Chapter 3
The air in the Isshin Dojo didn't just feel heavy; it felt as if the atmosphere itself had turned into liquid lead. Dracule Mihawk, the man who sat at the lonely peak of the swordsmanship world, stood in the center of the courtyard. His very presence was a whetstone, sharpening the nerves of everyone present until they felt ready to snap.
Zoro's teeth were gritting so hard a faint creaking sound could be heard. Beside him, Kuina had gone pale, her hand trembling slightly as it rested on the hilt of Wado Ichimonji. They were talented, yes, but they were still children facing a natural disaster in human form.
Only Aryan stood calm. His grey eyes were locked onto Mihawk's hawk-like golden irises. To the onlookers, it looked like a sheep staring at a lion, but to Mihawk, it was something else. He saw a small, silver spark—a soul that refused to be extinguished by his overwhelming pressure.
I know, Raphael, Aryan thought. I'm not suicidal. But I'm not going to blink, either.
"You have a steady gaze, boy," Mihawk said, his voice a low baritone that seemed to vibrate in the ground. "Most men of renown would have looked away by now. Tell me, what do you see when you look at me?"
Aryan didn't answer immediately. He took a slow, deliberate step forward. "I see a wall, Sir. A wall so high it touches the stars. But I also see a man who is very, very bored."
Mihawk's eyebrows twitched. A faint, razor-thin smile touched his lips. "Bored? A bold claim."
"If you weren't bored, you wouldn't be in the East Blue looking at children," Aryan countered, his charismatic aura flaring instinctively to shield Zoro and Kuina from the worst of Mihawk's pressure. "You're looking for a spark. Something to tell you that the future won't be as quiet as the present."
Mihawk uncrossed his arms. The movement was slow, but it felt like a mountain shifting. "Then show me that spark. Show me why you stand at the front while your companions tremble."
Aryan raised his wooden sword. He didn't take a standard Kendo stance. Instead, he lowered his center of gravity, his blade held loosely at his side in a "Silver Swordsman" transition posture.
"Ren! Kuina-nee! Back me up!" Aryan commanded.
Zoro didn't need to be told twice. The pressure had been suffocating him, and the only way out was through action. He roared, charging forward with three wooden swords—one in each hand and one in his mouth. "I don't care who you are! I'm gonna be the best!"
Kuina followed, her movements a contrast to Zoro's brutality. She moved like a shadow, circling to Mihawk's flank, her breathing deep and rhythmic as Aryan had taught her.
Mihawk didn't even reach for the Black Blade, Yoru, on his back. He didn't even reach for the small cross-knife around his neck. He simply stood there, his hands falling to his sides.
Zoro arrived first. A three-sword strike, a horizontal whirlwind of wood. Mihawk stepped back—half an inch. The swords whistled past his chest, the displaced air ruffling his coat. Zoro swung again, and again, a frantic, desperate barrage. Mihawk moved with the elegance of a leaf in a gale, his feet barely leaving the ground, his body swaying just enough to let the wooden blades pass.
Then Kuina struck. She waited for the moment Zoro's flurry ended, lunging with a precise thrust aimed at Mihawk's shoulder.
Mihawk tilted his head. He caught the tip of Kuina's wooden sword between two fingers.
The dojo went silent. Kuina's entire weight was behind that thrust, yet she was frozen, her sword held effortlessly by the world's strongest man using only his index finger and thumb.
"Precision is good," Mihawk remarked, his eyes still on Aryan. "But your heart wavered at the moment of contact. You feared the counter-attack more than you desired the hit."
With a flick of his fingers, he sent a vibration through the wooden sword that caused Kuina's hands to go numb. She stumbled back, her weapon nearly falling.
"Now," Mihawk turned his full attention to Aryan. "The one who speaks of walls and boredom. What is your move?"
Aryan didn't charge. He closed his eyes.
Raphael, give me everything on the Silver Swordsman's first form: 'The Piercing Moonlight'.
Aryan's body suddenly blurred. It wasn't just speed; it was as if the space between him and Mihawk had simply folded. To the observers, he vanished and reappeared three feet in front of Mihawk.
The wooden sword in Aryan's hand glowed with a faint, silver light—a mixture of his template energy and a trace of Busoshoku Haki.
Clang!
The sound wasn't of wood on flesh, but of metal on metal.
Mihawk had finally moved his hand. He hadn't drawn a weapon, but he had used the back of his hand—sheathed in an invisible, terrifyingly dense layer of Black Haki—to swat Aryan's blade aside.
The force of the deflection sent a shockwave through the courtyard, cracking the stone tiles beneath them. Aryan spun in the air, landing gracefully on his feet, but his breath was coming in ragged gasps. His arms felt like they had been hit by a cannonball.
