Chapter 48: Come On, You Angry Little Bull!

Momonga and Yamakaji had originally been ready to step in and help Ortoren take over Onigumo and Dalmatian, who had just been fried by lightning. The reason they hadn't fought alongside Ortoren earlier was because he'd refused their help. In fact, from the start of the conflict, Momonga and the others had been prepared to join in.

After all, aside from their good relationship with Ortoren, they didn't exactly get along with Onigumo and his group. If trouble started, of course they'd be up for a fight.

But before Momonga could make a move, Gion hurried over.

"Commodore Momonga!"

Hearing the voice of his goddess, Momonga's expression shifted. He stopped, turned, and flashed what he believed was his most dashing, handsome smile at her.

"Oh, Commodore Gion, what's wrong? Did that guy Tokikake bother you again? Don't worry, I'll team up with Ortoren and teach him a lesson later!"

Tokikake, who was standing right behind Momonga chatting with Yamakaji, immediately looked displeased.

"Bastard, we're classmates! How can you treat me like that? And why don't you just come and mess with me yourself?"

With a half-smoked cigar between his teeth, Yamakaji grinned. "Because if I went alone, I couldn't beat you."

Tokikake put on an exaggerated look of sudden realization and nodded seriously. "That's true!"

It had been half a month since the officer training camp began, and Momonga had been sitting next to Tokikake that whole time. Although the two were "rivals," Gion didn't give either of them the time of day, which left them with a kind of comrades-in-arms understanding.

On top of that, while Tokikake might look a bit sleazy, he was actually straightforward and easy to get along with. His status as someone from outside headquarters was overlooked thanks to his impressive strength. In the Marines, what mattered most was ability, not background, and Tokikake had earned everyone's respect.

As far as Ortoren, Momonga, and Yamakaji were concerned, Tokikake was a close friend. Trading harmless jabs was just part of the camaraderie.

Gion ignored their banter and said seriously, "Zephyr-sensei has ordered us to attack Ortoren and test his limits."

"Huh?" Momonga froze for a moment, glancing at the charred Onigumo and Dalmatian in the distance and Doberman being treated by medical Marines. "I don't think that's necessary."

But Tokikake's narrow eyes suddenly widened. "If it's just me, I'm not sure I could beat Ortoren. But if we all go at once… now that's interesting."

Yamakaji rested one hand on the sword at his waist and patted Momonga's shoulder with the other. "If you're scared, just hide behind me."

With Gion standing right there, there was no way Momonga would admit fear. He straightened his back. "What are you talking about? I just mean, with so many of us, Ortoren might not be able to take it."

…

On the other side, Ortoren, sticking to his principle of going easy on his opponents, placed Onigumo and Dalmatian in front of the medical Marines at the edge of the field. "I'll leave them to you," he said a little awkwardly.

Before the medical Marines could reply, Ortoren suddenly sensed danger. His body moved before his mind caught up—lightning flashed across him, sparks burst in the air, and in an instant, he vanished from where he stood.

Tokikake came down where Ortoren had just been, wooden clogs clacking, Commodore's coat billowing, one hand coated in Armament Haki and curved like a claw—only to strike empty air.

"Was that just the speed of the Goro Goro no Mi's ability, or are your reflexes really that sharp?" Tokikake said with a hint of regret at missing his attack.

He had ambushed him, and he'd picked the exact moment when Ortoren was at his most relaxed.

Ortoren's figure reappeared in the training yard. He frowned at Tokikake.
"Bastard, what do you think you're doing? I'm not in the mood to be messed with right now, Tokikake!"

While the earlier scuffle had let him vent a good deal of his pent-up aggression, Ortoren still looked very capable of snapping again.

Tokikake deliberately struck a provocative pose.

"If you're so vicious, then prove it, Ortoren. I've always thought you exaggerate about your temper. Where's all that rage you talk about? I'm not seeing it. If you think you're that fierce, stop running your mouth and come at me!"

Those simple goading words hit Ortoren hard. The calm in his eyes vanished as fresh bloodshot lines spread across his pupils, making them look wild and menacing. Combined with the pair of horns on his head, he now resembled a crazed bull.

Seeing his temper rise, Tokikake swallowed, but still made a taunting hand gesture.

"Come on then, you angry little bull!"

The moment the words left his mouth, Ortoren's focus was entirely on Tokikake—exactly as planned.

With a roar, electricity crackled violently over Ortoren's body as he lunged toward him. At that same moment, Momonga and Yamakaji used Soru, flashing into position behind Ortoren on either side.

"You take high, I'll take low!" Momonga called.

He didn't even need to explain further. Momonga and Yamakaji were close comrades, used to fighting together, and their coordination was razor-sharp.

Yamakaji, both hands coated in Armament Haki, suddenly seized Ortoren's horns—one in each hand—and yanked back hard.

At the same time, Momonga whipped out a Seastone chain and swiftly wrapped it around Ortoren's ankles.

For any Devil Fruit user, Seastone was dangerous. This was the first time Ortoren had ever touched it since gaining his powers, and the effect was immediate—his body felt weak, and the lightning that had coiled around him like silver serpents vanished in an instant, as though the Goro Goro no Mi's power had been ripped away entirely.

That was the difference between them and the Onigumo trio—they knew Ortoren well and came prepared. Seastone chain and all. Onigumo's group had just charged in blindly and gotten flattened.

That's called a targeted approach.

Their plan was simple: once Momonga had bound Ortoren's legs with Seastone, Yamakaji would drag him down from behind and slam him to the ground. Once he was down, it'd be open season—no more chances for him to recover.

Yamakaji fully intended to do just that. Pulling hard on Ortoren's horns, he was confident that with the Seastone draining his power, Ortoren wouldn't be able to resist.

But raw, inborn strength was a different matter.

A typical Devil Fruit user would go limp upon contact with Seastone, but with enough specialized training, some could build a degree of resistance. The abilities might vanish, but the body wouldn't necessarily be left weak and useless.

In the original tale, Luffy and Kid had undergone such "practical training" under Kaidou's tutelage, overcoming Seastone's sapping effects.

Ortoren hadn't taken that lesson—but his natural physique was so far beyond normal that even weakened, he still possessed immense strength.

Now, his feet drove into the ground as if rooted there. His head tilted back from Yamakaji's pull, but his waist and back muscles locked, resisting with sheer force and holding his ground.

The motion looked simple, but it demanded exceptional strength. Even Zephyr, watching from the sidelines, couldn't hide a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

At the same time, Ortoren's left hand shot down, seizing the back of Momonga's neck. His right hand reached over his head and clamped around Yamakaji's arm.

They hadn't expected him to still have this much power—hadn't even tried to dodge—and that one lapse of judgment instantly turned their faces to panic.

"Wait, I—" Momonga started, but a sudden, crushing force on his neck lifted him clean off the ground.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Yamakaji—who'd been right behind Ortoren—also caught, his arm trapped, body swung up into the air.

Then came a deafening bang.

Ortoren, left hand gripping Momonga, right hand gripping Yamakaji, muscles bulging and eyes blood-red, slammed them both down in a single furious blow.

The ground shattered on impact, smoke and dust billowing high.

When it cleared, Momonga and Yamakaji were stuck headfirst into the dirt, legs dangling limply in the air—completely motionless.