I was functioning entirely on spite, adrenaline, and a highly questionable mushroom I had chewed on three days ago.
Sleep was a distant memory.
My previous life’s philosophy of maximum relaxation had been thoroughly thrown out the window, replaced by a hyper-vigilant paranoia that was slowly driving me insane.
I watched Kuina like a hawk.
If she walked near a ledge, I was there.
If she picked up a slightly pointy stick, I confiscated it.
I had basically become a moss-haired, heavily muscled secret service agent.
**[DING!
The ‘Ultimate Bodyguard System’ detects an intense desire to protect!
Bind now to unlock a 360-degree danger-sense radar and a pair of cool sunglasses!]** **[Y / N]** I violently swiped my hand through the air, shattering the blue screen before it could even finish rendering.
“I don’t need sunglasses,” I muttered, rubbing my bloodshot eyes.
“I need this timeline to stop breathing down my neck.” We had reached it.
Duel number 2,000 had happened yesterday afternoon.
I had lost, predictably, taking a wooden shinai to the back of the knees.
That meant tonight was the night.
The air in the dojo was suffocatingly humid, the kind of heavy, static-filled atmosphere that usually preceded a violent storm.
I slipped out of my futon silently, wrapping my green haramaki around my waist.
I didn’t grab the bamboo swords tonight.
I walked over to the weapon rack and pulled down two real, steel katanas.
They were practice blades, unsharpened, but they were heavy and carried the lethal weight of real weapons.
I found Kuina sitting on the wooden porch overlooking the courtyard.
The moon was a crescent sliver in the sky, casting long, pale shadows across the dirt.
She held her family’s heirloom, the Wado Ichimonji, resting it across her lap.
Its white scabbard gleamed in the dim light.
She didn’t look back as I approached, but she knew I was there.
“Real swords today?” she asked quietly.
“It’s our 2,001st duel,” I said, my voice raspy from exhaustion.
“Felt like a milestone.
Bamboo doesn’t quite cut it tonight.” She stood up slowly, drawing the magnificent blade from its scabbard.
The steel sang a quiet, deadly note.
Even unsharpened, my practice swords felt like blunt clubs compared to the sheer craftsmanship of the Wado Ichimonji.
We didn’t set rules.
We didn’t exchange witty banter.
We just moved.
I charged, swinging both of my heavy katanas in a brutal, downward X-strike.
Kuina met my charge head-on.
The sound of real steel clashing echoed through the silent dojo like a gunshot.
Sparks flew, momentarily illuminating the fierce concentration on her face.
My ‘Iron Stomach’ diet and passive rock-training had turned me into a physical monster for my age.
I pressed my weight forward, trying to break her guard with sheer, overwhelming force.
But Kuina’s technique was flawless.
She yielded, stepping back and letting my momentum carry me forward, before striking the side of my blade to throw me completely off balance.
I spun, using the momentum to sweep my left sword toward her ribs.
She parried, sparks flying again, and kicked me squarely in the stomach.
I grunted, sliding back in the dirt, but I didn’t fall.
We clashed again, and again, and again.
It was a beautiful, desperate dance.
Every time I swung with earth-shattering power, she deflected with the grace of flowing water.
I was breathing heavily, sweat stinging my eyes, my muscles burning from a mixture of exhaustion and exertion.
With a final, explosive burst of speed, Kuina batted my right sword into the air, stepped inside my guard, and pressed the cold, flat edge of the Wado Ichimonji against my throat.
My remaining sword was frozen an inch from her waist.
“Two thousand and one,” she whispered, her chest heaving.
I dropped my sword.
It hit the dirt with a dull thud.
“Yeah.
You win.” We collapsed onto the grass side by side, staring up at the cloudy night sky.
The adrenaline faded, leaving behind the crushing weight of the reality we were living in.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then, I heard a sound that made my chest tighten.
A soft, choked sniffle.
I turned my head.
Kuina was crying.
She was trying to hide it, wiping her eyes fiercely with the back of her sleeve, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
“Hey,” I said, sitting up immediately.
“Are you hurt?
Did I hit you?” “No,” she choked out, her voice trembling with a frustration so deep it broke my heart.
“I’m not hurt.
I’m just…
I’m at my limit, Zoro.” “What are you talking about?
You just beat me for the two-thousand-and-first time without breaking a sweat.” “But it’s getting harder!” she snapped, turning to look at me, tears streaming down her face.
“You’re getting so strong, Zoro.
You’re just a boy, and your muscles are already so dense.
My father…
he told me again today.
He said girls mature faster, but then they stop.
He said soon, the boys will catch up, and their bodies will outgrow mine.
