Jiro didn't explain Armament Haki right away.
That alone told Ryu it was different.
They stood on the shoreline as they had so many times before, the tide brushing against their boots. The morning air was cool, the kind that carried sound farther than it should.
Jiro held his staff loosely in one hand.
"Observation lets you know something is coming," he said. "Armament decides whether you survive it."
Kenji frowned. "That's it?"
Jiro turned and struck him.
Not hard.
Not fast.
Just enough.
Kenji raised his arm on instinct. The blow landed cleanly, sending a jolt through his bones that made his teeth click.
He staggered back, eyes wide.
"That was—"
"Pain," Jiro finished. "And you felt it because you accepted it."
Kenji rubbed his arm. "I didn't accept anything."
"You did," Jiro said calmly. "You braced. You endured. You believed your body could take it."
Ryu watched closely.
"And that," Jiro continued, "is the foundation of Armament."
He planted the staff into the sand.
"Observation listens," he said. "Armament asserts."
Kenji shifted his stance. "So how do we use it?"
Jiro looked at him.
"You don't use it," he said. "You become it."
---
The training that followed was brutal.
Not in the way Ryu expected.
There were no long explanations. No demonstrations. No dramatic exercises.
Instead, Jiro made them endure.
He had Kenji strike a wooden post again and again until his knuckles split. Then told him to keep going.
Not faster.
Not harder.
Just… without hesitation.
"Stop pulling away," Jiro said. "You're afraid of hurting yourself."
Kenji gritted his teeth. "I *am* hurting myself."
"Yes," Jiro replied. "And you're still standing."
Ryu trained differently.
Jiro had him stand still while strikes came close — not touching, not hitting — forcing him to feel the intent behind them.
"Your problem," Jiro told him, "is that you understand too much."
Ryu frowned. "That's a problem?"
"Yes," Jiro said. "You hesitate because you see everything."
Ryu tried to argue.
Then a strike clipped his shoulder and sent him sprawling.
Jiro didn't help him up.
"Armament is not about seeing," Jiro said. "It's about deciding."
The days blurred.
Kenji's hands hardened.
Ryu's awareness sharpened.
Neither felt like progress.
---
It happened without ceremony.
No announcement.
No surge of power.
Just a moment.
Kenji was striking the post again, sweat dripping down his face, breath ragged. His knuckles were raw, but he didn't stop.
"Again," Jiro said.
Kenji swung.
This time, the impact sounded different.
Not dull.
Not hollow.
Solid.
Kenji froze.
So did Ryu.
The wood hadn't cracked — but the force had changed. The air itself felt tighter around Kenji's fist.
Kenji stared at his hand. "What…?"
Jiro nodded once.
"You stopped doubting your body," he said. "That's Armament."
Kenji swallowed. "I didn't… feel anything special."
"Good," Jiro replied. "That means it's real."
Ryu stared at Kenji's arm.
He could feel it now.
A density.
A weight that hadn't been there before.
Kenji clenched his fist again, focus deepening.
This time, a faint darkening spread across his skin.
Not visible to the eye.
But unmistakable.
Armament Haki.
Ryu felt his chest tighten.
---
The months that followed were uneven.
Kenji advanced quickly in Armament.
He learned to reinforce his body instinctively — to take hits that would've shattered him before. His movements grew heavier, more grounded.
But his awareness lagged.
He still missed things.
Still reacted late.
Ryu was the opposite.
His Observation sharpened to the point where he could feel movement before it happened — the shift of weight, the tightening of muscle, the intent behind an action.
But when he tried to harden himself the way Kenji did…
Nothing.
Jiro shook his head. "You're forcing it."
Ryu gritted his teeth. "I'm doing exactly what he did."
"No," Jiro replied. "You're thinking."
Ryu exhaled sharply. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Wait," Jiro said.
Ryu clenched his fists. "That's not an answer."
"It is," Jiro replied calmly. "You're just impatient."
---
Two years passed.
The world did not stop.
Bounties shifted.
Pirates rose and fell.
The Marines adjusted patrol routes.
And somewhere in the East Blue, a report continued to circulate.
A bounty hunter's report.
Corven Hale's words carried weight — not because of emotion, but because of precision.
Two combatants.
High adaptability.
One with advanced sensory capability.
One with developing reinforcement ability.
Both unaffiliated.
Both dangerous if left unchecked.
The Marines did not forget that.
They simply waited.
---
By the end of the second year, Ryu was no longer the boy who had frozen in a marketplace.
His Observation Haki had sharpened into something precise — not omniscient, not prophetic, but *reliable*.
He could feel intent before motion.
Could read the space between actions.
Could tell when violence was coming even if no one else sensed it.
But Armament still eluded him.
His body refused to harden the way Kenji's did.
Every attempt ended the same — tension, frustration, failure.
Kenji, meanwhile, could coat his arms at will.
His defense was solid.
His strikes heavy.
But his awareness lagged behind.
"You notice things too late," Ryu told him once.
Kenji shrugged. "At least I can take a hit."
Jiro overheard.
"That," he said, "is why neither of you is complete."
They stood at the shoreline as the sun dipped low.
Two years of training behind them.
And still, neither of them whole.
Ryu stared at the horizon.
He could feel it now — the distance between where he was and where he needed to be.
Not discouraging.
Clarifying.
Behind them, the world shifted.
Hale's report had spread.
The Marines were paying closer attention.
And the sea — patient as ever — waited.
...