"Shimotsuki Village..."
Nao smacked his fist into his palm in sudden realization.
"So that's it… I found the culprit!"
No wonder.
No wonder his sense of direction, which was usually excellent, had suddenly failed him this time — and failed so spectacularly, too.
Obviously, this wasn't his fault. It must have been the effect of a certain green-haired swordsman's debuff!
"Come to think of it, Zoro should be getting older by now…"
Rubbing the stubble on his chin, Nao pondered for a moment before deciding,
"Hmm, well, I've got plenty of time to spare anyway…"
Originally, he'd only planned to stop by and ask a villager for directions.
But since he'd accidentally stumbled into Shimotsuki Village, it would be a shame not to drop by Isshin Dojo. He might as well take a look at the boy who would one day become the World's Greatest Swordsman—
Ah, correction: the World's Greatest Directional Disaster—
and see how far he had come so far!
...
It was dusk. The sun was setting in the west.
From the distant village rose wisps of cooking smoke, and the faint calls of parents urging their children home for dinner drifted through the air.
At Isshin Dojo, the day's swordsmanship lessons had already ended, and the children had all gone home.
But for a certain green-haired boy, this was when his real training began.
He hurriedly wolfed down a few steamed buns — his entire dinner in just a few bites — then grabbed his bamboo sword and rushed toward the dojo's now-empty training yard.
The yard was simple, almost crude. A few wooden stakes stood silently in place, covered in layer upon layer of nicks and cuts — each one a mark of sweat and effort, glimmering faintly in the twilight.
"Alright, time to start!"
The boy clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, psyching himself up.
"Today, I'll train until at least ten o'clock! Tomorrow is my 2,201st match with Kuina!"
"I've lost to her 2,200 times already!"
"This time, I'll win! I'll make her taste defeat for once!"
Fueled by the frustration and unwillingness built up over years of constant losses, the green-haired boy steadied his stance.
He gripped his bamboo sword tightly in both hands, holding it horizontally before him.
"Haah!"
Taking a deep breath, he let out a low shout and slashed downward with explosive speed — the bamboo blade cutting through the air and striking the wooden post with a sharp crack!
The crisp, bean-like sound echoed through the small training yard. Another deep cut appeared across the wooden stake's surface.
Zoro's expression didn't change. He drew back the sword and swung again — and again — with intense focus.
Slash, cut, thrust, stab, block, lift, sweep!
Strike after strike flowed seamlessly together. The boy's gaze never wavered from the post, his movements fierce and wild, his body coiled like a beast ready to pounce.
In that moment, no one would think this was just a nine-year-old child.
He was a true swordsman, a warrior to be respected.
The wind from his swings whistled sharply, sweat poured like rain, and time quietly slipped away.
As the sun sank below the horizon, the dojo courtyard grew darker and darker until it was swallowed by night.
At last, the green-haired boy stopped, slumping to the ground, utterly exhausted.
His face was pale, sweat dripping from his temples in thick beads, his breathing ragged and heavy.
After resting for a good five or six minutes, he finally pushed himself back up and exhaled deeply, picking up his bamboo sword once more.
"Zzzing—"
It was the sound of a sword being sheathed.
Of course, at Isshin Dojo, the children weren't allowed to use real blades — to prevent anyone from getting seriously hurt during sparring. So the master, Koushirou, only permitted them to train with bamboo swords.
And since bamboo swords didn't have scabbards… naturally, they couldn't make that shiiing sound.
So this "zzz-ing" was actually a sound effect Zoro made himself as he pretended to sheath the sword.
Because that's just how men are — no matter how old they are, when they're alone, they can't help doing a few ridiculously dramatic moves for no reason at all.
Of course the green-haired boy wouldn't admit that — he firmly believed it was all part of creating a swordsman's unique ritual to end the day's training.
Every single day had been like that; since no one was watching, the boy didn't feel embarrassed at all.
Too bad today, he'd miscalculated a little.
"Yoho — not a bad imitation, kid."
A voice came from above. Zoro jumped, spun around, and saw a tall man lying on the roof a few meters away, legs crossed, lazily yawning.
