You Train Alone

Real fighting spirit finally appeared in Hairt's eyes. This was no longer an instructor testing a new recruit; it was the focus of a man facing a worthy opponent. He released his right hand and let Jack keep hold of the Iron Whip. Hairt took half a step back, spread his feet, lowered his center of gravity, and bent his knees deeper than before.

"Soru."

He vanished.

He was fast. Jack had been on guard, but his eyes still couldn't track him. Hairt flashed out of sight in front of him and appeared on his right, then his left, then behind him. His path left a broken ring of footprints in the sand, so shallow they looked as though the wind had made them.

Jack's gaze couldn't keep up. Soru was too fast; by the time his eyes caught Hairt, the man had already moved. Jack could sense the air shifting and feel the pressure of the wind Hairt stirred up, but his eyes had fallen behind.

Hairt appeared behind him.

Jack's fighting instincts were faster than his eyes. In the fraction of a second after Hairt appeared at his back, Jack had already begun to turn. But he was half a beat too slow. Hairt's fist struck his back.

The fist hit Hardened Skin with a dull clang, like a hammer striking an iron plate. Jack lurched half a step forward and planted his right foot to steady himself. A shallow dent, about half a centimeter deep, marked his back, with fine cracks spreading through the Hardened Skin around it.

Jack turned. Hairt was no longer behind him. Soru activated again, and Hairt flickered across the training ground, left to right, front to back, as fast as a shadow dancing over the sand.

Jack couldn't catch him. Fast opponents were the most annoying.

When would I get to beat people with sheer speed? When would I get to say something like, "Have you ever been kicked by light?" Now that would be a line to show off with.

But he didn't need to catch Hairt.

Blade of the Ruined King activated.

The instant its glow touched Hairt, his speed plunged. It was like a carriage at full gallop suddenly sinking into a bog. Something was drawn out of his body, the lightness in his muscles and bones collapsed, and the smooth rhythm of Soru broke.

Hairt's foot dragged a deep furrow through the sand. A sour numbness spread through the muscles around his ankle. His pupils contracted as he glanced down at his legs. He had lost at least thirty percent of his speed, and the sensation of something dragging at him made the hairs on his back stand up.

"You..." Hairt forced the word out of his throat.

Jack didn't wait for him to finish. Ghost activated, and his body surged from a standstill into motion. Hairt slowed while Jack accelerated, leaving Hairt no time to recover his rhythm.

The distance between them vanished in a fraction of a second. Jack clenched his right fist, tapped his left knuckles against it with a sharp crack, then drove his fist toward Hairt's chest.

Hairt crossed his arms over his chest. The fist slammed into his forearms. It didn't break through his guard, but the force drove through bone and muscle into his breastbone. He staggered back three steps, each one digging a hole in the sand. On the third, his knee buckled, and he nearly dropped to one knee.

He raised his head and looked at Jack. His arms were still crossed before him. Two bruises had appeared on his forearms, black at the edges and purple in the middle, swollen half an inch high.

All hundred and seventy-odd people on the training ground stood with their mouths open. No one spoke. No one moved. Their eyes shifted from Jack to Hairt, then back to Jack.

Hairt straightened and lowered his arms. He looked at Jack, a thin line of blood still running from the corner of his mouth. He didn't wipe it away. He drew a deep breath, his chest rising farther than before, each breath heavy as a bellows.

Damn it. I'm going to lose face. A trainee landed a hit on me. Hairt forced himself to speak. "Soru and Kami-e."

His voice wasn't loud, but the training ground was so quiet that every word reached all hundred and seventy-odd pairs of ears.

"Two of the Six Powers. You couldn't catch me because you don't know Soru. You couldn't stop me because you don't know Kami-e. You fought your way to the rank of major on instinct, and you think you're strong. But you have no Haki, you know none of the Six Powers, and you haven't even awakened Observation Haki."

Jack looked at him without speaking. I really want to say, "You know Kami-e, and I still hit you." Forget it. Let the instructor save some face.

Hairt bent down and picked up the Iron Whip. He tightened his grip on its handle twice, his knuckles turning white.

"You don't need to train with those recruits anymore." Hairt's voice had regained its earlier steadiness, though it was rougher now, like the lingering scrape of sandpaper over iron. "Go train in the Six Powers and Haki. There's a private training room on the north side of the camp. The key's in my office drawer. Get it yourself."

Jack looked at him. Three seconds passed.

"Thanks."

He bent down, picked up his military cap and uniform jacket, and brushed off the sand. He put on the jacket, fastened the buttons, and set his cap straight.

Behind him, more than a hundred and seventy pairs of eyes followed his retreating figure. Hairt stood in the middle of the training ground, the Iron Whip hanging at his side, its tip tracing a faint line through the sand. The bruise on his left forearm was swelling, turning from blue-purple to deep purple, then to black-purple. He glanced down, shifted the Iron Whip to his right hand, and let his left arm hang loose.

"What are you staring at?" Hairt's roar cracked across the training ground like thunder striking the sand. "Form up! Run laps! Twenty! No food until you finish!"

More than a hundred and seventy people moved at once. Footsteps, panting, and the spray of sand blended into one clamor across the training ground. Hairt stood at its center, watching the recruits begin their laps and their figures cast long shadows over the sand.

He did not watch Jack enter the main building. But he knew Jack was passing through its doors, heading down the corridor to the office, then on to the private training room. Jack had spent less than half an hour on the training ground. One sentence had made the chief instructor attack, one punch had broken through his defense, and three seconds had made him say, "Go train in the Six Powers."

Hairt shifted the Iron Whip from his right hand back to his left. Its weight sent a piercing pain through the bruise on his forearm. The coppery taste of blood still lingered in his mouth. He ran his tongue over his gums. They were split and still bleeding, but he didn't spit. He swallowed the blood.

He raised his head and looked toward the main building.

"Interesting," he murmured, the word caught so low in his throat that no one heard it. Then he turned and roared at the recruits running laps. "Faster! You, at the back! Five extra laps!"