"Huuuh…"
Inside the training hall, Jin strained as he pressed a barbell marked 1 ton above his head. Sweat poured down his muscles in shining rivulets, steam rising from his skin in bursts as if he were being tempered like molten steel.
One month of relentless training—pushing past his limits every single day—had transformed him beyond recognition.
His once lanky, underfed frame had hardened into solid muscle.
But it wasn't just science and regimen that fueled his growth. The greatest key lay in the strange "alteration" his body had undergone when he passed through time and space. He was no longer just human.
Had he still been his old self, this pace would have killed him in a day.
Warm-up complete, he prepared for the next stage—combat training.
The metal walls shifted apart, revealing a cage.
Inside: a hulking beast, fur bristling, eyes bloodshot red. A Lapahn. The monstrous rabbit species unique to Drum Island—carnivorous, territorial, aggressive, and vicious.
"Raaah!"
The cage clanged open, and the Lapahn lunged, claws slicing at the air with frightening force.
Shhh!
The strike cut the air like a blade.
Jin bent his knees, springing back four, five meters high to evade. Twisting in midair, he came down with a sharp side kick.
Bang!
The Lapahn's head snapped sideways, its hulking body sent crashing across the arena.
"Raaahhh—!"
More Lapahns leapt from the cages, snarling and clawing.
Jin danced among them, weaving left and right, slipping past slashing claws before delivering brutal counters. A punch here, a knee there, a kick to the jaw.
Within breaths, twenty-four Lapahns lay sprawled on the ground, groaning and twitching, snouts swollen and eyes spinning.
"Elapsed time: 00:00:21," Little Ai reported coolly. "Three seconds faster than your previous attempt."
Jin panted, catching his breath, then burst out laughing. "Hahaha! I'm a monster now. Beating Lapahns is boring—I need tougher opponents!"
"Strange," Little Ai quipped dryly. "There were no mushrooms in your lunch, so what exactly is causing these hallucinations?"
Then, matter-of-factly: "According to records, the One Piece world's combat hierarchy includes Haki, Devil Fruits, and advanced martial arts. Master has not even grasped basic Haki. In the New World, you would be weaker than a common thug."
Jin choked. Damn it! Lies don't kill, but the truth cuts like a blade.
He rubbed his nose sheepishly, feeling like a clown caught in the act.
Still, Little Ai wasn't wrong. "But… according to your training data, you're also right," the AI admitted. "Lapahns can no longer challenge you. The dormant energy within you requires greater pressure and stronger opponents to trigger full adrenaline release."
Jin flexed his fist, veins bulging with power. "Then show me my current stats. Let's see how far I've come."
"Understood."
After a full round of tests, data streamed before him.
[Name: Jin]
[Height: 183cm]
[Weight: 75kg]
[Body Fat: 15%]
[Grip Strength: 300kg]
[Bench Press: 5.8 tons]
[Average Speed: 47m/s]
[0–100km/h Acceleration: 1.5 seconds]
[Composite Doriki: 270–470]
[Analysis: Master's potential has been activated. Body is exceptionally healthy, possessing strength and speed far beyond the human norm.]
Jin squinted at the last line. "Composite Doriki… but why the 200-point range?"
Little Ai explained, "Doriki is the combat power unit used by Cipher Pol (CP). An average Marine soldier has 10 Doriki. Anyone above 500 is considered superhuman."
"Of course, Doriki doesn't perfectly reflect power—it cannot account for Devil Fruits, Haki, or tactics—but it offers a clear measurement. You, Master, fluctuate between 270 and 470 depending on whether you're in normal or extreme release states. Similar to Monkey D. Luffy's Gear Second and Gear Third forms."
"Still, these numbers are for reference only. On the battlefield, circumstances, state of mind, and luck all matter. Never rely solely on data."
Jin grinned faintly. As a military enthusiast, he understood perfectly. War games and simulations were one thing. The reality of combat was chaos—ever-changing, merciless. Only real battle experience honed true instinct.
Dang… dang… dang…
A deep bell tolled from the coastline, its sound carried inland by the snowy wind.
