The clash of Armament Haki—failure!
The moment Jake's punch sent Lucci's arm spraying blood, his finger bones shattered, Lucci knew one thing: this seemingly handsome man's mastery of haki far surpassed his own.
Gritting his teeth, Lucci forcibly realigned the bones in his right hand with his still-intact left, then used Life Return to accelerate the healing of his injuries.
Throughout the entire process, Jake simply stood there, watching silently as Rob Lucci repaired his body, not making a single move.
But anyone with eyes could see—this was Jake humiliating Rob Lucci.
From this moment onward, the fight became a one-sided beatdown.
Zephyr observed the scene with a faint smile.
Under normal circumstances, if Jake were to humiliate someone like this, Zephyr would have immediately reprimanded him—harshly—since demeaning an opponent was a reflection of poor character.
But with Rob Lucci, it was different.
The reason was simple: CP had thoroughly pissed Zephyr off this time.
Originally, it was CP who had altered the scheduled sparring time, putting the elite training recruits at a disadvantage.
Zephyr had already been simmering with anger.
Still, back then, he had thought, At least there's Jake—no matter what, CP won't be able to cause much trouble.
However, things did not go as planned.
Jake was taken away by members of the Whitebeard Pirates in the Kingdom of Prince and this absence lasted for over a month.
During this time, those damned CP agents spent several weeks humiliating Zephyr at the Marine Elite Training Camp.
Logically speaking, after the first training confrontation, the CP agents should have returned to their original posts and waited for the year-end sparring session.
But these bastards pushed their luck—not only did they not leave, but they shamelessly extended the training sessions several times over.
Zephyr had realized it as early as the first training session.
While his students were evenly matched against the other CP members—even dominating them—the moment that Rob Lucci made his move, even the strongest among them, Binz and Smoker, couldn't last more than a few rounds.
At that point, there was no real point in continuing the sparring.
Pressing on would only serve to humiliate them further.
It seemed the CP organization had obtained approval from higher-ups, as their unreasonable demands were actually permitted.
Zephyr had once protested to Sengoku about this, but Sengoku could only sigh and pat his shoulder, making it clear that escalating the matter would only create unnecessary tension between both sides.
With military supplies strained and the situation complicated, Zephyr had no choice but to swallow his grievances.
Zephyr naturally understood Sengoku's predicament, so he didn't press the issue further.
Instead, he silently fumed, forced to watch his students get beaten down by their opponents at regular intervals.
However, the other side wasn't completely brainless—at the very least, Rob Lucci held back during sparring sessions, never inflicting serious injuries on Zephyr's students.
At worst, they suffered some superficial bruises, leaving Zephyr with no choice but to sigh in resignation.
Their actions were disgusting, yet they never crossed the line—like a toad sitting on someone's foot.
It didn't bite, but it was undeniably irritating.
These days, Zephyr rarely smiled, much to his students' distress.
But their frustration was pointless—whenever it was time to face Rob Lucci, they still ended up getting thrashed in one way or another.
Now, seeing Jake's retaliation against Lucci, no one thought Jake was being harsh.
Instead, they admired his loyalty—even after being away for so long, he still remembered the bonds of the Marine training camp and his teacher's dignity.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
Moreover, Jake showed restraint.
Though that punch was heavy, he still held back—Lucci's injuries were entirely within manageable limits.
Even if Jake accidentally went too far, he was confident he could save Rob Lucci himself.
At this moment, Smoker still had the fiery spirit of youth.
Watching Jake retaliate like this, he couldn't help but laugh loudly without restraint.
"Hahaha, that's it, Jake! You bastard, teach him a lesson! When this is over, I'll treat you to meals for a month!"
"Yeah, yeah! Jake, go for it! Show that bastard the real strength of our Marine Elite Training Camp!"
For a moment, the cheers of the students in the Marine training camp were endless.
In stark contrast to the Marines' side, the CP agents were dead silent, their faces flushed red, unable to utter a single word.
Those who came here were just teenagers, boys and girls in their early teens.
Being mocked like this by their opponents, how could they possibly accept it?
But for now, they had no way to refute it, so they could only pin their hopes on Rob Lucci, whose face was twisted with fury.
Zephyr had no intention of stopping his students.
After all, this kind of situation wasn't uncommon in the previous dozen or so matches—except back then, it was his own students being scolded like dogs.
Now that they finally had a chance to vent their frustration, Zephyr naturally saw no reason to interfere.
Though he was strict and serious by nature, he wasn't some old fossil. He had been young once too, and he understood the fiery pride burning in the hearts of these teenagers.
He simply smiled, watching Jake standing before the crowd, a satisfied expression appearing on his face.
Jake's movements and reflexes had improved by leaps and bounds compared to his time in the training camp.
Both his strength and speed had visibly increased.
Though his offensive techniques seemed somewhat wild and lacked a structured system, Zephyr could roughly guess the reason behind Jake's fighting style.
It was simple—Whitebeard's teachings.
Though it had been many years since he last saw Whitebeard, Zephyr still remembered that man's habits clearly—his love for calling others "son" and his penchant for playing the role of a mentor.
Jake's attacks, while seemingly random, carried a fluid agility.
It was clearly not the Marine's systematic, formulaic combat style but rather something honed through real battlefield experience—a natural, instinctive flow.
There was no need to explain further.
This had to be something he learned aboard the Whitebeard Pirates.
Zephyr had no complaints about this.
As long as it strengthened one's combat ability, whether it was systematic or instinctive, it was all good.
Jake, of course, had no idea Zephyr was thinking so much.
His eyes were fixed on Rob Lucci, who had slightly raised his fingers.
With a subtle shift of his feet, he instantly closed the distance between them.
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