The taste lingered in my mouth like a curse. Bitter, foul, and heavy, as if my tongue would never forgive me.
The fishman just watched, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each labored breath.
"You actually ate it," he rumbled. "You're either the bravest human I've met… or the stupidest."
"Probably both," I muttered, wiping my mouth. My stomach was warm now — no, hot, like someone had lit a small fire inside me. It wasn't painful, but it was… alive.
"What does it do?" I asked.
He shook his head. "You'll find out soon enough. But remember — Devil Fruits demand a price. The sea will never welcome you again."
I already knew that, but hearing it from him made it real. A small shiver ran down my spine. I glanced at the chest, then back at the fishman.
"What about you? Why not eat it yourself?"
His gaze darkened. "Not every warrior needs a weapon. Some weapons choose the wrong hands."
Then he stood, staggering toward the water. I wanted to ask more, but he slipped beneath the surface without another word, vanishing into the waves.
---
That night, lying on my straw bed, the heat in my core pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat. I raised a hand, flexing my fingers — and nearly dropped my blanket when it suddenly swelled like a balloon.
I yelped and the thing snapped back to normal size.
"What the—?" I whispered, eyes wide. I tried it again. The fabric swelled, this time only a little, but it was enough to confirm what I'd just done.
Size manipulation.
Holy crap… it's real.
I spent the next hour experimenting in the dark — shrinking a cup until it fit in my palm, enlarging my sandal until it could fit a giant's foot. But after ten minutes, my body felt sluggish, my head pounding. Too much, too fast.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged me under.
---
The next morning, I was up before the sun. I went straight to my usual workout spot by the docks — a quiet stretch of packed earth where the smell of the sea kept me awake.
Push-ups first. I dropped to the ground, palms flat, and remembered the heat in my muscles from last night. I focused on it, trying to… magnify the effort.
There it was — a faint hum under my skin.
My arms burned almost instantly, the kind of deep ache you only feel after hours of training. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Ten push-ups in, I felt like I'd done a hundred.
I rolled onto my back, grinning like an idiot.
"Tenfold training," I whispered. "If I can handle this every day…"
The possibilities spiraled in my head — strength, speed, haki. In this world, those who grew stronger faster survived longer. And I had just found the ultimate shortcut.
---
I didn't get long to enjoy it.
"Oi, Raven!"
I turned. Three men were standing by the crates near the docks. Local troublemakers — the kind who thought shaking down fishermen was a real job. Their leader, a thick-necked guy named Rallo, stepped forward with a sneer.
"You've been working too hard lately," he said. "Means you've got coin. Hand it over."
I sighed. "Rallo, I'm not in the mood."
He spat on the ground. "Then we'll take it."
They rushed me.
My mind snapped into focus. Tenfold training was one thing… but what about a tenfold punch?
I tightened my fist, willed that same hum into my arm, and swung.
The impact cracked through the air like a whip. Rallo went sprawling backward into a crate, smashing it to splinters. His two friends froze, eyes wide.
I straightened, shaking out my knuckles. "Still want my coin?"
They bolted. Rallo groaned, clutching his stomach, and staggered after them.
I stood there for a long moment, heart pounding — not from fear, but from exhilaration. The Moa Moa no Mi wasn't just a tool. It was a weapon.
And I was just getting started.
---
That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't stop thinking about the fishman's words.
Power without skill is a curse.
Fine. Then I'd turn this curse into the sharpest blade the seas had ever seen.
Tomorrow, the real training would begin.