Wow… this guy's really handsome!
Even though he was a boy and the newcomer was a man, Zoro froze for a moment — his eyes completely drawn to the remarkably beautiful face.
The next instant he snapped back, flushed with embarrassment and anger. He drew his bamboo sword and pointed it at the rooftop, shouting:
"Who are you?! Old man! It's scary to be squatting on the wall and suddenly speak like that at night, you know?!"
The newcomer was, of course, Nao.
He looked at the little spiky-haired Zoro and felt the scene seemed oddly familiar, but didn't think too hard about it. Scratching his hair, he laughed heartily:
"Ah — sorry, kid. I've actually been here for a while, just watching. You were practicing swordsmanship and I didn't want to interrupt. I didn't expect you to be so focused you'd get startled — my bad."
"Not bad attitude…"
Seeing Nao's friendly manner, Zoro's anger immediately vanished. He waved grandly.
"Hmph — fine, I'll forgive you this time."
He grabbed a nearby cup, guzzled it down, wiped the water from his mouth, and, spotting that Nao hadn't left yet, grew suspicious and asked:
"Hey! You're unfamiliar — not from Shimotsuki Village, right? Coming here at night — you're not planning to take advantage of the dojo being empty or do something bad, are you?"
A thief? A robber? The more he thought about it, the more possible it seemed. With a swift motion he drew his bamboo sword again and growled fiercely:
"Listen! I warn you — drop that idea. Don't try anything! Even if the master's not here, I'm strong too! With me around, you'll never succeed!"
What an idiot…
If some real crook showed up, does he really need to emphasize his master's absence?
"What are you thinking?"
Nao laughed, casually knocking aside the thrusting bamboo sword. "I'm a swordsman too. I just happened to pass by — I heard Shimotsuki Village's Isshin Dojo is famous and that the master is skilled, so I was curious and wanted to take a look."
"You're a swordsman too?"
Zoro froze, eyeing Nao up and down with growing suspicion.
"You're lying! If you're really a swordsman, where's your sword? A true swordsman never leaves his blade — even when eating or sleeping! I bet you're just— huh? Huh?! What the—?!"
Before he could finish, Zoro's eyes nearly popped out of his head — the man on the wall was grinning as he pulled two beautiful, finely crafted swords straight out from his chest.
"See?" Nao pointed to the twin blades, shrugging casually. "Aren't I carrying them?"
"…"
The green-haired boy was utterly dumbfounded.
"So you really are a swordsman..."
It took him a long moment to come back to his senses. Then, like a certain rubber-brained Monkey, he started circling Nao, curiosity blazing in his eyes.
"But wait, that's weird! Uncle, where did you even pull those swords from? It was like a magic trick! That move was so cool — teach me! I wanna learn that too!"
"I can't teach you that one," Nao said, shaking his head and sheathing both swords. "But I can teach you something else — like that sword technique you were just practicing."
"Me?" Zoro blinked.
"Yeah. I could tell — you've got a lot of fire in you when you train. You're pushing yourself hard, trying to prove something."
Nao looked kindly at the spiky-headed boy and continued, smiling gently.
"Your swordsmanship fundamentals are solid, and your training path isn't wrong — but there are plenty of small details that could be improved. For example…"
He'd been training in swordsmanship since childhood — and after more than twenty years, now stood at the very pinnacle of the sword world.
His eye for sword technique was razor-sharp; the moment he'd watched Zoro practice, he'd already spotted over a dozen small flaws in his form and approach.
Nao pointed them out one by one, explaining clearly and precisely, from basic posture to flow of movement — each word striking straight at the heart of the matter.
At first, Zoro didn't take him too seriously. After all, his sword training followed the dojo's teachings to the letter.
This guy looked young — even if he was a swordsman, could he really be stronger than Master Koushirou?
But as Nao went on, Zoro's expression began to change. His hand rose to his chin, thoughtful, eyes narrowing in concentration. He leaned in, afraid to miss even a single detail.
