Inside the Marine Headquarters at G-1 Base, the room Haru was given was quiet and modest, tucked away in one of the residential wings. The late afternoon sun spilled through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the floor as Haru sat cross-legged, breathing slow and steady. His two swords—Odachi and Honjo—rested beside him, and his eyes were closed in focus.
He was practicing Observation Haki.
"What is Observation Haki, Grandpa?"
"It's like talking to nature," Musashi had said. "You don't see with your eyes—you feel with your soul. It allows you to sense life around you… and with time, predict your opponent's next move."
"So I can see the future?"
"Brief glimpses. But only if your heart is still and your mind is focused."
That memory filled Haru with warmth—and pain. It had been a year since his grandfather passed away. Yet in every lesson, every movement, Musashi lived on within him.
Just as he felt his senses begin to stretch—flickers of life moving throughout the base—he felt a presence approaching. A calm but sharp energy, firm yet graceful, like a coiled wave waiting to crash.
Then—a knock at his door.
Haru opened his eyes, stood, and moved to the door. When he opened it, he found himself staring at a young woman.
She had bright red hair, tied back into a long braid that fell down her back, and piercing blue eyes that reminded him of the deepest part of the ocean. She wore her Marine jacket slung over one shoulder, and strapped to her back was a large, single-bladed axe. Her presence was commanding, her posture that of a seasoned warrior.
Haru blinked, momentarily lost in her gaze.
The girl raised an eyebrow and gave a playful cough.
"Didn't expect the new recruit to fall for me the moment I walked in."
Flustered, Haru quickly straightened and bowed slightly.
"Apologies. I was just… caught off guard. Your eyes are beautiful. May I ask your name?"
The redhead blinked, clearly not expecting such a blunt response. A brief flush touched her cheeks before she crossed her arms.
"Do you think it's wise to flirt with someone who outranks you and also happens to be your training officer?"
"My grandfather taught me to always speak my mind," Haru replied honestly.
She paused, then gave a small smirk.
"Charming and bold. Great. A pink-haired brat with confidence."
That last comment irked him slightly, but Haru stayed composed.
"Then perhaps you'd prefer introductions the old-fashioned way—a spar."
Her smirk widened.
"You've got guts. I like that. Name's Naomi Sakazuki. Daughter of Admiral Akainu. And today, I'm going to make you regret underestimating me."
Training Field: The Challenge
Within minutes, the training ground had filled with murmuring Marines. Word spread fast—a fresh recruit had challenged Naomi, the daughter of one of the three Admirals, to a duel.
Naomi stood tall at one end of the ring, her axe gripped in one hand like it was a part of her arm. It was a brutal weapon—not elegant like a sword, but devastating in strength. She wore no armor, only confidence and years of discipline.
Haru stepped in calmly, twin wooden swords in hand—Honjo in his right, the longer Odachi on his back. He took his stance, feet shoulder-width apart, breathing evenly.
Naomi's eyes glinted.
"Let's dance, pretty boy."
The referee gave the signal—and Naomi burst forward like a cannonball.
Her first swing was raw and punishing. Haru barely managed to cross his blades and block it. The impact shuddered through his arms, forcing him back several paces.
So strong…
She didn't stop. Naomi launched into a relentless barrage, spinning her axe with a skill and speed that belied its weight. Haru dodged one, blocked the next, but every strike felt heavier, closer, more refined. Her Armament Haki was laced into each swing, coating the axe in a shimmer of black steel.
"You fight like a sledgehammer," Haru managed between parries.
"And you dodge like a dancer," Naomi said, pivoting mid-air and sending a kick to his ribs. He slid back with a grunt.
Haru narrowed his eyes and planted his feet. He swung Honjo in a wide arc, forcing her to dodge left. But he anticipated it—his Observation Haki flaring for a moment—he spun into a follow-up with Odachi.
Clang.
Naomi blocked with the haft of her axe and pushed forward, twisting to lock his blades. Their eyes locked inches apart.
"You've got good instincts," she said. "Not bad for someone who looks like a flower boy."
"And you hit like a mountain," Haru shot back.
With a grunt, Naomi disengaged and leapt back. This time, she powered up. Her axe darkened with a deeper shade of Haki, dense and heavy. She charged again—this time with real intent.
Her swing cracked the air.
Haru blocked—but the power sent him flying into the wall of the ring. Dust rose around him. Marines murmured, wondering if he could still stand.
Slowly, Haru rose, wiping blood from his lip.
She's pushing me harder than anyone has… even Grandpa.
Naomi stood silently, waiting.
"You done?" she asked.
"Not yet," Haru said.
He charged.
Their weapons met again. And again. Naomi's strikes were mighty and efficient—each one aimed to overwhelm. But Haru began to see patterns, faint glimpses—his Observation Haki sharpening under pressure. He evaded the next few swings, barely missing her axe by inches. He ducked low, slashed upward with Honjo, and spun with Odachi, catching the edge of her shoulder.
Naomi paused.
"Nice," she said. "But not enough."
She elbowed him in the gut and sent him sprawling.
The Aftermath
The whistle blew. The duel was over.
Naomi stood over him, sweat on her brow, chest rising and falling.
Haru, on the ground, gave a tired grin.
"That was… amazing."
Naomi offered him a hand. He hesitated, then took it.
"You're better than I expected," she said. "You've got precision, instinct—and just enough recklessness to make it interesting."
"You fight like a storm," Haru said. "Unstoppable."
She scoffed and slung the axe back over her shoulder.
"Next time, try not to flirt and fight at the same time."
"Can't promise that," he muttered with a small smile.
Naomi chuckled, just a little.
"You've got guts. I like that. Let's see if you can survive training."
As the crowd dispersed, both fighters walked off the field— bruised, sweaty, and carrying the first seeds of mutual respect.
A flame had sparked between them.
Not yet a fire—but something that might burn brighter with time.
End of Chapter