The sun was low, painting Dawn Island in bruised shades of orange and purple. The village streets smelled of salt, smoke, and the lingering tang of the sea.
I walked beside Ace and Sabo, three shadows moving silently through the wooden paths. The villagers stared—mostly children and old men—but no one dared approach. Even at six years old, my presence carried weight.
The bar wasn't large. Just a few wooden tables, a counter worn smooth by years of hands, and the faint odor of fermented fish and stale ale. But it served its purpose. And I understood its secondary use immediately.
SITTING AMONG HUMANS
Ace and Sabo laughed freely as they pushed open the door. They were children in body, yes, but strong ones. Reckless, hot-blooded. I had cataloged their energy long ago.
I followed without hesitation. Three swords strapped to my back, one in each hand resting lightly on the table edge, ready. My extra arm had folded neatly along my side.
Every movement was deliberate, controlled.
The barkeep raised an eyebrow. "You three again?"
Ace grinned. "We're just here to drink, old man. Don't look so shocked."
I didn't speak. I didn't need to. Sabo grinned faintly, slipping a small cup toward me.
I lifted it, tasting it. Strong. Bitter. Warm. The effect was immediate, but not intoxicating. My body metabolized it quickly—heating my blood, sharpening senses, increasing reaction speed.
TRAINING IN THE BAR
While Ace and Sabo chattered, I began to train.
The first swing was silent. One sword in my
right hand, striking an empty bottle against the wall. Perfect arc, perfect force. The bottle shattered cleanly, leaving shards carefully aligned on the floor. Observation Haki flared faintly, detecting every fragment's trajectory before it fell.
Second swing: left hand. Same precision, same control.
Third swing: the extra arm, the newest addition. The blade moved like an extension of my will. I adjusted mid-swing, balancing the three attacks perfectly. Each sword struck the remnants of glass, empty mugs, and discarded crates.
No noise. No warning. Only efficiency.
By the time Ace looked over, the bar had
become a small obstacle course of shattered wood and glass, each piece perfectly cut by the three blades.
"You're insane," Ace said, wide-eyed, grinning. "How the hell do you even move like that?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't waste the moment.
I struck again, faster, sharper, letting the swords hum through the air, letting the Haki pulse faintly around each movement.
Sabo watched, silent. His eyes were calculating, noting every angle, every swing, every subtle shift of weight.
OBSERVATION HAKI ADVANCE
By the time the bar emptied of villagers' attention, my Observation Haki had sharpened again. Not just anticipating movement—it was predicting intent. A hand
lifted, a foot shifted, a breath drawn—I knew before it happened.
Armament Haki was steady now, coating the swords with faint hardness, enhancing each strike without effort. Conqueror's Haki remained mid-level, pulsing faintly, forcing
weaker nerves to shiver in the room.
Every swing was not only a test of strength but of perception, of will, of instinct.
COLD AND CALCULATED
Ace and Sabo drank and laughed. I drank and trained. No words. No unnecessary
motion. Efficiency dictated my movements. I did not rest until I had executed every angle, every arc, every strike possible in the space.
By nightfall, the bar was a lattice of shattered wood, glass, and metal scraps. My three swords gleamed faintly under the dim lanterns, the steel singing softly as I adjusted their edges with the flat of my blade.
Ace and Sabo leaned back, exhausted from watching, but exhilarated.
"
You never stop, do you?" Ace finally asked.
I looked at them. Silent. Cold. Ruthless.
I would not stop.
Not today.
Not ever.