I didn’t ask to be reincarnated in ONE PIECE!

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when I arrived at the clearing in the woods. I was still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, groaning at the thought of what was about to happen.

This was going to be my first day of training with Jiro, the grumpy old ex-Marine Commander who had once fought pirates like they were rats, and now, apparently, had the job of turning me into someone who could defend myself—or at least not get instantly flattened by the first strong gust of wind.

"You're late," Jiro grumbled as I stumbled into the clearing, where he was already waiting, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed.

"I—I'm not late! You're just early," I replied, trying to sound confident while secretly hoping he hadn't noticed how much I was dragging my feet.

Jiro raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Whatever you say. Now, drop and give me twenty."

"Wh—what?" I stared at him in disbelief. "I thought we were gonna do, like, swords and cool fighting stuff, not… push-ups!"

"Push-ups are a foundation, kid," Jiro said with a grunt. "Every strong fighter needs a strong body. Now get to work."

I opened my mouth to argue, but then remembered the "if you slack off, I'll throw you back to the docks" bit from last night.

So, without another word, I dropped to the ground and started doing push-ups.

It was horrible. I was about two push-ups in when my arms felt like they were on fire, and by the time I hit ten, I was pretty sure my elbows were about to give out entirely. But Jiro wasn't having any of it.

"Come on, kid! You're gonna need more than that if you're gonna survive in this world," he barked. "Haven't you heard of the saying 'no pain, no gain'?"

"Yeah, but this feels like too much pain!" I wheezed, barely able to keep going.

Jiro snorted. "If you can't do twenty push-ups, you'll never hold a sword."

I pushed through the pain, why was he talking about swords? Was he one? Anyway I managed to get to twenty. By the end of it, I was gasping for air, and I could swear I saw a light flashing in front of my eyes. But Jiro didn't care.

"Good. Now do it again."

"What?!"

"I'm not saying I'm training you to be a punching bag. But you need this. This is step one. Remember, your body is your first weapon."

"Fine," I muttered, pressing myself back down for round two.

After what felt like an eternity of push-ups, Jiro finally decided I'd suffered enough for the morning. His approval was about as warm as a brick wall, but I took what I could get.

"Now that your arms aren't completely useless, we can move on to the swordplay," Jiro said, tossing me a wooden training sword. It was heavy and awkward in my hands.

"Wait, you mean a real sword?" I asked, suddenly more awake. "Like, a proper, shiny sword that cuts things?"

Jiro rolled his eyes. "Do you really think I'm gonna hand you a real sword when you can barely stand up straight after push-ups?"

"Fair point."

"Just try not to break anything." He muttered the last part under his breath, but I caught it anyway.

Jiro then stepped back, giving me space to move. "Alright, kid. The first thing you need to know about sword fighting is that it's all about balance. Get your stance right, or you'll trip over your own feet."

"Uh, you mean like this?" I tried standing with my feet wide apart, gripping the sword awkwardly with both hands. My stance looked more like a toddler trying to play superhero than an actual fighter.

Jiro let out a heavy sigh. "Are you trying to summon a tornado or stab something? Get your feet under you and square your shoulders."

I tried again, making sure to plant my feet firmly this time. Jiro nodded, though it was more out of indifference than approval.

"Not bad. Now swing the sword."

I raised the wooden sword above my head, aiming for an imaginary target, and swung it down with all my might. The sword flew out of my hands and landed in a bush.

I blinked. "Uh, that's not what I meant to do."

"Did you think this was a game?" Jiro asked flatly.

I felt my cheeks burn. "Okay, okay! I got it! I'm just… getting warmed up."

"Warm-up's over. Start again."

It was like I was back in school, being forced to do a test I wasn't prepared for. But somehow, Jiro had this way of making me feel like quitting was never an option. I picked up the sword, focused, and tried again, swinging it in a more controlled motion this time.

Jiro nodded in approval. "Better. You don't need to be fancy. Just focus on hitting your target. If you can't control your sword, it'll control you."

For the rest of the morning, Jiro had me practicing different swings: vertical slashes, horizontal cuts, and thrusts. By noon, I was covered in sweat, my arms sore from the swordplay. Jiro didn't let up, though. Every time I got sloppy, he'd bark at me to fix my form, until I was convinced my arms were about to fall off.

When we finally took a break, I slumped onto the ground, panting.

"How do you feel?" Jiro asked, inspecting his nails like he couldn't care less.

"Like I want to die," I replied, eyes half-lidded.

Jiro chuckled. "You'll get used to it. If you keep this up, you might even get halfway decent at fighting."

I grinned weakly. "I'll take it."

__________________________

We spent the next month training like this—swordplay, push-ups, even some random techniques like how to roll when you fall (because apparently, getting knocked down was inevitable). Every day, Jiro drilled me with his usual brand of gruff encouragement. I was still sore by the end of each day, but something started to change. My body was getting stronger. My swordplay was getting smoother. And, perhaps most importantly, I was beginning to get used to Jiro's weird, grumpy "motivation."

One day, after a particularly intense session where I'd managed to land a decent hit on a tree stump, Jiro slapped me on the back with surprising force.

"Not bad, kid. I didn't think you had it in you," he grumbled. "But that's what you get when you don't give up."

I rubbed my sore back, trying not to grimace. "Thanks... I think."

Jiro gave a rare, almost imperceptible smile. "Don't get cocky. You're still a long way from winning that tournament."

Yup somehow jiro found out my real motivation to get stronger, at first he was angry but I somehow still convinced him to keep training me as I said about being a marine, so swordplay wasn't the only thing I learned some kicks and punches as well.

I chuckled, despite my exhaustion. "You don't have to remind me. But, hey, at least I'm not completely useless anymore, right?"

"You're getting there," Jiro said, with a dismissive grunt. "Now, don't slack off. You've got a long way to go before you can even think about that Devil Fruit."

I nodded, my mind racing with the possibilities. One month down, and I was already starting to feel like I might actually have a shot at surviving this chaotic world.

And maybe—just maybe—getting strong enough to carve my own path.

But first... I needed a nap. Because, frankly, I was pretty sure my body was about to revolt.

To be continued...