The morning breeze carried the scent of salt and sea.
When Ian stepped onto the deck, the first thing he noticed was a lone figure standing on the beach below.
He paused.
Then frowned.
“…Seriously?”
A moment later, he climbed down from the ship and made his way across the sand.
The closer he got, the more certain he became.
Zoro was still there.
The boy stood beneath the pale morning sky, wooden sword clenched in his hands.
He looked exhausted.
Yet somehow energized at the same time.
More importantly, something about him had changed.
His breathing was no longer ragged.
His stance no longer wavered.
His movements carried a steadiness that hadn’t been there before.
“HAH!”
The wooden blade descended.
Whoosh!
A sharp gust swept across the beach, scattering grains of sand.
The strike flowed cleanly from beginning to end.
No hesitation.
No wasted motion.
Ian stared.
Then stared a little longer.
“One night?”
His expression turned strange.
He had expected the lesson to take days.
A week, perhaps.
Maybe longer.
Instead, the stubborn little monster had spent the entire night repeating the motion until his body finally understood it.
Zoro lowered his sword and noticed Ian approaching.
Immediately, he straightened.
“Master.”
The title came naturally now.
Somewhere along the way, the boy had stopped treating Ian as a traveler handing out advice.
To him, Ian had become a genuine teacher.
Ian scratched the side of his face.
“Do you have to make me sound eighty years old?”
Despite his complaint, he didn’t correct him.
“Show me again.”
Zoro nodded eagerly.
He adjusted his stance.
Then swung.
This time Ian paid close attention.
The release of power.
The balance.
The recovery.
The flow between movement and stillness.
Far from perfect.
But unquestionably improved.
“Seventy percent?”
“Mostly.”
Ian raised an eyebrow.
“Mostly?”
A rare look of embarrassment crossed the boy’s face.
“Sometimes eighty.”
Ian laughed.
“That still counts as progress.”
The praise hit exactly as expected.
A grin immediately spread across Zoro’s face.
For all his stubbornness, the kid was surprisingly easy to motivate.
“Good work.”
The grin widened.
Then Ian pointed toward the village.
“Now go home.”
“Huh?”
“Sleep.”
Zoro blinked.
“But—”
“Sleep.”
The boy opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then opened it again.
“Before I go…”
Ian sighed dramatically.
“What now?”
The answer came without hesitation.
“What do we train next?”
Of course.
Naturally.
The kid had become addicted to training.
Ian could practically see the excitement radiating from him.
“Patience.”
The single word struck harder than any sword.
Zoro’s shoulders immediately slumped.
“But—”
“No.”
Ian folded his arms.
“A swordsman who rushes ahead eventually trips over his own feet.”
The boy fell silent.
His expression turned thoughtful.
For once, he actually considered the advice instead of trying to argue with it.
After a few moments, he nodded.
“You’re right.”
The admission sounded reluctant.
But genuine.
Ian smiled.
“Good.”
Then he pointed down the road.
“Now get out of here.”
Zoro laughed.
He picked up his wooden sword, slung it over his shoulder, and finally headed home.
Ian watched him disappear into the distance.
“A single night…”
He shook his head.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Then again…
This was Roronoa Zoro.
The future swordsman who would one day train through injuries that would cripple ordinary people and still ask for another round.
Maybe Ian should stop being surprised.
The following days settled into a comfortable rhythm.
Morning.
Village life.
Conversations.
Meals.
Exploration.
Evening.
Training.
Running.
Swordsmanship.
Then more running.
And somehow even more swordsmanship.
Zoro never missed a single session.
Not once.
The changes became visible almost immediately.
Twenty laps became thirty.
Thirty became forty.
Before long, the boy was completing fifty laps without collapsing into the sand afterward.
His stamina improved.
His recovery improved.
His control improved.
Even his sword strikes felt different.
The wild aggression was still there.
It always would be.
That fierce, relentless drive was part of who Zoro was.
But now there was structure beneath it.
Purpose.
Control.
Direction.
For the first time, a proper foundation was beginning to take shape.
Meanwhile, Ian’s integration into Shimotsuki Village continued smoothly.
The villagers had grown increasingly welcoming.
Someone invited him to dinner.
Someone else dragged him into a conversation.
A local fisherman insisted on sharing the day’s catch.
Every interaction added another thread to the growing connection he had formed with the village.
Little by little, Shimotsuki Village was opening its doors to him.
Ten days passed in the blink of an eye.
On the evening of the tenth day, Ian finally decided it was time.
Koushirou had returned.
