Location: Shimotsuki Village, East Blue Year: 1520 (Six Months Later)
The stone didn't look special. It was a gray, river-smoothed rock roughly the size of a melon, sitting innocently on a wooden pedestal in the dojo's garden.
Hiroki stood before it, sweat stinging his eyes. He held Umitsubame in a loose grip.
"Don't hit it," Koushirou's voice drifted from the porch, where he was sipping tea. "If you hit it, you will just chip your blade. You must ask the stone to part for you."
Hiroki suppressed a sigh. For six months, this had been his life.
Wake up. Run until his lungs burned. Lift weights with Zoro until his muscles screamed. Meditate until his legs went numb. Try to cut the rock. Fail. Repeat.
"Ask the stone," Hiroki muttered under his breath. "It's a rock, Sensei. It doesn't speak Japanese."
"It speaks," a gruff voice grunted from the side.
Zoro was doing handstand push-ups with his thumbs, a stack of weights balanced on his feet. "You're just deaf."
Hiroki glared at the green-haired demon. Over the last half-year, a strange dynamic had formed. They weren't friends—Zoro didn't really do friends, just people he hadn't cut yet—but they were training partners. Zoro was the anvil, and Hiroki was the metal being hammered.
[Status Check]
Strength: 14.5 → 21.2 / 100 (Growth Acceleration: High)Swordsmanship: 22.0 → 28.5 / 100Observation Haki: 0.6% → 1.2%
His stats had exploded. Training with a future Warlord-level swordsman (even a teenage one) was a cheat code for gains. But the rock remained whole.
Hiroki closed his eyes. Tactical Insight.
He stopped trying to feel "spirits" and started trying to apply his old world's logic. Everything vibrates. Atoms. Molecules. Steel. Stone.
The Breath of All Things... isn't magic. It's resonance.
He focused on the sound of the wind. The rustle of the bamboo. The heavy, rhythmic panting of Zoro. And beneath it all, the silence of the stone.
But it wasn't silent.
[Observation Haki Active][Sensory Focus: Maximum]
It was a low hum. Static. Dense and unyielding.
He shifted his grip on Umitsubame. The sword had a hum too—sharp, eager, fluid.
Match the frequency.
He didn't swing with muscle. He didn't try to smash the atoms apart. He tried to slide the blade between them.
He took a breath. The world seemed to stop. The wind died down. Zoro's grunting faded.
There was only the line.
Slash.
He drew the blade. It felt weightless. There was no resistance, no jarring impact of steel meeting stone.
Hiroki opened his eyes.
The rock sat on the pedestal, unchanged.
"Failed again," Hiroki whispered, shoulders slumping.
He sheathed the sword. Click.
At the sound of the guard hitting the scabbard, the top half of the rock slowly slid sideways. It fell to the grass with a soft thud. The cut surface was as smooth as a mirror.
Silence descended on the garden.
Zoro stopped mid-pushup. He flipped to his feet, walking over to inspect the stone. He whistled low.
"Not bad," Zoro grunted. "For a calculator."
Koushirou set down his tea cup. "You heard it."
Hiroki looked at his hands. They weren't vibrating. "I didn't hear a voice, Sensei. I heard... a frequency. A rhythm."
"The world sings in many keys," Koushirou said gently. "How you listen is up to you."
[Milestone Achieved: Breath of All Things (Rudimentary)][Skill Unlocked: Iron Cutting][Swordsmanship Synergy: +10%]
Hiroki felt a wave of exhaustion hit him. The mental toll of that one cut was heavier than a thousand suburi swings.
"So," Zoro said, picking up the top half of the rock and crushing it in his grip to test its density. "You finally caught up to the starting line."
"Starting line?" Hiroki scoffed, wiping his brow. "That took me six months."
"And now the real work starts," Zoro said, a feral grin spreading across his face. "Sparring. Real steel."
Hiroki stiffened. "Sensei said—"
"Sensei isn't looking," Zoro lied, despite Koushirou sitting ten feet away. Koushirou merely smiled and went back to reading his newspaper.
Zoro drew Wado Ichimonji. The white blade gleamed in the afternoon sun. It was a O Wazamono—one grade higher than Hiroki's Umitsubame. The sword of Kuina.
"Come on," Zoro challenged. "Let's see if you can cut my steel."
Hiroki stepped back, his hand hovering over his hilt.
[Threat Assessment: Extreme][Win Probability: <5%]
"I'm not going to win, am I?" Hiroki asked.
"Nope," Zoro replied, slipping into his Santoryu stance (one sword in mouth, two in hands, though today he only held Wado). "But try not to die."
Hiroki took a deep breath.
Acceleration Boost: Output 100%.
He didn't wait. He attacked.
Ittoryu: Swallow's Dive.
He was faster than he had been six months ago. Much faster.
Zoro parried effortlessly, but Hiroki didn't bounce off this time. He flowed around the guard. He twisted his wrist, aiming a slash at Zoro's flank.
Zoro's eyes widened slightly. He had to take a step back to dodge.
"Ho," Zoro mumbled around the white hilt in his mouth.
For ten minutes, the garden was a blur of steel. Hiroki was on the defensive for 90% of it, parrying, dodging, using his Tactical Insight to predict Zoro's monstrous strength and avoid direct clashes.
But he was fighting. He wasn't just a victim anymore.
Finally, Zoro grew tired of the dance.
"Oni Giri!"
It was fast. Too fast.
Hiroki saw the spectral image of the demon. He raised Umitsubame to block, channeling his new "Iron Cutting" intent to reinforce the blade.
CLANG.
Hiroki flew backward, skidding through the gravel and crashing into the wooden fence.
He coughed, his arms numb, but he looked at his sword. It was whole. No chips.
"I blocked it," Hiroki wheezed.
Zoro sheathed Wado Ichimonji. He didn't offer a hand up. "You blocked it. Next time, dodge it."
But there was respect in his eyes.
That evening, Hiroki packed his bag.
He had learned what he came for. He could cut steel. His foundation was solid. If he stayed any longer, he would just be chasing Zoro's shadow, and he had his own path to walk.
He found Zoro sitting on the dojo roof, looking at the moon.
"Leaving?" Zoro asked without looking down.
"Yeah. The sea is calling."
"Going to the Grand Line?"
"Eventually. I have some stops to make first."
Zoro looked down. "Don't die out there, Calculator. It'd be a waste of good training."
"You too, Moss-head," Hiroki shot back.
Zoro's eyebrow twitched. "Hah?"
Hiroki bowed to the dojo gate one last time.
As he walked down the hill toward the harbor, the interface chimed.
[Chapter 1: East Blue Origins - Complete][Current Status]
Name: Hiroki RintarōAge: 17Bounty: None (Yet)Style: Analytic IttoryuHaki: Observation (Basic), Armament (Locked), Conqueror's (Locked)
He touched the hilt of Umitsubame. It felt different now. Not just a tool, but a partner.
"Time to hunt," he whispered.
The timeline was moving. Somewhere, a rubber boy was training in a jungle. Somewhere, a chef was kicking customers. Somewhere, Nami was stealing wallets.
Hiroki adjusted his pack. He wasn't going to wait for them. He had his own legend to write.
[Chapter 7 End]