If you were to ask any cartographer in the East Blue to map out my daily commute, they would likely burst into tears and burn their drafting table.
By the time I turned twelve, my grasp on linear space hadn’t just deteriorated; it had completely packed its bags, left a rude note on the counter, and moved to a different ocean.
It was a well-known scientific fact in my previous life that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line.
In my current life, the shortest distance between my bedroom and the dojo outhouse somehow involved crossing a ravine, traversing a dense bamboo forest, and unintentionally scaling a moderately sized cliff face.
I blamed the muscle density.
I figured that since my ‘Iron Stomach’ was converting literal garbage, poisonous reptiles, and raw tree bark into pure, hyper-condensed muscle mass, it was somehow throwing off my internal magnetic compass.
I was practically a walking lodestone of violence.
It started with a simple chore.
Master Koushirou had asked me to fetch two buckets of water from the village well.
It was a mundane task, one that should have taken exactly five minutes.
I picked up the wooden buckets, walked out the front gates of the dojo, took a left at the old peach tree, and confidently strode forward.
Three hours later, I was standing waist-deep in a freezing, subterranean river inside a limestone cavern, staring down a mother mountain bear that was roughly the size of a small galleon.
The bear roared, a deafening, echoing sound that shook the stalactites loose from the ceiling.
Saliva dripped from its massive, yellowed fangs.
It stood on its hind legs, casting a terrifying shadow over the dimly lit cavern.
“Look,” I said, my voice echoing off the damp walls.
I didn’t bother drawing the two standard katanas strapped to my hip, nor the pristine white scabbard of the Wado Ichimonji resting silently on my left.
I just held up the two empty wooden buckets.
“I am just looking for the village well.
If you haven’t seen it, a simple ‘no’ would suffice.
The screaming is entirely unnecessary.
I already have a headache from chewing on a boulder this morning.” The bear, completely lacking in conversational etiquette, dropped onto all fours and charged.
I sighed, a long, deeply exhausted sound.
I didn’t want to fight a bear.
Fighting required cardio, and despite my absolute monstrous physical condition, I still fundamentally despised cardio.
I preferred my targets to stand completely still while I hit them.
The bear lunged, swiping a paw the size of a dinner table directly at my chest.
I didn’t dodge.
Dodging meant moving my feet.
Instead, I just planted my straw sandals into the wet gravel and tensed my abdominal muscles.
*THWACK.* The bear’s claws struck my green haramaki.
In a normal universe, a twelve-year-old boy would have been immediately bisected.
In this universe, where I had spent the last four years subjecting my body to absurd passive resistance training and a diet of mild toxins and raw iron ore, the bear’s claws practically bounced off my torso.
The sheer density of my muscles absorbed the kinetic energy like a sponge.
The bear blinked, looking down at its paw in genuine, cartoonish confusion.
“My turn,” I muttered.
I dropped the buckets, pivoted on my right foot, and drove my fist directly upward into the bear’s jaw.
The crack of bone echoed louder than the bear’s roar.
The massive beast’s eyes rolled into the back of its head, and it collapsed backward into the subterranean river with a massive, soaking splash.
I stood there for a moment, letting the freezing water wash over my shins.
**[DING!
The ‘Supreme Beast Tamer System’ is in awe of your dominance!
Bind now to unlock the ‘Beast King’s Aura’ and make this bear your loyal mount!
Imagine the time you will save on commuting!]** **[Y / N]** The blue holographic screen floated cheerily over the unconscious bear.
I stared at the ‘Y’ button.
A mount.
A giant bear mount.
That meant I wouldn’t have to walk anymore.
It meant I could literally sleep while the bear carried me to my destinations.
It was the ultimate lazy man’s dream.
But I looked down at my hands.
Calloused, scarred, and strong.
If I took a shortcut now, if I let a system hand me a magic bear, it would invalidate everything.
It would mean the pain was for nothing.
“I don’t need a chauffeur,” I grumbled, swiping my hand through the screen and shattering it into digital dust.
“Besides, I’m hungry.” I spent the next two hours dragging the unconscious bear out of the cavern, building a massive bonfire, and roasting chunks of bear meat on sharpened sticks.
It was incredibly tough, stringy, and tasted vaguely of wet dirt, but my Iron Stomach didn’t care.
It dissolved the tough meat like acid, funneling the raw protein directly into my jaw and shoulder muscles.
It took me another two days to find my way back to Shimotsuki Village.
I had to navigate by following a flock of seagulls, which led me to the ocean, which I then followed along the coastline until I found the dojo docks.
