Repeated side jumps involved rapidly hopping right → center → left → center → right across three parallel lines about a meter apart on the floor.
The number of side jumps completed within a set time was recorded.
The movement itself wasn't difficult. Anyone could do it.
But with a time limit and a requirement to move fast, it took a certain level of mastery to control the leg muscles, balance, and various other functions!
At that moment, Morito had turned into a blur.
It looked as though there were three of him—no, thirty—standing there in a line!
The examiner in charge of recording the results rubbed his eyes. He seemed to think something was wrong with them!
Why did everything look doubled?!
Could poor eyesight be contagious?
"Are we done?"
A minute later, still having heard no one tell him to stop, Morito halted on his own. Frowning, he looked at the dumbfounded examiner and asked.
Repeated side jumps were usually done in twenty seconds. He'd already jumped for three rounds of twenty seconds!
The examiner suddenly snapped out of it and awkwardly recorded an S.
He hadn't even had time to count how many jumps Morito did!
No—he hadn't been able to see how many times Morito jumped at all!
The Training Camp students waiting behind him had wanted to laugh at Morito. Now, one by one, they stared with bulging eyes and gaping mouths, as if they'd seen a ghost.
It wasn't just the examiner who couldn't see Morito's movements. Not a single one of them could.
"Does our bet still count?"
A moment ago, they'd bet on how many times Morito could jump from side to side in twenty seconds. Some had bet he'd manage ten or fewer, others eight or fewer, and some had even bet on five or fewer.
After a brief silence, one of them spoke up.
"Gambling is bad. We should put a stop to this kind of behavior."
"Yeah, exactly!"
"That's right, that's right. We're future Marine officers. How could we break the rules?"
"Get ready. It'll be our turn soon."
They all chimed in, pretending to take it in stride and moving on as if nothing had happened.
Even so, Morito's movements had left a deep impression on them.
There was no way a human could move like that!
On the top floor of the teaching building, in head instructor Zephyr's office.
"Repeated side jumps at the speed of Shave? This kid seems stronger than I thought!"
Garp squinted, grinning.
Zephyr, however, looked shocked. Setting aside the fact that Morito could jump from side to side at Shave's speed, the boy had mastered Shave at just fifteen.
Zephyr remembered that when he was fifteen, he'd only just joined the Marines.
Back then, he...
Never mind.
"It's only a test of repeated side jumps. The Doriki test is what matters!"
Zephyr said coldly.
Garp only smiled without saying a word. In his eyes, Zephyr was just stubbornly refusing to admit it because he was jealous of how talented Morito was.
Hadn't Kuzan been the same way earlier?
Down in the plaza, the various physical tests continued.
The hundred-meter sprint, weightlifting, shot put, grip strength, and vertical jump.
When Morito finished all the physical tests, every examiner at every station was left gaping in shock, just as expected.
His speed, strength, and agility were all beyond reproach!
Morito's performance in the plaza's physical tests drew more and more attention.
At first, the onlookers had known nothing and simply followed the crowd in mocking him. Now, every one of them was stunned by his performance.
"I heard from my son that guy's got terrible talent and never works hard. He's always at the bottom of the Training Camp's annual exams."
"That's what I heard, too. Apparently, he's blind."
"Then how could this be?"
There was a hint of doubt in the crowd's discussion.
A huge electronic display stood in the middle of the plaza, showing the physical test results of the top-performing students.
At the very top was the name Ōtsutsuki Morito!
S, S, S!
Every score was an S!
And this was the guy who always came in last?
The spectators felt as if their intelligence had been insulted. If someone this superhuman was a worthless bottom-ranker every year, then what did that make ordinary people like them?
Worse than worthless?
Everyone had watched the physical tests in the plaza, so there was absolutely no chance the results had been faked.
At one corner of the plaza, Doberman stood beside Onigumo.
Though the two of them had looked down on Morito, they couldn't help feeling shocked at the scores on the electronic display.
They were both strong and had good reason to be proud.
They had always ranked among the top three in the physical tests, along with Kazan.
Now, their scores still ranked second and fourth.
But Morito, in first place, had left them far behind.
Morito had scored an S in every physical test. The two of them had only gotten an S in one or two events, with most of their other scores being A's, and even a few B's.
Besides, Morito's S's were completely different from theirs.
Morito got S's because S was the highest possible score—not because S was all he could manage.
"Looks like that kid's been hiding his strength?" Doberman's expression was no longer relaxed. He was starting to worry about his friend.
"No matter what, I'll beat him!"
How could Onigumo admit that someone he'd looked down on was better than him?
It was like being a well-dressed "superior" who lived in comfort, working in an air-conditioned office and clocking out on time, while looking down from the skyscrapers at the sweaty laborers carrying bricks on a nearby construction site.
He despised those workers, looking down on them from the bottom of his heart.
Then one day, one of those workers transformed into his boss. The man had only gone to the construction site to exercise and experience life.
Such a drastic reversal was enough to break a person.
Onigumo wasn't that fragile. He just kept telling himself that he had to beat Morito in real combat!
"The Doriki test is up next. Let's see how hard that kid can hit."
"I'll be watching."
The boys and girls at the Naval Academy's Training Camp all had Marine backgrounds, or were orphans with exceptional talent who'd been taken in by Marine officers.
They had all started training at a young age. They had an early start and natural talent, so they couldn't be judged by ordinary standards.
A Doriki score of 10 was considered passing for an ordinary Marine soldier.
For an ordinary person hoping to enter the Naval Academy, a Doriki score of over 50 on the entrance test was enough, provided they were no older than thirty.
After completing a strict, specialized course of training, students with excellent grades could choose to stay and continue their studies.
Those with average grades had to leave the academy. They could either be sent back to the Four Seas or remain at Marine Headquarters, usually starting out as a petty officer or a Seaman First Class.
For Training Camp students to pass the annual exam and continue their studies at the Naval Academy, their Doriki had to reach at least 70.
After all, they'd been given preferential access to resources and trained from a young age. They had both connections and talent.
If their Doriki scores were still worse than those of "self-taught" recruits, then there was no point wasting more resources on such deadweight.
The Naval Academy at Marine Headquarters wasn't a daycare!
That was why Doriki was the most important part of the Training Camp's annual physical tests!
Anyone who failed to reach 70 had to get out!
With everyone's eyes on him, Morito walked to the center of the plaza and stood in front of a massive steel testing machine.
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