Even with the Byakugan and Gentle Fist, Morito could only go toe-to-toe with Zephyr.
Now that Morito had sealed away his Byakugan and couldn't use Gentle Fist—or even the Marine Six Styles—he was no match for Zephyr with only Observation Haki and Armament Haki.
Bang!
A muffled thud rang out again, and Morito went flying for the umpteenth time.
A terrifying gust of force blasted through the trees. The dense canopy came crashing down, landing right on top of Morito.
Morito rubbed his aching cheek and crawled out from beneath the leaves and branches.
A large section of the forest around the clearing had been flattened. From above, it looked like a bald head. In half a day, the two of them had felled more trees than a whole logging crew.
"Keep hitting me in the face and I'm going to get mad!"
Morito didn't need a mirror to know his face was probably starting to look like the second brother from Journey to the West.
The old bastard Zephyr kept aiming for his face whenever he threw a punch. That was just too much.
Was the guy jealous of him or something?
"I'd like to see you try."
Zephyr regarded Morito with a faint smile. Even with his eyes covered, Morito could sense the amusement in them.
Morito's expression darkened, and he instinctively gathered Chakra at his fingertips.
But the next second, he let the Chakra dissipate.
Hadn't he revealed his strength and shown off his talent to get Garp's attention and Zephyr's notice in the first place? He wanted them to take him under their wing.
Zephyr was the chief instructor of the entire Naval Academy. His time was even more precious than an Admiral's.
Compared to the unreliable Garp, Zephyr was clearly a master-class teacher.
When the story began, who among the Three Admirals, the elite Vice Admirals at Marine Headquarters, or the familiar faces like Smoker and Hina didn't respectfully call Zephyr "Teacher"?
Zephyr had made time to train his Two-Color Haki one-on-one. Wasn't that exactly what Morito had wanted from the start?
"Whew."
Morito let out a deep breath and calmed down.
Before learning how to hit someone, you had to learn how to take a hit.
By "taking a hit," he didn't mean standing there and letting someone beat him without fighting back.
He meant defending himself in battle while feeling the force behind his enemy's punches, gauging their strength, and judging their fighting style and overall ability.
"Again!"
Morito charged at Zephyr once more, swinging his fist. He couldn't see, but he still had his hearing and sense of smell.
Hearing was the sharpest sense after sight.
Zephyr had a steady stance and heavy footfalls. Whenever he moved, it was nearly impossible for him to stay quiet.
Morito's Observation Haki still wasn't good enough to predict Zephyr's attacks on its own. He needed to rely on his other senses, too.
Hearing was the key to figuring out where Zephyr was.
Morito himself didn't realize it, but he was relying less and less on hearing, smell, and touch, and predicting Zephyr's movements with Observation Haki more and more.
His Armament Haki was improving as well. At first, taking a single punch head-on would have broken his bones. Now, he was left with nothing worse than bruises.
Zephyr neither dodged nor retreated from Morito's punch. He took it and swung at Morito with his other fist.
Sensing the force rushing toward him, Morito hurriedly tilted his head aside.
But although he dodged the first punch, he couldn't avoid the second kick. Zephyr had already planned his follow-up as he threw the punch, and he planted a kick in Morito's chest, sending him flying.
The moment he noticed Zephyr lift his leg, Morito concentrated his Armament Haki over his chest.
Bang!
Armament Haki collided with Armament Haki, and the impact rang out like metal clashing against metal.
Morito was sent flying, but he wasn't injured. His chest merely throbbed with an ache he wasn't used to.
Zephyr knew exactly how hard to hit him. He controlled his strength with pinpoint precision.
His blows could break through Morito's Armament Haki and make him feel pain, but they wouldn't leave him with a serious injury.
As Morito's Armament Haki improved, Zephyr increased the force of his blows.
That old fool Garp threw real iron fists. At best, he shattered boulders; at worst, he smashed through steel plates.
It didn't take much imagination to guess what a punch like that would do to a person.
That alone showed the difference between Zephyr and Garp as teachers.
Time slipped by unnoticed. The sun rose, then sank toward the horizon, and a whole day passed just like that.
Aside from a brief break to eat, they didn't stop once.
Only two figures clashed in the forest, again and again, the sounds of metal striking metal ringing out.
His arms felt heavy and hurt; his legs were as heavy as lead, as if they could barely support his body.
Sweat soaked through his clothes, then the wind dried them.
His arms grew heavier and heavier. The pain gradually faded into numbness. He couldn't tell whether his Armament Haki was protecting him from Zephyr's punches or if his nerves were starting to malfunction.
His clothes were soaked with sweat once more, then dried again in the wind.
He was exhausted. He wanted to rest.
Why did he have to push himself until he was dead on his feet, just to become a genius in the eyes of lazy people?
Wasn't it nice to just lie around like a salted fish?
In the midst of battle, Zephyr's figure seemed to change into someone else. Morito imagined he was facing the arrogant Golden Lion, the imposing Whitebeard, and the bold Roger.
The immortal Kaido of the Beasts, Charlotte with his Iron Balloon defense, and the most domineering man of them all, Red-Haired.
The sea was cruel. If he lazed around now and lived like a salted fish, then in the future he'd be nothing but meat on the chopping block for the strong.
Perseverance was more terrifying than hard work.
Morito bit down on his lip. Lips were sensitive and close to the brain; the sharp sting shot straight through him.
He pulled himself together. He didn't feel quite so tired now.
Zephyr's fist came flying at him again.
The old bastard seemed never to get tired. Every punch was forceful and fierce, yet perfectly measured.
During the first half of the day, Morito had still been able to calmly think about how to counterattack while defending.
Even landing a single punch on Zephyr would have counted as a victory.
During the second half, Morito fought on pure instinct.
Morito's stamina was naturally exceptional for his age, but compared with Zephyr in his prime, he was nowhere close.
"Can't go on? If you want to rest, we can call it a day."
Zephyr taunted Morito, but inwardly, he was astonished.
His original plan had been to train for half a day, then let Morito go over the details of their battle by himself after lunch.
But Morito's talent and strength had made Zephyr see him in a whole new light.
From dawn until nightfall, Morito had taken a beating from him all day and was still conscious. He even had some fight left in him!
"If you're tired, then take a rest!"
Morito took a breath and replied calmly.
Zephyr's eyes flickered. "You little brat!"
With a whoosh, Zephyr vanished from where he stood and used the Marine Six Styles' Soru to close in on Morito.
The rule was that Morito couldn't use the Marine Six Styles during training, but Zephyr could!
Morito focused intently. He wasn't nearly as relaxed as he sounded. He had to give his all against every one of Zephyr's attacks.
He was the man who could go toe-to-toe with Zephyr. How could he let himself get beaten so easily?
"Again!"
Bang!
"Again!"
Bang, bang!!
"Again!"
Bang, bang, bang!!!...
Before you continue