"Coach, has Klein really only been enrolled for a few months?!" Kong gulped down his saliva, eyes wide with shock.
The power behind that punch!
The force of that punch!
Even some of the so-called veterans who'd already graduated from the Marine Academy weren't a match for Klein.
None of them could throw such a dazzling punch!
It was hard to believe!
The coach was equally stunned. Klein kept redefining what he thought was possible. Still, he maintained a composed expression. "That's right. He's a cadet from this year's intake—and my prized pupil, Carter!"
He looked calm on the outside, but inside, he was rattled:
Klein's growth is terrifyingly fast!
I knew he could win, but that punch…
That punch… it had the air of an admiral!
Er… maybe he's admiral material already.
He'd never seen a student progress this fast!!
That punch technique—didn't it seem a bit… abnormal?
When the hell did he learn that? Even I, his instructor, didn't know!!
That punk's still hiding something serious, isn't he!?
"Just a few months… What kind of genius is this guy?" Kong's heart was in chaos. With this kind of strength…
Klein could already reach the level of a senior officer with a mere raise of his hand!
Give it ten years, maybe less…
Wouldn't he be touching the threshold of Vice Admiral… or even Admiral!?
Kong's eyes blazed with heat. His blood was racing, and his hands itched. "That punch just now was thrilling. It really fired me up—I kind of want to spar with Klein now!"
The coach reached out and patted Kong's broad, muscular shoulder, speaking with deep meaning:
"Kong, don't worry. I'll arrange for you to spar with Klein soon enough..."
"What do you think? Would he make a good adjutant?"
Kong's expression turned serious as he sized Klein up. He didn't particularly like the guy's money-grubbing ways or his obsession with cash. "I'll think about it."
"He's still got a while before graduation anyway."
Kong might not be fond of Klein's personality, but that guy's strength and talent—no doubt about it.
Everyone who met him was left stunned and full of praise!
At that moment, Klein coolly lit up a cigar and started promoting:
"A real man needs fists of steel!"
"The Klein Training Program is committed to turning every cadet into a man of iron!"
"Cut down all your enemies before they can even raise their heads!"
"If you want to inquire or sign up for the training, act fast!"
"The earlier you sign up, the faster you get stronger!"
"Otherwise, you'll have your family weeping over your grave, your wife taken in by someone else, and your kid calling another man 'dad'!"
Compared to how he was at the start, Klein's face was now as thick as a city wall.
What's shameful about making money?
If you've got cash, you're the boss wherever you go!
Plus, the money he earned made him even stronger.
If you're strong enough, hell, people might even eat crap for you—so what's a little pride?
No money, no power—who gives a damn about your pride?
His pride isn't Red-Haired Shanks's pride.
When one cadet finally caved and paid the fee, Klein grinned so wide it nearly cracked his face.
He reassured the new recruit:
"Don't worry, I give every student my full attention!"
"You can always make more money—but you only get one life. Power is the only way to survive!"
"Go ask the other cadets—I'm a damn good teacher!"
"My teaching quality? Ask around! My reputation speaks for itself!"
With that sales pitch, he managed to calm quite a few of them.
Klein absolutely would not tolerate any refunds. Though…
Was he forgetting something?
No time to think. There were still a bunch of cadets waiting to register!
Off to the side, Zephyr's eyes were glued to the scene, filled with envy.
Klein, that bastard, is way too good at making money!!
Just a few enrollment fees, and he's already making enough to pay off his IOU to me…
If I had that kind of money, I'd have Klein give me massages every day!
Morning, noon, and night!
Unfortunately, right now Zephyr was just average among the cadets. His talent…
Well, maybe he was one of those "late bloomers" people talked about nowadays.
This whole situation left Kong slack-jawed. "Coach… how much money has that guy made so far?"
If he wasn't mistaken, there were seasonal passes… even annual ones?
We're talking millions—maybe even tens of millions of Berries per head!
"Conservative estimate? Tens of millions of Berries…" the coach said with deep satisfaction.
Klein had worked his ass off for months, and all it took was selling Demonic Flame Kick once to net the coach more money than Klein ever saw!
He trained cadets for him, became his personal cash cow, and on top of that was a prodigy destined to bring him fame in the future.
This was living the dream!
Peak life, right here!
If he could get ten or twenty more cadets like Klein, he'd be laughing in his sleep!
"Hsss—" Kong sucked in a breath. "This guy's only been a student for a few months and already made tens of millions of Berries??"
Klein might've just set a historic record at the Marine Academy...
Unprecedented. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮•𝘯𝘦𝘵
As for whether someone would break it in the future… who knew?
"Is his sense of justice tied to money or something?" Kong muttered to himself.
The sorrows of mankind are not shared. I just find them noisy.
Slammed into the wall, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, Garp felt the world spinning.
It was like he'd entered…
I'm injured, damn it!!!
There's a whole injured person right here—don't you people see me!?
Not a single person checking in on him!?
My whole life is a lie…
He couldn't help thinking back to the punch that Klein used to knock him out. There was something familiar about it—like it was the very thing he'd always been chasing.
"My Iron Fist… actually lost in a direct clash!!"
"Lost to Klein's tiny fists… CURSES!! CURSES, I SAY!!!"
He couldn't accept it.
His Iron Fists had always been his pride. He'd pounded away on scrapped ships in the junkyard day and night to hone them.
(The ships: Ever consider how I feel?)
Last time, Klein had beaten him with a sword. But this time? He used fists…
How the hell does someone build that kind of punching power giving massages all day!?
Garp just couldn't understand how Klein's fists were so terrifying.
Fortunately, someone finally noticed him. Sengoku jumped up, grabbed Garp by the leg, and pried him off the wall.
Looking at his miserable state, Sengoku trembled—and suddenly teared up.
"Garp, you bastard! Thank you!!"
The sudden gratitude left Garp dazed.
That afro-headed guy usually loved to bicker and compete with him…
What the hell's gotten into him, thanking me out of the blue!?
Right now though, Garp felt like his body had completely fallen apart. He couldn't move. Everything hurt.
"Af… Afro… Hurry… med…"
"I'll carry you!" Sengoku said.
He was grateful because he remembered how, back when he almost sparred with Klein—
Garp had jumped in and taken the blow instead.
Looking back, Garp had basically taken the bullet for him!
Otherwise, Sengoku might've been the one humiliated in their first match… or lying in pieces this time.
As Sengoku carried him on his back, Garp suddenly felt a little moved. His heart warmed.
Nobody else had noticed him lying there injured. But Sengoku had—not only noticed, but carried him off personally…
And he'd always called him "Afro-head"...
His nose tingled. His eyes reddened. With his strength returning slightly, Garp wrapped his arms around Sengoku's neck.
"Sengoku, I won't call you Afro-head anymore!"