CHAPTER 1 — The Reincarnated Twin of Shells Town
I woke up to the sound of seagulls.
Not the peaceful, relaxing kind from beach videos on Earth—
No.
These ones were loud, aggressive, and annoyingly used to stealing food from distracted Marines.
"Ugh… too early…" I muttered as sunlight slapped me across the face.
I pushed myself up, long hair falling over my eyes. My body still ached—yesterday's training was intense, even by my standards—but I liked that pain.
It was proof I was getting stronger.
Stronger than this weak town.
Stronger than this weak family.
Stronger than this entire world.
Because my dream was simple:
Become the strongest man alive.
The kind of dream only a lunatic or training addict could chase.
Good thing I was both.
I walked toward the mirror hanging on my wall—a cheap one from the Marines' supply depot. The face staring back had long black hair, sharp eyes, and a height already surpassing most kids my age.
"Not bad for a reincarnated guy," I said.
Yes, reincarnated.
I remembered everything from my past life—
the boring job, the endless routine, the constant feeling of wasted potential.
Then truck-kun did his work, and the next thing I knew…
I was born as Damian Morgan,
twin brother of Helmeppo,
second son of Captain "Axe-Hand" Morgan.
Lucky?
Debatable.
Morgan's parenting style could be summed up as:
"Obey me, or I'll chop you."
Helmeppo took after him—
spoiled, arrogant, and allergic to effort.
Meanwhile, I went the opposite direction.
If I had a talent, it wasn't strength.
It was obsession.
I chased strength because boredom was my true enemy.
And in a world like One Piece, being weak meant living a boring, helpless life.
No thanks.
I tied my hair up lazily and grabbed my sandals.
I didn't bother with a shirt—training would sweat through it anyway.
---
Downstairs in the Morgan Household
The Morgan residence was big but ugly.
Everything inside screamed "I'm rich because my subordinates fear me."
I walked past servants who bowed nervously.
"Good morning, young master."
"Sup," I replied, waving lazily.
They looked relieved I wasn't like my brother.
I entered the dining hall to find Helmeppo already there, eating like some pampered prince. His hair was slicked, his nose was up, and he looked like someone who'd cry if his shoes got dirty.
"Took you long enough, Damian," he said. "Father was looking for you."
"For what?" I yawned. "Another lecture?"
"No idea. I didn't listen. But he said he hired someone for you."
Ah.
That would be the tutor.
I finished breakfast in a few bites and left before Helmeppo could insult me again for not caring about table manners.
---
Meeting the Tutor
Morgan was waiting in the courtyard, arms crossed, axe-hand gleaming in the sunlight.
He looked at me with his usual scowl.
"Damian. Your attitude annoys me," he said. "You're strong for your age, but your laziness is intolerable."
I gave a halfhearted shrug.
"That's just my charm, father."
He gritted his teeth.
"Watch your tongue."
Then he gestured toward an old man standing behind him.
White hair, wrinkled skin, muscular build even in old age.
He wore simple training clothes and carried a wooden staff.
"This is Master Retsu," Morgan said.
"A retired martial artist from the Marines. He will teach you the basics."
Retsu gave a slow bow.
"I'm not much, young master," he said with a calm voice. "But I can build a foundation strong enough for any weapon or style."
"Perfect," I said. "Teach me everything."
He raised an eyebrow.
"A bit eager, aren't we?"
"Nah," I said. "Just bored."
Morgan scoffed.
"I expect you to train every day. If you slack off—"
"I won't," I cut him off. "Strength is fun."
Morgan stared at me like I was a strange beast.
Then he smirked—rare, but it happened.
"Good. Don't embarrass me."
He walked off with his heavy boots shaking the ground.
Retsu turned to me.
"You look like trouble."
"I'm very cooperative," I lied.
He chuckled.
"Well, let's begin."
---
Training Begins
Retsu led me to the courtyard—wide, dusty, perfect for martial arts. He stood before me with his staff.
"We start with the Marine basics," he said. "Stances, footwork, strikes, blocks, conditioning."
"Got it."
"Show me your stance first."
I shifted into a simple fighting posture—one I stole from watching too much anime in my past life.
He circled me like a hawk.
"Good balance. Natural flexibility. But no discipline."
"Story of my life."
He jabbed my forehead with the staff.
"Discipline is everything."
Then the real training began.
Punches. Kicks. Footwork.
Block. Dodge. Breathe. Repeat.
Retsu wasn't strong like Garp, but he was skilled. Precise. Strict.
Every time I slacked even a little—
Smack.
His staff corrected me.
"You're drifting!"
"Fix your breathing!"
"Center your weight!"
"Again!"
"Again!"
"Again!"
By mid-afternoon, my muscles screamed.
But I didn't stop.
Pain meant progress.
Boredom meant death.
When training ended, Retsu looked at me with surprise.
"You trained harder than expected."
"Not really," I said, sitting down. "This was the warm-up."
He laughed.
"You're insane, boy."
I grinned.
"Now it's time for my real workout."
---
Saitama Training — Shells Town Version
I ran to the forest outside town.
Deep breath.
Time to grind.
• 100 push-ups
• 100 sit-ups
• 100 squats
• 10 km run
One Piece world or not, this routine worked.
But unlike Saitama, I wasn't losing my hair anytime soon.
Halfway through the run, I stopped by a cliff overlooking the sea.
Wind brushed my long hair.
Waves crashed below.
Seagulls circled above.
This world was vast.
Dangerous.
Full of monsters stronger than I could imagine.
But even so…
Even so…
"I'll reach the top," I whispered.
The strongest man alive.
Not for fame.
Not for glory.
But because the journey there…
looked really, really fun.
I turned back and continued running, a grin widening across my face.