The battleship sped across the sea, dragging a long rope behind it.
Kuzan's eyes gleamed with excitement as he looked at the shadow hundreds of meters away. Admiration grew in his heart for the boy.
He knew all too well how insane and brutal Garp's training could be. It utterly ignored the limits of human endurance, a devilish regime that could literally torture someone to death.
Yet, those who survived it would become powerful beyond measure.
"Shiki the Golden Lion's been restless lately! And Roger's been quiet for a while, too," Garp muttered.
At the moment, however, he wasn't paying attention to the boy he had just taken under his wing. Instead, he was reading the intelligence report recently sent to him by Kong.
His brows furrowed. From the brief lines of text, he sensed something: an instinctive warning.
"Edd War Sea..." He murmured, narrowing his eyes.
It was the year 1497 of the Sea Circle Calendar, the golden age of the three legendary pirates: Roger, Whitebeard, and Shiki. The whole world was going mad for them. At the same time, countless infamous pirates, names that would echo through history, were already roaming the seas, wreaking havoc.
"Vice Admiral Garp, should we give chase?" Kuzan asked with a grin.
In his youth, Kuzan was full of energy and passion, the complete opposite of the lazy, indifferent man he would later become as an Admiral.
"Naturally!" Garp laughed heartily. "We'll head to the New World and rendezvous with Sengoku and Zephyr!"
He paused slightly, glancing at another report. It mentioned a distress signal sent from an island near the Sabaody Archipelago.
"For now, this one takes priority."
The battleship subtly changed course. Kōjin, still gripping the rope, was suddenly flung high into the air behind it and crashed back into the sea with a sharp "splash!"
The sensation was wild, like being dragged across the ground by a speeding car, except the pain was far worse.
Not only did he collide with the raging waves, but his body was also battered endlessly by the currents. Even worse, countless sea creatures began swarming around him.
Carnivorous ones.
"Damn it! That bastard doesn't consider the survival rate of this so-called 'training!'" Kōjin cursed through gritted teeth.
The answer was obvious. A second later, seawater flooded his mouth, cutting off any further complaints.
Two hours into the training, he was torn apart by piranhas and died again.
But moments later, he was revived.
The pain of being eaten alive was indescribable. His entire body was shredded and torn apart as if sliced by a thousand knives. Still, Kōjin fought back with all his strength against the ferocious fish.
Each piranha was over a foot long with huge heads and razor-sharp teeth capable of biting through steel. Gripping the rope with one hand, he wildly kicked and punched with his other limbs, fighting to survive.
Amidst this life-or-death struggle, he discovered another trait.
Each time he died, all his wounds healed completely. His strength, reflexes, and speed would also increase slightly.
In other words... He had the same natural talent as a Saiyan; each death and revival made him stronger.
As time went on, Kōjin had to battle not only the sea itself but also endless waves of piranhas. His death count skyrocketed. Within a short span, his system points rose to 60.
This meant that, from the moment Garp kicked him into the ocean, he had died ten times.
But those ten deaths brought him unimaginable growth.
Each time he was utterly exhausted or endured unbearable pain, he gained something sweet in return. He was getting stronger.
Even on the surface, the changes were visible: His muscles were sharper and more defined. His chest was full and solid. His abs were sculpted with clear lines that spoke of explosive power lying in wait.
"Death increases my system points and boosts my overall strength by a certain multiplier based on my current physical foundation. The stronger I am to begin with, the bigger the leap after each death. And self-inflicted death doesn't work. I can't farm points by committing suicide."
Nearly ten relentless hours had passed. Ten hours of drowning, tearing, fighting the tide, and bleeding in ways that wouldn't kill him but could break his mind.
During that time, Kōjin had begun to piece together the nature of his cheat ability. The conclusions were clear, at least for now.
His undying body meant he could never be permanently defeated. Each death was not a setback but a step forward.
By the time his system points reached 65, his physical strength had increased to the point that the roaring sea and swarm of piranhas no longer frightened him.
He wasn't interested in dying on purpose; there was no reward for it. The bite, the burning pain of being shredded alive by those sharp-toothed monsters was something he did not wish to experience again.
With fierce, precise strikes, his fists ripped through the water. Each blow hammered into the piranhas, scattering blood and scales through the churned waves. They fled under the onslaught, broken apart and drifting away in chunks.
Still gripping the rope, Kōjin pulled hard, kicked up off the surface, and skated lightly, barefoot, across the water. His shout rose toward the sky in a bright, defiant burst as he rode the cresting waves.
This was nothing like the desperate thrashing at the beginning of his training.
"Fantastic! You've adapted already!" Kuzan's voice rang out from the deck, his usual lazy tone cut through by genuine amazement.
Garp, who was half-asleep while standing upright, snorted himself awake, causing his signature snot bubble to pop.
He blinked twice, his eyes widening. "So soon?"
He knew this training. He had lived it. And he knew its cruelty. Waves could wear a man down, but the real killers were the predators lurking beneath them. He'd once trained someone to death this way, only to be roasted by Sengoku and Commander Kong afterward.
"This brat's talent surpasses even my expectations," Garp thought, feeling a spark of excitement in his chest.
He grabbed the rope and yanked it hard.
In an instant, the black-haired boy shot through the air like a cannonball. He landed on the deck with a solid thud, seawater spilling off him.
Kuzan's gaze sharpened. He could feel it: that subtle yet undeniable shift in presence.
"Stronger?" he muttered, bewildered. "How is that even possible?"
The thought unsettled him. Strength like this wasn't supposed to develop in hours.
"Vice Admiral Garp," Kōjin said in a low, unflinching voice, "this 'training' of yours is murder. I've drowned three times. I've been eaten alive by piranhas twelve times."
Immortality didn't blunt pain. It didn't erase memory. Each death clung to him like shadows that refused to fade.
Garp grinned wide and wolfishly.
"Hah! And yet you're still alive. Stronger, too."
There was no pity in his voice, only sharp approval.
"Looks like it's time to test that training idea I've always dreamed about," he said, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes.
Kōjin froze. He knew that look; he'd seen it on predators about to pounce.
And he knew without question... Whatever "dream training" Garp had in mind... it couldn't possibly be good.
(End of chapter.)
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