I watched Luffy scale Laboon's massive head with a bucket of paint in hand.
"Oi! Flower-old man!" Luffy called down, his voice echoing across the water. "You got any more paint? I need lots of it!"
Crocus looked up from where he'd been tending to some equipment on his artificial island, his flower-shaped hair somehow still managing to look ridiculous even in the aftermath of everything we'd just been through.
"Paint?" Crocus replied, his expression a mixture of confusion and resignation. "What are you planning to do, boy?"
"I'm gonna paint something for Laboon!" Luffy announced with the kind of enthusiasm most people reserved for discovering free food. "Something to remind him of our promise!"
'A permanent reminder of a promise made by a rubber idiot who challenged a mountain-sized whale to a fistfight. This should go well.'
Crocus studied Luffy for a long moment, then sighed in resignation.
"Fine," he said, moving toward what looked like a storage area. "I have some paint stored away. As long as it helps Laboon, you can use whatever you need."
"Thanks, old man!" Luffy grinned, then immediately went back to his questionable artistic project.
I watched him work for another moment—his movements enthusiastic if not exactly skilled—before deciding I had better things to do than supervise our captain's descent into vandalism.
'Time to find something productive to occupy myself with. Because apparently, that's what I do now. Find productive activities while my captain defaces a whale.'
Around me, the rest of the crew had already scattered to their own pursuits.
Usopp had disappeared below deck on the Going Merry, his voice occasionally drifting up as he muttered to himself about checking every plank and rope after our "rough entrance to the Grand Line."
From the direction of the ship's galley, I could hear the sound of pots and pans clanging, accompanied by Sanji's voice declaring something about "food so delicious Nami-swan will have no choice but to fall for me."
Speaking of Nami—
I turned my attention to where she'd claimed the table next to the lighthouse, spreading out her maps and charts with the focused intensity of someone who actually knew what they were doing.
And she was still wearing my hat.
My hat. On her head. Like she had every right to it.
'She's kept it this entire time. Just... claimed it as her own property without even asking. The audacity is almost impressive in its brazenness.'
I should be angry about this. Should demand its return immediately. It was a new hat, and I didn't even have the chance to wear it that long.
But I couldn't quite bring myself to ask for it back.
She helped me. Dragged me out of that philosophical spiral with sheer force of distraction and financial negotiation. And she looks... strangely happy with it.
The observation came unbidden, unwelcome, and I immediately shoved it aside.
'Not thinking about that. Not analyzing why seeing her happy makes me reluctant to reclaim my property. That way lies emotional complications I have neither the time nor inclination to deal with.'
Zoro had found a spot next to the lighthouse, deciding to do his third favorite activity after fighting and drinking, which was taking a quality nap.
He'd settled against the stone wall with his arms crossed, his expression already drifting into that peaceful state of unconsciousness that suggested he could sleep through a hurricane.
"A stable land under me is much more comfortable," he'd muttered before closing his eyes.
'Fair enough. After being tossed around like a toy in a bathtub, solid ground probably feels like a luxury.'
As for our two 'unconscious' captives—
I glanced toward where Mr. 9 and Vivi, or well, Miss Wednesday right now, lay trussed up on the deck, still maintaining their pretense of unconsciousness with admirable dedication.
'Still playing unconscious. Smart, considering what happened the last time they tried something stupid. Though I'm not sure how long they think they can keep up the act.'
"Don't worry about them," Crocus had said when I'd asked. "I'll figure something out when they 'wake up.'" The air quotes had been audible in his tone.
The old man knows they're faking it. Of course he does. Probably knew the moment they opened their eyes. But he's playing along for reasons I can't quite figure out yet.
I made one final check of their bindings—Zoro's knot work was as solid as ever—then decided to leave it at that.
'If they try anything stupid while pretending to be unconscious, they deserve whatever happens to them.'
Finding my own spot on a rock near Zoro's chosen napping location, I pulled out a can of MAX Coffee from my Dimensional Bag and cracked it open.
PSSSHHH!
