The Merit Coupon.
It was Jin's first experiment.
With this single move, the Winterhan Kingdom could begin operating under a semi-planned economic model, gradually accumulating capital.
And this was only the beginning.
"Military merits shall be rewarded. Private duels are forbidden. All men of age must serve. I now establish a twenty-tiered system of noble titles, granted solely according to military achievement."
"Small family units will be encouraged. Agriculture and weaving will be rewarded. Childbearing will be promoted."
"Schools will be built. Adult education encouraged. All children of proper age must attend classes."
"Commercial taxes and tariffs will be levied…"
"The medical system shall be rebuilt and improved."
Jin announced twelve decrees in a single breath, erecting an entirely new framework for the Winterhan Kingdom.
Drum Island might not be vast. It was no ideal utopia. Yet precisely because of its small size, his reforms could be enacted more swiftly and thoroughly.
He had slain Wapol, crushed Mushuru, created wealth through the miracle of ice mushrooms. His prestige now stood at its peak.
No one dared oppose him.
And if anyone did—Jin would not hesitate to reveal a flash of tyranny, for a ruler must instill at least a measure of fear in the hearts of his people.
Alongside the laws came personnel reshuffles.
Dalton retained his post.
Jason, once captain of patrols, became tax officer.
Razor Dam, after enduring trials and shedding his old life, renamed himself Sal and was appointed captain of the ice mushroom trade escort fleet.
Talent was scarce. He had no choice but to use every man to his utmost.
Wilson, the former helmsman of the Vulture Pirates, who had defected, was given the role of commander of the Winterhan Navy's First Squadron.
Among the twenty doctors of Drum, Hippok—the one most skilled in medicine—was named chief medical officer.
Jin had even tried to invite Dr. Kureha to serve as minister of education. But the fiery old witch had flatly refused.
So Jin settled for the next best thing: Chopper. To manipulate Chopper was far easier than to control the old hag.
I slew Wapol for you. I avenged your suffering. This debt, Chopper—you owe me.
On Drum Island, the sun had risen on a new kingdom.
The King's grace could never be repaid.
Loyalty. Absolute loyalty.
And with Chopper in his grasp, persuading the old witch later would be far simpler
..
When a person is busy, time flies swiftly.
In the blink of an eye, a month passed.
Amid his governance, Jin never ceased his extreme training. Every day, he forced his body to its very limits, breaking barriers again and again.
Sparring with Sal, Wilson, Dalton, and others added countless layers of combat experience.
And once more, little Ai provided updated data.
[Name: Jin]
[Height: 185 cm]
[Weight: 76 kg]
[Body fat: 15%]
[Grip strength: 1.6 tons]
[Bench press: 9.8 tons]
[Average speed: 150 m/s]
[0–100 km/h acceleration: 1 second]
[Overall Doriki: 660–1570]
[Analysis: Through relentless training, the master's potential has been awakened. He is in peak health, with superhuman strength and speed.]
In a mere short time, Jin's raw power had already reached the level of the CP agents stationed at Enies Lobby.
Yet…
He lacked the structured techniques of Rokushiki.
And as for Haki—he could not even find the first step toward training it.
Little Ai's data-crunching abilities were immense, but without reference points or samples of Haki, even the most advanced AI could not create what did not exist.
That was its limitation.
"Confined in training, one cannot become a true warrior."
"It is time to hunt."
Jin's eyes glimmered as he traced his finger over the chart before him. Marked upon it were several known pirate havens and gathering spots.
His finger stopped on one red dot.
"Hannabal."
"Sherlock told me—the island hosts an irregular Sea Death Tournament. And it's about to begin."
"To chase fortune and danger, countless pirates will flock there. The perfect ground for testing myself, gathering spoils, and training."
This time, Jin would bring the Devil Fruit Carrier itself.
To disguise it, he nailed planks over the steel hull, raised a mast, and rigged it to resemble a single-masted sloop.
He named it: The Genesis.
Above it flew a grinning skull flag.
The crew: Wilson, twelve former Vulture Pirates, and seventeen elite militiamen handpicked from Drum's forces.
Thirty-one men in all.
Guided by a permanent log pose, they sailed three days and nights until Hannabal rose before them.
Night cloaked the island.
The monsoon wind swept across its muddy shoreline. At the end of the dock, ramshackle wooden huts sagged together to form a crooked town.
Filth. Chaos. Rot.
This was a pirate nest, through and through.
Here dwelled those who had glimpsed the cruelty of the Grand Line, unwilling to return to the Blues, clinging to survival in squalor.
Over time, it had become a den for many more—a resting ground for wandering pirates, a playground for the damned.
As Jin and Wilson strode into the town, a storm of eyes fell upon them, appraising, judging.
Savage men with scarred faces licked their lips and stroked the edges of their blades.
Women in scant clothing leaned against doorframes, arms crossed over their chests, voices dripping with teasing invitation. "Handsome… care to play?"
Shifty-eyed youths skulked in the shadows, their gazes fixed on purses and belts.
Yet once they laid eyes on Wilson, many of those stares faded, suppressed by caution.
"Fishman?"
"Looks like it."
Murmurs spread.
Yes—Wilson was no human.
He hailed from Fishman Island.
A weasel-shark Fishman, towering at three meters and twenty centimeters.
Blue leather trousers clung to his legs, boots striking the mud. His chest, wrapped in only a thin shirt, bared rows of ridged muscles and scars across his stone-gray skin.
A bandage bound his left arm. His frame loomed like a fortress. Snow-white fangs gleamed from his half-snarl.
A figure of raw menace.
Jin had described him simply: Our brother Wilson—short on words, heavy on blood.
Sherlock had once told the tale—Wilson had been rescued by chance, and in return had given his loyalty as a stalwart warrior.
Now, with Sherlock landed and his role in the Fire Kingdom's court secured, there had been no place for a Fishman there. He had entrusted Wilson to Jin.
And Jin had accepted him without prejudice. That, too, mattered greatly.
With Wilson at his side, Jin didn't need to posture or pick fights—most pirates would think twice before crossing him. Any trouble that came their way would be cut in half.
After Jin slipped five thousand Berries into a streetwalker's pocket, she led them through twisting alleys to a dingy tavern.
Leaning over the counter, she whispered to the barkeep, "These two want in. Out of money, looking for a thrill."
The barkeep gave them a long look, then glanced at the wall behind him. Dozens of bounty posters plastered it—each face belonging to a pirate captain.
Some worth twenty or thirty million. Others, ninety million and more.
Strangers. Fresh faces.
The barkeep sighed. "Young men, don't be so reckless. Ending your life so carelessly is a waste."
He had seen it too often. Arrogant newcomers charging toward "adventure," only to bleed their last in the dirt.
Especially this time…
For among the contestants was a man whose bounty topped them all—Gasparade, known as the "Marines' Greatest Disgrace."
Jin's smile never faltered. "The higher the waves, the richer the catch. If we want great rewards, we must take great risks. Isn't that the truth?"
The barkeep studied his expression, saw the seriousness in his eyes. He sighed again. To argue was useless.
"Fools and pirates. Beyond saving."
"Very well then. If you're in such a hurry to die… follow me."