When I finally walked through the front gates of the courtyard, dragging a massive, bloodstained bear pelt behind me and carrying two buckets of completely ordinary river water, the afternoon training session ground to a halt.
The other kids in the dojo—mostly around my age, wielding their little bamboo swords—stared at me like I was a cryptid that had just crawled out of a nightmare.
They backed away slowly, their eyes wide with terror.
Master Koushirou was sitting on the wooden porch, sipping tea.
He looked at the bear pelt.
He looked at the two buckets of water.
He took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea.
“You were gone for three days, Zoro,” he noted mildly.
“The well was moved,” I lied seamlessly.
“And I ran into a minor logistical issue on the way back.
Here is your water.” I set the buckets down on the porch and dragged the bear pelt toward my room.
I could feel the eyes of the other students burning holes into my back.
They were whispering.
They called me a demon.
They called me a monster.
I didn’t care.
Let them whisper.
They were children playing with sticks, dreaming of becoming famous samurai or honorable marines.
I was a guy trapped in a rubber-band timeline, trying to build a body capable of punching a hole through destiny itself.
We were not participating in the same sport.
By the time I turned thirteen, my isolation was absolute.
I no longer sparred with anyone in the dojo.
There was no point.
If I swung a bamboo sword at one of the other students, the sheer wind pressure of my swing would knock them off their feet before the bamboo even connected.
If I accidentally made physical contact, I would break their bones.
So, I trained alone.
I spent my days in the dense forests at the base of the mountain.
My daily routine was an exercise in pure, unadulterated madness.
I would tie thick ship’s ropes around boulders, bite down on the knots, and sprint up the mountain trails to build my neck strength for the Three-Sword Style.
I was chewing through standard practice katanas at a rate of three a week; the steel simply couldn’t handle the bite force my jaw was producing.
But despite the freakish physical gains, a dark, suffocating realization was beginning to settle over me.
I was standing in a clearing, the afternoon sun filtering through the canopy.
I had three swords drawn—two in my hands, one clamped firmly in my jaw.
I fell into a low stance, took a deep breath, and unleashed a ferocious spinning slash.
*”Tatsu Maki!”* A violent, localized tornado of wind and sharp pressure erupted from my blades.
The vortex ripped through the clearing, snapping bamboo stalks like twigs and carving deep, jagged gouges into the solid rock face of the mountain.
It was devastating.
It was powerful.
And it was completely, utterly useless.
I spat the sword out of my mouth, panting heavily, and looked at the destruction I had caused.
I had cut rock.
I had cut wood.
But rock didn’t dodge.
Wood didn’t adapt.
A plateau.
I had hit a massive, insurmountable plateau.
My physical stats were maxed out for the environment I was in.
The East Blue was the weakest sea.
It was a puddle.
There were no Haki users here.
There were no mythical beasts that could push me to the brink of death.
There were no challenges left in these woods that could force my body to evolve any further.
I sheathed my two standard katanas and reached down to pick up the Wado Ichimonji.
I didn’t draw it.
I just held the white scabbard in my hands, feeling the cool lacquer beneath my calloused fingers.
The weight of it felt heavier today.
It had been years, but the memory of Kuina lying in the dirt was as sharp and painful as the day it happened.
The universe had rubber-banded and taken her away because I wasn’t strong enough to change a Fixed Point.
If I stayed here, chopping down trees and bullying local wildlife, I would never get strong enough to matter.
I would just be a very muscular frog at the bottom of a very small well.
I would never be able to look at this white scabbard without feeling the crushing weight of my own inadequacy.
“It’s not enough,” I whispered to the empty clearing.
“I’m hitting a wall.
If I want to reach the heavens, I can’t stay on this island.” **[DING!
The ‘Wandering Swordsman System’ detects a desire for travel!
Bind now to receive an enchanted compass that always points to your destiny, and a 200% EXP boost when fighting enemies above your level!]** **[Y / N]** I glared at the floating blue text.
An enchanted compass.
Oh, the irony.
The system knew my sense of direction was completely shot and was trying to prey on my logistical insecurities.
“I don’t need a magic compass,” I growled, drawing one of my standard katanas and slicing the hologram cleanly in half.
It fizzled and died with a sad electronic whine.
“If I get lost, I’ll just fight whoever I bump into.
It’s better training anyway.” I sheathed my sword and looked out through the trees, toward the distant, sparkling blue horizon of the ocean.
The decision was made.
The lazy days of Shimotsuki Village were over.
It was time to find out just how much punishment my Iron Stomach could really take.
It was time to hunt.