The weeks after the pirate raid passed in a strange rhythm.
For the villagers, little had changed. Nets still cast at dawn, children still raced along the shoreline, gulls still squabbled overhead. But for me, nothing felt the same.
The ship the pirates had abandoned sat tethered at the pier. Its sails drooped, its timbers groaned with age, but it was no wreck. Where the villagers saw danger, bad luck, or a relic best left to rot, I saw something else.
A vessel.
A doorway.
My way forward.
For two years this island had held me — as cage, as refuge, as forge. Now the sea itself seemed to whisper.
---
Weeks of Iron
I lived two lives during those weeks.
By day, I worked on the ship.
The hull bore scars, but none were fatal. I replaced split planks, hammered nails until my palms blistered, and coated the seams with tar until they shone black. The sails were torn but patchable; I traded labor and dried fish for cloth, stitching them in place until the canvas caught wind again.
By night, I trained.
Armament Haki no longer burst out like a startled flame. With focus, I could draw it across my fists, sometimes along my forearms, and keep it steady. At first only a breath. Then two. Then three.
The strain left my arms numb and my spirit hollow, but each day the flow grew smoother, the darkness less fleeting.
"Will into iron," I whispered, watching the sheen crawl across my skin.
And slowly, my will obeyed.
---
Thresholds
The Panel confirmed what my body already knew.
> [Proficiency Panel]
Strength: 52
Speed: 40
Perception: 40
Skills:
Martial Arts
• Boxing: Intermediate
• Swordsmanship: Novice
General
• Cooking: Novice
Haki
• Armament: Rudimentary (Steady Control)
I had reached the goals I once thought unreachable.
Two years ago, I had been brittle, barely able to keep up with the fishermen. Now I struck harder, moved faster, saw clearer.
The pattern was undeniable. Strength fifty had awakened Armament. So what about Perception fifty?
Observation. The ability to feel intent, to sense danger, to see beyond sight.
The thought seized me like fire. It was only a theory, but it made sense. Another wall waiting ahead. Another step on the road.
For the first time, the system didn't just feel like survival. It felt like a map.
---
The Ship
Every day I returned to the pier, and every day the ship transformed.
At first it had loomed like a carcass of war — scarred, silent, unwanted. But under my hands, it grew lighter. The smell of tar replaced the stink of old battles. The patched sails began to stir, not with menace, but with possibility.
By the third week, she was seaworthy. Not perfect, but enough.
Each time I looked at her, something inside me stirred. She was no longer theirs.
She was mine.
---
Quiet Farewells
I didn't make an announcement. There was no feast, no speeches. The villagers had never asked me to stay, and I had never promised them anything.
But Jiro knew.
He found me one evening at the pier, coiling rope on the deck. His shadow stretched long across the planks.
"You're set on it," he said.
I nodded. Words caught in my throat.
"The sea doesn't forgive," he said, his eyes narrowing. "But it teaches. If you've learned anything here, remember that."
"I'll remember."
His hand, rough and calloused, rested briefly on my shoulder. "Two years, boy. You've come further than I thought possible. Don't waste it. Come back one day strong enough that I can brag I knew you first."
The corner of my mouth twitched. "I'll try."
He grunted, stepping back. That was his way of saying goodbye.
---
The Last Test
The night before departure, I walked to the clearing where I had first felt Haki spark.
I clenched my fist. The dark sheen spread smooth and steady, like tempered steel. I held it. One heartbeat. Two. Three.
Then I struck the trunk before me. Bark exploded. Wood split. My hand trembled, but the Armament held.
Not mastery. But proof.
I was ready.
---
Departure
Dawn broke soft, the sky brushed in pale gold. The tide was high, the wind steady.
The ship bobbed at the pier, patched sails stirring faintly. Supplies were stowed: rope, cloth, dried fish, barrels of water. Enough for a start.
Jiro stood on the pier, arms crossed. He said nothing at first, only watched as I loosed the moorings.
At last, his voice came low. "The sea doesn't care who you are. You'll have to carve your place in it."
I bowed. "I will."
The tide pulled the ship free. The oars dipped. The patched sails filled. Slowly, the island shrank — the huts, the cliffs where I had trained, the beaches where I had nearly died.
Two years of salt and struggle receded into memory.
I clenched my fist, letting the sheen of Haki flicker before fading. My eyes turned toward the horizon, eastward, where the sun rose.
Luffy had already set sail. His story — the story I once only watched through a screen — had begun.
And now, so had mine.
Not as a shadow. Not as a spectator.
As a man chasing his own legend.
The sea spread wide before me. Endless. Waiting.
For the first time, I wasn't just surviving.
I was beginning.
To be continued…