The greatest tragedy of my second life occurred exactly fourteen days after my discharge from the intensive care unit: I was officially declared healthy.
My cracked ribs had fully fused, thanks entirely to a combination of my anomalous, trauma-adapted biology and the absurd, force-fed diet of pure calcium and Sea King meat that the medical staff pushed on me.
The lingering bruises faded.
The heavy white bandages were removed.
I was given a fresh, impeccably tailored grey suit—the bill for which I firmly and unapologetically forwarded to Vice Admiral Garp’s office—and a brand new fedora.
The cursed katana was clipped back onto my belt, the heavy black wooden scabbard resting comfortably against my hip.
I was physically one hundred percent capable of returning to active duty.
Which meant, horrifyingly, that I was capable of doing cardio again.
*’If Garp finds me,’* I calculated lazily as I slipped out of the medical ward’s back exit, avoiding the main corridors with the stealth of a seasoned assassin, *’he will undoubtedly celebrate my recovery by throwing me into an active volcano, or forcing me to spar with a Sea King using only my bare hands.
The only logical course of action is to completely disappear.’*
I didn’t go to the underground bunkers, nor did I hide in the tactical supply closets.
Those were the very first places they would look.
Instead, I utilized a low-output, perfectly silent burst of *Soru* to scale a massive, ancient oak tree that overlooked the main Marine cadet training courtyard.
I settled into the thickest cluster of branches, entirely concealed by the dense canopy of summer leaves.
I leaned back against the sturdy trunk, tipped my fedora down over my eyes, and crossed my arms.
The shade was exceptionally cool.
I projected absolutely zero intent, effectively erasing my presence from the Haki radar of anyone in a five-mile radius.
I was fully prepared to take a four-hour nap.
But just as I closed my eyes, a familiar, furious yell drifted up from the dirt ring directly below my tree.
I cracked one eye open and peered downward through the leaves.
Down in the courtyard, the junior cadets were running their afternoon sparring drills.
In the center ring, drawing a sizable crowd of observing recruits, was my newly acquired, fiercely stubborn eleven-year-old sister.
Tsuru had officially enrolled Gion in the academy last week.
She was wearing a crisp white cadet uniform, gripping a heavy wooden *bokken* with a terrifying amount of feral aggression.
Her opponent was a boy at least three years older, a full foot taller, and significantly heavier.
*’Her combat aggression is excellent,’* I analyzed, my mind automatically breaking down the geometry of the fight.
*’She possesses absolutely zero hesitation.
She wants to violently dismantle that boy.
However, her footwork is a literal war crime.’*
Gion lunged forward with a fierce battle cry, swinging the wooden sword in a massive, horizontal arc.
*’She locks her knees when she swings,’* I noted with a heavy, deeply disappointed sigh.
*’She is completely severing her own kinetic chain.
Because she refuses to bend her joints to absorb the shock, she relies entirely on the upper body strength she does not currently possess.
She is a biological hazard to her own center of gravity.’*
Just as I predicted, the forward momentum of the heavy wooden sword pulled Gion entirely off balance.
Her locked knees provided zero stabilization.
She pitched forward, stumbling awkwardly into the dirt.
The older boy smirked, easily sidestepping her wild swing.
He raised his *bokken* high above his head, preparing to strike her exposed back while she was off balance.
*’Unacceptable,’* I thought flatly.
I casually reached into my suit pocket and pulled out a small, smooth pebble I had picked up earlier.
I didn’t use Haki.
I didn’t project a single ounce of killing intent.
I just did the math in my head.
Factoring in wind resistance, the gravitational pull, and the exact distance to the target, I rested the pebble on my thumb.
*Thwip.*
I flicked it.
The tiny rock shot through the air like a silent, low-caliber bullet and struck Gion precisely on the back of her locked right knee.
The sharp, sudden impact on the nerve cluster caused her locked joint to buckle instantly.
Gion let out a startled yelp, her right leg collapsing beneath her. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
She dropped sharply to one knee in the dirt.
Because she dropped, the older boy’s heavy counterattack completely missed.
His wooden sword sailed harmlessly through the empty air where her head had been a microsecond prior.
Gion, fueled by pure, unadulterated stubborn rage and completely oblivious to the physics of her salvation, used her downward momentum to spin on her buckled heel.
She swept her wooden sword in a tight, vicious arc directly into the older boy’s ankles.
The boy’s legs were swept out from under him, and he crashed into the dirt with a heavy, breathless thud.
The supervising instructor raised a red flag.
“Winner, Cadet Gion!”
Gion blinked, panting heavily.
She looked down at her fallen opponent, then down at her own knees, entirely confused as to how she had just pulled off a masterful, low-profile tactical dodge.
*’I am a genius instructor,’* I praised myself silently from the branches, popping a small wooden toothpick into my mouth.
*’I am guiding her physical development without having to stand up, break a sweat, or speak a single word.
This is the absolute pinnacle of lazy pedagogy.’*
For the next hour, I systematically harassed my little sister from the shadows.
When she entered her next match, she gripped the sword too tightly, turning her small knuckles white.
An acorn mysteriously dropped from the sky, bouncing sharply off her wrist and forcing her to loosen her grip.
When she telegraphed an overhead strike by aggressively dropping her left shoulder, a small twig materialized from the heavens, smacking her sharply in the back of the neck.
She flinched, accidentally correcting her posture just in time to block a strike that would have concussed her.
