Location: Aosagi Island (East Blue) Year: 1520 (2 Years Before Luffy Sets Sail)
The bamboo sword—a shinai—was a relic of a past life. Here, on Aosagi Island, Hiroki Rintarō held a weighted bokken carved from ironwood. It was heavy, far heavier than the carbon-fiber equipment of his previous existence, but the mechanics remained the same.
Inhale. Brace the core. Snap the wrists.
Hiroki stood on the precipice of a jagged cliff overlooking the calm azure of the East Blue. The morning sun was just cresting the horizon, painting the water in hues of gold and violet. He was sixteen years old in this body, though his mind carried the discipline of a man twice that age—a man who had once been a national kendo champion before the accident.
He swung the bokken. A vertical slash. Perfect form.
One.
He swung again.
Two.
Reincarnation was a strange affair. There were no gods speaking in riddles, no grand mission given by a divine entity. He had simply opened his eyes to a new ceiling, a new mother, and a world where physics played by looser rules. He had discovered his "gift" three years ago. It wasn't magic fruit or terrifying strength, but potential.
As sweat dripped from his brow, a translucent blue pane flickered into existence in his peripheral vision. It was unobtrusive, visible only to him.
[Training Complete: 1,000 Vertical Suburi][Acceleration Boost Active]
[Status Window - Hiroki Rintarō]
Strength: 12.4 → 12.6 / 100Speed: 14.2 / 100Endurance: 11.8 → 11.9 / 100Reflex: 15.5 / 100Swordsmanship: 18.0 → 18.2 / 100Tactical Insight: 14.0 / 100Observation Haki: 0.0%Armament Haki: 0.0%Conqueror's Haki: 0.0%
Hiroki exhaled slowly, lowering the bokken. The growth was consistent. In his old world, muscle memory took months to solidify. Here, with focus, he could feel his fibers knitting together stronger after a single intense session.
"Hiroki!"
The voice came from the village path. It was old man Gengo, the village chief. "The fishing boats... they spotted a flag. Black skull, crossed cutlasses."
Hiroki's eyes narrowed. Pirates.
Aosagi was a peaceful rock. It had no gold mines, no Marine base, and produced nothing but salted fish. But in this era—the chaotic years following Roger's execution—pirates didn't need a reason. They just needed victims.
Hiroki didn't run. He walked to the leather sheath resting against a pine tree. Inside was a katana—not a Meito, not a named blade of legend, just a decent steel sword he had bought from a traveling merchant two years ago.
He tied the sageo cord to his obi. The weight of real steel was different from the bokken. It carried a promise of violence that made his stomach turn, even now.
"Get the women and children to the storm cellar, Gengo," Hiroki said, his voice level. "I'll meet them at the docks."
The "Iron-Tooth Pirates" were exactly what Hiroki expected. Dirty, loud, and disorganized. There were about fifteen of them, laughing as they kicked over crates of fish on the wooden pier.
Hiroki stood at the end of the walkway, his left thumb resting on the tsuba of his katana. He wore a simple dark blue kimono with the sleeves tied back.
"Oi! Look at the samurai-wannabe!" a pirate with a missing ear jeered, brandishing a rusty cutlass. "Get lost, kid, before we sell you to a circus!"
Hiroki didn't speak. His eyes scanned the group.
[Enhanced Battle Sense Active]
Time seemed to dilate slightly. He didn't see people; he saw vectors of movement. The man with the missing ear favored his right leg—an old injury? The big one in the back was holding a flintlock pistol, but the hammer wasn't cocked. Their stances were open, sloppy, drunk on cheap rum and false confidence.
"Leave," Hiroki said. It wasn't a threat; it was an advisory.
The pirates roared with laughter. The earless man charged, raising his cutlass high—a classic, foolish telegraphed swing.
Hiroki didn't unsheathe yet. He stepped inside the man's guard, moving faster than an untrained eye could track.
Reflex Check: Pass.
He slammed the hilt of his katana into the pirate's solar plexus. The man folded like wet cardboard, retching as he hit the deck.
"Get him!" the Captain screamed. He was a large man with iron caps on his teeth, drawing a heavy axe.
Four of them rushed him.
Hiroki's thumb clicked the sword loose. Battōjutsu.
SLA-CLACK.
The sound was singular, sharp. Hiroki drew, parried a sword thrust, and struck a pirate across the temple with the flat of the blade, sending him tumbling into the water.
Swordsmanship check: Trajectory adjusted.
He spun, dodging a clumsy spear thrust. He didn't want to kill. In the dojo, the goal was the point, the perfect strike. Death was an abstract concept.
But then, the gunshot rang out.
Hiroki felt the wind of the ball pass his ear. He looked back. The pirate with the flintlock had fired, missing him but shattering a crate near where a village girl had been hiding, watching.
A cold clarity washed over Hiroki. The dojo was gone. This was the East Blue. Mercy to the wolf was death to the sheep.
The Captain swung his axe. "Die, brat!"
Hiroki stepped forward. He didn't dodge away; he moved into the danger zone, entering the ma-ai (engagement distance).
Kendo Form: Men.
But he didn't aim for the bamboo armor.
The blade flashed. A crimson line appeared across the Captain's chest. It wasn't a deep cut—Hiroki had hesitated at the last micro-second—but it was enough to spray blood across the wood.
The Captain stumbled back, shock replacing anger. "You... you cut me!"
Hiroki flicked the blade to the side, shaking off the blood. Chiburi. The motion was elegant, practiced, and terrifyingly calm.
"Next time," Hiroki said, his voice devoid of emotion, though his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, "I aim for the neck."
The pirates scrambled. They dragged their bleeding Captain and the unconscious crewmates back to their skiff. They were bullies, not warriors. Faced with disciplined violence, they crumbled.
Sunset found Hiroki back on the cliff.
He hadn't killed anyone. Not today. But he had felt the resistance of skin against his edge. He looked at his hands. They weren't shaking, which frightened him more than if they were.
The interface shimmered into view again.
[Combat Encounter Resolved][Experience Gained: High Stress Combat]
[Status Window Update]
Strength: 12.6 → 12.9 / 100Reflex: 15.5 → 16.1 / 100 (Significant Boost)Swordsmanship: 18.2 → 18.8 / 100Tactical Insight: 14.0 → 14.5 / 100Observation Haki: 0.0% → 0.1% (Awakening Imminent)
Hiroki stared at the last line. 0.1%.
During the fight, when the gun went off... he hadn't heard the hammer click. He had just felt a spike of cold at the back of his neck a fraction of a second before the sound.
"Observation," he whispered.
He looked out at the vast ocean. Somewhere out there, the world was turning. In two years, a boy in a straw hat would set sail. The gears of fate were grinding.
If he wanted to protect anything—if he wanted to survive the Grand Line—he couldn't just be a prodigy. He had to be a monster.
He sheathed his sword, the click echoing in the twilight.
"I need a better sword," he muttered, turning back toward the village.
[Chapter 1 End]