Chapter 31: Request
After the day's training ended, Alvis did not make the students return to the classroom.
Instead, he dismissed them early and sent them home to rest.
He himself left the school alone and walked toward the far end of town, his boots falling in a steady rhythm against the stone road. The evening light stretched his shadow long and thin across the ground, but even that could not make his expression look any less grim.
"Rear Admiral Sicily..." he muttered under his breath.
It had been a long time since he had spoken that name aloud.
Sicily had once been his superior, his comrade, and one of the few men with whom he had truly fought through blood and fire. But after his family was slaughtered by pirates, Alvis had left the front lines and buried himself in teaching. From that day on, he had cut himself off from most of his former connections.
Not because he hated them.
Because he could not face them.
Could not face the gap between the man he had once wanted to be and the one he had become.
But this time, he had no choice.
If he wanted the justice he still believed in to shine brighter than it had in his own hands, then pride was a cheap thing to sacrifice.
Normally, to become a true Marine, a child first had to pass through the basic educational stages. Reading, writing, discipline, obedience, physical standards. After that came the elite selection classes, the stage he was teaching now. Only after passing through all of that could one truly step onto the path of becoming a Marine.
And even then, there was more.
Real training.
Real competition.
Real selection for the recruit units.
From this stage onward, the full process would take at least three years, possibly more.
Three years.
To Alvis, that was an intolerable waste.
Not for ordinary students, perhaps. But for the ones he had identified... for the few sparks in whom he could genuinely see the potential to uphold justice... time mattered.
He reached into his coat and took out a Den Den Mushi.
The tiny creature stirred as he fed it a bit of food, then opened its eyes with a sleepy expression. Alvis dialed the familiar number from memory.
After a short wait, a voice came through.
"Hello? Who is this?"
It was calm, steady, and carried a familiar strength.
Alvis straightened unconsciously.
"Is this Rear Admiral Sicily?"
There was a pause.
Then the tone on the other end changed at once.
"That voice... Alvis?"
"Yes, Rear Admiral," Alvis replied instinctively, his voice slipping into the clipped formality of military habit.
The Den Den Mushi's face shifted, matching the emotions of the man on the other side.
Sicily sounded surprised, then something softer.
"I was deeply saddened by what happened," he said. "You were one of my men. More than that, you were one of my brothers. If you were carrying grief like that, I should have been there for it."
His voice hardened slightly.
"But instead, you vanished without saying a word. You left the post, left your comrades, and not even a goodbye."
Alvis lowered his gaze.
After all this time, he had no defense left to offer.
"I'm sorry."
Only two words.
But on the other end, the anger drained away.
That was how some bonds worked.
Too much history sat behind them for resentment to hold its shape for long.
A moment later, Sicily let out a quiet breath.
"So. You didn't call just to apologize."
It was not a question.
Alvis gripped the Den Den Mushi a little tighter.
"No. I need your help."
There was a short silence.
Then Sicily answered at once, half amused, half helpless.
"I knew it. You'd never contact me unless something serious pushed you to it. Fine. Enough talking through a snail. We'll meet in person." His tone lightened a little. "Justice Bar. In the center of town. We'll talk there."
Alvis hesitated only briefly.
"...Alright."
Justice Bar was one of the most popular places in town.
Not because it was especially elegant, but because it catered almost entirely to Marines. The drinks were named after famous battles, ranks, and slogans, and its walls were lined with old naval posters and weathered memorabilia. After long deployments or harsh training, plenty of officers and soldiers came there to unwind.
At this hour, it was still quiet.
The real crowd would come later.
When Alvis arrived, Sicily was already waiting outside.
Years had changed him, but not beyond recognition. He still carried the same scar on his face, and his slanted mustache still gave him a look that was somehow both stern and comical. His frame was broader now, his posture a little more relaxed, but the soldier in him had not faded.
The moment they saw each other, both men paused.
Then Sicily snorted.
"Well? You ran all the way here to stare at me?"
Alvis clicked his tongue softly.
"It's been a long time."
Sicily burst out laughing.
"Pfft hahaha! What happened to you? You've spent too long teaching children, haven't you? Since when did you start sounding so refined?"
That laugh, so crude and so familiar, cut through the stiffness immediately.
Alvis's old sharpness returned at once.
"Shut up. If anyone's changed, it's you. You've become even rougher than before. You sound like a monkey who learned how to wear an officer's coat."
Sicily laughed harder.
There it was.
That was the Alvis he remembered.
Not the hollow man who had disappeared after tragedy. Not the distant instructor rumor had reduced him to.
This one.
The one who still had enough life left in him to insult an old comrade without hesitation.
"It's good to see you're still sharp tongued," Sicily said as they entered. "Better that than hearing you talk like a ghost."
They rented a private room and sat across from each other.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Sicily leaned back and folded his arms.
"Alright. Say it. What do you need?"
Alvis went straight to the point.
"I want you to submit something to Fleet Admiral Sengoku."
Sicily refused before the sentence had even settled.
"No."
Alvis frowned.
"You haven't even heard what it is."
"That doesn't matter." Sicily's voice turned firm. "Our friendship is one thing. My work is another. I won't use my position to move personal matters for you through the Fleet Admiral's desk."
Then he paused.
"But I am curious."
Despite himself, Alvis almost smiled.
"It's a request for an early assessment permit."
Sicily's expression shifted.
"An early assessment?" He rubbed his chin. "For students?"
"Yes."
That answer brought more questions than clarity.
Sicily frowned. "Why would you need one? There are already procedures for that. You can file the request normally."
Alvis leaned forward.
"You know as well as I do how slowly the office moves. By the time the request makes it through the usual channels, it'll take at least three months."
Sicily winced a little.
That, unfortunately, was true.
Marine bureaucracy had never moved with the urgency that officers on the battlefield would have preferred.
"Even so," Sicily said, "three months is just three months. Or six, at most, until the regular year end assessment. Is this really worth making such a fuss over? The children would have more time to grow naturally if you left it alone."
"It's not the same," Alvis said immediately.
Sicily fell quiet.
Alvis's voice lowered, growing more serious.
"Admiral Zephyr will personally lead the next recruit training cycle in one month."
Sicily's eyes widened.
"Zephyr?"
"Yes."
That changed things.
Zephyr was not someone who casually accepted just anyone into his training. He might teach the next generation, but his standards were infamous. If a recruit could not earn his approval, then all the pleading in the world would mean nothing.
Sicily leaned forward.
"And you're telling me the talent you're talking about is enough to catch Zephyr's eye?"
"That," Alvis replied, "is why I came to you instead of anyone else."
Sicily stared.
For the first time since Alvis arrived, the joking mood vanished completely.
He knew his old comrade's standards.
Alvis was not a man who praised lightly.
So if he had come all this way, set aside his pride, and asked for this favor, then whatever he had seen must have been extraordinary.
Still, Sicily could not simply accept it on faith.
"How strong?"
Alvis was silent for a beat.
Then he exhaled and said the words slowly, as if even now he found them hard to swallow.
"I think his strength is already not much lower than mine."
The room went still.
.....
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