The beach beside Shimotsuki Harbor was unusually quiet.
Only the steady rhythm of the waves broke the afternoon stillness.
Ian stood alone on the shoreline, a dark violet blade resting in his hand.
It was unlike any sword he had ever seen in the world of One Piece.
The blade wasn’t forged from a single piece of steel.
Countless fragments formed its body, seamlessly fused together as though a thousand broken swords had been gathered and reborn into one.
The Thousand Demon Blades.
Even while motionless, it radiated a dangerous aura.
Ian gave it a casual swing.
Whoosh—
The air trembled.
His eyes immediately lit up.
“Now this…”
A grin slowly spread across his face.
“…is absurd.”
He swung again.
The blade cut through the air effortlessly.
Smooth.
Responsive.
Almost alive.
It felt less like wielding a sword and more like cooperating with one.
The Thousand Demon Blades seemed eager to move.
Eager to cut.
Eager to fight.
Ian could already tell.
His combat strength had just taken another massive leap forward.
“If I’d used this against Koushirou…”
He couldn’t help laughing.
“The poor guy would’ve had an even worse day.”
Not that he would have.
Their duel had been a conversation between swordsmen.
Using a weapon this outrageous would have felt unfair.
Almost rude.
With a satisfied nod, Ian dismissed the blade and opened his status panel.
Shimotsuki Village Check-In Progress: 90%
“Only ten percent left.”
He stretched lazily.
Without realizing it, nearly two weeks had passed since he arrived in Shimotsuki Village.
The days had settled into a surprisingly comfortable rhythm.
Train Zoro.
Occasionally guide Kuina.
Complete check-in objectives.
Eat well.
Drink well.
Enjoy the sea.
Honestly, it wasn’t a bad way to live.
Ian looked toward the horizon.
The endless ocean shimmered beneath the sunlight.
“I wonder where I’ll go next.”
The thought alone made him smile.
A new island.
New people.
New stories.
That was the reason he traveled.
A yawn escaped him.
“After everything that’s happened…”
He rubbed his eyes.
“…I deserve a nap.”
That evening, peace was shattered by a familiar voice.
“MASTER IAN!”
The shout echoed across the harbor.
“MASTER!”
“WHERE ARE YOU?!”
Ian groaned.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Like a man whose soul had just been dragged out of a pleasant dream.
The hatch of his ship creaked open.
A thoroughly sleep-deprived swordsman emerged.
“I swear…”
His gaze landed on the green-haired culprit.
“One day I’m going to throw you into the ocean.”
Zoro ignored the threat completely.
“How can you sleep right now?!”
Ian blinked.
“Very easily.”
“No!”
Zoro pointed dramatically.
“You defeated Master Koushirou today!”
Ian stared.
“…And?”
The boy froze.
“…And?”
“That’s your reaction?”
Zoro looked personally betrayed.
How could anyone be this calm?
Shouldn’t there be a celebration?
A feast?
At least a dramatic speech?
Before he could continue, Ian’s foot connected with his backside.
THUD.
“Ow!”
Zoro stumbled forward.
“Stop standing around.”
Ian pointed toward the village road.
“Go run.”
“But—”
“Run.”
“Yes, Master!”
The response came instantly.
Years from now, this boy would become one of the most feared swordsmen on the seas.
Today, however, he remained a victim of mandatory cardio.
Ian watched him sprint away before taking another sip from his wine.
The moon hung above the ocean.
The breeze was pleasant.
His eyelids felt heavy again.
“Still tired…”
Meanwhile, inside Isshin Dojo…
A lantern flickered softly between two men.
Dragon sat across from Koushirou, a rough map spread across the table.
“We’ll be leaving in a few days.”
His finger traced several nearby islands.
“The surrounding villages still have supplies.”
Koushirou nodded.
“Shimotsuki Village doesn’t have much left to spare.”
The Revolutionary Army’s supply situation wasn’t improving.
Transporting food across East Blue had become increasingly difficult.
Both men understood the urgency.
After discussing logistics for a while, Koushirou suddenly changed the subject.
“What do you think of him?”
Dragon glanced up.
“Ian?”
“Yes.”
Koushirou folded his arms.
A thoughtful expression crossed his face.
“It’s been many years since I’ve crossed swords with someone like that.”
Even now, he could still feel it.
The pressure.
The sword intent.
The overwhelming presence hidden beneath Ian’s relaxed smile.
Dragon chuckled.
“He’s troublesome.”
Koushirou raised an eyebrow.
“Troublesome?”
