Two weeks after our birth, we were expelled from the main estate.
No ceremony.
No explanation.
We were simply moved away, like unwanted objects, to a dilapidated cabin located far from the main grounds, hidden from sight.
An old, damp structure, its wooden boards creaking at the slightest breath of wind.
Our only company was a nurse—no, several nurses.
They changed from time to time, none of them ever truly attached to us.
Needless to say, things were difficult from the very beginning.
The nurses did nothing beyond the bare minimum.
Keeping us alive.
Nothing more.
No gentle words.
No comforting gestures.
Not even a look filled with pity.
I still remember entire nights when Toji cried without stopping, his hoarse little voice echoing through the darkness.
He cried because he was hungry.
They had simply… forgotten to feed us.
The hours dragged on endlessly.
No one came.
After months like this, Toji eventually stopped crying.
Not because he felt better—
but because he no longer had the strength.
He would just tremble in his crib, pressed against me, his small body shaken by uncontrollable shivers.
I did my best to comfort him, all while trying to ignore the pain twisting my own stomach.
Hunger had become a constant presence.
A dull, burning ache that never left us.
"This is really bad…"
The physique of One Piece characters required an absurd amount of food to reach its full potential.
At this rate, I might never be able to start my training when I had planned.
"I need to adapt."
I made a decision.
"I'll start training Observation Haki now."
I had long since received the knowledge related to Haki—directly downloaded into my brain.
Concepts. Principles. Theoretical sensations.
Everything was there.
Observation Haki was the only type I could train, even at an extremely rudimentary level, without needing to move.
So I started living with my eyes closed.
Unsurprisingly, the nurses didn't really care.
I couldn't—and didn't want to—risk moving unnecessarily.
So I stayed still, doing my best to sense the presence of people around me.
Especially Toji.
Unlike me, he was incredibly active.
At just three months old, he could already crawl on all fours, clumsy but disturbingly energetic.
I suffered.
A lot.
For the first two months, nothing changed.
Sure, my movements became slightly more coordinated, and my other senses developed faster than normal…
but try spending two months barely using your eyes, and you'll understand.
I kept my eyes closed for more than fourteen hours a day.
And yet—
Nothing.
Not the faintest presence.
Not a single sensation.
There was even that ridiculous moment when I thought I had finally sensed someone…
only to realize it was just one of Toji's farts.
I started to despair.
I wondered if Haki could even be learned at this age.
Or if this method was simply doomed to fail.
I even found myself complaining internally about my choice.
"Why Zoro…?"
Choosing Sanji would have made things easier.
After all, he was the Observation Haki expert of the Monster Trio.
After three months of fruitless training, I was on the verge of giving up.
Then something happened—something that brutally reminded me of the reality I was living in.
I was training as usual when I suddenly heard Toji coughing violently beside me.
As we grew a little, we were sometimes allowed out of our crib to crawl around the old cabin.
Well… mostly Toji.
He was the only one of us who could move without assistance.
He explored the place endlessly, over and over again, his curiosity insatiable.
Unfortunately, that curiosity wasn't always a good thing.
When I opened my eyes to look at him, my blood ran cold.
Toji was on the floor, convulsing, vomiting violently.
In his tiny hand—
a piece of rat poison.
Bitten into.
Panic instantly overwhelmed me.
Seeing him twist in pain, I did something I hadn't done once since my reincarnation.
Something purely instinctive.
I cried.
I screamed at the top of my lungs.
"WAAAAAAHHHHH!!"
I screamed with everything I had, hoping—begging—for someone to come.
Minutes passed.
No one did.
No one came.
After screaming a little longer, I finally understood.
No one was going to help us.
Gathering every ounce of determination I had, I forced my small body onto all fours.
My joints burned with pain, every movement was agony, but I crawled anyway.
Inch by inch.
I finally reached Toji.
He had stopped vomiting by then.
I pulled him into my arms.
The moment I held him close, he stopped coughing and weakly grabbed onto my sleeve, as if clinging to it for his life.
He was still trembling.
His breathing was shallow, uneven.
With my free arm, I gently stroked his head, trying to transmit calm.
I pretended to be composed—
but inside, my mind was in complete chaos.
"What happened?"
"How did he even get his hands on rat poison?"
"He has a Heavenly Restriction… he'll survive, right?"
Questions flooded my thoughts as I prayed to every god I knew for a favorable outcome.
After about ten minutes, Toji finally calmed down.
The trembling stopped.
His breathing stabilized.
Then he fell asleep peacefully in my arms.
The relief I felt was indescribable.
But it was quickly replaced by a painful realization.
Toji had almost died.
And he would have died—
if he had been born as an ordinary child.
"No one came."
Two four-month-old babies, left alone in a rotting cabin.
That was when something finally clicked.
"I'm still too disconnected from reality."
"I'm still seeing this world as the manga I read."
But this wasn't a story.
This was my life.
A dark, cruel world where no one would come to save me.
And that was when my determination ignited.
"There's no way I'm giving up this easily."
"So what if my training leads nowhere?"
Haki was a power born from will.
If I want to master it, my mind must be as solid as seastone.
"It's me against the world."
"We'll see who bows first."
A small sniffle suddenly caught my attention.
I looked down at Toji.
His peaceful silhouette, curled up against me, was enough to calm the storm raging inside my chest.
"Well…"
"Maybe it's not just me after all."
Please spam the power stones.