In the dense forest of the Taya Kingdom, a small figure wandered among the towering trees, his eyes scanning the ground as though searching for something. Despite his size, the boy carried himself with surprising confidence. Suddenly, the undergrowth rustled violently, and a massive boar emerged, snorting and pawing the earth. Any ordinary child would have screamed or fled in terror, but this boy simply smirked. He adjusted the enormous sword in his hands—a weapon nearly as tall as he was—and leveled its edge at the beast.
This child was Jack D. Sparrow, a newly orphaned boy who had been left to survive alone after the death of his mother a month earlier. With no family to turn to, Jack was forced to depend entirely on his own strength, a burden far too heavy for someone his age. Yet he bore it with a strange determination, one that seemed beyond his years.
The boar charged with a furious roar. Jack gripped the hilt of his oversized blade—not like a swordsman, but as if he were holding a baseball bat. At the moment of impact, he swung downward. Instead of slicing cleanly through flesh, an explosive force erupted from the strike, crashing into the boar with the power of a cannonball. The creature was thrown back, lifeless before it even hit the ground.
Wasting no time, Jack hauled the boar's carcass onto his back and started the long sprint back to his cabin—a small, weathered hut where he and his mother had once lived together. The structure was crude, but it carried memories of warmth that now only sharpened his loneliness. Upon arrival, Jack skinned and cleaned the boar with surprising precision, then lit a fire to roast the meat.
As the flames crackled, Jack's gaze drifted into them, his mind replaying events of the past month. 'It's been a month since my memories came back. It's still hard to believe I've been transmigrated into the world of One Piece,' he thought grimly.
He remembered the day with painful clarity. After his mother's death, he had buried her with his own hands, crafting a crude tombstone to mark her resting place. The grief of that moment had been unbearable, an agony that tore at both his body and spirit. Yet, in that very instant, his head had throbbed violently, and flashes of his past life surged into focus.
He remembered being an ordinary boy: his childhood in school, long nights of studying, and countless evenings spent binge-reading One Piece. And then there was Rob—the mysterious figure who had granted him "cheats" before his reincarnation.
Rob had explained that Jack would receive two gifts. The first was bestowed before his birth: the ability to select his own lineage and inherit the natural talents of his chosen parents. Jack, fascinated by the legend of Rocks D. Xebec in the manga's final arcs, chose to be his son. The second gift would arrive only after his past memories returned.
True to Rob's words, a strange vial had appeared before him a month ago, accompanied by a handwritten note. It contained the "Essence of the Hercules Method," a cultivation technique that not only awakened new strength in his body but also provided him with the knowledge to refine it. Since that day, Jack had devoted himself tirelessly to training, practicing the Hercules Method while wielding the massive sword left to him by his father—a gift from Rocks himself.
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After a month of relentless effort, Jack's training routine had solidified into a grueling ritual that pushed his young body to its very limits. Every day began before dawn, at four in the morning, when the forest was still cloaked in mist and the sea roared against the cliffs of the Taya Kingdom.
Jack would plunge into the turbulent waters, letting the vicious current drag at his limbs. Instead of resisting with panic, he fought back deliberately—kicking, striking, and even throwing punches beneath the waves until his lungs screamed for air. To him, the ocean had become a sparring partner, its endless current testing his willpower and stamina.
Once ashore, Jack turned to strength training. He hoisted massive boulders onto his shoulders, each one nearly twice his weight. With his back straight and his arms trembling, he stood rooted in place, meditating under the crushing burden.
Sometimes he pressed the stones above his head and held them there, sweat dripping into the soil beneath his feet. His body screamed in protest, but Jack endured in silence, convinced that every second forged him into something stronger.
Four hours later, when his muscles were raw and his breathing ragged, Jack would move on to hunting. The act of stalking prey through the forest sharpened his senses, while the butchering and cooking of the meat kept him alive. He ate simply, never indulging—just enough to fuel the next stage of his training.
The remainder of the day was devoted to the sword. With the massive blade that Rocks had left behind, Jack drilled himself without pause, swinging again and again until the sun dipped below the horizon. His swordsmanship was still crude, cobbled together from half-remembered impressions of Rocks's style, but his persistence was terrifying. Each slash tore through the air, releasing bursts of compressed wind that struck with the force of cannon fire. He trained until his hands blistered, until his arms went numb, until the weapon felt like an extension of his own body.
When night fell, Jack ended his routine in meditation. He ate no dinner, choosing instead to strengthen his discipline through hunger. Sitting cross-legged in silence, he directed his focus inward, cultivating the Hercules Method and feeling its energy spread through his weary body. Hunger, pain, and exhaustion no longer frightened him—they were simply part of the path he had chosen.
Jack trained his body with relentless determination, knowing that only strength would allow him to survive in the unforgiving world he now lived in. The blood that ran through his veins was both a blessing and a curse. As a descendant of the D clan, he understood all too well that the World Government feared and despised those who carried that name. To them, people like him were dangerous sparks that could ignite rebellion—and because of that, many were hunted down, enslaved, or erased from history itself.
Jack refused to become one of those forgotten victims. Every drop of sweat, every aching muscle, and every scar he earned in training was a step toward freedom. He would not allow chains to bind him, nor would he allow his will to be broken. If the World Government sought to destroy him, then he would make sure he had the strength to fight back—and, more importantly, to protect the life his mother had sacrificed everything to give him.