After Binz and Ain finished venting, the two of them suddenly turned toward Zephyr in unison.
"Teacher Zephyr, say something!"
Hearing the indignation in his disciples' voices, Zephyr slowly turned his sunglass-covered face toward them.
He looked at Ain—cheeks flushed, fists clenched tight—and at Binz, teeth grinding in frustration. Yet instead of anger, a warm chuckle escaped him.
"Hahaha…"
Zephyr shook his head lightly.
"Young people… being hot-blooded and a little arrogant—that's normal."
He stepped forward, giving Binz's shoulder a firm pat, then cast Ain a steady, reassuring glance. As for Aramaki's wild boasting and thinly veiled personal attacks—
Zephyr, a former Admiral who had weathered countless storms, would not be provoked by such shallow taunts.
He was half-retired now. What he cared about was no longer personal pride or victory and defeat.
It was something far deeper.
He lifted the clipboard he had been holding all along. Clipped to it were two freshly organized dossiers.
These weren't ordinary resumes.
They contained the records of preliminary "Personality and Justice Philosophy Assessments" conducted on Issho and Aramaki.
Of course, considering Issho could not see, his evaluation had been conducted verbally by Zephyr himself, with Ain recording the responses.
"Two entirely different forms of justice…"
Zephyr's gaze first settled on Issho's file. A rare expression of genuine appreciation and relief appeared on his otherwise stern face.
In response to core questions such as "What is justice?", "How should civilians and pirates be treated?", and "Under what circumstances should force be used?"—
Issho's answers reflected a broad-minded philosophy filled with humanity and compassion.
He emphasized restraint in the use of power.
He emphasized protecting the innocent.
He emphasized that beyond law and order, there must still exist mercy and empathy.
"Benevolent justice," Zephyr murmured inwardly, summarizing Issho's creed.
It resonated deeply with Zephyr's own belief—his "Non-Killing Justice," forged after painful transformation and loss.
Especially after Kuzan, whose justice carried a unique warmth and quiet confusion, had left the Marines…
It had been a long time since Zephyr had sensed such a gentle yet unwavering aura of justice among the Marine high command.
Issho's arrival might inject a rare glimmer of tenderness and humanity back into a Navy that had grown increasingly hardline and utilitarian.
The thought brought Zephyr a long-lost sense of solace.
"Very good…" he murmured softly, nodding faintly at Issho's file.
In his view, strength was important.
But possessing a heart of justice worthy of that strength—
That was the true foundation of becoming a qualified Marine officer, especially at the highest levels.
In contrast…
Aramaki's test record was…
Well.
To put it bluntly—it was far more aggressive.
And far more suited to being a loyal hound.
His answers were steeped in the doctrine of survival of the fittest. He revered absolute power and openly admired the authority of the World Nobles.
He agreed with crushing pirates and maintaining order, yes—
But at his core, his philosophy leaned toward cold, result-oriented pragmatism.
There was a distinct scent of jungle law.
Especially regarding non-affiliated nations—he barely regarded their civilians as human.
"...Tch. No need to guess," Zephyr muttered quietly, eyes shifting toward the green-haired man swaggering across the field. "The World Government will love this one."
There was scrutiny in his gaze.
And a trace of disgust.
...
Meanwhile, seeing Issho ignore him, Aramaki's urge to show off and seek validation flared again.
With a cigarette still between his lips, he continued, tone tinged with boastfulness.
"Hey, blind man. Let me be honest with you."
"The Admiral I admire most is Sakazuki! 'Absolute Justice'—now that's pure. That's power!"
"Burning those damned pirates and scum to ashes with magma… just thinking about it makes you feel how cool it is!"
Issho stood quietly, cane sword planted before him. His head tilted slightly, as though listening—or perhaps contemplating.
His voice remained calm.
"In that case, Mr. Aramaki, you would be well-suited to serve at G-2 under Admiral Sakazuki's command."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Aramaki waved his hand immediately, wearing an expression that screamed you don't get it at all.
"Admire is one thing—but I don't want to die on the front lines!"
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice almost into a fawning tone.
"The place I really want to go… the position I really want to hold…"
"Is serving in the Holy Land, protecting those noble Celestial Dragons directly!"
"That's the truly safe, honorable, and meaningful post!"
At the mention of "Celestial Dragons," Issho's previously placid face shifted ever so slightly.
His brow creased—barely perceptible.
Beneath his tightly shut eyelids, something stirred.
He was just about to speak—
Suddenly.
A tremendous wave of perception washed across his mind like ripples spreading across still water.
His Observation Haki—far surpassing ordinary standards, even outstripping Aramaki's—sharpened in an instant.
He detected four overwhelmingly powerful presences approaching at high speed from afar.
Three of them—
Without question, each rivaled his own strength.
And the final one…
The final one utterly crushed the other three.
It radiated a suffocating authority—an absolute majesty that made even the soul tremble.
"!!!"
Issho's expression changed dramatically. The steady, mountain-like figure who had sat unmoving suddenly sprang to his feet.
He pivoted toward the source of the Haki.
For the first time, his tightly closed eyes opened.
Revealing nothing but cloudy whites.
Blind eyes.
Beside him, Aramaki jumped at the sudden reaction, startled by Issho's abrupt movement.
"Y-You… you can open your eyes?!"
Issho ignored him entirely.
At this moment, his entire focus was consumed by those four rapidly approaching forces.
Then—
A distinctive voice, lazy and teasing, drifted across the air from afar, answering Aramaki in Issho's stead.
"Oh~ how scary~"
The voice drew closer.
"Young people these days sure have lofty ambitions~"
"Wanting to go to the Holy Land… that's a senior's rice bowl you're eyeing, you know~ that won't do~"
It was Admiral Borsalino.
Aramaki's heart jolted violently. Only now did he react, following the direction Issho faced and looking up sharply.
At the edge of the training grounds, atop a raised stair platform—
Borsalino was already standing there.
One foot rested casually on a higher step. His right hand was raised as if checking a wristwatch. His posture was relaxed, almost careless.
And behind him—
A taller figure stood, unmistakably the center of the scene.
Gern Reginald Sigmar.
He wore the Marine Justice coat draped over his shoulders. The Eight Desolations rested at his waist. His expression was calm, eyes sweeping across the entire training ground.
At his left and right stood—
"World's Greatest Swordsman?!" Dracule Mihawk crossed his arms, the black blade Yoru resting silently on his back. His golden hawk-like eyes examined Issho with piercing scrutiny.
"Not bad at all!" Douglas Bullet split into a feral grin, undisguised excitement flashing across his face. "These two guys."
Four figures.
Their arrival alone—
Sent an invisible pressure sweeping across the entire temporary training ground.