The Sea King hadn't returned—not yet, at least. Its absence did little to ease the tension that curled inside Gildarts like a knotted rope. Perched atop a smoothed boulder near his camp, he sat cross-legged, shirtless, and drenched in sweat, the warm afternoon sun pressing down on him like a weight. His left arm—the iron and steel prosthetic—hung slack at his side. He stared silently across the glittering lagoon, where the waves shimmered as though nothing terrible had ever emerged from beneath them.
But he remembered.
Even now, the memory of that titanic creature—the "Master of the Waters"—lurking just beyond reach made the hair on his neck rise. It had nearly swallowed him whole. And yet, in that life-or-death moment, something had erupted from within him, something immense and unfamiliar: a crushing will that had slammed into the beast and left it unconscious in the shallows.
He had tried, in vain, to summon that same power again. Countless times. He had screamed at the air from cliff tops, meditated until his legs went numb, even tried visualizing the exact moment of fear and desperation—but nothing came. No pressure. No unconscious birds. No collapsing trees. The force that had saved his life once now slumbered deep inside him, utterly unreachable.
"Conqueror's Haki…" he muttered bitterly, flexing the mechanical fingers of his left hand. "More like Conqueror's fluke."
He stood and began his daily training with a determined grunt. The loop was always the same—push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and sprints around the camp. The movements were basic, almost boring, but with the weight of his prosthetics and the island's oppressive heat, they left him gasping. Every drop of sweat was a reminder: he was still weak. Still learning this body. Still not ready.
"Come on," he said through clenched teeth as he strained through another push-up. "You want to live. This is what it looks like."
The forest whispered around him, wind rustling the tall, spindly trees in a steady rhythm. But just as he began a final set of squats, something shifted. It wasn't the wind. A soft rustle, too deliberate to be random, caught his ear. He froze mid-squat, instinct snapping into place as he reached for his spear resting against a tree trunk.
He scanned the foliage, eyes narrowing.
Another rustle. Closer this time.
A chill ran down his spine as he considered the possibilities. If the Sea King had returned and found its way inland—or worse, if there were other predators—he wasn't yet strong enough to face them.
But when the underbrush parted, what stepped out was neither monstrous nor threatening.
It was a fox.
Or rather, something like a fox.
Lean and lanky, its body moved like a noodle in the wind, all smooth motions and barely a sound. Its silver-white fur shimmered under the dappled light, reminding Gildarts of the moonlight over steel. Its ears were large and alert, its snout long and inquisitive, and its squinting green eyes observed him with wary curiosity. A long tail swayed behind it like a silken rope.
Gildarts blinked. "What the hell…?"
The fox didn't flee. In fact, it wiggled a little closer, sniffing the air with delicate precision before sitting down a few paces away, its bushy, feather duster-like tail curling beside its thin frame. The creature stared at him with it's squinty little eyes, head cocked, completely unafraid.
"Not afraid of me, huh?" he said cautiously, slowly lowering the spear. "Guess you're not used to seeing people either."
When the fox remained still, he stepped away from the weapon and eased himself onto his rock. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna eat you. I've got enough trouble feeding myself."
To his surprise, the fox sauntered over in a wiggly fashion and sat down beside him like an old friend settling in for a chat. Its tail brushed the ground once, twice, then curled around its front paws.
And just like that, Gildarts wasn't alone anymore.
— — —
He named the fox Pork.
Not because it reminded him of anything pork-like, but because pork-flavored instant noodles had always been his favorite, and frankly, he missed them. He told the fox this during one of their evening fireside chats, while spitting fish bones into the fire.
"It's either that," he said, "or I call you something dumb like Whiskers."
Pork gave a dramatic yawn and stretched across the dirt with the complete disregard of a creature unbothered by names.
The fox's presence didn't just make the days more tolerable—it made them more alive. Pork followed Gildarts at a comfortable distance while he trained, weaving effortlessly between trees and rocks. When he worked on his raft, patching the damage caused by the Sea King's attack, the fox dozed nearby or played with stray bits of driftwood. When he went fishing, Pork would even lend a paw—once or twice smacking a flopping fish back into his grasp with uncanny precision.
"You've got better Observation Haki than me," Gildarts muttered during one such outing, watching the fox tense the moment a fish darted from the reeds. "Damn, even an animal has me beat..."
Despite the teasing, his own progress with Observation Haki was real—though frustratingly slow. He hadn't yet reached the level of reading a person's intent, predicting attacks, or looking into the future, but there were changes. Subtle ones. He noticed more than he had before—the way the birds took off a second before the wind shifted, or how the trees responded to distant movement. He sensed life around him in a way that wasn't quite sight or sound.