The sound was absurdly normal in the aftermath of everything we'd just experienced. Fighting sea monsters, surviving being swallowed by a whale, philosophical crises about the nature of determination and sunk costs—and here I was, drinking coffee like it was a perfectly ordinary day.
'Welcome to the Grand Line, I suppose.'
The coffee was still cold, still perfect, still exactly what I needed. I took a long drink, feeling the caffeine begin its work.
Then I reached back into my Dimensional Bag and withdrew the scrolls I'd been meaning to study properly for a week now.
'Might as well make productive use of this downtime. God knows when we'll have another chance to actually sit still and learn something without being attacked, eaten, or chased by maniac Marines.'
What I pulled out were two scrolls.
The Fishman Karate and Fishman Jujitsu scrolls.
I'd skimmed through them before, gotten the general idea, but never really sat down to study them properly.
'Because I've been too busy not dying to focus on expanding my combat repertoire. Priorities and all that.'
But the encounter with the sea monsters in Laboon's stomach had highlighted a glaring weakness in my arsenal.
My ranged combat options were... limited. The custom flintlock was amazing, sure, but I needed something else. Something that didn't require ammunition or having a free hand.
'My sword skills have been progressing steadily, but I don't know if it was because I was more focused on the Hamon sword skills, or if my swordsmanship is not good enough. The end result is that I still didn't learn the wind slashes.'
Which leaves me with a rather inconvenient gap between "things I can hit with my sword" and "things that are too far away to stab."
So, for now, I could only find another way until the path to Wind Slash emerges.
I unrolled the first scroll, scanning the elegant script that detailed the fundamentals of Fishman Karate.
The technique descriptions were clear enough—punches, kicks, strikes that could be executed both underwater and on land. But as I read deeper, I found myself drawn to the theoretical foundation underlying all of it.
'Interesting. Very interesting.'
According to the scrolls, all Fishman martial arts revolved around two main concepts.
The first was something they called "The Blue" or "The Sea"—and not in the obvious "we fight in water" sense.
The Blue, as they described it, was the ambient water itself. But not just the water in oceans and rivers. All water, everywhere, on a planetary scale.
The moisture in the soil, the vapor in the air, the water in living bodies, the rivers, the seas—all of it connected as one massive, unified body.
'That's... actually a profound way of looking at it. Not water as individual sources, but as a singular, interconnected system that covers the entire world.'
It made a strange kind of sense. Water cycled endlessly—evaporating from the ocean, forming clouds, falling as rain, seeping into the ground, flowing through rivers back to the sea. All of it was technically the same water, just in different locations and states.
'And if you could tap into that connection, if you could treat all water as a single medium...'
The implications were staggering. It would mean that a Fishman Karate practitioner wasn't just manipulating water sources near them.
'Though calling it "The Blue" makes it sound more poetic than "planetary water cycle." I suppose that's the difference between martial arts philosophy and scientific terminology.'
The second concept was called "Water Grip"—and the description made me pause.
It wasn't about physically grabbing water. It was about holding or grasping The Blue around you like it was a tangible object.
Like you could reach out and grip the ambient moisture in the air, the water vapor surrounding your body, the connected network of fluid, and use it as a medium to channel your strength.
'So they're not just punching through water. They're gripping the water itself and using it to transmit force.'
The scrolls described it with metaphors—gripping The Blue like a blanket or a mantel, channeling your strength into it, creating waves that could travel through this connected medium to strike your enemies.
The martial art forms themselves, the specific punches and kicks, were developed and perfected over centuries to maximize the efficiency of this power transmission.
But the key—the absolute foundation of everything—was the Water Grip.
'Without mastering the ability to grasp The Blue, none of the techniques you learn would matter. It would be like trying to conduct electricity through a non-conductive material. The form means nothing if you can't establish the connection.'
I kept reading, and the picture became clearer. The better your mastery over the Water Grip, the more potent your Fishman Karate techniques became.
Some fishmen, lacking the talent for advanced Water Grip, focused instead on perfecting their martial art techniques to squeeze out every drop of power they could.
'Working around their limitation rather than overcoming it. Pragmatic, if ultimately limited in potential.'