That much had already spread through the village.
The master of Isshin Dojo was back.
And Ian had every intention of meeting him.
Unfortunately, the villagers had other plans.
One family insisted he stay for dinner.
Another practically forced homemade sake into his hands.
Then came requests for stories.
Windmill Village.
Life at sea.
The strange places he had visited.
By the time Ian finally escaped, darkness had already settled over the village.
He walked toward the harbor carrying two grilled fish.
“Tomorrow, then.”
He shrugged.
“Koushirou isn’t going anywhere.”
As he approached the beach, however, something caught his eye.
Two figures.
Not one.
Two.
Ian immediately slowed his steps.
Then quietly settled atop an abandoned crate near the shoreline.
One grilled fish remained in each hand.
His instincts told him this was worth watching.
“…So this is where you’ve been disappearing every night?”
The voice belonged to a girl.
Firm.
Curious.
Slightly annoyed.
Kuina.
Standing across from her was Zoro.
Wooden sword at his waist.
Stubborn expression firmly in place.
“Yeah.”
His answer was short and unapologetic.
Kuina folded her arms.
“You’re still a kid.”
“So are you.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It kind of is.”
A vein twitched near her forehead.
Kuina pinched the bridge of her nose.
Clearly, she was already regretting this conversation.
“Training all night isn’t healthy.”
“Getting stronger is.”
The response arrived instantly.
Without hesitation.
Without doubt.
Kuina sighed.
Of course that was his answer.
The two of them had been arguing about some variation of this topic for years.
Eventually, she changed tactics.
“Has any of it actually helped?”
That question made Zoro grin.
And not just any grin.
The dangerous kind.
The kind that announced trouble before a single word had been spoken.
“Why don’t we find out?”
Ian nearly burst out laughing.
There it was.
The real reason.
The little idiot had planned this from the beginning.
Kuina realized it too.
Her eyes narrowed immediately.
“You dragged me all the way out here because you wanted a duel.”
“Maybe.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Maybe.”
“You did.”
A pause.
Then—
“…Yeah.”
The honesty was almost admirable.
Kuina shook her head.
For a moment, it looked as though she might simply leave.
Then she stopped.
Something in Zoro’s expression caught her attention.
The confidence.
The certainty.
The fire in his eyes.
It wasn’t the same as before.
Something had changed.
Something significant.
Kuina narrowed her eyes.
“You actually think you can beat me.”
Zoro’s hand tightened around his sword.
“Maybe.”
This time, the answer carried real conviction.
For years he had challenged her.
For years he had lost.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Yet tonight felt different.
Ian leaned forward slightly.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Kuina noticed it too.
“Just because you’ve been training doesn’t mean you’ve caught up.”
“We’ll see.”
“You’re still not my opponent.”
“We’ll see.”
The repeated response somehow made her even more irritated.
Finally, she exhaled slowly.
“Fine.”
She drew her wooden sword.
“Let’s make it official.”
A grin immediately spread across Zoro’s face.
Bright.
Excited.
Almost childlike.
Like a boy waking up on the morning of a festival.
“This is duel number two thousand and one.”
Kuina stared.
“You actually keep count?”
“Of course.”
“That’s weird.”
“You’re weird.”
A brief pause.
“Fair.”
Ian nearly choked on his grilled fish.
Children were terrifying.
Both stepped forward.
Three paces apart.
Wooden swords rose.
The sea breeze flowed between them.
Moonlight bathed the shoreline in silver.
The world seemed to grow quieter.
The familiar silence before battle.
Then Kuina moved.
Fast.
Extremely fast.
Her sword sliced through the air in a sharp diagonal arc.
Clean.
Precise.
Efficient.
Exactly what Ian expected from Koushirou’s daughter.
Every movement reflected excellent fundamentals.
Every step was measured.
Every angle deliberate.
A gifted swordswoman.
A natural talent.
Across from her—
Zoro moved.
Not elegantly.
Not gracefully.
His technique still lacked refinement.
His footwork still carried rough edges.
Compared to Kuina, he looked crude.
But something fundamental had changed.
Kuina’s opening strike was designed to seize the initiative immediately.
To force him onto the defensive.
To make him react.
Instead—
Zoro didn’t defend.
He attacked.
His wooden sword exploded forward in a powerful horizontal slash.
Direct.
Aggressive.
Decisive.
Yet controlled.
Seven parts commitment.
Three parts reserve.
Exactly as he’d practiced.
Kuina’s eyes widened.
For the first time in a very long time—
The duel wasn’t following the script.