Host Profile
Simulation Points: 40
Name: Lazarus
Marine's Rank: Vice Admiral
Attributes: Endurance 400, Strength 400, Agility 400, Spirit 500.
Abilities: Bubble-bubble fruit (Master), Haki: Observation Haki (Novice) and Armament Haki (Legendary)
Battle Skills: Sniper (Expert), Six Styles: Moonwalk (Novice) and Finger Pistol (Novice), Hand-to-hand combat (Intermediate)
The wind bites, a serrated edge of ice clawing at the threadbare wool of my cloak. Six months. Six brutal cycles of dawn bleeding into dusk here on the desolate slopes of Colubo. Each breath I draw is a ragged testament to the strain, the constant, grinding effort of reshaping these two unruly sparks of life. My own body, once a honed instrument, now aches with a weariness that settles deep in the bones, yet there's a grim satisfaction in the burgeoning strength I see reflected in their sweat-streaked faces.
Now all my attributes are maximum.
My solitude, my hard-won sanctuary, shattered by their arrival. Monkey D. Luffy, a rubbery idiot, his laughter a baffling counterpoint to the mountain's silence. And Portgas D. Ace, a brooding shadow, barely a man, yet his eyes hold a weight that speaks of burdens I recognize all too well. They are mine now, these two wayward souls, thrust into a brutal curriculum ripped from the harsh pages of my own past.
Six months… have I truly carved anything meaningful into their stubborn hearts? Or have I merely polished the wild gleam in their youthful eyes, making them sharper, more dangerous?
Night after night, under the cold, indifferent gaze of a million stars, I weave my grim tapestries. Not of heroes and justice, but of the festering rot at the heart of the pirate world. I paint vivid scenes of greed-fueled raids, of cruelty so casual it chills the very marrow, of lives extinguished with a flick of the wrist. I watch their young faces, searching for the flicker of revulsion, the nascent bloom of righteous hatred, the understanding that there is no such thing as a good pirate, only degrees of damnation.
Luffy, in his infuriatingly naive way, clenches his small fists. "Pirates are bad! They hurt people!" A flicker of the understanding I crave. But then, the inevitable caveat, the stubborn weed of misplaced affection. "But Shanks… he's… different, right? He saved me! He didn't even try to steal Makino's drinks! He's not as bad as the others, Lazarus! You're wrong!"
That red-haired devil… a phantom limb of their misguided loyalty. How do I sever that connection? How do I shatter this dangerous illusion of 'lesser evil' among the lawless?
"Luffy," I rasp, my voice a low growl that echoes the mountain's harshness, "there is no such thing as a good pirate. There are wolves who show their teeth and wolves who hide them, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. Shanks is the latter. Beneath the surface charm lies the same predatory hunger, the same disregard for anything but their own gain."
His rubbery face contorts in stubborn denial. "No! Shanks wouldn't! He's… different! He good pirate, you just don't understand!" The boy's conviction is a frustratingly sturdy shield against the truth I try to impart.
Ace is a different battle. Cynicism already etches lines around his dark eyes. He listens with a detached air, a subtle skepticism that suggests he's already glimpsed the darkness I describe, perhaps even tasted its bitter tang.
"They're all… varying shades of the same ugliness, then?" he murmurs, his voice low and troubled. "No true exceptions?" Not a challenge, but a weary question, a boy grappling with the uncomfortable truth that the world isn't painted in simple black and white.
He's seen more than Luffy. Felt the sting of the world's indifference. My stark pronouncements resonate more with his experience, but the allure of the outlaw life, the siren call of freedom, still lingers in his gaze.
"Precisely, Ace," I insist, my voice like granite. "They are parasites, feeding on the innocent. Some are simply more adept at masking their venom. But the end result is always the same: wreckage and despair."
He simply nods, his gaze drifting towards the hazy horizon, a silent acknowledgment, though I sense the internal struggle, the battle between the harsh reality I present and the romanticized dreams that still flicker within him.
Yet, their own dreams refuse to wither entirely. They cling to the romanticized notion of piracy, a siren song in their young hearts. But my dark narratives, I hope, are at least adding a discordant note to the melody, a seed of doubt in their naive aspirations.