Mihawk looked at the back of his hand. There was no mark, but the air around him had changed. The boredom in his eyes had been replaced by a sharp, predatory curiosity.
"Spatial manipulation? And the beginning of Haki?" Mihawk whispered, mostly to himself. He looked at the five-year-old boy. "In the weakest sea, in a nameless village... I find a monster in the skin of a child."
Aryan wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, a confident smirk still on his face despite the ache in his muscles. "Did that spark look bright enough for you, Sir?"
Mihawk let out a short, dry laugh. He reached back and gripped the hilt of Yoru. The students gasped, and Koshiro, who had been watching from the shadows, stepped forward, his hand on his own blade. The World's Greatest Swordsman was actually drawing his weapon against a child.
But Mihawk didn't unsheathe it. He simply leaned on the cross-guard, the massive blade still in its scabbard.
"Boy," Mihawk said, his voice carrying a weight of authority that made the world feel small. "What is your name?"
"Aryan," he replied, standing tall. "Roronoa Aryan. But my brother calls me Bran."
"Roronoa Aryan," Mihawk repeated, as if carving the name into his memory. "You are far too small for this world right now. If you continue to grow at this rate, you will either become the king of these seas or the most dangerous man to ever live. Which will it be?"
Aryan looked at Zoro, who was panting but standing back up, and Kuina, who was watching with wide, inspired eyes. "Why choose? I'll be both."
Mihawk stared at him for a long heartbeat, then turned around. His black cloak flared behind him like the wings of a giant bird.
"I came here looking for a reason to keep my title," Mihawk said, walking toward the dojo gates. "I found three. Grow strong, Roronoa brothers. Grow strong, girl. I shall wait for you at the top. But know this—the next time we meet, I will not use the back of my hand."
And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the village mist as quickly as he had arrived.
The dojo remained silent for a long time. Then, Zoro let out a primal scream of frustration and excitement, swinging his wooden swords at the air. "Did you see that?! He didn't even move! I'm gonna train! I'm gonna train until my bones break!"
Kuina sat on the ground, her hands still shaking, but a new light was in her eyes. "He acknowledged me... he said my precision was good."
Aryan felt his legs give out, and he sat down heavily. Raphael, status.
What does that do?
Aryan leaned back, looking at the sky. He had survived an encounter with a Shichibukai at the age of five. He had saved Kuina's spirit from breaking. And he had felt, for a fleeting second, what real power looked like.
Two years later. Aryan was now seven years old.
The village of Shimotsuki had become too small. Aryan's daily sign-ins had continued to accumulate, and he had spent the last two years systematically raiding the village's old records with Koshiro's permission. He had learned about the Shimotsuki clan's history, their connection to Wano, and the secrets of crafting blades.
His appearance had matured into that of a strikingly handsome young boy. His dark hair was often tied back in a short ponytail, and his grey eyes held a calm, gentlemanly charm that hid the lethal warrior beneath. He was the idol of every girl in the village and the undisputed leader of the dojo's youth.
"Master Koshiro," Aryan said, standing in the master's private study. "It's time."
Koshiro looked up from his scrolls. He looked older, but his smile was as warm as ever. "The boat is ready, Aryan. I've stocked it with enough supplies for a month. But are you sure? You're only seven."
"I have the sea in my blood, Master. And besides," Aryan gestured to the door, where Zoro and Kuina were waiting. "I won't be alone."
"Wait, what?" Koshiro blinked. "I thought you were going alone!"
"I tried to tell them to stay," Aryan said, sounding like a tired older brother despite being the youngest. "But Ren threatened to follow me in a rowboat, and Kuina said she'd never forgive me if I saw the world without her."
Zoro stepped into the room, now seven years old and already possessing a physique that put most teenagers to shame. He had three real katanas strapped to his waist—not Meitos, but high-quality blades forged in the village. "You're not leaving me behind, Bran! We're gonna find the best swordsmen in the East Blue and beat 'em all!"
Kuina, now fifteen, looked like a true swordswoman. She carried the Wado Ichimonji with a grace that spoke of thousands of hours of practice. "Father, I've learned everything I can here. Aryan has shown me a path I need to follow. I'll keep them both out of trouble."
Koshiro sighed, but there was a twinkle of pride in his eyes. "The three of you... you're going to turn the East Blue upside down, aren't you?"
Aryan bowed. "We'll be careful, Master. But we won't be quiet."
That afternoon, the entire village gathered at the docks. A sturdy, medium-sized schooner sat in the water, the name The Silver Sovereign painted on its prow. It was a gift from the village, funded by the various "odd jobs" Aryan and his siblings had done over the years—mostly clearing out local bandit camps that Raphael had pinpointed with surgical precision.
