The gratitude Yahn felt toward Sengoku was beyond words.
Back when Yahn first transmigrated into this world, his body was no stronger than that of a newborn—frail and helpless.
When Sengoku pulled him out of the ocean, Yahn had already been drifting at sea for three days, burning with fever and barely clinging to life.
It was Sengoku who dragged him back from the brink of death, who raised him and taught him for over a decade.
To Yahn, Sengoku's kindness was a debt he could never fully repay.
It was precisely because of that debt that Yahn, despite his deep hatred for the corrupt and shadowy World Government, never once considered becoming a pirate.
Of course, his inherently lazy personality played a role as well.
But after all those years, the very situation Yahn had feared and tried to avoid finally came to pass—and to his dismay, he found himself unwillingly caught up in it.
This was exactly why Yahn had been hesitant about rising too high in the Navy's ranks. The closer one got to the Navy's upper echelons, the tighter the World Government's leash became. Orders would follow, demanding obedience to things he wanted no part of.
Massacring civilians. Capturing slaves. Guarding the Celestial Dragons.
These were acts that Yahn utterly refused to participate in.
For a moment, a heartfelt sigh escaped his lips.
"How uncomfortable…"
"What's uncomfortable?"
Suddenly, Kuzan materialized beside him in a swirl of ice, his body fully elementized.
Faced with the question, the blood drained from Yahn's face. Pale and weak, he muttered,
"I mean... I... ugh... seasick... I get... motion sickness... blegh…"
Without another word, Yahn bolted to the ship's railing and leaned over it, retching violently into the sea.
Even Aokiji frowned slightly at the sight, instinctively swallowing his saliva.
"Wait… You get seasick?"
"Yeah..." Yahn groaned as he slumped weakly to the floor, face ghost-white.
"I've always been frail. Ever since I was young, I've had a weak constitution. I admire justice—I've always dreamed of inheriting the old man's will and becoming a proud Marine—but my body just couldn't keep up..."
He paused to catch his breath, visibly suppressing his discomfort, then continued.
"At this point, I think I'm better suited to some kind of desk job in the Navy. Honestly, I'm just not cut out for more."
Kuzan looked both puzzled and surprised.
"That can't be right. Didn't Admiral Sengoku train you? Once your body's trained to a certain level—especially once you master 'Life Return'—you should be able to control every muscle at will. Getting seasick should be impossible."
Yahn's expression turned more miserable as he replied, full of shame.
"It's just too hard… Out of all the Navy Six Styles/Rokushiki techniques, the only one I have any talent in is Shave/Soru. The rest, I barely scratched the surface. And as for mastering the advanced technique 'Life Return'? I haven't even come close."
"...Seriously?"
For a moment, Kuzan was speechless. He even began to wonder if Sengoku had made some kind of mistake.
A guy who gets seasick, struggles with basic techniques, and hasn't mastered Rokushiki—how could he possibly be considered combat-ready?
Wait...
Kizan suddenly remembered the moment in the office when Yahn had displayed astonishing speed, along with a strange, unfamiliar movement technique.
"Was he faking it?"
Kuzan's eyes narrowed, suspicion flashing across his face.
But seeing Yahn's pale face and how he looked like he might vomit again at any moment, he dismissed the thought for now. Interrogating him wouldn't yield anything useful.
Besides, Yahn was Sengoku's son. That alone earned him a certain level of trust and exemption from excessive scrutiny.
Even if he was hiding something, Sengoku would surely have it under control.
So instead of pressing further, Kizan simply called over two Marines to help support Yahn back to his quarters to rest.
As the soldiers closed the door behind them, the moment Yahn lay back on the bed—his complexion returned to normal.
Aokiji wasn't wrong. Once someone mastered "Life Return," allowing them to consciously control every muscle in their body, things like seasickness were physically impossible.
But on the flip side—if someone wanted to appear seasick, they could easily simulate it at will.
"Whew... Finally got rid of that annoying guy, at least for now."
"This version of Kuzan is such a pain—so full of passion and conviction. Nothing like the lazy, turn-a-blind-eye guy he'll become later. That version's so much more lovable…"
"And the old man? Ha! He wants me to rack up military achievements in this Buster Call mission?"
"Not happening. No way. I'm gonna lie here, do nothing, and look pitiful. I refuse to play along."
As for escaping while Kuzan wasn't paying attention... sure, the thought had crossed his mind.
But Yahn knew that wasn't remotely feasible.
This was the ocean, after all.
And more importantly, there were ten warships sailing together—and no fewer than five Marine Headquarters Vice Admirals aboard.
Two of them were even future Admirals: Sakazuki, the "Akainu/Red Dog," and Kuzan, the "Aokiji/Blue Pheasant."
Trying to escape under these circumstances was suicide.
"Better to lie down. Yeah. Real flat…"
---
Traveling across the sea was always monotonous.
Since Yahn hadn't officially joined the Navy yet, he wasn't bound by any real duties. As far as everyone else was concerned, he was still just a civilian recovering from illness—his only job was to stay in bed and rest.
During this time, Kuzan had visited him a few more times, trying to start a philosophical conversation about justice.
But every time, he was met with the same seasick, half-dead Yahn. Seeing that pitiful state, Kuzan couldn't bring himself to begin the conversation and had to leave, frustrated.
---
"Whatever. I'll just lie here and play. I'm not getting up."
"The old man's not here. I'll fake being sick. What can Kuzan do about it?"
"Merits? Pfft."
Yahn controlled cherry blossom petals drifting around the room, guiding them into various elegant shapes—figures, beasts, scenes from memory. It served as both practice for his fine control and a way to pass the time as he mumbled to himself lazily.
Just when he thought today would pass as uneventfully as all the others, he sensed a familiar presence approaching his room—Kuzan again, after several days of absence.
"Hm?"
Slightly puzzled, Yahn willed the floating cherry blossoms to gather and reform into his sheathed Zanpakutō, neatly returning it to his side.
Knock knock.
"Come in," Yahn said weakly, his voice barely above a whisper.
The door creaked open, and this time, Kuzan's expression was not his usual fired-up passion—it was calm, cold, and heavy, like an iceberg.
"Yahn. You've rested long enough. We've arrived at Ohara."
As his words fell, the warships sailing across the sea gradually slowed and came to a halt.
---
Currently at chapter 125 for advance chapters
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