"On Ring Five, Player No. 17—Markuri—will face off against Player No. 22—Issho. Both contestants, please take the stage!"
At the captain-referee’s announcement, a towering figure—nearly two meters tall and rippling with muscles—leapt onto the stage with ease.
This was Player No. 17: Markuri.
Clack! Clack! Clack!
The distinct sound of a cane tapping the ground followed. Slowly, a blind man made his way onto the stage, relying on the cane in his hand to guide him.
As he stepped up onto the platform, many in the audience held their breath, worried he might stumble.
The man’s features were rugged, with an "X"-shaped scar over the left side of his forehead. He had short, black hair, a rough beard, and wore a lavender bathrobe secured with a dark purple belt. Despite his tall frame, nothing about him appeared particularly threatening.
Only Fenric understood how terrifying this blind man truly was.
This was the future Navy Admiral—Fujitora, currently known only by the name "Issho."
Right now, he appeared to be in his thirties or forties—his physical prime.
Fenric’s expression grew solemn as he watched the man’s back.
For the system to throw someone like this into the recruits’ assessment... it could only be an intentional challenge for the Samsara players.
"Senior Mundo, is he strong?" Smoker whispered beside him.
Smoker wasn’t dumb. Seeing Fenric’s expression, he immediately sensed something was off about the blind man.
Fenric nodded. "Very strong."
Smoker’s eyes lit up with interest as he turned his attention to Ring Five.
On Ring Five.
Markuri blinked at the sight of the blind man stepping onto the platform. After a brief pause, he chuckled.
"Hey, Uncle, did you walk into the wrong place?"
The blind man smiled calmly and scratched the back of his head. "I don’t think I’m mistaken."
Markuri laughed. "I don’t like bullying the disabled. How about you just forfeit now?"
The blind man said nothing, only shook his head gently.
"Fine then! Don’t blame me for what happens. I won’t go easy on you!"
With that, Markuri charged forward like a runaway tank, his enormous fist swinging straight for the blind man’s face.
The spectators around the ring all winced, certain the old man was done for.
Boom!
A thud echoed as something heavy hit the ground.
To everyone’s shock, it wasn’t the blind man who had fallen—but Markuri. He had been sent flying out of the ring.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
No one had seen what happened. How had the man who seemed certain to win been defeated in an instant?
Offstage.
Only Fenric had witnessed the full exchange.
Thanks to his enhanced neural reflexes and vision, capable of tracking even bullets, he had seen it all.
The blind man had merely tapped the ground with his cane—and Markuri was launched from the ring.
The speed of the strike was too fast for ordinary eyes to follow. The match was already over before most had realized it had begun.
Fenric’s gaze sharpened. He stared intently at the blind man, his expression unreadable.
Fujitora was indeed terrifying. But it didn’t interfere with Fenric’s larger plan.
Back on the ring.
The referee stood frozen, failing to announce the result. The blind man cleared his throat with a gentle cough.
"Ahem."
The referee snapped out of his daze and quickly shouted, "Player No. 22—Issho—wins!"
With a faint smile, the blind man turned and walked off the stage.
The crowd instinctively parted for him, no one daring to block his path.
They weren’t fools. If anything, the fact they hadn’t even seen how the man won made him all the more terrifying.
High above, on the observation platform.
The three admirals narrowed their eyes as they watched the blind man retreat.
While ordinary people couldn’t see what had happened, the admirals certainly could.
True experts could always recognize another master.
The move he had used was deceptively simple—a straightforward thrust of the cane. But such a basic motion required impeccable mastery of fundamentals.
To the three admirals, one thing was clear: this man was no ordinary recruit.
"That one... is powerful," Aokiji remarked, breaking the silence.
Just being acknowledged by Aokiji was enough to prove Fujitora’s terrifying strength.
"The newcomers these days are getting more and more ridiculous," Kizaru added, his tone as strangely aloof as always.
Akainu said nothing. His piercing gaze remained fixed on the blind man, unblinking.
Beside the admirals, Sengoku and Garp also wore grave expressions.
The average person might miss the details, but not veterans like them. They saw the technique behind the blind man’s strike—and the strength.
The assessment continued.
With over 200,000 recruits, even dividing them among ten rings meant the trials would last for days.
Fenric and Fujitora became the center of attention for the high-ranking officials.
Each time Fenric fought, he effortlessly defeated his opponent. But he was careful—always stopping just short of doing real harm.
It was an image he was crafting on purpose: one of benevolence and righteousness.
He wanted to appear harmless. The idea was simple—if he seemed noble and principled, the higher-ups would lower their guard. That way, when the time came for him to approach the Celestial Dragons, no one would suspect his true intentions.
After all, who would ever think that such a "righteous" man would dare assassinate a Celestial Dragon?
But Fenric hadn’t expected that his carefully cultivated image would attract attention from even higher up.
Both Sengoku and Garp had taken a liking to him.
In fact, Garp was seriously considering taking him as a disciple!
"Garp, have you made up your mind?"
On the observation deck, Sengoku asked quietly.
Garp let out a hearty laugh. "Yeah! It’s not often you meet such an interesting kid. Sengoku, you wouldn’t object, would you?"
"Of course not," Sengoku replied with a grin. "With your guidance, this kid—’Mundo,’ was it?—is incredibly lucky."
"But Garp," he added, his voice becoming more serious, "you should hold off until the assessments are over. If he finds out your intentions too early, he might get cocky."
Sengoku couldn’t help but remind him. Garp was great in many ways—but he had a habit of being reckless and unpredictable.