After his reputation was twisted beyond recognition, Trace turned his sorrow into appetite—and wolfed down several more giant bowls of food.
Only when he was about 70–80% full did he finally bid farewell to the clueless pink-haired Navy beauty and leave the mess hall, returning to the small private cabin where he'd first awakened.
Zephyr's style of command? Swift and decisive.
Trace had barely laid down for five minutes when someone knocked on his door.
His brand-new Navy uniform and a complete schedule of his upcoming assignments were delivered—along with a "thoughtful" surprise: a mandatory military medical exam.
The middle-aged, balding Navy doctor was absolutely astonished by Trace's resurrection-level recovery, his eager eyes practically begging to dissect him on the spot.
Despite the doctor's seemingly high skill level, Trace politely declined every "inappropriate" suggestion. After confirming he was in perfect health, he personally escorted the man out of his room.
Once alone, Trace opened the little slip of paper Zephyr had sent along.
Out of concern for his "recent recovery," Zephyr had scheduled his entry into the recruit training program for three days later.
Additionally, Zephyr had approved Trace's application to assist in the warship's mess hall.
Ordinarily, such a minor request wouldn't warrant attention from the chief instructor himself—but Zephyr had personally arranged it.
"Three days, huh…"
Trace rubbed his chin in thought.
"Based on what Hina said earlier, that should be right around when we leave Little Garden…"
Right now, Trace had zero interest in that prehistoric dump.
A desolate island with nothing but two overgrown giants constantly fighting? Hard pass.
Especially now—Trace hated walking into someone else's battlefield.
After what Kaido and Zephyr had put him through, the trauma was real.
But… three days of doing nothing?
Even if Zephyr had granted him free roam of the warship, wasting his time like this just felt wrong.
Okay fine—what he really couldn't bear was missing out on harvesting "Victory Bait"!
"I've got to find a way to start helping out in the kitchen… early."
---
Afternoon.
After peeling off his bandages and donning his blue-and-white Navy uniform, Trace left his room feeling refreshed and energized—and made a beeline for the mess hall.
But this time, he didn't sit out front. Instead, he slipped into the back kitchen.
With less than two hours before dinner, the kitchen—tasked with feeding the entire warship—was a flurry of heat, knives, and tantalizing smells.
Trace instinctively touched his stomach. Already hungry again?
A burly red-necked man, who looked like the kitchen supervisor, spotted the unfamiliar figure loitering in his workspace and immediately approached with a frown.
Before the man could speak, Trace took out a trimmed-down version of Zephyr's handwritten note and passed it over.
"Permission granted for Marine soldier Trace Felte to assist with preparing Sea Beast ingredients…"
The man blinked, startled. Zephyr's signature? Seriously?
Without a word, he tucked the note into his inner pocket and forced a somewhat friendly smile.
"Next time, show up earlier. Follow me."
Trace kept his expression neutral and calmly followed the man into the ingredient prep room.
Unlike the mouthwatering aromas in the main kitchen, this room had… a very different vibe.
The air was a strange mix of earth, vegetables, and wild beast musk—but the strongest scent, impossible to mask, was blood.
The demand for meat in the elite recruit camp was massive.
This area was specially staffed with butchers responsible for processing Sea Beasts and Sea Kings—exactly what Trace had come for.
Thud!
A three-meter-long Sea Beast was beheaded with a single swing.
Slice!
A nearly ten-meter Sea King with a cat's head and fish tail was cleanly quartered.
Trace felt a pang in his heart.
Those were all… my Victory Bait!
Without hesitation, he eagerly joined the Sea Beast slaughter line.
At first, his technique was rough, and it took him quite a bit of effort to decapitate even a small fry.
But as time went on, and with a few helpful tips from nearby marines, Trace's fish-slaying speed skyrocketed.
[You killed a Sea Beast – Overall Grade: F]
[You killed a Sea Beast – Overall Grade: F]
[…]
The notifications flashed across his vision like flowing water.
Fully immersed in the act of butchering, Trace couldn't get enough of the thrill of harvesting Victory Bait. It was addictive.
By the time dinner service ended, the prep room's work was also done.
Snapping out of his bloodstained trance, Trace checked his gains.
He now had 22 F-grade Victory Baits—just shy of enough to fuse three E-grade ones.
A massive haul. Risk-free. Beautiful.
Beaming, he joined the kitchen staff for dinner—and in his hunger frenzy, nearly devoured fifty servings of food.
"…He actually ate all that?"
"That's gotta be the hungriest recruit on the whole ship."
"Eating this much and not gaining a single pound? Unfair!"
Suddenly, a familiar stream of notifications appeared.
[Your F-rank Trait "Little Chow Bucket" has evolved!]
[You've gained an E-rank Trait: Big Chow Bucket!]
[E-rank Trait: Big Chow Bucket]
Effect: +1 Endurance (E-rank bonus)
"…"
The meat he was about to bite into froze mid-air.
Trace: I… actually became a Big Chow Bucket?!
---
Night.
Stuffed and waddling back to his room, Trace glanced at his refreshed stockpile of F-grade bait and completely forgot about his twisted public image.
"22 F-grade Baits… I can fuse two E-grade ones at most."
He instinctively opened his status screen.
Despite gaining the [Big Chow Bucket] trait, his Endurance stat remained stuck at D-. No change.
His Luck stat was still a giant, terrifying D, just as unshakable as ever.
"First fishing session aboard a Navy ship… guess I'll test the waters?"
Trace decided to start small.
He used his finger as a rod, his will as the line, and cast a single F-grade bait into the dimensional sea.
[Fishing result: Item]
[F-rank Item: 5000 Berries]
[Effect: Standard Currency]
A light, grayish-white slip of paper drifted down into his stunned hands.
"…You can fish up money?"
Trace the Fisherman: You've got to be kidding me.