The rules were simple.
Which meant they were cruel.
Do not chase.Do not retreat.Do not overpower.Hold your ground.
Sanji failed the first ten times in less than a minute.
REM did not move fast.
She did not need to.
She simply occupied the right place first.
Every time Sanji adjusted, she was already there.
Every time he tried to circle, she cut the angle.
Not aggressively.
Inevitably.
"…Tch," Sanji muttered as he slid back another step.
The Master's cane tapped once against the stone.
"Failure."
By the third day, Sanji stopped thinking about attacking.
By the fifth, he stopped thinking about winning.
By the seventh, he started thinking about space.
Not distance.
Ownership.
Where he was allowed to exist.
Where REM refused to let him exist.
Where the ground itself seemed to have… preferences.
"You're still hardening too late," the Master said.
Sanji frowned. "…Too late for what?"
"For meaning."
The Master walked into the training circle and placed his cane against Sanji's leg.
"Show me your Armament."
Sanji focused.
Busoshoku gathered.
The familiar tightening sensation came.
He struck.
The Master did not move.
The cane tapped his shin.
Sanji's leg buckled.
"…What?"
"You are wearing it," the Master said. "Not inhabiting it."
REM watched silently.
Her Armament never looked like effort.
It was not something she turned on.
It was something she was already standing inside.
The Master made Sanji stand still.
"Do not harden."
"…Then what?"
"Feel."
Hours.
Just standing.
Feeling the wind.
The ground.
His breath.
The way his weight traveled through bone and muscle into the stone.
"Your will is not paint," the Master said. "It is gravity."
Sanji's brow furrowed.
"…You're saying I'm doing it backwards."
"Yes," the Master said. "You try to add it. You must condense it."
The next spar, Sanji did not coat his leg.
He simply… stood.
REM attacked.
Not fast.
Correct.
Sanji did not move away.
He did not block.
He did not counter.
He settled.
The impact came.
The ground cracked.
Sanji slid back half a step.
But—
He was still there.
His eyes widened.
"…That felt… different."
The Master nodded.
"You did not wear will," he said. "You became heavy."
REM frowned.
Just slightly.
The next exchange was faster.
Sharper.
REM started changing angles.
Testing.
Sanji started… refusing.
Not dodging.
Not escaping.
Denying space.
For the first time—
REM had to adjust twice.
The watching students murmured.
REM's eyes sharpened.
"You are learning the wrong way," she said quietly.
"…Yeah," Sanji replied. "That's kind of my specialty."
Days turned into weeks.
Sanji stopped thinking of Armament as armor.
Started thinking of it as presence.
When he stood still, he felt heavier.
When he moved, he felt like he was moving the world with him.
His kicks no longer felt sharp.
They felt… final.
Then it happened.
REM struck.
Sanji met her.
And for the first time—
She was the one who slid back.
Not far.
Not dramatically.
But—
Enough.
The training terrace went silent.
REM looked at her foot.
Then at Sanji.
"…Interesting," she said.
Not annoyed.
Not angry.
Alert.
That night, REM stood alone on a high walkway.
The Master joined her.
"…You felt it," he said.
"…Yes."
"…Good."
She did not answer.
The Master later found Sanji sitting alone, massaging his leg.
"You are starting to understand," he said.
"…Yeah," Sanji replied. "Haki isn't something you put on."
He looked at his hand.
"…It's something you decide to be."
The Master nodded.
High above, the wind shifted.
The island listened.
And for the first time in a very long while—
The balance between born and forged began to move.