Ian was still savoring the local liquor when Dragon set down his empty mug.
The leader of the Revolutionary Army stared at the bottom of the cup for a moment, as if giving it a fair evaluation.
“Smooth,” he said at last.
“But nowhere near strong enough.”
Then he stood.
No farewell.
No further conversation.
Just a single mug emptied in one gulp and a casual departure.
Ian watched him leave.
“What an unusual man.”
Then again, every extraordinary person he’d met so far seemed to be at least a little strange.
Garp.
Dragon.
And now a future swordsman who challenged bartenders to duels.
East Blue was proving far more entertaining than he’d expected.
Once he’d finished his own drink, Ian thanked Carlo and headed back into the village.
His objective was simple.
Find somewhere to stay.
Unfortunately, the search ended the same way every time.
“No inns.”
“No guesthouses.”
“No spare rooms.”
Shimotsuki Village simply didn’t receive enough visitors to support them.
Most outsiders stayed at Isshin Dojo.
Recently, however, fewer people seemed willing to discuss the dojo’s accommodations.
Ian made a mental note of it.
Not because he was particularly curious.
Just because travelers developed a habit of noticing odd details.
In the end, his ship remained both home and transportation.
“Could be worse.”
He stocked up on supplies instead.
Food.
Fresh water.
A few bottles of local alcohol.
The essentials.
As he wandered through town, he noticed something else.
New faces.
Quite a few of them.
People who clearly weren’t villagers.
They moved differently.
Watched more than they spoke.
Maintained awareness of everyone around them.
Ian didn’t even need Observation Haki to figure it out.
Dragon’s people.
The Revolutionary Army had arrived alongside their leader.
Whatever Dragon’s business was in Shimotsuki Village, he hadn’t come alone.
Ian considered investigating.
For approximately three seconds.
Then dismissed the idea entirely.
A traveler quickly learned that not every mystery needed solving.
This one belonged to someone else’s story.
The rest of the day passed pleasantly.
Ian spent most of it fishing from the harbor.
His wallet wasn’t exactly overflowing with Beli, and fresh fish sold surprisingly well.
More importantly, it gave him an excuse to meet people.
Shimotsuki Village might have been small, but it was remarkably welcoming.
“Excuse me, sir, are you a traveler?”
“My daughter loves sea fish.
Would you sell us one?”
“That ship is beautiful!
I’ve never seen anything like it.”
One conversation led to another.
Then another.
Then another.
Before long, it felt as though half the village knew the traveler living aboard the ship at the harbor.
By sunset, every fish he’d caught had been sold.
A modest pile of Beli sat on the table inside his cabin.
Ian counted the coins and smiled.
“Tomorrow’s drinking budget secured.”
A familiar notification appeared moments later.
Shimotsuki Village Check-In Progress: 30%
Milestone Achieved: Befriend the Villagers of Shimotsuki Village
Five percent.
Just from spending the day talking to people.
Not bad.
What surprised him most was how different the villagers felt compared to those in Windmill Village.
The people there had been warm.
Kind.
Welcoming.
But also somewhat reserved.
Shimotsuki Village was different.
The residents were curious.
Open.
Eager to hear stories from distant islands.
Several families had even gifted him homemade liquor after listening to his travel tales.
Ian found himself genuinely enjoying it.
Every place had its own personality.
Its own rhythm.
Its own soul.
That was why he traveled.
Not to collect destinations.
To experience them.
As night settled over the village, he opened a weathered notebook.
His travel journal.
A habit he’d picked up shortly after arriving in this world.
Dipping his pen into ink, he began to write.
Day Two in Shimotsuki Village.
Spent most of the day fishing in the harbor.
Becoming the village fish supplier was not part of my original travel plans, but life rarely asks for permission.
The locals bought everything before sunset.
Several people wanted stories about other islands.
Apparently, “Traveler Ian” is becoming a thing.
I am mildly concerned.
Dinner consisted of pan-fried fish and homemade village liquor.
Both were excellent.
Ian closed the journal with a satisfied nod.
Another day worth remembering.
The moon was already high in the sky.
