The night after the battle with Bluejam, the hideout felt very quiet.
Everyone was wounded—nothing severe, but enough to limit their movement. Dadan was busy tending to her most seriously injured underlings. Yamamoto sat outside with his sword across his lap, keeping watch in case Bluejam was foolish enough to return that same night.
Sabo and I sat in the bedroom with Luffy, who had already fallen asleep between us.
"Ace... your hands are shaking," Sabo noticed my hands trembling uncontrollably.
"Side effect of using too much energy. It'll be gone by tomorrow."
But it wasn't only that. It was also the adrenaline—the fight earlier was the first time I had genuinely hurt someone with the intent to cause harm. In my past life as Arya, I was an architect. The most brutal thing I ever did was argue with clients or contractors.
But earlier... I had burned someone's face. Watched them scream in pain. And what frightened me most—I didn't feel guilty.
Had I changed this much already?
"You were incredible back there," Sabo said quietly. "Your fire... it was so powerful. They were all afraid of you."
"But not powerful enough," I answered with a frustrated edge. "If Yamamoto hadn't been there, we might have died. Or worse—been sold to the slave market."
Sabo went silent. He knew I was right.
"We need to become stronger," I continued. "Far stronger. The training up until now isn't enough. We need more."
"More how?"
I stared at Luffy sleeping peacefully—oblivious to the dangerous world outside that was already threatening him.
"I don't know yet. But I'll find a way."
The door opened. Dadan came in looking exhausted.
"You two aren't asleep?"
"Can't sleep," Sabo answered honestly.
Dadan sat down beside us. Quiet for a moment.
"I'm sorry," she finally said. "Sorry for letting you fight earlier. I should have forced you to hide—"
"Dadan-san," I cut her off. "If we had hidden back there, you might have been hurt far worse. Or worse than that. We don't regret fighting."
"But you're still children! You shouldn't have had to witness violence like that!"
"This world is harsh," I said in a tone far too composed for a three-year-old. "And we can't be protected forever. One day we'll have to stand on our own. Better to learn now than too late."
Dadan looked at me with a complicated expression—a mixture of sadness, pride, and worry.
"You're talking like an adult again, Ace. Sometimes I forget you're only three years old."
If only she knew...
"Tomorrow I'll send a letter to Garp," Dadan continued. "Tell him about Bluejam. Ask for help."
"No," I rejected it immediately. "If Jii-chan finds out, he'll move us somewhere else. Or worse—force us into some kind of young Marine program or something."
"But Bluejam will come back! With more people!"
"Then we have to be ready. Yamamoto can train us faster. We train harder. And..." I hesitated for a moment. "And maybe we need alliances."
"Alliances? With who?"
"Other bandits on this mountain. Or fishermen in the village. Anyone who doesn't like Bluejam."
Dadan stared at me like she was seeing an alien. "You're... really thinking like a strategist... where did you get that idea?"
From hundreds of manga, anime, and war strategy films I consumed in my past life.
"Just common sense," I answered with a shrug. "Our enemies are many. We are few. So we add to our numbers."
Dadan let out a small laugh—exhausted but genuine. "Alright. Tomorrow I'll talk to the other bandits. But you two still have to train harder with Yamamoto. Agreed?"
"AGREED!"
"Good. Now sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day."
She patted both our heads before stepping outside—joining Yamamoto on watch.
Sabo lay back on his mat. "Ace... are you scared?"
"Scared of what?"
"Scared of dying. Earlier when we were surrounded by those five people... I thought we were going to die."
I went quiet. Honestly? Yes, I was scared. Terrified. But more than fearing death—I feared failing to protect the people I loved.
"I was scared," I admitted. "But I'm more scared of losing you all. So I'll keep getting stronger. Until no one can ever take you from me."
Sabo smiled. "Me too. I'll become strong to protect all of you."
We nodded at each other—a promise without words.
Luffy suddenly mumbled in his sleep. "Meat... shishishi... lots of meat..."
We laughed quietly. Even in his sleep, Luffy was thinking about food.
"One day, he's going to become someone incredible," Sabo said while gazing at Luffy.
"Yeah," I agreed. "The King of Pirates."
"Hah? Why are you so sure about that?"
Because I know. Because I've already seen it. Because it's his destiny.
"Just a feeling," I answered with a smile. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow's training is definitely going to be harder."
The next morning, Yamamoto woke us even earlier than usual.