"We'll be good pirates!" Luffy declares, bouncing with fierce light. "But we'll punch all the really bad pirates! The ones who are the worst!" A small victory, perhaps. A recognition of degrees of evil, even if the underlying desire remains.
Ace echoes, a grim determination hardening his young features. "Yeah. We'll make the seas… less rotten by getting rid of the lowest scum." A subtle shift. Perhaps the concept of inherent badness is beginning to take root, even if their youthful idealism still seeks a twisted form of justice.
'Less rotten'… a dangerous compromise. Have I merely guided them down a different path to the same damnation, shaping their ambition towards a warped sense of righteousness?
My training is brutal, copied from marine elite camp. Endless runs that scorch their lungs, treacherous climbs that test the very limits of their courage, sparring matches that leave their young bodies bruised and aching. No elegant techniques, no sophisticated maneuvers, just the brutal efficiency of raw power and unwavering resilience.
"Again!" I bark as they collapse, gasping. "Faster! Harder! The sea doesn't forgive weakness, regardless of how 'bad' the pirate you face is."
I take them to the lawless fringes of the Goa Kingdom, a festering wound on civilization's edge. Let them see the reality, the petty thugs and brutal opportunists, the casual cruelty that permeates their existence.
Let the stench of their depravity fill their nostrils. Let the fear in their victims' eyes sear their memories. Let them understand that even the 'small-time' pirates inflict real pain, that the spectrum of badness still ends in suffering.
I watch their reactions. Luffy's wide-eyed horror quickly morphing into a furious, protective rage. Ace's quiet fury, a simmering intensity that hints at a deep-seated empathy for the downtrodden, regardless of who preys upon them. These encounters are a brutal baptism by fire, undeniable proof of the darkness I so vehemently describe.
Six months bleed into a stark, unforgiving landscape of calloused hands and hardened gazes. Their youthful softness has been chiseled away, replaced by lean muscle and a newfound resilience. Ace's wiry frame has become taut and powerful; Luffy, surprisingly disciplined beneath his elastic exterior, now possesses a six-pack abs that speaks of relentless effort.
Then, one crisp morning, as the rising sun paints the eastern sky in hues of blood orange and bruised purple, a familiar, imposing silhouette crests the winding path. A laugh booms through the valleys, as unpredictable and powerful as a rogue wave – My mentor. He's here.
The reunion is a chaotic explosion of booming laughter and rubbery limbs. Aboard the Marine vessel, the rhythmic creak of the hull and the salty tang of the sea feel strangely alien after the stark silence of the mountain. As the ship slices through the azure waves, I finally confront him.
"Garp," I begin, my voice roughened by disuse and a deep-seated weariness, "I… I failed. They still cling to their pirate dreams, albeit with a… nuanced understanding of their inherent wickedness."
My mentor throws back his head and unleashes a bellowing laugh that echoes across the deck, startling a flock of seabirds into flight. "Bwahahaha! Lazarus. Did you honestly believe you could extinguish the very fire that burns in their blood? Especially that little menace, Luffy? I knew it all along! A long shot, a fool's errand, but… one had to try. Perhaps you've at least taught them which kind of vermin to avoid first!"
"You… you knew?" I ask, a flicker of genuine surprise cracking my stoic facade.
Garp claps me on the shoulder, his grip surprisingly strong. "Of course, I knew! They are my grandsons. Their dreams are as unyielding as the will of the sea itself. But," a shadow of something akin to concern flickers across his weathered features, "I had to try. For their own damn good. And perhaps," a thoughtful look crosses his weathered face, "you've unintentionally given them a… skewed moral compass in a world devoid of true north."
A skewed moral compass… Had I merely guided them down a different path to the same damnation, their understanding of 'bad' pirates a twisted justification for their own future actions?
I nod slowly, a weary understanding settling within me like a lead weight. My intense efforts, my insistence on the inherent badness of all pirates, had perhaps only shaped the kind of pirates they aspired to be. I had forged their bodies, and perhaps their understanding of the spectrum of depravity on the seas, and I know that I cannot make them want to be marine just like I read in the simulation.