He said I can never be the strongest in the world.
He said I’m just a girl.” The absolute misery in her voice made my blood boil.
All the lazy, apathetic tendencies I had brought over from my past life completely vaporized.
“Your father is an idiot,” I said, my voice deadly serious.
I grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at me.
“Listen to me.
I don’t care about biology.
I don’t care about what some old man thinks is ‘natural’.
Look at me.” She sniffled, staring back with wide, tear-filled eyes.
“I eat garbage.
I sleep tied to rocks.
I function on zero sleep and sheer spite,” I told her.
“I’m a freak of nature, and you still beat me.
Strength isn’t just muscle, Kuina.
It’s the will to cut down everything in your path.
Don’t you dare let anyone, not even your father, tell you what your limit is.” She stared at me, the tears slowly stopping.
“Promise me,” I said, holding out my hand.
“Promise me that one of us will become the greatest swordsman in the world.
That our names will reach the heavens.” A fierce, determined light returned to her eyes.
She wiped her face and firmly grasped my hand.
“I promise, Zoro.” — The next morning, I woke up with a profound sense of relief.
We had made the promise.
The 2001st duel was over.
I had padded the stairs.
I had confiscated the whetstones.
The plot had been navigated.
I had done it.
I dragged myself out into the courtyard, stretching my incredibly sore muscles.
Master Koushirou was sitting on the porch, sipping tea.
Kuina was in the center of the courtyard, practicing her forms with a wooden shinai.
She looked lighter today.
Happier.
I leaned against my favorite wooden pillar, a genuine, exhausted smile forming on my face.
*I can finally go to sleep.* The air suddenly shifted.
It wasn’t a gradual breeze.
It was a violent, freak squall—the kind of sudden, chaotic weather anomaly the Grand Line was famous for, briefly touching down in the East Blue.
The wind howled, whipping dust and leaves into the air in a blinding vortex.
I squinted against the grit.
“Kuina!
Get inside!” She paused, shielding her eyes with her arm, and turned toward the dojo.
Above her, the wind caught the edge of the dojo’s old, heavy slate roof.
The wood groaned, a sickening sound of ancient nails giving way.
Time seemed to slow down to a crawl.
I looked up.
A massive, jagged tile of heavy stone broke free from the roof, caught by the unnatural gust of wind, and plummeted downward.
Directly toward her.
My heart stopped.
The stairs hadn’t been the cause.
The stairs had just been the *method*.
When you try to block fate’s left hook, it hits you with a right cross.
The universe was rubber-banding, forcing the Fixed Point to happen no matter what I had changed.
“KUINA!” I didn’t think.
I exploded off the wooden pillar, all the dense muscle mass I had built from my absurd diet pushing me beyond natural human limits.
The ground literally cracked beneath my feet.
I threw my body forward in a desperate, flying lunge, my arm outstretched, my fingers straining to reach her shoulder to shove her out of the way.
*Just one more inch.
Just give me one more inch!* My fingertips brushed the fabric of her gi.
A sickening, heavy *CRACK* echoed through the courtyard, cutting through the howling wind.
I hit the dirt, sliding several feet, tearing the skin off my arms.
I scrambled to my knees instantly, my breath caught in my throat.
“Kuina?” I whispered.
She lay on the ground.
The heavy slate tile rested on the dirt beside her, shattered into pieces.
She wasn’t moving.
Master Koushirou dropped his teacup.
It shattered on the porch, a fragile, hollow sound.
I crawled toward her, my hands shaking violently.
My mind was screaming in denial.
I had changed it.
I had done everything right.
I had stayed awake.
I had padded the stairs.
I reached her side.
There was no dramatic final speech.
There was no time for a tearful goodbye.
The heavy stone had struck her directly on the back of the neck.
It was instant.
“No,” I choked out, a raw, jagged sound tearing itself from my throat.
“No, no, no, Kuina, get up.
Come on, get up.
It’s time for 2002.
Get up!” I grabbed her shoulders, ignoring the blood, ignoring the sudden, suffocating silence of the courtyard as the freak wind died away as quickly as it had arrived.
**[DING!
The ‘Divine Healer System’ detects critical trauma.
Bind now to—]** “SHUT UP!” I screamed at the air, my voice breaking completely.
The blue screen shattered.
But it didn’t matter.
No system could fix a broken neck instantly if I hadn’t already leveled it up.
The reality of the world crashed down on me, heavy and suffocating.
I pulled her into my arms, burying my face in her shoulder, and screamed until my throat bled.
I had foreknowledge.
I had an iron stomach.
I had pushed my body to its absolute limits.
And in the end, it meant absolutely nothing.
Kuina was dead.