PART 3 — Training That Isn't Training
Luffy didn't leave the bar so much as explode out of it.
The door slammed open, bounced once, and nearly caught on its hinges as Luffy shot past Makino's warning shout and tore down the street toward the tree line. He laughed the whole way, arms flung wide, feet barely touching the ground.
Outside the village, the air smelled like salt and grass and morning.
Luffy skidded to a stop at the base of a tall tree, crouched, and sprang upward.
He missed the first branch, slapped against the trunk, slid down, and laughed louder.
"Again!"
He jumped again—higher this time—fingers brushing bark before he dropped back down, landing hard on his heels. He winced for half a second, then shook it off and sprinted ten paces away.
He turned.
Ran back.
Leapt.
This time he caught the branch, arms straining as he hung there, legs kicking uselessly.
"Hup—!"
He hauled himself up with a grunt, rolled onto the branch, then immediately stood and walked along it like a tightrope, arms stretched out for balance.
The branch dipped.
Luffy wobbled.
"Whoa—!"
He dropped, hit the ground shoulder-first, rolled, and came up laughing, dirt smeared across his cheek.
He didn't stop.
He sprinted to the clearing near the cliff and started punching.
No pattern. No stance. Just fast, sloppy strikes that snapped through the air with rubbery cracks. His arms stretched, recoiled, stretched again. When his fists started to sting, he switched to kicks. When his legs started to burn, he dropped into a crouch and sprang straight up again.
Once.
Twice.
Ten times.
He lost count.
Sweat dripped down his face, soaking into his shirt. His breathing went from easy to loud, chest heaving as he bounced on the balls of his feet.
Luffy wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
"Still fine," he muttered, though no one had asked.
He flopped backward into the grass, arms spread, staring up at the sky.
Clouds drifted lazily overhead.
The world was quiet out here.
Luffy lay still.
One second.
Two.
His foot twitched.
He frowned.
Three.
He shifted his shoulders, then rolled onto his side and pushed himself up with a grunt.
"…This is dumb," he said to the empty clearing.
He sprang to his feet and immediately started running again, circling the clearing, then the trees beyond it, then back again. His pace slowed without him noticing. His steps hit a little heavier. His arms didn't swing quite as high.
A scrape on his knuckle had started bleeding.
He glanced at it mid-run, shrugged, and wiped the blood on his shorts.
At the edge of the clearing, he skidded to a stop and bent over, hands on his knees, breathing hard.
For a moment—just a moment—he didn't move.
His chest burned.
His legs trembled.
His smile faded into a blank, irritated line.
"…Huh."
He straightened abruptly, like standing still had offended him.
"Whatever," Luffy said, forcing a grin back onto his face. "I'm not tired."
He dropped and started doing push-ups.