The attraction was mutual, their dispositions aligned, and they clicked instantly.
"Oh, is that so?" Momonga's eyes crinkled with a hint of amusent. He felt a genuine sense of relief at Loya's choice, though his tone remained stern. "Joining is certainly an option, but even if you are already strong, you must start from the very bottom as a recruit. Are you prepared for that?"
"Of course," Loya replied confidently. "Starting from scratch—that's where the real challenge lies."
There was sothing Loya kept to himself: his decision to join the Marines was largely driven by the goal of entering the recruit camp. Based on his earlier deductions, the tiline wasn't yet at the point where Akainu held absolute sway, and the tragic, legendary Zephyr was still active. Zephyr was, after all, a top-tier educator! Looking at the disciples he had produced—Kuzan, Sakazuki, Borsalino—every one of them beca a titan of the sea.
It was almost a universal law: want to beco stronger? Join the recruit camp!
Furthermore, the world-famous "Military Draft" had not yet been initiated, leaving Loya with no other viable path.
Watching Loya's confident expression, Momonga nodded in satisfaction. He folded his arms across his chest and said, "Very well. We expect to reach Marineford in two days. You will join the recruit camp for training upon arrival. Now, let's go eat."
"Yes, sir!"
The Marines didn't hold banquets on the deck with wine glasses like pirates; they had an orderly ss hall. At the entrance, Loya took the seasickness dicine from the ship's doctor. The color rapidly returned to his face, and while he still felt off, he regained his strength.
Turning down a young sailor's attempt to assist him, Loya strode up to the server.
"Hello, I'd like ten portions of curry rice, a basin of chicken legs, and, oh, that fruit basket over there... no need, just pass the basket."
He walked away from the stunned server, carrying his massive haul of food—rice in one hand, chicken legs in the other, and a fruit basket clamped between his teeth—and plopped down at Momonga's table.
CLANG!
The heavy tal basin landed on the table with a thud, filled to the brim. Momonga's eyelid twitched as he stared at the mountain of food obstructing his view.
"Loya, do you eat this much at every al?"
"Huh?" A chicken leg vanished into Loya's mouth. He didn't even chew; within seconds, skin and bones were swallowed whole. Loya lifted his head, dazed. "Not really. It's just... because of the seasickness, I don't have much of an appetite today."
"Not much of an appetite..."
In the ti it took to speak those two sentences, Loya had already carved a crater the size of a human head into his basin of curry. Momonga sighed helplessly. "I finally understand why you said there was nothing left to eat on the island..."
Fortunately, they would reach Marineford in at most two days. If Loya continued to eat at this rate for any longer, the entire ship would be starving.
Seeing Loya devour his al, other Marines in the ss hall began to inspect their own bowls of curry suspiciously. Is this stuff really that good?
Luckily, this was a Marine vessel; the quality and quantity of their supplies were far beyond that of a typical pirate ship. Seeing Loya's pace, the cook rushed to slice more potatoes and carrots, boiling a second batch of curry before the first was even finished, lest half the crew go hungry that night.
CLANG!
Loya polished off the last bit of rice and dropped the basin. He leaned back, patting his round, bulging stomach, and let out a burp that released a string of ice crystals into the air.
"Satisfied, satisfied! It's been ages since I've had curry this good. Hey, Uncle! Prepare five more large marrow bones for to take away!"
CLATTER!
A group of Marines nearly fell off their benches. Are you even human? While the world was full of strange races with monstrous appetites, they had never seen a human eat like this!
Momonga massaged his throbbing temples. If Loya truly joined the Marines, the recruit camp's ss hall would need a massive increase in supplies. Otherwise, he was certain Loya would end up stealing his colleagues' portions, leaving no energy for training!
Clutching the marrow bones, Loya bid Momonga farewell and left the ss hall. The ship's doctor had told him to pick up his dicine for the next two days.
The infirmary was only a short walk away. As he strolled down the corridor, sailors stared in shock at Loya, who was currently gnawing on a bone the size of a forearm. Every few steps, he'd toss the bone—picked clean of every shred of at—overboard.
"Hello? Is anyone here? I'm here to pick up my dicine."
Loya knocked on the infirmary door with a hiccup.
"Oh, Mr. Loya. Please, co in!"
Loya pushed open the door. The infirmary was spacious, thick with the scent of disinfectant and alcohol. On the left, several white beds were occupied by two Marines in hospital gowns, shivering under their blankets.
The doctor sat at a desk, drawing a milky-white liquid into a syringe. On the table were several neat brown vials—his seasickness dicine.
As Loya entered, the doctor stood up, syringe in hand, and gestured toward the vials. "Those brown bottles are the ones. Five in total. Take them with you. If you run out or your condition worsens, notify imdiately."
"Got it, Doctor." Loya nodded and pocketed the vials. Turning back, he saw the doctor peeling back the covers and pulling down a Marine's trousers to expose a bare buttock. Loya asked curiously, "By the way, sir, what's wrong with these patients?"
The doctor took aim for a few seconds, jabbed the syringe into the sailor's rear, and replied with undisguised disdain: "Heh. A lot of soldiers caught colds after falling overboard today. These two just have weak constitutions; it turned into a high fever."
Uh... Loya didn't know how to respond. Why did they fall overboard? It wasn't his fault his control was off!
Still, he couldn't entirely bla their weak constitution. The cold air infused with his magic had a temperature far lower than standard ice. If he threw a chunk of it into a stream, a long stretch of water would freeze solid. While Momonga's sword beam had blocked the freezing air that swept across the sea, the residual chill had still caught most of the Marines in the small boats. Anyone who didn't catch a cold was a genuine elite.
With a sheepish goodbye, Loya returned to his cabin.
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