But to advance further, to access the higher martial arts like Fishman Jujutsu, you needed to master an advanced form of the Water Grip called "Water Heart."
And beyond that, the royal family's secret art, the Fishman Gujutsu, required something called "Water Soul"—an even more advanced evolution of the concept.
'Progressive mastery. Water Grip to Water Heart to Water Soul. Each level presumably allows for greater control and more sophisticated techniques.'
The descriptions of Water Grip and Water Heart were included in the scrolls, along with various training exercises. Simple gestures, specific stances, breathing techniques, meditation practices—all designed to help develop the ability to sense and grasp The Blue.
But as I read through the instructions, a pattern emerged that made me grimace.
'Of course, it comes down to this.'
Talent.
All the exercises and techniques in the world meant nothing if you didn't have the inherent talent to sense and manipulate The Blue.
Without sufficient aptitude for Water Grip, you couldn't effectively utilize or control the ambient water, and your Fishman Karate would be weak at best, useless at worst.
'That's why most fishmen don't bother with Fishman Karate and Fishman Jujitsu, despite how supernatural and deadly it could be. For them, it's like trying to learn an instrument when you're tone-deaf. Theoretically possible but practically frustrating and ultimately unrewarding.'
It also explained why no non-fishmen mastered Fishman Karate. It was a racial martial art in the truest sense—built on an inherent affinity to water that fishmen possessed naturally.
Trying to learn it without that biological advantage was like trying to learn echolocation when you didn't have the neural structures for it.
'A martial art specifically designed around racial characteristics. Clever, in a way. But it also creates a hard ceiling for anyone who doesn't share those characteristics.'
I finished my coffee, crushing the can in my hand with a controlled burst of Hamon that reduced it to a compressed disc of metal.
CRUNCH!
'Under normal circumstances, this would be where I give up. Acknowledge that some advantages can't be overcome through effort or ingenuity. Move on to something more practical.'
But these weren't normal circumstances.
'Because I have cheats. Literal, reality-bending cheats that let me bypass the normal rules.'
I stood up from my rock, setting the scrolls aside carefully.
Taking a breath according to the Hamon rhythm, I sent golden energy crackling through my hand.
BZZT!
The familiar sensation of Ripple flowing through my body, that perfect harmony between breath and energy that I'd been practicing for two years.
'Hamon has a strong connection to water. It's right there in the name—Ripple. The technique literally generates wavelike energy that mimics the flow of water through organic tissue.'
If anything could help me feel The Blue, it would be Hamon.
I focused, trying to extend my awareness beyond my own body. Trying to sense the ambient water the scrolls described as omnipresent and connected.
The seconds ticked by.
Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
I stood there like an idiot, hand outstretched, Hamon crackling uselessly around my fingers while I tried to feel something—anything—that matched the scrolls' descriptions of The Blue.
Nothing.
'Right. Because it's not that simple. When has anything in my life ever been simple?'
Usually, this would be the decision point. The moment where a logical, pragmatic person would either abandon the attempt entirely and find something more efficient or commit to a long, difficult training arc filled with trial and error and eventual breakthrough through sheer determination.
'Both terrible options. One wastes potential, the other wastes time I don't have.'
Fortunately, being logical and pragmatic also meant recognizing when I had access to shortcuts.
'Why spend months or years developing natural talent when I literally have a magical sword that controls water?'
I placed my hand on the Barbossa sword's handle, feeling its familiar weight and the subtle pulse of power that thrummed through the blade and activated its water-controlling ability.
'If Fishman Karate is about connecting with The Blue, about establishing resonance with ambient water... maybe the sword's affinity can serve as training wheels.'
The moment I activated the ability, the effect was immediate and profoundly disorienting.
For a moment—just a heartbeat—I felt like I was underwater.
'This is...'
Not drowning, not suffocating. Just... submerged. Surrounded by water on all sides, pressure from every direction, the sensation of liquid against every inch of exposed skin.
But I could breathe.
And yet I could feel water everywhere.
I was standing on dry rock next to a lighthouse, breathing normal air, completely dry—and yet every sense insisted I was ten meters underwater.
