Zephyr’s eyes glead with conviction, his voice carrying the weight of both pride and expectation.
Ever since Darren and the rest of the so-called "Golden Generation" had graduated from the Elite Officer Training Camp, a wave of Marine fever had swept across the world.
His thunderous graduation speech—equal parts fire and conviction—coupled with a string of jaw-dropping victories that followed, had turned Darren into sothing larger than life.
Within Headquarters itself, he’d beco a walking legend.
Young Marines slicked back their hair, clenched cigars between their teeth, and strutted around with reckless bravado, declaring themselves disciples of the "Iron-Fisted Vice Admiral." Every rookie with a death wish wanted to go out and hunt pirates, and the Training Camp’s enrollnt numbers had exploded.
Zephyr, recognizing this surge of passion, had spoken with Sengoku and proposed a long-overdue reform: a modest expansion of the next training cycle, along with the introduction of external instructors. The idea was to lighten his own load while also bringing in fresh perspectives—new blood with unconventional thods to prepare the Marines for an era that was changing faster than ever.
It was a bold move for a man as traditional as Zephyr, but he had pinned his hopes on it.
And the key to making that reform succeed now stood before him: Young Darren.
Hearing the proposal, Darren blinked in surprise.
? A special instructor?
He couldn’t quite picture it. He’d spent his youth being drilled by instructors, not standing in front of classrooms himself. Teaching wasn’t sothing he’d ever considered—especially when it ant losing chunks of his precious free ti.
After a thoughtful pause, he said slowly, "Zephyr-sensei, I’m afraid I’m not cut out for that kind of responsibility. Besides, no one could ever teach better than you."
That much, at least, was sincere.
People joked about Zephyr’s "corruption" of his students, but Darren knew better. The man before him had molded monsters—Sakazuki, Borsalino, Kuzan—and guided the rise of a generation that had redefined what it ant to be a Marine.
Without Zephyr’s relentless training in his youth, Darren knew he’d never have beco the man he was now. For all his arrogance, this was one person he could never quite bring himself to dismiss.
"Relax, kid," Zephyr said, waving a hand as if brushing away Darren’s hesitation. "It won’t eat up your life. Guest instructors aren’t full-tirs. You’d only need to visit twice a month, give a lecture or two, share your experience. Teach them what you know."
He puffed leisurely on a cigar. "And I won’t micromanage you. You can teach however you like. I trust you."
He smirked faintly. "Besides, I’ve heard Gion and Tokikake say you gave them so excellent training advice back in the North Blue. Sounds like you’ve already been moonlighting as an instructor."
Darren sighed inwardly. Of course you’d dig that up, old man.
Zephyr leaned forward, tone shifting from casual to earnest. "There’s sothing in it for you too, boy. The Marines aren’t all about muscle. Connections matter."
"Those recruits you’ll train—they’ll see you as their ntor. When they grow up, they’ll beco captains, commodores, maybe even admirals. And when the ti cos to compete with Sakazuki or Kuzan for Fleet Admiral..." Zephyr’s lips curved knowingly. "You’ll already have loyal allies everywhere you look."
He chuckled. "Even an old man like understands politics, though I can’t stand the damn ga. But you—if you want power, this is how you build it."
He spread his arms, voice swelling with pride. "Just picture it, Darren! The next generation of geniuses—the monsters who’ll shake the seas—all calling you their teacher. What greater legacy could a Marine ask for?"
Leaning back, Zephyr’s grin was pure satisfaction. "Look at . Even brats like Sakazuki and Borsalino have to call ’Zephyr-sensei’ when they see ."
Darren’s mouth twitched. Yeah, sure—and they’re probably still muttering about you when they’re burying the bodies afterward.
Still, he couldn’t deny it—the offer was tempting.
Becoming a special instructor would polish his public image, cent his influence within the institution, and earn him a personal network of future elites. All for the price of a few afternoons a month.
How could he say no?
"Since you have such faith in , Zephyr-sensei," Darren said with his trademark grin, "I’ll do it. I’ll give it everything I’ve got and do my part for Justice."
Zephyr gave him a withering look. "Save the speech, kid. I’m not Sengoku—you don’t need to butter up."
"I’m serious, sensei," Darren replied solemnly, though his eyes twinkled with mischief. "People call Garp the Hero of the Marines, but to , you’re the real hero—the man who built the heroes."
"You little rascal..." Zephyr huffed, turning his head to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips.
Finally, he composed himself, stubbed out his cigar, and pulled a sealed folder from his coat. "Alright, then. It’s settled."
"This is the provisional student roster for the next intake. Keep it confidential for now."
He handed it over. "You’ll also have the right to recomnd candidates of your own. I’d suggest adding that subordinate of yours—Momonga. He’s got potential."
Darren barely registered the suggestion. His eyes were already scanning the list.
Then his brows rose.
T-Bone.
Shuzo.
Vergo.
Doll.
And—
Magellan.
To be continued...
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