Day 4 began on a low, throbbing note for Kenji. The pain was not so much a cry as a warning, a nagging little voice that could not be quieted: constant, continuous. His upper back was stiff, his arms heavy, his legs braced with liquid weights. Merely shifting his torso off the bare inn mattress was a task in itself.
He lingered at the side of the bed for several minutes, moving slowly, anticipating the stiffness would pass. It didn't.
But something did change.
He could sense it—beneath the stiffness, a lingering hum in the muscles. Like something was beginning to wake.
Kenji peeked at the system panel. No flashy treats. No additions. Just the same figures. but he did know. He was growing stronger. Bit by bit.
He left the inn quietly, the streets still damp from dawn mist. A few fishermen passed him, nets and buckets slung over their arms down towards the wharves, but the town was generally quiet.
He found his familiar training place past the outskirts of town, past a row of broken stone fences. A stony clearing near the coast, half grown up in weeds, looking out to the ocean line. The air was salty and bitter and freedom-like.
He sat on the ground and started the routine.
Push-ups first.
The first set wasn't terrible. The second set hurt. By the fifth set, his arms were trembling, and by the tenth, his nose was scraping dirt with every rep, his elbows pleading for mercy.
Sit-ups next.
Slower, this time. The pain in his stomach made it hard to crunch forward. He snapped the sets into small pieces—50 at a time, then 25s. He hated this as a child in gym class back home. But there, it was just to waste time. Here, it was survival.
By the end, he was lying on his back, staring up at the clouds.
Then there was the run.
The 5km course he'd mapped hugged the coastline, bending around the cliff face and back towards the town boundary. His legs protested with each step. Each stride jolted up his spine, but his breathing—while strained—was more even now. More controlled.
But halfway, his body begged him to stop. To walk. To sit. To take one day off.
But he didn't.
Because to skip was to fail.
And losing would mean losing his job. Losing the only fixed avenue he had towards power. He needed that Constitution to improve. Strength. Agility. If he ever wanted to become strong enough to live, maybe even get a Devil Fruit one day, he couldn't afford to lag behind.
When he stepped across the line—a crooked fence post just beyond town-he stumbled back against it, panting. His shirt was stuck to his body. His legs shook. But his chest…
His chest was full.
"Day 4 complete," the system breathed softly into the corner of his eye.
No greatness with grit.
Some time later, in the midst of Loguetown, again teeming with people, things were different now.
More stares. More whispered words.
Kenji caught whispers of it walking past market stalls and side alleys. The town was alive, but not with its ordinary routine. The kind of buzz that went along with trouble brewing nearby.
Dockworkers huddled in a circle, muttering rumors of a pirate crew who had anchored two towns down—and been destroyed.
"Whole crew, gone," one man said. "No survivors. Another crew trying to make a name, they say."
Kenji didn't stop walking, but he listened.
Another man chimed in, voice low. "Happening more and more. Some young upstarts chasing glory. Thinkin' they're the next Gol D. Roger."
Kenji's stomach twisted. The age of pirates really is starting.
He passed a wooden board nailed to the side of a bakery. A Marine recruitment poster flapped in the wind.
JOIN THE NAVY. DEFEND THE SEAS. EARN PAY AND HONOR.
Beneath it, a few locals whispered about an outpost being set up nearby—temporary, maybe, but offering coin and security.
"Should send my boy," one woman muttered. "Better a Marine than fish bait."
Kenji moved on.
He cut across a corner, down a less busy side street to pick up fruit, when something snagged his pocket.
He turned around fast. A boy—about 14, lean, quick—stepped back, half an apple clutched in his hand.
Kenji scowled. "Seriously?"
The kid blinked. "You ain't from around here."
Kenji crossed his arms. " Noticed."
The kid grinned. "You hear about the ship off the south bay?"
Kenji furrowed an eyebrow. "What ship?"
"Mystery one. Black sails, just as quiet. Didn't tie up. Just anchored out there like it's waitin'. Some folks think it's Marines. Some think it's a bounty hunter crew."
Kenji narrowed his eyes. "And you? What do you think?"
The boy grinned. "I think it's pirates. Real pirates. A man in red's been seen. Some say it's him."
Kenji's heart began to race. "Him who?"
"Buggy," the boy whispered. "Heard the name in the tavern. He ain't famous yet, but they say he's dangerous. Crazy, even."
Kenji tensed. Buggy. A name from the early arcs of One Piece. Not a threat yet—but unpredictable. And close by.
A silent ping resonated in his mind.
[System Notification: Unstable Elements Detected near Logue Town. Local Threat Level Rising.]
His jaw clenched.
By late afternoon, the sun had dipped low, and Kenji stood in front of a short stone and wood building—an old swordsmith's shop.
He'd passed by it a couple of times. Today, he couldn't help but stop.
The air within was heavy with the scent of iron and coal. The shopkeeper, a balding man with soot-stained hands and a leather apron, looked up as Kenji entered.
"Looking for something?"
A sword," Kenji said. "Something balanced. Dependable."
The man took him to a rack of swords. Most were curved sabers, heavy broadswords, a few thin rapiers. Each had a price sticker up to 10,000 berries.
Kenji scowled. Nothing caught his eye.
Then—
In the corner of the store, half-covered in cloth, a katana lay on a low shelf.
Plain. Unadorned. But something about it tugged at him.
He went over and picked up the blade carefully.
It was heavier than it looked, but not awkward. The hilt fit perfectly in his hand as if made for him.
"What about that one?"
The smith glanced over. "That? Old thing. Not mine. Pirate sold it to me years ago. No special markings. But it's good. Edge is sharp. Won't disappoint you if you take care of it."
Kenji ran his thumb along the sheath. "How much?"
"20,000 berries."
Kenji winced. He had money—system-provided money—but not to squander. Still… this sword felt comfortable.
"15,000," he negotiated.
The swordsmith growled. "You make a tough sale, kid."
A silence.
".Fine. 15,000."
Kenji handed over the cash and accepted the blade in exchange.
He exited the store lighter in wallet—balance now 84,780 berries—but with a sword at his waist.
He had no idea what came next.
But whatever it was… he wouldn't meet it unarmed.
That night, at the inn, he sat on either side of his window, knife between his knees. Far away, moonlit ocean glittered.
The world was growing noisier. More dangerous.
But he was training.
Piece by piece.
Day by day.
He spoke to himself in hushed tones, quieter than anyone would hear:
"Don't fall behind."