'The Blue. This is what they mean by The Blue.'
The revelation hit harder than I'd expected.
'No wonder Gyaro thought this was some kind of ancient Fishman weapon. It's not just suitable for them—it's perfect for them. Almost like it was specifically designed with their abilities in mind.'
I was using a mystical artifact to bypass racial limitations, to experience something that should have been completely strange to human biology.
Like this, in the hand of a fishman who already has this Water Affinity, this sword would be a base power multiplier.
It made me feel like I was wasting the potential of the weapon, like I didn't know how to use it.
'But how was I supposed to know? How could anyone who is not a fishman figure out that water-controlling ability be useful like that?'
I think…if the sword wasn't stolen by the fishmen before, I would have never found out that it could be used like that.
I pushed aside the theoretical implications and focused on the practical application.
The Hamon was still flowing through my hand, golden energy crackling against my skin.
CRACKLE!
Now, with the sword's water affinity active, I tried again to establish Water Grip.
This time, it worked.
The sensation was subtle but unmistakable—like closing my hand around something that wasn't quite solid but wasn't quite liquid either.
The ambient water responds to my will, forming a connection between my Ripple energy and the external medium.
'Water Grip. I'm actually doing it.'
To test the concept, I made a simple punch toward the open air.
WHOOSH!
Both the physical force of the strike and the Hamon energy traveled forward like a wave, moving through the air in a way that mimicked underwater motion perfectly.
The technique worked exactly as the scrolls described—my strength channeled through The Blue, creating a wave of force that extended well beyond my physical reach.
'That's... actually incredible. Ranged attacks without projectiles, strikes that ignore conventional blocking because they're traveling through a medium the opponent can't even see.'
But even as I marveled at the success, I could feel the strain.
Not physical exhaustion—the punch itself had been effortless. But mental strain, the kind that came from maintaining too many complex processes simultaneously.
'The sword's water affinity isn't passive. It requires active focus to maintain, and right now I'm using it just to perceive The Blue, not even trying to control it.'
I deactivated the ability, feeling the strange underwater sensation fade.
Reality snapped back to normal—dry land, open air, the sounds of waves and Luffy's enthusiastic painting.
The relief was immediate.
'That's not sustainable for combat. Not even close.'
Using the Barbossa sword's mystical water affinity as a substitute for natural talent worked, but it came with a cost I couldn't afford during actual fighting.
'I can't maintain that level of focus while also managing Hamon, swordsmanship, situational awareness, and everything else combat requires. The mental load would cripple me.'
But that didn't make the exercise useless.
'Training tool. The sword can serve as training wheels—let me practice techniques, develop muscle memory, understand the principles. Eventually, I will develop enough natural sensitivity that I won't need the sword's help to maintain Water Grip.'
It was still a shortcut, just not as simple as I'd hoped.
'Nothing is ever simple.'
I took a moment to let my focus settle, breathing slowly according to Hamon's rhythm until the mental strain faded.
Then another thought occurred to me—something I'd been neglecting specifically because of the limitations I'd just discovered.
'Speaking of techniques I haven't properly trained...'
I unsheathed the Barbossa sword fully, feeling its weight settle into a combat grip.
From a bag on my waist, I retrieved a bottle of Hamon Ether.
The glowing substance sloshed inside its glass container, faintly radiant with stored Ripple energy.
I controlled the Hamon Ether with the sword's power, watching the golden liquid flow out of the bottle and begin forming the characteristic circular pattern in the air.
SWIRL!
The Hamon circle took shape, glowing with a kaleidoscope of golden light.
Beautiful, efficient, and ready to serve as a focusing mechanism for whatever technique I chose to channel through it.
Then I activated the water affinity again.
The underwater sensation returned, and so is the strain, but I didn't waste the time savoring the sensation and began working.
Water droplet condensed on the Ether circle, Hamon filtering it from the thin air.
The moisture came together at the center of the Hamon circle, forming a sphere about the size of my head.
'Collecting ambient water. Compressing it. Using the Hamon circle to maintain coherence and add pressure.'
