Just how much could Loya eat? Even he wasn't entirely sure. He could no longer be called human; he was a humanoid dragon. The prospect of gorging himself—no, of feasting—all night filled him with anticipation.
Afternoon training was far more grueling than the morning. Since they were training to be Marines who fought pirates, hours were dedicated to hand-to-hand combat and swordsmanship.
Inside the combat training room, Loya casually battered a sandbag, his strikes sounding like whip-cracks. A punch followed by a roundhouse kick sent the bag flying like a cannonball, while he periodically wiped drool from the corner of his mouth.
The Major General instructor watched this with a frown. While he wasn't happy with Loya's lack of focus, he didn't intervene. He had received internal briefings: Loya's close-quarters technique was unrefined, but his raw stats and Devil Fruit ability were monstrous. Standard recruit training was effectively useless for him. He was only here to check the box for the practical assessnt before moving to Zephyr's elite camp—where he truly belonged.
Finally, the order to dismiss was given.
Word of the duel between Loya and Ms. S had leaked. The recruits, bored by their repetitive training, were thrilled. A spectacle was a spectacle. A mob of recruits sward toward the ss hall, Loya in their midst.
Zephyr, having just returned from Fleet Admiral Sengoku's office to confirm the details of the practical assessnt in a month, happened to pass by the ss hall as the crowd dragged Loya inside.
"Those guys, what are they up to now?"
Inside, the tables had been cleared to the edges, leaving only two in the center. One was set for Loya's feast; the other was a makeshift kitchen station for Ms. S, ensuring the duel was public and fair. Ms. S stood with her arms crossed, a ladle in one hand and a spatula in the other, smiling confidently at Loya.
"It's not too late to forfeit, kid. If you can't finish, you're going to be pretty embarrassed in front of all these people."
Loya sat across from her, tucked a napkin into his collar, and narrowed his eyes with competitive fire. "Save the talk. Bring it on!"
"Hmph! Bold!"
A middle-aged chef stepped between them, using a ladle as a microphone. "Welco to this duel! If you're hungry, there's plenty of curry over there. Now, the rules!"
"First: Loya must finish one serving before moving to the next. Ms. S must provide food of quality. Foul play ends the match."
"Second: Ms. S has five minutes to prepare the first serving, or she forfeits."
"Third: No interference allowed."
"Victory condition: If Loya finishes the final serving and Ms. S hasn't finished the next, Loya wins. If there is more than a third of the food left over—or five servings remaining—and Loya can't eat anymore, Ms. S wins."
"Any objections?"
"None."
"None here."
Loya sneered at Ms. S. "You might want to pick sothing easy to cook, or you'll never keep up."
"Hah! Arrogant brat!" Ms. S retorted. "Even if I cook at full speed, you're the one who's going to fall behind!"
"We'll see!" Loya quipped, using an improvised phrase.
Ms. S was furious. She grabbed a potato and nodded to the chef-referee. "Enough talk. Begin!"
The referee wiped sweat from his forehead and raised his utensils.
"3!"
"2!"
"1!"
"CLANG! The match... begins!"
With the chi, Ms. S moved like a blur. Her knife work was a masterpiece of speed, peeling and dicing a crate of potatoes in seconds.
"So fast! That's Ms. S for you. You don't get that kind of knife speed without decades of practice!"
"Look at that! The cuts are perfectly uniform!"
Loya focused. He pumped magic through his body, forcing his stomach to churn with hyper-acidic juices. This old woman is no joke!
In less than four minutes, the first wave—plates of stir-fried sea-beast at—was stacked in front of Loya. The aroma filled the hall, making the surrounding crowd's stomachs groan in sympathy.
"Enjoy!" Ms. S barked, already back at the stove.
Loya grabbed a plate, tilted it into his mouth, and swallowed the at almost without chewing. He reached for the next.
"This kid was holding back at lunch..." Ms. S's eyes narrowed. She turned the stove to high, her movents accelerating.
The duel raged on. The recruits cheered, gorging themselves on curry as they watched, caught up in the madness.
Outside the window, Zephyr watched the chaotic scene. He had several impulses to storm in and discipline the undisciplined recruits, but he held back. Finally, he gave a faint, relaxed smile and shook his head.
"Forget it. Let them be... who hasn't been young once?"
He turned and walked away, his silhouette stretching long and thin against the setting sun.
The people inside didn't know the iron-faced Admiral Zephyr had been watching; if they had, they would have scattered in a panic rather than cheering so fervently. As ti dragged on, the duel reached a fever pitch. Loya's pace slowed, and Ms. S was drenched in sweat, skipping any unnecessary flourishes to save energy.
Kitchen staff scurried to clear Loya's mountain of empty plates, casting looks of pure awe at the boy.
For a chef, there was no greater satisfaction than seeing their food devoured to the last scrap. In that mont, Loya had won the absolute respect of the entire Marineford ss hall staff—a victory he hadn't even realized he was competing for.
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