Chapter 30: Choices and Madness

Authors note

From now on only 3 or 5 chapters a day. 

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Vulcan sat on the rocky shore, the Devil Fruit resting in his hand. Its strange, swirling patterns glowed faintly in the dimming light, the fruit practically daring him to take a bite. But as he gazed at it, the thrill of having stolen it from under the beast's nose began to wear off, replaced by something else—a creeping uncertainty.

"What if it's not worth it?" Vulcan muttered to himself. He turned the fruit over in his hand, feeling the smooth texture beneath his fingers. "What if I eat it, and it's something useless? Like turning into a snail or a... I don't know, a tree."

He shook his head and set the fruit down beside him. "No. Not yet. I need to figure out what this thing does before I go eating it like an idiot."

For now, the fruit would remain a mystery. But it was his—a trophy, a reminder of what he had accomplished. He would hold onto it and check its worth later, once he had more information.

With that decision made, Vulcan rose to his feet, stretching his arms toward the sky. The ache from his fight with the beast was still there, a dull throb in his muscles. But it was nothing he couldn't handle. He'd heal soon enough.

"Now, what's next?"

His mind shifted back to training. Garp had left him on this island for a reason, and if he was going to survive and grow stronger, he couldn't just rely on brute force. The Devil Fruit was a wildcard, but his real power lay in Rokushiki—the martial arts techniques that Garp had introduced him to. He had already learned Soru and Tekkai, but there were more techniques in the handbook Garp had left behind.

He walked back to his makeshift camp, where the old, tattered handbook sat atop a rock. Garp had given it to him months ago, right before leaving Vulcan alone on the island. Inside were the secrets to the Six Powers of the Marines—ancient techniques passed down through generations.

Vulcan flipped through the worn pages, his eyes scanning the descriptions of each technique. He paused on one he hadn't tried yet—Shigan.

"Shigan, huh?" he muttered to himself. The technique involved hardening the fingers to an iron-like state and thrusting them with such speed and power that they could pierce targets like bullets. Garp had demonstrated it once before, and it looked simple enough, but Vulcan knew better. This was a technique that relied on speed and precision.

He stood up, brushing the dirt from his pants. "Alright, let's see if I can pull this off."

Vulcan took a few steps back, finding a nearby tree to use as a target. He held up his hand, curling his fingers into a fist, before extending his index finger. The technique required more than just thrusting—he had to harden his finger, turning it into something as strong as steel, but still moving with the speed of a bullet.

He readied himself, focusing his energy into his finger. Then, with a quick thrust, he jabbed toward the tree, trying to mimic the form he'd seen Garp use.

The result? His finger hit the bark with a dull thud, barely even denting the surface.

Vulcan scowled, pulling his hand back. "Okay… not as easy as it looks."

He shook his hand, ignoring the slight sting from the impact. He had seen Garp pierce through walls with this technique, but recreating that level of force wasn't going to happen on his first try. He took a deep breath and tried again, this time focusing more on hardening his finger before the strike.

The result was marginally better—he left a small mark on the tree, but it was far from the bullet-like precision he had imagined.

Vulcan groaned in frustration. "How did Garp make this look so easy?"

He tried again, and again, each time focusing on increasing the speed of his thrust and strengthening his finger. But the results were always the same—small dents, no penetration. His frustration mounted as the isolation of the island began to wear on him.

As he stood there, fists clenched, he suddenly heard a voice.

"Maybe you should harden your finger better."

Vulcan blinked. His eyes darted to the left. No one. Then to the right. Still no one.

His heart skipped a beat, a sinking feeling settling into his stomach.

"Who the hell said that?" Vulcan demanded, spinning around, his naginata now drawn.

The clearing was empty. The jungle behind him was silent. He was alone. There was no one here, no voice, no one else on the island.

Vulcan froze as the realization hit him.

"I said that," he whispered, his eyes wide. "I… I'm talking to myself."

His grip on the naginata tightened as he lowered the weapon, staring at the empty space around him. The tension in his body slowly drained away, replaced by an odd mixture of fear and amusement.

"Going crazy now, huh?" Vulcan muttered, laughing awkwardly to himself. He wiped a bit of sweat from his brow. "Great. Just what I needed."

He took a deep breath and shook his head. Talking to himself—what a joke. The isolation must've been getting to him.

"Well, at least I know what crazy feels like now," he said, putting the naginata back across his back and staring at the empty air.

"Keep it together, Vulcan. It's just you. You're not talking to anyone. No one's here."

Meanwhile, at Marineford

Back at Marineford, things were much less quiet. Vice Admiral Garp was half-asleep, his feet up on Fleet Admiral Sengoku's desk, a bag of rice crackers in his lap. He snored lightly, occasionally stuffing another cracker into his mouth without opening his eyes. Papers were scattered all over Sengoku's desk, reports left untouched while Garp snored away.

Sengoku, meanwhile, was glaring at him from across the room, his arms crossed, his face twisted in frustration.

"Garp, I swear, if you don't get your feet off my desk, I'll—"

Garp snorted, waking up just enough to interrupt him with a yawn. "Eh? What's that, Sengoku?"

"Your feet! Off my desk!" Sengoku snapped, his voice rising. "You're a Vice Admiral! You should be setting an example for the rest of the Marines, not treating my office like your personal napping spot!"

Garp blinked lazily, still half-asleep, and stuffed another cracker into his mouth. "Eh, lighten up, Sengoku. I'm just... resting my eyes." He let out another yawn and closed his eyes again.

Sengoku's eye twitched. "This is important, Garp! We've got reports from the West Blue, from New World divisions—chaos is spreading!"

"Mmhmm," Garp muttered, the sound of crunching crackers drowning out Sengoku's rant. "That's nice…"

Sengoku's hands balled into fists as he glared at his old friend. "You sent that boy to train on that island, didn't you? What if he dies out there?!"

Garp cracked one eye open, lazily glancing at Sengoku. "Vulcan? He'll be fine. That boy's tougher than he looks. Besides, he's got my genes—he'll survive anything. Gahahaha!"

Sengoku sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead in exasperation. "One of these days, Garp, your laziness is going to cost us."

Garp chuckled, closing his eyes again. "Maybe, but today's not that day."

Sengoku grumbled under his breath, turning back to his paperwork while Garp snored contentedly in his chair.

Back on the Island

Vulcan shook his head, finally letting go of the strange moment. "Alright, back to training."

He read the Shigan section of the book again, focusing on the details. The goal was to harden his finger to the point that it could pierce like a bullet. He needed to concentrate, to harden his muscles and strike with pinpoint accuracy.

Taking a deep breath, Vulcan lifted his hand, extending his index finger and focusing all his energy into the point. He took aim at the tree in front of him and thrust forward.

The result was better this time—a sharp, cracking sound echoed through the clearing as his finger pierced the bark of the tree, leaving a small but noticeable hole in its surface.

Vulcan grinned. "Finally."