Admiral casually raised one arm, caught the blade's edge with his bare palm, and stopped the attack cold.
At the same time, he assessed Finn's condition.
That punch should have completely disabled him. And looking at the evidence, it had done serious damage. Blood trickled from the corner of Finn's mouth. His chest showed visible depression where the impact had compressed muscle and possibly cracked ribs. Residual blood stained his nostrils. The kid was badly injured, no question.
Zephyr had planned to send him to the medical bay after this. The strike hadn't been meant merely to wound, but to measure Finn's physical resilience and ability to withstand punishment. It was part of the assessment.
But despite these injuries, Finn counterattacked with such decisiveness, such complete commitment, as if he weren't the one bleeding. As if pain simply didn't exist for him.
"You have extraordinary willpower, kid," Zephyr said, genuine admiration in his voice. "Overcoming the instinctive reactions pain causes? Even seasoned veterans struggle with that."
Suppressing pain reactions was indeed a skill. The truly powerful masters all developed some degree of ability in this area.
But Zephyr didn't know the truth. Finn hadn't overcome his pain reactions. He simply didn't have them in the first place. As long as he willed it, pain became information rather than sensation. Data instead of agony.
Before Finn could respond, Zephyr supported his shoulder, steadying him. Satisfaction showed clearly on the Admiral's weathered face.
"Excellent. You pass. Come back to Marine Headquarters with me. That's where someone with your potential belongs."
Only then did Finn allow himself to smile. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thank you, Instructor Zephyr."
"Hahahaha! I hope you don't hold that punch against me," Zephyr laughed.
Admiral Sengoku stepped forward, his tone brisk and decisive. "In that case, Captain Milde, you'll handle reporting the transfer procedures back to Headquarters. We won't be staying longer. Captain Finn, you've been drafted into Marine Headquarters effective immediately. Come with us. We have medical personnel aboard who'll treat your injuries."
Sengoku made all decisions without hesitation, without requesting input.
Captain Milde had no authority to object or even offer suggestions. He could only salute and acknowledge the orders.
As for Finn, he'd wanted to reach Marineford for years. He felt no attachment to the 113th Branch, despite spending seven years here.
Soon, Admirals Sengoku and Zephyr led Finn up the boarding ramp onto the massive Headquarters warship.
This was Finn's first time aboard a vessel of this scale. The deck stretched like a parade ground, the masts rose like towers, the cannons lined the rails in intimidating rows.
But before he could properly observe his surroundings, medical personnel whisked him away for treatment.
On the main deck, Zephyr stood near the rail, chewing on an unlit cigar. Sea wind tugged at his Justice coat as he watched the 113th Branch base shrink into the distance. His expression was contemplative, unreadable.
After a while, Admiral Sengoku finished giving orders to the navigation crew and joined him. "So? How'd the kid do?"
"Don't pretend you couldn't tell," Zephyr said with a slight smile.
"Hahahaha! You seem quite satisfied," Sengoku observed.
"Hmm. Whether someone can become truly strong is mostly about character, not raw talent. That kid has decent natural ability, sure. It just hasn't been properly developed over the years. But that's fine. He's only nineteen. Still young. Plenty of time to fix those gaps."
Zephyr took the cigar from his mouth, examining its unlit tip. "What I'm most optimistic about is his character. Maybe he's still confused about justice, but when it comes to fighting? He's not confused at all. Decisive. Practical. I can work with that. I'll teach him to become stronger. Make him a pride of the Marines."
Zephyr fell silent for a moment, then shifted topics. Finn was just a promising recruit after all, slightly favored but not worth extended discussion between two Admirals.
"So how are things on your end? Did you find information on that bastard?" Zephyr asked.
"We just received intelligence from Headquarters. He's on Minion Island. We're heading there now." Sengoku's tone shifted, becoming irritated. He shook his head in frustration. "That guy Shiki... why did he come to the North Blue instead of staying in the New World where he belongs?"
The truth was, Admiral Sengoku hadn't traveled to the North Blue to meet Finn. Frankly, Finn wasn't important enough to warrant that kind of attention.
Sengoku had come because intelligence indicated that the great pirate Golden Lion Shiki had recently appeared in the North Blue.
And Zephyr's personal involvement wasn't really about recruiting either. He'd come because Shiki wasn't someone you faced casually. With two Admirals powerhouse working together, their chances of success increased dramatically. Meeting Finn had just been a convenient side task.
"Come to think of it," Sengoku said suddenly, "you've already retired from active duty. You don't need to get involved in this, do you?"
"Hahahaha! I came to scout for promising recruits and to watch your back," Zephyr said with a broad laugh. "Can't have you getting yourself killed."
There were certain rivalries that defined careers.
Garp had always targeted Roger, the Pirate King.
And Sengoku and Shiki? They had a long, complicated history.
Old rivals in the truest sense.
The Golden Lion Shiki, one of the legendary pirates who'd terrorized the seas before Roger's execution. A man whose power had once rivaled Roger himself. Now he was operating in the North Blue, far from his usual hunting grounds in the New World.
The question was: why?
What could possibly draw someone of Shiki's caliber to these relatively calm waters?
Sengoku stared out at the horizon, his jaw tight. Whatever Shiki was planning, it couldn't be good. Pirates of that level didn't travel for tourism.
The Headquarters warship cut through the waves, leaving the 113th Branch behind. In the medical bay below, Finn lay on a cot while a doctor examined his injuries, muttering about cracked ribs and internal bruising.
But Finn barely registered the pain or the medical attention.
His mind was already racing ahead. Marineford. Headquarters. Zephyr's training. The Officer Training Camp.
Everything he'd worked toward for seven years was finally within reach.
And if the Golden Lion himself was somewhere in the North Blue? Well, that was the Admirals' problem. Finn had no intention of getting involved with pirates of that caliber.
Not yet, anyway.
First, he'd get stronger. Much stronger.
Then, perhaps, he'd start worrying about legends.