"Get up. Special training today."
We stepped outside with eyes still half-shut. But what we saw snapped us fully awake.
Spread across the training area was an assortment of weapons—wooden swords, staves, and even a few real iron blades.
"After yesterday's fight, I realized you need more than bare hands and Haki," Yamamoto explained. "You need weapons. And you need to know how to use them properly."
He picked up two wooden swords and tossed them to us.
"Starting today, sword training is added to the routine. You don't need to be masters—but at the very minimum you need to be able to hold your ground with a sword in your hands."
I looked at the wooden sword in my hand. In the original timeline, Ace never focused on weapons—he relied almost entirely on his Devil Fruit and Haki. But perhaps that was a mistake.
A weapon could be a backup. Could be a surprise. Could be a lifesaver.
"First stance—basic fighting position. Feet shoulder-width apart. Sword in front. Like this."
Yamamoto demonstrated. We followed.
"Good. Now basic swing. Top to bottom. Focus on control, not power."
We swung our swords. Over and over. Hundreds of times until our arms felt ready to fall off.
"Enough. Now light sparring. Sabo versus Ace. I'll correct your movements."
Sabo and I faced each other. Wooden swords raised.
"Begin!"
Sabo attacked first—a horizontal swing from the right. I blocked with my sword—CLACK!—vibration shooting up my arm.
I countered with a forward thrust. Sabo sidestepped and swung from above. I rolled sideways—
"STOP!" Yamamoto shouted. "Ace, don't roll. That wastes energy. A small sidestep is enough. Sabo, your swing is too wide. An opponent can counter before you finish. Again!"
We sparred again. And again. And again.
Each time Yamamoto corrected small details—foot position, sword angle, attack timing.
Hours passed. The sun climbed high. Sweat poured down.
"Enough with the sword. Now back to Haki. Ace, try to maintain Armament for ten seconds."
Ten seconds? My record was only three!
But I tried. Focus. Energy flowing to my hands. The dark coating appeared—
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Four seconds—gone.
"Four seconds. Not bad. Tomorrow target five seconds. Keep adding every day until you can maintain it for a full minute."
"A full minute?!" That sounded impossible.
"That's just the basics. Elite Marines can maintain Armament for hours in battle. You want to be stronger than them? Then train until you surpass them."
A brutal form of motivation. But effective.
Training continued without stop until evening. Physical conditioning, Haki, swordsmanship, even combat strategy—everything was taught with relentless intensity.
When the sun finally began to set, we collapsed completely.
"Good. You both endured a full day. Tomorrow we increase the intensity."
"IT CAN STILL GET MORE INTENSE?!" Sabo cried out in despair.
"Of course. This is only the beginning. Bluejam will return within days or weeks. By then, you need to be able to fight on equal footing with adult pirates. There's no time to take it easy."
He left us lying on the ground like the living dead.
"Ace... I'm not sure I can get up tomorrow..." Sabo groaned.
"We have to. If we don't... we die."
"That's a terrifying thing to say for motivation..."
"But it's honest."
We laughed—exhausted but satisfied. There was a strange fulfillment in pushing a body past its limits.
That evening, after a large recovery dinner, Dadan called us over.
"I spoke with two other bandit groups on this mountain. They agreed to a temporary alliance—specifically to deal with Bluejam."
"Really?!" Sabo lit up.
"Yes. They don't like Bluejam either—that bastard has been causing trouble for a lot of people. So if he attacks again, we have backup. About forty people total."
Forty versus twenty (or possibly more if Bluejam brought reinforcements). Better odds.
"But don't rely too heavily on numbers," Yamamoto cautioned. "Quality matters more than quantity. One strong fighter can defeat ten weak ones."
"That's why we train hard," I said.
Yamamoto smiled—the thin smile he rarely showed. "Good. That's exactly the right mentality."
That night, I couldn't fall asleep right away. My thoughts churned over strategies, training plans, and the possibilities of Bluejam's counterattack.
But amid all of that, one thought stood out above the rest:
I was changing. From Arya the quiet architect into Ace the fighter. From someone who avoided conflict into someone who ran toward it.
Was this good? Was this how it was supposed to be?
I didn't know.
What I did know was this—I had people to protect. And for that, I would become as strong as necessary.
Even if it meant becoming a monster.
The flame of destiny cared nothing for morality.
Fire knew only one thing: burn everything that stands in the way.
And I was that fire.
TO BE CONTINUED