He meditated every morning, sometimes for hours, focusing on breathing and stillness. He didn't understand the principles fully, only that stillness seemed to bring clarity. And on certain mornings, he could swear he felt something—a presence, just beyond the edge of his perception.
One day, eyes closed in the middle of his routine, he felt it again. Not a sound. Not a tremor. Just a shape in his awareness, subtle as a thought. When he opened his eyes, Pork was sitting ten paces away, perfectly silent, watching him with those squinty green eyes.
"You snuck up on me again," he said with a small smile. "But I felt you. Barely."
The fox padded over and sat beside him, tail brushing against his leg.
Progress.
— — —
Unfortunately, the search for a Devil Fruit remained an endless disappointment.
Gildarts had scoured every inch of the island segment he could reach, crossing through dense forests, climbing plateau cliffs, and even braving swamps with questionable stinky water. He poked at suspicious-looking trees, uprooted odd saplings, and even considered diving into deep ravines.
Nothing.
Not a single fruit bore the telltale swirls or odd shapes he'd come to associate with Devil Fruits. There was no treasure buried beneath ancient roots, no glistening power hanging from enchanted branches. Just oranges, berries, coconuts, and a near-lethal yellow, spiky fruit that made him break out in hives for two days.
He tossed a half-eaten coconut into the bushes and scowled. "You'd think a place this weird would cough up something."
Pork, chewing thoughtfully on a stick, offered no comfort.
"Not that I'm desperate," Gildarts added with a sigh, "but a little gravity manipulation or flame breath wouldn't hurt."
The fox glanced at him, unimpressed.
"Yeah, yeah. I know. I'm whining."
— — —
Despite the ongoing challenges, the rhythm of his days became a kind of comfort.
He woke at dawn, stretched, meditated, and trained until his limbs ached. Then came fishing, exploring, foraging. He patched the raft when he could, reinforced the bindings, experimented with steering. Pork remained a loyal companion through it all, ever silent but always present.
In the evenings, the two of them often sat together to watch the sun set over the lagoon, the sky burning orange and red as the day faded. The long shadows cast by the trees made the world feel older somehow, ancient and uncaring—but beautiful too.
"You think I'm supposed to do something with this body?" Gildarts asked aloud one evening, staring out at the horizon. "I mean, I'm not him. I don't have his experience. I just… look like him... and sound like him."
Pork gave a small huff and blinked slowly.
"But every day," Gildarts continued, "I feel a little more like I could become someone worth this body."
The fox licked its paw with complete indifference.
"You're terrible at pep talks," he muttered.
— — —
That night, he dreamed of drifting through dark water. He wasn't drowning—just floating in endless black. Shapes moved around him—visions from eyes that weren't his. A shattered mountain. A strong fist cloaked in black. Ships with tattered sails. The world shimmered with unreality.
A voice whispered through the water.
"Not all who awaken are ready."
He reached for it, but it vanished like smoke.
When he awoke, Pork was curled beside him, warm and breathing softly. The stars above blinked in silence, the fire long gone out.
— — —
Two days later, he tried again to awaken his Conqueror's Haki.
He climbed the tallest hill near his camp, where he had the best view of the lagoon and its deceptively peaceful waters. The wind tugged at his clothes as he stood tall, eyes closed. Pork sat behind him, tail flicking lightly.
He concentrated.
He tried to remember the surge—that wild, unstoppable pressure that had knocked out a creature ten times his size. He thought of fear, of helplessness, of defiance. He focused until his jaw clenched and his fists shook.
Nothing.
Not even a bird stirred.
He dropped to his knees, breathing hard, teeth clenched in frustration. "Damn it…"
Pork trotted over and nudged his side with a cold nose.
"Yeah," Gildarts sighed, placing a hand on the fox's head. "I'm not ready yet."
But this time, the failure didn't feel like defeat. It felt like fuel. He would keep training. Keep meditating. Keep moving forward. Not because he had to conquer anything. But because surviving wasn't enough anymore.
He looked at Pork, who sat tall beside him, tail flicking in the breeze.
"Guess you're stuck with me a while longer."
The fox licked his cheek, and for the first time in days, Gildarts laughed.
— — —
Update Schedule:
11:00am-12:30am
Sunday: Break Day
Monday: 1 Chapter
Tuesday-Friday: 2 Chapters
Saturday: 1 Chapter