As they boarded the ship, Aryan felt the system pulse.
Aryan stood at the helm, his hand resting on the polished wood. Raphael, set a course for the nearest trade route. Let's see who's out there.
Axe-Hand Morgan? Aryan smiled. A perfect warm-up.
"Set the sails, Ren! Kuina, check the charts!" Aryan shouted.
"Don't tell me what to do!" Zoro yelled back, though he was already hauling on the ropes with a grin.
"Aye, Captain," Kuina teased, giving him a playful salute before heading to the navigator's desk.
As The Silver Sovereign caught the wind and began to pull away from the dock, Aryan looked back at Shimotsuki Village. He was leaving his childhood behind. He was leaving the safety of the dojo. He was entering the world of pirates, marines, and monsters.
But as he felt the cold weight of the Kusanagi in his spatial storage and the analytical presence of Raphael in his mind, he didn't feel a shred of doubt.
The first two days at sea were a lesson in reality. Even with Raphael's navigation, the ocean was unpredictable. Zoro, for all his strength, was prone to getting lost even on a small ship, often ending up in the galley when he was trying to go to the crow's nest. Kuina took to navigation with a natural talent, her discipline allowing her to read the stars and the currents with ease.
Aryan, however, spent his time meditating. He was pushing his Spatial Domination to the limit. He found that by vibrating the space around his blade, he could create a "Spatial Edge"—a cutting force that ignored the physical hardness of the target.
Raphael, calculate the energy cost of maintaining "Spatial Edge" for more than ten seconds.
Not yet, Aryan thought. I want to see what Shells Town offers first.
On the third day, the horizon finally broke. A large island with a prominent Marine base came into view. The base was a towering fortress, dominated by a massive statue of a man with an axe for a hand.
"That's it," Kuina said, looking through a spyglass. "Shells Town. The rumors say Captain Morgan is a tyrant who taxes the people into poverty."
"A Marine tyrant?" Zoro spat. "Sounds like someone needs a good beating."
"We're not here just for a fight, Ren," Aryan said, though his eyes were sharp. "We're here to test our metal. And maybe... find someone worth bringing along."
As they docked the ship, the atmosphere in the town was palpable. People walked with their heads down, voices hushed. Marines patrolled the streets with arrogant sneers, looking for any excuse to exercise their authority.
Aryan stepped onto the stone pier, his gentlemanly attire and calm demeanor drawing immediate attention. He looked like a young noble, yet the way he moved suggested a hidden lethality.
"Hey! You kids!" A Marine corporal shouted, walking toward them. "This is a restricted dock! Pay the entry tax of 10,000 Berries or we impale your ship!"
Aryan stopped and looked at the Marine. He didn't reach for a sword. He didn't even raise his voice. He simply allowed a tiny, microscopic thread of Haoshoku Haki to color his words.
"We are travelers, Officer," Aryan said, his voice smooth and magnetic. "And as far as I know, the Marine code of conduct doesn't include extortion. Perhaps you'd like to reconsider?"
The Marine froze. He felt a sudden, inexplicable chill run down his spine. Looking into Aryan's grey eyes, he didn't see a child; he saw an abyss. His knees wobbled, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.
"I... uh... I mean..." the Marine stammered, stepping back. "Just... move along! Quickly!"
Zoro chuckled, leaning his wooden swords against his shoulder. "Nice one, Bran. You didn't even have to hit him."
"The best victory is the one won without drawing steel," Aryan replied, though his gaze shifted toward the center of the town.
Aryan paused. Wait, if Zoro is with me, who's in the courtyard?
They made their way toward the base, slipping through the shadows. Looking through the iron bars of the courtyard fence, they saw a girl. She looked to be about eighteen, with short orange hair and a determined, albeit exhausted, expression. She was tied to a wooden cross, the sun beating down on her.
"Nami?" Aryan whispered to himself, his eyebrows shooting up.
In this timeline, the cat burglar hadn't just been stealing from pirates. It seemed she had crossed the wrong Marine.
"Who's the girl?" Zoro asked, peering through the bars. "And why are they treating her like a criminal?"
"That," Aryan said, a slow smirk spreading across his face, "is our first recruit. Raphael, scan the area. How many Marines are between us and her?"
"Alright," Aryan said, his hand finally resting on the hilt of his sword. "Ren, you take the left gate. Kuina, you cover the perimeter. I'll handle the center."
"Finally!" Zoro grinned, his swords already in his hands. "Let's see if these Marines are as tough as they talk."
The three siblings moved as one, a storm of silver and green descending upon the corrupt base of Shells Town.