Hitting a machine might fix it, but hitting a person? There’s really not much of a difference.


    As such, the beggars conscripted into the navy through the British Empire-style press gangs were successfully transformed into sailors—or rather, reborn—within just a few days.


    “Hey, focus! Didn’t I teach you to use every ounce of your strength when pulling the ropes? Do I need to make you spit out seaweed from your nose?”


    “I’m sorry!”


    The one being yelled at just now, though, had recently joined and rapidly gained status, like skipping several steps to become a sergeant.


    ‘Yesterday, I was at the bottom of the crew, and today, I’m a low-ranking officer?’


    It’s the kind of story that feels like something out of a novel, and I understand why he’s venting his frustrations.


    “Ha, this is the sea. A ship! On this ship, any mistake you make, you’ll have to take full responsibility for it yourself. Got it?!”


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