When Nao explained the key points, Zoro's eyes suddenly lit up — a flash of pure realization and enlightenment washing over him.
Unable to hold back his excitement, he grabbed his bamboo sword and began running through the forms exactly as Nao had shown him.
"Strike — never hesitate! Be fast, precise, and fierce!"
"This combo—so it can be broken apart and used flexibly like that?!"
"And this—yeah! If I parry this way, I can neutralize the attack completely and counter immediately—find an opening and win in one strike!"
The boy's movements grew sharper, his focus deeper — training with wild enthusiasm, completely immersed.
He forgot the time, forgot his exhaustion, forgot everything — even the man quietly watching from the side.
What a sword fanatic this brat is…
Nao stood silently nearby, eyes warm with admiration.
Only nine years old, yet with such perception and instinct — even compared to his younger self, Zoro might have been ahead.
Truly worthy of being, in another timeline, the man destined to walk furthest down the path of the sword.
Half an hour passed before Zoro's body finally reached its limit. His joints screamed in pain, his muscles trembled — he exhaled a long breath and reluctantly stopped.
"That was amazing!"
Still buzzing with excitement, he slid the bamboo sword back at his waist, clenched his fists, and laughed brightly.
"It's incredible! With this, I can totally beat her tomorrow! I will! Absolutely!"
"Thank you so much, Uncle!"
Overcome with emotion, he turned and leapt onto the wall, giving Nao a huge, unexpected hug. A brilliant grin spread across his sweaty face.
"I take back what I said — you're not just a swordsman, you're an amazing and really strong swordsman!"
…Maybe find another way to show your gratitude next time?
Being hugged by a sweat-drenched kid like that isn't exactly pleasant.
Nao couldn't help but laugh softly. He didn't push Zoro away, but the green-haired boy suddenly realized what he was doing and, a little embarrassed, loosened his grip, scratching his head.
"Your guidance—I'll remember it for the rest of my life! It's just… it's a shame I already have a teacher. Otherwise, I'd really want to become your student and learn swordsmanship from you, hehe…"
"It's not like a person can only have one teacher in their life."
Nao teased him with a grin. "Tell you what, kid—why not stop staying at Isshin Dojo? How about you become my disciple instead, and come with me to sail the seas?"
"No way!"
Zoro jumped, shaking his head decisively. His face was firm with conviction.
"A student is bound to his master for life! Koushirou-sensei took me in and taught me with all his heart. No matter what happens, for me, there will only ever be one teacher in this lifetime—and that's him!"
And yet later, for the sake of your friends, you still knelt in that castle on Kuraigana Island…
Looking at the boy's serious expression, Nao couldn't help but feel a bit sentimental. He smiled and patted Zoro on the shoulder.
"Relax, I was just joking. Your teacher, Koushirou, is a remarkable swordsman himself. Being able to train under him is already a precious opportunity."
And he meant every word of it.
Although, as Zoro had said, Koushirou was currently away from the dojo on some business, Nao could clearly sense—thanks to his powerful Observation Haki—that at the northernmost edge of Shimotsuki Village, there was an extraordinarily strong presence.
A presence so powerful it nearly rivaled that of a Yonko—enough to make even Nao raise an eyebrow in surprise.
In his previous life, many "One Piece theorists" had theorized that Koushirou was a reclusive master from Wano, a swordsman whose skill could rival even Mihawk.
Nao had always dismissed that idea. He thought, sure, Koushirou might be the strongest in the East Blue, but in the New World? He'd be nothing special.
And later, when the manga revealed that Koushirou had actually been born and raised in the East Blue, with only his father hailing from Wano—and no real bloodline connection beyond that—Nao had felt his view confirmed.
But now…
It seemed both he and those "One Piece theorists" had underestimated the man. Koushirou's true strength far surpassed even their wildest assumptions.
For the first time, Nao felt a spark of genuine curiosity.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, debating whether to wait here until Koushirou returned—or to go seek him out directly.
After all, it wasn't every day you encountered another swordsman of your own level.
And to not cross blades, just once, would be far too great a waste.
...
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