Which meant someone would probably arrive soon.
He stepped onto the bow and looked toward the road leading from the village.
“Any minute now.”
Meanwhile, at Isshin Dojo…
Zoro was attempting another stealthy escape.
Attempting being the important word.
“Zoro.”
The familiar voice stopped him instantly.
He froze.
Slowly turning around, he found Kuina standing near the entrance with her arms folded.
Watching him.
“You’re leaving again.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re going to train?”
“Yeah.”
“You really can’t skip one night?”
“Nope.”
Kuina sighed.
“Do you seriously want to beat me that badly?”
The reaction was immediate.
Zoro’s eyes lit up.
“Of course I do!”
There wasn’t the slightest hesitation in his voice.
For years, she’d stood ahead of him.
For years, she’d been the wall he couldn’t overcome.
His rival.
His goal.
The person he wanted to surpass more than anyone else.
Seeing that familiar determination, Kuina lowered her gaze slightly.
Part of her admired it.
Part of her worried.
“Fine.”
She stepped aside.
“Just don’t stay out too late.”
Zoro blinked.
“That easy?”
“Father says there are a lot of strangers in the village lately.”
Her expression turned serious.
“So don’t go picking fights.”
The boy immediately looked offended.
“I don’t pick fights.”
Kuina stared.
Silence.
A very long silence.
“…”
“…”
“…Okay,” Zoro admitted.
“Sometimes I pick fights.”
“Exactly.”
He laughed awkwardly.
“I’ll be careful.”
Then he took off running.
Kuina watched him disappear into the darkness.
The concern in her eyes lingered long after he was gone.
Still…
She had no intention of falling behind either.
The girl tightened her grip on her wooden sword.
Then turned back toward the training hall.
If Zoro was training harder…
Then so would she.
About thirty minutes later, Zoro arrived at the beach.
Breathing hard.
Sweating.
Determined.
And immediately stopped.
There, standing on the bow of the ship, was Ian.
Moonlight reflected off the water behind him.
A bottle rested casually in one hand.
His white coat fluttered in the night breeze.
For reasons Zoro couldn’t quite explain, the entire scene looked impossibly cool.
Like a wandering swordsman straight out of an adventure story.
A master…
The thought surfaced before he could stop it.
The boy approached quietly.
Respectfully.
Yesterday’s lesson was still fresh in his mind.
He had barely taken three steps onto the sand when Ian spoke without turning around.
“You’re out of breath.”
Zoro froze.
“What?”
“A short run from the village and you’re breathing like that.”
Ian took another sip.
“A swordsman needs stamina.”
The boy blinked.
“Stamina?”
“The foundation of everything.”
Ian finally glanced over his shoulder.
“How exactly are you planning to become the World’s Greatest Swordsman if you collapse before the fight even starts?”
Zoro opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then opened it again.
“…That’s actually a good point.”
“Of course it is.”
Ian pointed toward the shoreline.
“Run.”
“Run?”
“Around the entire beach.”
Zoro stared.
“Wait.”
“Run.”
“I thought you were teaching me swordsmanship.”
“I am.”
“This doesn’t look like swordsmanship.”
“It is.”
“How?”
“Run.”
The conversation was becoming increasingly circular.
Zoro looked utterly baffled.
He hadn’t received a greeting.
No secret technique.
No legendary sword art.
No mysterious master wisdom.
Just—
Run.
Ian raised an eyebrow.
“What are you waiting for?”
The future swordsman hesitated.
For approximately two seconds.
Then determination won.
“Fine!”
He tightened his grip on the wooden sword.
Took a deep breath.
And started running.
The moonlit shoreline stretched before him.
Sand shifted beneath his feet.
The waves rolled beside him.
The sea breeze whipped through his hair.
Behind him, Ian watched with an amused smile.
Most people wanted flashy techniques.
Secret sword arts.
Legendary attacks.
But before any of that—
A swordsman needed a body that wouldn’t fail him.
Strong legs.
Strong lungs.
Relentless endurance.
After all, it was difficult to become the World’s Greatest Swordsman if you passed out before reaching the battlefield.