The sphere grew larger, water continuing to flow in from all directions as I maintained focus.
When it reached roughly the size of a basketball, I forced additional pressure into the formation—using both the sword's control and the Hamon circle's compression to pressurize the water further.
The sphere was starting to heat up until it resembled a liquid cannonball hovering at the circle's center.
Then I released it toward the open ocean.
KAAAABBOOOOMMMM!!!!
The water projectile blasted forward like it had been fired from artillery, cutting through the air with a sound like thunder.
SPLAAAASH!!!
It struck the water's surface a hundred meters away with explosive force, sending up a massive spray that caught the light and created a brief rainbow.
'One of my cannon series techniques. Water Cannon, specifically. The only one I didn't train because the technical limitations made it inefficient compared to alternatives.'
The technique required an external water source and compressing it into a projectile. Without access to significant water, it was basically useless.
'But looks like I found a solution to this problem.'
The sound of the technique echoed across the Twin Capes like a declaration of war.
CLANG!
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" Usopp's shriek carried from the Going Merry, followed by the sound of him dropping his tools. "ARE WE UNDER ATTACK?!"
"HACHIMAN!" Nami's voice was sharp with alarm. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
From the kitchen, I heard pots clattering as Sanji presumably ran to investigate. Even Luffy stopped painting, turning to look down from Laboon's head.
And Zoro—Zoro jolted awake with his hand already on his swords, his body tense and ready for combat before his eyes had fully opened.
"Enemy?" he barked, scanning the area.
'Right. Loud, explosive noise in a closed proximity. That'll wake everyone up. Should have thought of that.'
I deactivated the water affinity, already feeling the mental strain, and raised my free hand in a placating gesture.
"It's fine!" I called out. "I'm just testing a new technique!"
"A NEW TECHNIQUE?!" Usopp's voice cracked. "You couldn't test it somewhere that DOESN'T echo like a drum?!"
"My apologies," I said, sheathing the Barbossa sword. "Didn't consider the acoustics."
'Or the fact that everyone's nerves are already frayed from being swallowed by a whale. Situational awareness, Hachiman. You're supposed to be the smart one.'
Nami stood from her table, my hat still firmly on her head, glaring at me with that particular expression that meant I'd just cost myself money somehow.
Sanji emerged from the kitchen, cigarette dangling from his lips, looking slightly disappointed that there wasn't an actual threat for him to kick.
"I thought we were being attacked," he muttered.
Luffy, however, looked thrilled. "That was so cool! Do it again!"
"No!" came the unanimous response from everyone except Zoro.
The swordsman had relaxed his combat stance but was watching me with interest now, his expression thoughtful.
"New technique, huh?" He stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Looked powerful."
"It's still experimental," I said, but I could already feel where this conversation was heading. "Needs a lot more refinement before it's combat-ready."
"Looked pretty combat-ready to me." Zoro's hand moved to rest casually on his sword hilts. "Speaking of combat—you free now? We still haven't had that spar."
'The spar. Right. The one we'd been planning all the way back to Cocoyasi village.'
I thought about it for a moment, weighing the mental fatigue from testing the Water Cannon against the value of actual combat practice with someone of Zoro's caliber.
'The mental strain is manageable. And it's been a while since I've had a proper sparring match with someone who won't die if I use my actual techniques by accident.'
"Yeah," I said, rolling my shoulders to loosen the lingering tension. "I'm free. Let's—"
"KYAAAAAHHHHH!!!!"
The scream cut through the air like a knife, high-pitched and absolutely terrified.
It came from the direction of the Going Merry's deck.
From where our two supposedly unconscious captives were tied up.
'Oh, for crying out loud. What now?'
"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP US!" That was Mr. 9's voice, theatrical qualities completely abandoned in favor of genuine panic.
"WE'RE GOING TO DIE! PLEASE! ANYONE!" And that was Vivi, her carefully maintained disguise forgotten as terror took over.
I looked in the direction from which their panic should originate, and saw a huge bird flying toward the Going Merry.
…
A/N: Sigh...sorry for the unstable update, my life has been an utter chaos in the last few days.
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