Every time she shifted her weight incorrectly, a pebble would strike her ankle.
Every time she locked her knees, a seed pod would hit her thigh.
By the end of the hour, Gion was covered in tiny, stinging red welts.
She was breathing heavily, her pristine uniform covered in dust.
She hadn’t lost a single sparring match—entirely by accident—but she was absolutely infuriated by the phantom artillery raining down on her.
She stomped into the center of the ring, ignoring her next opponent.
Her dark eyes furiously scanned the courtyard, glaring at the barracks, the weapon racks, and finally, narrowing directly on the massive oak tree.
“Show yourself, you coward!” Gion yelled at the tree, gripping her wooden sword so tightly the timber groaned.
“I know it’s you! Stop throwing garbage at me, Bogard!”
I chuckled softly in the branches, thoroughly entertained by her fury.
I reached into my pocket, preparing to flick one final, perfectly aerodynamic acorn right at her forehead to reinforce the vital importance of situational awareness in a combat zone.
Suddenly, a hand—possessing a grip strength that could comfortably crush a diamond into fine dust—clamped down firmly on my right ear.
My eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated terror.
*’Impossible,’* my brain screamed, my heart rate spiking for the first time in two weeks.
*’I was completely concealed.
I projected zero intent.
I was literally thinking about taking a nap!
The math dictates I am functionally invisible!’*
“Math,” Vice Admiral Tsuru whispered coldly from the thick branch directly behind me, “does not account for a mother’s intuition, you little menace.”
Before I could formulate a reasonable, deadpan defense regarding kinetic adjustments, Tsuru effortlessly hauled me backward by my ear and tossed me completely out of the tree.
I plummeted fifteen feet.
I didn’t even have the reaction time to activate *Geppo*.
I crashed face-first into the dirt courtyard, landing squarely in front of a very startled Gion.
A massive cloud of dust plumed around me.
I groaned, spitting a mouthful of dry dirt out onto the ground, my pristine fedora knocked entirely askew.
Vice Admiral Tsuru landed gracefully beside me.
She was in her prime—agile, terrifying, and completely spotless.
She didn’t yell.
She didn’t use the cleansing aura of her Devil Fruit.
She simply pulled a thick, highly classified tactical manifest from her coat, rolled it tightly into a dense paper tube, and began to systematically beat me over the head with it.
Whack.
Whack.*
“What.
Did.
I.
Tell.
You.
About.
Throwing.
Rocks.
At.
Your.
Sister!” Tsuru punctuated every single syllable with a devastating, Armament Haki-infused strike of rolled-up paperwork.
“I was refining her kinetic chain!” I argued, desperately shielding my head with my arms, refusing to draw my sword against my babysitter.
“Her footwork is a biological tragedy! I was providing high-velocity structural corrections!”
*Whack!*
“You are being a sociopath!” Tsuru scolded, hitting me squarely between the shoulder blades.
Gion stood a few feet away, her previous anger instantly dissolving into smug, glorious satisfaction.
She leaned heavily on her wooden sword, a massive grin splitting her face as she watched her tormentor get beaten with a newspaper like a disobedient dog.
“Get him, Tsuru-san!” Gion cheered, entirely devoid of sibling loyalty.
As I cowered in the dirt, attempting to calculate the structural integrity of the classified document hitting my skull, a massive, imposing shadow fell over the courtyard.
Vice Admiral Garp strolled into the training ring, aggressively eating a massive bag of soy sauce senbei crackers.
He stopped, chewing loudly, and looked down at the scene unfolding at his feet.
“Vice Admiral,” I deadpanned from the dirt, staring up at my giant mentor through my forearms.
“I am currently being assaulted by a senior officer. My rights as a Warrant Officer are being blatantly violated. Please save me.”
Garp looked down at me.
He looked over at Tsuru, who was currently winding up the rolled-up manifest for another devastating strike.
He looked at Gion, who was actively sticking her tongue out at me.
Garp swallowed his cracker, threw his massive head back, and roared with laughter.
“Bwahahaha! Save yourself, kid!” Garp bellowed, his voice echoing off the barracks, entirely unhelpful.
“You’re *my* shadow! You’re not hers! If you get caught by the tactical goat, you take your lumps! Bwahahaha!”
Garp strolled away, completely abandoning me to my fate, the sound of his crunching crackers fading into the distance.
I let out a long, exhausted sigh as Tsuru’s newspaper came down yet again, striking my fedora.
‘The physics of this universe are fundamentally broken,’ I thought, accepting the paper beatdown with lazy resignation, ‘and my found family is a collection of absolute monsters.
I really, really hate being healthy.’
**Author’s Note** *Pulls back the curtain to reveal something spooky…* **Typing_In_My_Sleep** here!
Before anyone panics: **I have NOT abandoned the other stories!** Everyone is safe.
However, my sleep-deprived brain cooked up a brand new, deliciously twisted fan fiction, and I just had to share it.
This one is set in the world of **Riverdale**, but expect a much darker, heavier dose of mystery and pure horror.
Think less teen drama, more existential dread.
Here is the game plan so I don’t completely melt my brain: I am going to upload up to **Chapter 30** for all of my active works.
Once we hit that milestone, I will focus on continuing just *one* of them for a while.
Which one survives?
That is entirely up to you!
Keep an eye on the polls, vote for your favorite, and let me know which world you want to spend more time in.
Alright, my flashlight is dying and the woods are looking creepy.
Back to my nap…