The sun glinted off the calm ocean as the tiny ship wobbled along its merry, not-so-sturdy way toward Arlong Park. The crew was small, the ship was smaller, and the sanity on board was rapidly shrinking.
Mario was busy tightening his overalls for the fifth time that morning when Zorro stood up dramatically, his arms crossed and bandages covering half his body like some sort of fashionably suicidal mummy.
"Well, we have a couple days to kill, so let's start training, Mario," Zorro declared, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had never once stretched before doing 500 squats.
Mario, who had just sat down with a warm bowl of spaghetti (prepared with love and too much garlic by Usopp), paused mid-fork.
"For starters," Zorro continued, cracking his neck, "let's do 1000 push-ups, 1000 sit-ups, and 1000 squats."
The sound of forks dropping, spoons clattering, and one meatball tragically rolling off the edge of the ship filled the silence.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!" everyone shouted in perfect harmony — a barbershop quartet of disbelief.
Zorro blinked. "What?"
"You wanna work out with that body?" Mario pointed at the swordsman, who was wrapped in so many bandages he looked like a discount hospital burrito. "You got stitched up like a ravioli just yesterday! The fight with Mihawk was yesterday! Do you wanna die?"
"That's just light stretching," Zorro shrugged.
"Absolutely NOT!" Mario shouted, crossing his arms furious.
"I got ropes!" Usopp chirped helpfully. "We can tie him to the mast so he doesn't try anything dumb."
"Please, Brother Zorro," Johnny pleaded, tears welling in his eyes. "I don't want to see you go so young. Who will call me 'bro' and ignore me emotionally if you die?"
Zorro grumbled and slumped back down. "Ugh… Fine. There's not much room here anyway. Stupid floating dinghy…"
Everyone sighed in relief.
"But you will still do it, Mario," Zorro snapped, suddenly pointing a bandaged finger like he was casting a curse.
Mario nearly choked "Eh?!"
"You're not getting off easy," Zorro grinned. "1000 push-ups, 1000 sit-ups... and Usopp will sit on you for added weight. Then we'll see what's next. Go!"
Usopp, who had just taken a bite of a second breakfast burrito, looked down at his belly. "Wait, am I the dumbbell now?!"
"Sit. On. Him."
"But I just ate!"
Johnny pulled out a harmonica from somewhere and started playing the saddest, most heroic training montage music ever heard on a rowboat. Mario groaned and dropped down onto the deck, starting his first push-up.
"One…"
Usopp climbed awkwardly onto Mario's back like a crab trying to ride a donkey.
"Two…"
CRACK!
A floorboard gave out beneath them.
"WE'RE TAKING ON WATER!" screamed Johnny, tossing the harmonica into the sea and grabbing a bucket.
"THAT WASN'T ME, THAT WAS THE SHIP!" Usopp cried defensively, flailing his spaghetti limbs.
Zorro just sighed, leaning against the mast, eyes half-closed.
"Day one of training: destroyed one floorboard, offended physics, and confirmed Mario's core strength is 'questionable'."
Mario, red-faced and panting, gasped, "Why… does your idea of a warm-up feel like… a vendetta?!"
Zorro smirked. "Because pain builds character."
"Pain builds trauma!" Mario barked.
And so the day went on — push-ups, yelling, rope arguments, accidental fishing (Johnny caught a boot), and Usopp's ongoing existential crisis about being labeled "added weight." The ship may not have been strong, the crew may not have been stable, but one thing was certain: Arlong had no idea what kind of madness was sailing straight at him.
And Mario still had 997 push-ups to go.
The sun beat down on the deck as the small ship sailed onward through the Grand Line. Zorro, after reluctantly finishing his own "training" session, slumped against the mast, his body sprawled out in a way that suggested the man had given up on the concept of personal dignity for the day. He grumbled something about wanting to nap and being "too hurt" for this, but Mario wasn't listening — he was too busy reflecting on his workout.
It hadn't been that bad. Honestly, he could feel the difference already. His lean, toned muscles gleamed in the sunlight, his chest rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breath. Mario wasn't some hulking bodybuilder, but the guy was fit — strong, agile, quick on his feet. Maybe he could handle himself in a fight, and after the ridiculous workout Zorro had thrown at him, he felt even more confident in his abilities.