“He knows who I am.”
Dragon leaned back.
“And he made sure I knew he wasn’t interested.”
The memory made him shake his head.
Most people dreamed of being noticed by the Revolutionary Army.
Ian had rejected the idea before Dragon could even bring it up.
“He would’ve made an excellent officer.”
“A shame.”
Koushirou smiled.
“I’m not sure that’s the right word.”
Some people simply belonged to the sea.
Dragon laughed quietly.
“Maybe.”
His gaze drifted toward the window.
Beyond it stretched an endless ocean.
Free.
Boundless.
Much like Ian himself.
Still, Dragon eventually shook his head.
“There are many powerful people in this world.”
“Right now, food matters more than recruiting one traveler.”
His attention returned to the map.
“We’ll leave him alone.”
Koushirou nodded.
“Understood.”
The days passed peacefully.
Life in Shimotsuki Village settled into a familiar rhythm.
Zoro trained like a madman.
Kuina trained even harder.
Now that her confidence had returned, her growth accelerated dramatically.
Their rivalry resumed with renewed intensity.
Every spar became a battle.
Every victory became a point of pride.
Every loss became motivation.
Watching them argue was surprisingly entertaining.
As for Ian…
His check-in progress continued climbing.
Until finally—
90%.
The number remained fixed in his status panel.
Which meant one thing.
His time in Shimotsuki Village was nearing its end.
Another island awaited somewhere beyond the horizon.
One bright morning, Ian wandered into Carlo’s Tavern.
As always, he was there for one important reason.
Alcohol.
Carlo spotted him immediately.
The tavern owner’s face brightened.
“Morning, swordsman.”
Ian raised his wine jug.
“Morning.”
Carlo laughed.
“You’re late today.”
“The village chief caught me.”
Ian dropped into a chair.
“Said they needed help catching fish.”
The bartender blinked.
“You?”
“The swordsman who defeated Master Koushirou?”
Ian shrugged.
“What about it?”
Carlo couldn’t help smiling.
“It’s hard to picture someone like you doing village chores.”
Ian took a sip of wine.
The fishing itself wasn’t important.
The check-in objective attached to it was.
Besides…
Sitting beside the sea with a fishing rod wasn’t exactly suffering.
Compared to constant training and fighting, it was practically meditation.
A little while later, Ian purchased several bottles and headed back toward the harbor.
The tavern returned to its usual atmosphere.
At least—
For a few minutes.
Then shouting erupted outside.
“Move, brats!”
A rough voice echoed through the street.
“Get out of the way!”
Another voice laughed loudly.
“Hahaha!”
“This village is just as pathetic as I remember!”
A crash followed.
Then—
BANG!
The tavern doors exploded inward.
The entire room fell silent.
Several figures strode inside.
Every one of them looked dangerous.
Scarred.
Armed.
Dirty from years spent roaming the mountains.
At their head walked a broad-shouldered man with multiple ugly scars crossing his face.
A long blade hung from his waist.
His grin was unpleasant enough to sour the atmosphere by itself.
The stranger slowly surveyed the tavern.
Like a wolf inspecting a flock of sheep.
Then he laughed.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
His tone suggested he wasn’t sorry in the slightest.
“So this is Shimotsuki Village?”
His gaze swept across the room.
“Everyone looks just as stupid as I remember.”
Nobody answered.
The grin widened.
Crunch.
A splinter from the shattered door snapped beneath his boot.
Then he puffed out his chest proudly.
“We’re mountain bandits.”
Several villagers immediately paled.
The man slapped his chest.
“I am Fushi.”
“Bandit King Fushi.”
“Worth nine million berries.”
The bounty clearly meant a great deal to him.
Far more than it impressed anyone else.
Fushi pointed around the tavern.
“Bring out your best liquor.”
“All of it.”
His grin sharpened.
“Then go tell the rest of the village to hand over their food.”
The room remained silent.
Some patrons looked nervous.
Others lowered their heads.
The bandits mistook it for fear.
And perhaps it was.
Just not for the reasons they imagined.
Fushi threw his head back and laughed.
“What?”
“You don’t want trouble, do you?”
Without warning, he reached out.
His hand slammed onto Carlo’s head.
The tavern owner stumbled against the counter.
Instantly, the atmosphere froze.
Outside, gulls circled above the harbor.
The morning breeze drifted through the shattered doorway.
And somewhere down by the docks, a certain traveler sat beside the sea, completely unaware that a group of extraordinarily unlucky mountain bandits had just arrived in Shimotsuki Village.