We agreed to meet at the forest entrance. Before leaving, I told the doctor I might not be back in time for dinner. He just waved me off.
I arrived exactly on time. No Issho.
I was about to sit on a rock when his voice came from right behind me:
"First lesson: when I tell you to listen to the world, I mean it. Calm yourself. Pay attention to your surroundings at all times."
I nearly jumped out of my skin. "Y-Yes, sir."
He chuckled. "Sir? Don't make me sound old. We're close enough in age."
I forced a smile. "Alright, Issho."
He had me lead the way to my training spot—eyes closed, stumbling but moving.
"Now," he began, "those senses I spoke of have another name. Haki. Three types exist, but the one you need most is Observation."
"Haki, huh…" I muttered.
"You've heard of it before?"
"Once or twice," I admitted. "My uncle mentioned it, but he died before he could explain." (That much was true—Uncle Clover had whispered the word haki once, though Reed never learned its meaning.)
Issho explained the basics of all three types, mentioning that he himself had mastered Observation and Armament. Then came practice.
He blindfolded me and sat me on the ground. "Your task is simple: don't stand, don't run. Just listen. Feel the world and dodge."
I barely had time to nod before the first strike came. His wooden staff cracked against my shoulder, knocking the air out of me.
"Too slow," he said calmly.
Again. A strike to my ribs. Then my arm. Each hit precise, controlled, but merciless. I twisted, flinched, but never in time.
Two hours passed. My body was a map of bruises. I hadn't dodged a single blow.
But I clenched my teeth and swore I would.
When I asked about Armament, Issho shook his head. "Focus on one type at a time. If you insist, I could teach both—for a higher price."
I declined. "Observation first. I'll ask again once I've mastered it."
He nodded, satisfied. I paid him for the lesson, then headed to the pond to cool off. On the way back, I gathered herbs for Martinez, then spent the evening with my Braille book.
For the next month, Issho and I met once a week. To afford his lessons, I doubled my workload for the doctor and even took odd jobs around town. My body ached every night, but slowly, progress came.
At first, I was just a blind, battered fool on the ground. But then—I started to feel things. The faint shift of air, the presence of movement. Enough to twitch just before the strike landed. Enough to dodge one blow. Then another.
A year passed since I'd awoken in Reed's body. At last, I could continuously avoid Issho's staff strikes with my eyes closed. A weapon fit for survival.
The exhaustion was hell, but for the first time, I felt proud of myself.
Issho also drilled me in the use of my knife—basic grips, movements, and killing thrusts. No sparring yet, but enough to understand efficiency. Meanwhile, I refined my Devil Fruit in secret. Neither Issho nor Martinez knew the truth, and I intended to keep it that way. If they discovered I'd stolen both their faces…
They were my only friends. My closest allies. But trust had limits.
Sometimes, I caught myself thinking: maybe I could stay here forever. A quiet island life, safe, hidden.
But then the urge returned. The pull of the world beyond.
Maybe once I learn armament I will...