"The body is weak. The mind is broken. But the will? The will is a raging beast clawing to survive."
The dreamscape was far too vivid to be just a dream.
Thunder cracked above the barren plains. Dark clouds roared with fury as lightning danced overhead like angry gods throwing tantrums. In the center of it all stood the boy—barefoot, bloodstained, and barely taller than a sword's length.
Before him stood Roronoa Zoro.
Scarred, stoic, and radiating the calm confidence of someone who's drowned in death but kept walking.
"So," Zoro said, arms crossed, gaze judging, "You're the new one."
The boy said nothing. He was still reeling from the trauma… from the blood… from the fire. But even now, his fists clenched the wooden practice sword like it was his last lifeline.
Zoro grunted. "You look like a dying rat. But if the system picked you, guess it sees something."
Then, without warning—
Zoro moved.
Fast.
A blur of motion. A sweep of the leg. The boy flew through the air and crashed into the dirt.
Pain exploded across his ribs.
"You think bandits will wait for you to cry?" Zoro growled, walking forward with heavy steps. "You wanna live in this world, brat? Then stand the hell up!"
The boy spat blood.
And stood.
Hours Passed… or Maybe Just Minutes
Slash.
Dodge.
Bleed.
Fall.
Repeat.
Zoro didn't train him. He broke him. Every swing was punishment. Every dodge a gamble. Every bruise a lesson.
"You don't have talent," Zoro barked.
"Your muscles are trash."
"Your grip is weak."
"But…" Zoro paused, squinting. "You keep getting up. That's something."
The boy's breath was ragged, his hands blistered, and vision blurry—but his stance didn't falter. Even as the sword trembled in his grip.
"I'll kill them," he muttered, eyes cold.
Zoro raised a brow. "Who?"
"The bandits."
"Why?"
"Because if I don't… no one will."
Zoro smirked.
"Then pick that stick up again. And maybe, just maybe, I'll teach you how to become a demon they'll beg for mercy from."
Real World – Morning
His eyes snapped open.
His body was drenched in sweat. His muscles screamed with soreness, but…
He felt it.
His grip—tighter.
His reflexes—sharper.
His stance—firmer.
[Daily Training Complete.]+1 Strength+1 EnduranceZoro's Beginner Swordsmanship Acquired [3%]Next unlock at 10% - "Oni Giri" Technique.
He looked at his small hands and grinned through the ache.
It was real.
Every cut, every lesson, every second in that dream—it had transferred to reality.
And now he had a weapon.
He found an old iron pipe near the blacksmith's charred remains. It would do. It had weight. Reach. Enough to crack skulls.
He trained.
He mimicked every movement from the night before. Every swing, every slash, every stance—engraving it into muscle memory.
By midday, his arms burned like fire. His stomach growled like a demon. But he didn't stop.
Pain was just proof he was alive.
"First step… survive this week."
"Second step… hunt the rats who took my mother."
"Third step…" He looked toward the distant mountains. "…get strong enough to never be prey again."
He slept that night hungry and sore.
But with a blade in his hand.
And a monster in his heart.