He wiped the sweat off his brow and stretched his arms overhead, feeling the satisfying pull of his muscles.
The crew was scattered around the deck, all lazily trying to get some rest or food. Usopp was pulling out what looked like yet another weird contraption that he probably wanted to test out (probably involving explosions), and Johnny was sitting at the bow, idly staring at the sea like he was trying to commune with it.
Mario, though, was in a zone. After glancing around and making sure no one was going to interrupt him, he pulled out the CP-0 training manual. He'd been skimming through it since he'd found it in the back of the ship, and although some parts were incomprehensible, there were a few sections that really caught his eye.
The fighting techniques, in particular, were what interested him most. He wasn't here to start his own OP agency, but damn, if there wasn't some serious martial arts knowledge packed in these pages.
Fist fighting... grappling... kicking techniques... It was a treasure trove of useful information, especially considering his new body. With all his hard work and training, he was already moving faster than he anticipated.These techniques. They could take his combat skills to another level. There was one technique — the Seiken — that was all about using your body's natural rhythm and the force of a punch, making it feel as if a tsunami was coming from your fist. Mario wondered how that would stack up against someone like Arlong.
Unfortunately, there was one glaring issue.
"Haki," Mario muttered, his fingers tracing the words on the page that referenced it. The manual barely touched on it. There was nothing about how to train it, nothing about when to start learning it. It was as if the entire concept was an afterthought.
The CP-0 manual was practically a bible for Rokushiki—the World Government's secret martial arts style—but when it came to Haki? The book seemed to sweep it under the rug. Maybe it was classified, or maybe the CP-0 had just decided it was too "advanced" for basic operatives to know about.
Mario sighed, turning the page. Well, no sense in crying over it. Haki was still an enigma to him, something that seemed to come from the very soul, but there wasn't anything concrete he could do about it just yet. He was more than happy to focus on what he could control right now. If he could improve his hand-to-hand combat, his grappling, and his overall athleticism, he'd be one step closer to being a serious asset to the crew.
"Hmm," he muttered to himself. "At least there's that meditation technique. Maybe it'll help me focus... get me closer to understanding how to unlock... 'Haki'."
The meditation technique was actually one of the more accessible parts of the manual. It was a mental exercise to focus the mind and control the flow of energy throughout the body. It seemed like something a normal person could try without having to be born with some "mystical power" like Luffy. It was all about concentration, inner peace, and channeling one's willpower.
Mario closed his eyes and tried to get into the groove of it. He sat down on the deck, cross-legged, like the book instructed, and began to take slow, steady breaths. He wasn't expecting to unlock any hidden power like a magic button, but just feeling his spiritual power was already a big plus.
As he focused on his breathing, he felt his mind quieting down, a sense of calm washing over him. It was like the noise and chaos of the ship, the World Government, even the thought of Arlong Park and Nami's plight, were all drifting away. In this moment, it was just him, his body, and his breath.
Then... the faintest pulse of something in his chest.
He felt it on the Baretie. But there it was again—another pulse, this time stronger. It felt like something was stirring inside him, like a sleeping beast that wanted to awaken. He focused again, this time even more intent on that pulse. The manual hadn't said anything detailed about this. He hadn't even moved an inch, but somehow, it felt like he was touching a deeper part of himself that had always been there, waiting.
"Yo, Mario, you alive over there?" Usopp called from the side.
Mario blinked and snapped out of it. "Yeah, yeah, just... stretching." He gave a nervous laugh and quickly closed the manual, shoving it into his bag.
Haki? Was it possible? Was he really starting to feel it?
Mario didn't know, but the pulse he felt in his chest made him think that maybe—just maybe—he was on the right track.
The rest of the crew was still snoozing or doing whatever the hell they did on their break, but Mario couldn't shake the feeling that his body and mind were already starting to connect on a level that had always been just out of reach.
He had to learn more, but for now, he'd take whatever small victories he could.
And maybe, just maybe, Zorro wasn't the only one on this ship with hidden potential.