As the days passed, Jack's routine only grew harsher. He pushed himself beyond normal human limits, increasing the intensity of every exercise. Sleep became unnecessary; the Hercules Method had strengthened his body to the point where he could remain awake for days without fatigue. Every extra hour gained was devoted to training, sharpening his swordsmanship and fortifying his body. His strikes grew heavier, his movements faster, and his control over the blade more refined.
But Jack wasn't satisfied with merely copying Rocks's brutal sword style. He sought to go further—to replicate the legendary flying slash that only true masters of the sword could unleash. For this, he carved a sturdy wooden blade from a fallen tree and began a new exercise. Planting himself in front of a thick trunk, he struck the same spot over and over again, pouring his focus into precision rather than power.
At first, his blows were scattered, each slash landing slightly off from the last. The trunk bore a mess of cuts, no two lines perfectly aligned. But Jack did not waver. With endless repetition, his strikes began to converge, the gaps between them narrowing. He was also struggling to control his strength, as it was rapidly growing, with the help of the Hercules Method, as well as his training. Soon, the cuts overlapped—first twice in a row, then three times. Each success sent a surge of excitement through him, fueling his determination. The day he could land every strike on the same exact point would be the day he truly stepped onto the path of a swordsman.
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One day, while training deep in the forest, Jack suddenly heard a faint thud echoing in the distance. It wasn't loud—barely noticeable to an ordinary person—but Jack's sharpened senses, honed far beyond those of a normal child, picked it up instantly. His body stiffened for a moment, instincts urging him to investigate. With practiced strides, he moved through the undergrowth, carefully parting branches as he followed the direction of the sound.
When he arrived, he found a boy lying unconscious at the base of a tree. The boy appeared to be roughly his age, maybe slightly older, with a thin frame and dirt-stained clothes. Jack crouched down, noting the shallow rise and fall of his chest. He was still breathing, but leaving him alone here was dangerous. This forest was home to wild animals that would not hesitate to prey on the weak.
Jack didn't think twice. He lifted the boy onto his back, adjusting his weight before sprinting toward his home. The run was long, but Jack's endurance, built from constant training, carried him through. Once inside his small wooden cabin, he gently placed the boy on his own bed, arranging him carefully so he could rest comfortably.
Satisfied, Jack sat cross-legged nearby and closed his eyes, slipping into meditation. Patience was something he had learned to master. The boy would wake when he was ready.
An hour passed before the boy finally stirred. His eyelids fluttered open, and confusion immediately clouded his face. He scanned the unfamiliar room, panic rising until it erupted in a sharp cry.
"WHERE AM I?!" he shouted, scrambling upright. His eyes darted frantically until they locked onto Jack, who sat calmly with his eyes still closed.
"You're in my house," Jack said evenly, opening one eye to glance at him. "I found you unconscious in the forest. With all the wild animals roaming there, leaving you behind would have been reckless."
The boy blinked, startled by the calmness of the answer. It was the first time in his life that someone had done something selfless for him.
"Do you… live here alone?" he asked hesitantly. From Jack's tall stature and developed muscles, he assumed the boy had to be older, perhaps a teenager.
"Yes," Jack replied. This time, he opened both eyes, meeting the boy's gaze directly. "I've been on my own for a while now."
The boy's frown deepened. "…What's your name?"
"Jack," he answered simply. "And yours?"
"Aramaki."
The name struck Jack like lightning. His thoughts raced back to the memories of his past life—memories of the world of One Piece. Aramaki. Green Bull. The Forest-Forest Fruit user, infamous in the community for becoming a meme after being floored by Shanks' overwhelming "Wi-Fi Haki." Jack's eyes narrowed slightly, though he masked his recognition quickly.
"How old are you, Aramaki?" Jack asked.
"I'm seven. Why?"
Jack exhaled softly. "That makes me two years younger. I'm five."
The revelation made Aramaki's jaw drop. "You're five?! But you look older than me! How are you so big?"
"I eat as much as I can, and I train every day," Jack explained with a shrug. "That's what I've always been told—hard work and food make you strong." He deliberately avoided the stranger truths behind his growth.
"I see…" Aramaki muttered, lowering his eyes. "I've never eaten until I was full. Not once. No wonder I haven't grown. You're lucky—someone must be feeding you."
Jack's voice hardened. "I don't have anyone. I survive on my own. I train because if I don't, I won't eat. Strength is the only thing that keeps me alive."
Aramaki studied him quietly. His whole life, he had sought out the strong to admire. He once thought the king of his land was the mightiest person alive—until the day he saw that very king bow before a mysterious figure wearing a fishbowl-shaped helmet. That day, his admiration shifted.
Now, looking at Jack—a boy two years younger, yet already strong enough to fight beasts that even palace soldiers struggled against—Aramaki felt the same stirring of respect.
"You're strong, aren't you?" he asked at last, his voice quieter, almost reverent.
Jack gave a small, calm smile. "I'd like to think so."
The two continued to talk, their initial tension slowly fading as the minutes passed. Aramaki was the first to open up, his voice hesitant at first but gradually steadier as he spoke. He told Jack that he had grown up in an orphanage, abandoned before he could even remember his parents' faces. Life there should have been safe, but the caretaker who was supposed to protect him had instead treated him cruelly. By the time he was four years old, the abuse became unbearable, and he fled into the streets with nothing but the clothes on his back.
Since then, survival had been his only goal. Aramaki admitted to stealing scraps of food, looting from stalls when the guards weren't looking, and fighting other children for a single piece of bread. Even then, he rarely ate his fill. His tone was matter-of-fact, but Jack could see the bitterness in his eyes.
When it was his turn, Jack shared his own story. He told Aramaki he had been born without ever knowing his father, and that his mother had passed away months ago, leaving him utterly alone. From that moment forward, he had relied solely on his own strength and training to keep going.
As their stories unfolded, a quiet understanding grew between them. Both had been abandoned by the world in their own ways, yet both had endured. That shared hardship created an unspoken bond, something rare for children of their circumstances.
Eventually, Jack broke the silence. "You don't have to go back to the streets," he said firmly. "Stay here. Live with me."
Aramaki's eyes widened at the offer. For a moment, he seemed unsure whether Jack was serious, but the earnestness in his expression left no doubt. Slowly, Aramaki nodded. "Alright. But… I can't just take without giving anything back. If I live here, I want to contribute."
He clenched his fists, determination flickering in his tired eyes. "Teach me. Teach me how to become stronger, Jack."