Jin's eyes narrowed. "That bell…"
On the snowy plains, Dalton swung a violin-shaped weapon in his drills, a hundred militiamen training nearby. Since Jin took power, the old royal guard had been disbanded, replaced by volunteers handpicked by Dalton.
The moment the bell rang, all eyes turned toward the coast.
"Pirates!"
"Pirates are coming!"
Shouts rang out.
Dalton's face hardened.
A patrol captain rushed back on a sleigh, panting as he reported: "Dalton! Inform the king immediately—It's Mushuru!"
Dalton's heart thumped. Of all times…
"Yes. Mushuru has landed at West Port with a pirate crew. They're marching toward the castle, shouting that they'll reclaim the throne!"
Dalton exhaled heavily. He had ties of loyalty to the late king's family, but his duty to the nation outweighed it.
"Come. We must inform His Majesty."
Together with Jason, the patrol captain, Dalton hurried toward the ironclad warship.
There, Jin already stood at the prow, coat whipping in the wind, eyes sharp as he stared into the snowy horizon.
"Your Majesty!" Dalton and Jason bowed, delivering the report.
Instead of concern, Jin's lips split into a wild grin. "Excellent. They came!"
Dalton proposed quickly: set up defenses, use the terrain to ambush the pirates, cut down their forces in waves—the same strategy Drum Island had always used against raiders.
"No."
Jin cut him off. His voice was iron. "No fortifications. Let them come."
Dalton's eyes widened. "But—"
"Mushuru's target is me," Jin continued. "If you scatter them, they'll turn on villages, slaughter innocents. No. Deliver my message: tell Mushuru I'm here. Waiting."
Dalton and Jason exchanged a glance.
In the past, whenever pirates came, Wapol always cowered at the rear, shoving soldiers ahead like shields. Now, the new king was volunteering himself—choosing to face danger head-on, just to protect his people.
Dalton's chest tightened. This… this is true kingship.
Jason's eyes welled. The contrast with Wapol was too much. He wanted to cry.
Dalton bowed deeply, his voice heavy with conviction. "As you command, Your Majesty."
He turned back, relaying Jin's words to the militia, and ordered the news spread across towns and villages.
Everywhere, people whispered in awe.
The new king was truly different.
In a world where monarchs were often tyrants or fools, even the smallest measure of reason made a ruler shine like a saint. And Jin… Jin had done more than that.
"A battle for the throne… a duel of kings… So cool!"
At the tavern, Chopper's eyes sparkled.
"…He's got spirit, at least," muttered Dr. Kureha, sipping plum wine.
None of them knew Jin's real thought: if Mushuru's pirates scattered into the villages, Jin would have to hunt each one down individually. What a damn chore.
Meanwhile, on the march—
Mushuru, Razor Dam, and their two hundred pirates trudged forward through the snow, weapons ready. They had braced themselves for brutal resistance… only to find none.
"What's going on? An ambush?" one asked nervously.
"Hah! Don't be stupid," Mushuru sneered. "Those peasants must have fainted at the sound of my name. How could they dare resist?"
But as they crested a snowy ridge, Mushuru's steps slowed.
Before them stood Dalton and the militia, blocking the path to the castle.
"Mmm?" Mushuru's lips curled. "Dalton. You, the most loyal hound of my father's court. Will you betray him? I am the rightful king! Get on your knees at once!"
Dalton looked at him—the same arrogance, the same cruelty as Wapol burned in Mushuru's eyes.
He raised his hand. The militia split left and right, opening a path.
Dalton stepped aside, voice deep and steady. "Mushuru… if you want the throne, then go take it yourself."
"What game are you playing?" Mushuru snapped.
Razor Dam narrowed his eyes. Experienced, cunning, he muttered, "Seems they don't want to fight. Perhaps they don't serve this so-called new king with full loyalty."
Mushuru's breath grew ragged. His gaze snapped toward the castle—the symbol of power, the throne he had been denied.
"Doesn't matter," he snarled. "Help me take it. The crown will be mine again!"