The morning after my first training session, I woke up feeling like I'd been trampled by a Sea King. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest as I rolled out of my bunk, joints creaking like rusted hinges. The other Marines were already stirring, their conversations a low murmur punctuated by the occasional groan of someone nursing a hangover.
I bit back my own groan and forced myself upright. The soreness was good—it meant I'd actually pushed my body beyond its pathetic limits. Still, I had to be careful not to show too much improvement too quickly. In a place like this, sudden changes attracted unwanted attention.
The system flickered to life as I stretched, its clinical voice cutting through my mental fog:
Training Assessment Complete Recovery Rate: 67% – Below Average Muscle Adaptation: Minimal but Present Recommendation: Active recovery with light movement
I limped through the morning drill, playing up my soreness more than necessary. Lieutenant Bragga barely glanced my way—just another day of Windhelm Kael being pathetic. Perfect.
But as I struggled through the obstacle course, finishing dead last as usual, my mind was already working on tonight's training plan. The system had given me a foundation, but I needed to build on it systematically. Randomly flailing around in the dark wouldn't cut it.
During lunch, I found myself studying the other Marines with new eyes. Not their personalities or social dynamics, but their physicality. How they moved, how they breathed, the unconscious efficiency in their posture. These men weren't elite soldiers, but they were all leagues ahead of me in basic conditioning.
Hendricks, the nervous guy with the perpetually upset stomach, still had better core stability than me. Morrison, despite his "cutting diet," had shoulders that didn't shake when he lifted his tray. Even Davies—the transfer who'd abandoned me after a week of association—moved with a casual coordination that spoke of years of proper training.
I was starting from so far behind that it was almost comical.
That evening, I waited until the barracks settled into its usual post-dinner routine. Some Marines headed to the recreation room for cards or drinking. Others went to their bunks early, exhausted from the day's work. A few gathered in small groups, sharing stories or complaints about their assignments.
I slipped out unnoticed and made my way to the supply yard behind the main building. The area was technically off-limits after hours, but the guards were more concerned with preventing theft than stopping someone from exercising. I'd scouted it during my earlier exploration and found it perfect for my needs.
The yard contained various equipment and materials—wooden crates, metal drums, lengths of rope, and other odds and ends that had accumulated over the years. Tonight, I was interested in three specific items: a discarded tire from one of the supply trucks, a burlap sack filled with dried rice, and a coil of frayed rope that looked like it had seen better days.
I tied the rope securely around the rice sack, testing the knots to make sure they wouldn't slip. The bag was heavier than I'd expected—probably thirty pounds of rice that was too old for the mess hall but perfect for my purposes.
Improvised Training Equipment Detected Load Weight: 13.6 kilograms Drag Coefficient: High (irregular surface) Estimated Training Value: Moderate
I positioned myself at one end of the yard and began pulling the sack behind me. The rope bit into my hands almost immediately, and the irregular weight distribution made maintaining balance difficult. But that was the point. I needed to stress my body in ways that would force adaptation.
The first lap around the perimeter was manageable. My legs felt the extra resistance, but I could maintain a steady pace. By the second lap, my breathing had become noticeably heavier. The sack seemed to gain weight with each step, dragging against the uneven ground like it was actively fighting me.
Third lap. My shirt was soaked with sweat despite the cool night air. The rope had started to chafe my palms, but I maintained my grip. My form was probably terrible—I could feel my posture degrading as fatigue set in—but I kept moving.
Cardiovascular Stress: Moderate Form Degradation: 23% Recommendation: Focus on breathing rhythm
I tried to regulate my breathing, matching it to my steps. In for three steps, out for three steps. It helped, but only marginally. My body simply wasn't conditioned for sustained effort.
Fourth lap. My legs felt like lead weights. The sack caught on a protruding stone, jerking me backward and nearly causing me to fall. I adjusted my grip and kept going, but my pace had slowed to barely faster than a walk.
Fifth lap. I was no longer running—I was stumbling forward with grim determination. My vision had started to blur at the edges, and I could taste copper in my mouth. But something deep in my chest burned with stubborn refusal to quit.
This was where my previous life had prepared me, oddly enough. Not through physical conditioning—I'd been a complete couch potato—but through the countless hours I'd spent grinding in video games. The ability to push through tedium and discomfort in pursuit of marginal gains. The willingness to repeat the same actions over and over, driven by the promise of eventual progress.
Mental Resilience: +0.2 Pain Tolerance: +0.1
Sixth lap. I wasn't sure I was actually moving anymore. My feet dragged against the gravel, and the sack had become an anchor threatening to pull me backward. But I could see the finish line—the point where I'd started—and somehow I managed to reach it.
I collapsed next to the tire, gasping like a fish out of water. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I worried it might burst. The world spun sickeningly, and I had to close my eyes to keep from vomiting.
Training Session Complete Duration: 18 minutes, 37 seconds Distance: Approximately 900 meters Caloric Expenditure: 347 calories Endurance: +1
One point. After nearly twenty minutes of agony, I'd gained a single point of endurance. At this rate, it would take months to reach even basic competency.
As I lay there gasping next to the tire, muscles burning and lungs screaming, my mind drifted back to the last clear moment before this nightmare began. The final memory I had wasn't a dramatic battle or some grand sacrifice—it was far more mundane.
I remembered sitting at my computer, neck stiff from hours spent hunched over, lost deep in One Piece fan theories and endless manga chapters. My body ached from poor posture, and my eyelids had started to droop. I'd told myself just one more chapter, one more page—but then everything went black.
No warning. No second chance.
I hadn't died a hero. I hadn't died meaningfully.
I had simply fallen asleep and never woken up.
It was a stupid, quiet death. A life wasted in distractions and dreams without action.
But now, here in this body, I had a chance to rewrite the ending. To become someone stronger, someone who could survive—not just exist. The weight of that failure settled heavily in my chest, fueling a fire that no muscle ache or exhaustion could extinguish.
But now I had something he'd never had: a real chance to become the person he'd always imagined himself being. This world rewarded strength, determination, and the willingness to risk everything for your dreams. It was a place where a rubber boy could declare his intention to become Pirate King and actually have a shot at achieving it.
I wasn't Monkey D. Luffy. I didn't have his natural charisma, his unshakeable optimism, or his mysterious ability to inspire others. But I had something else: the knowledge that these dreams were possible, and the desperate hunger of someone who'd already wasted one life.
Psychological Profile Update Motivation: Significantly increased Self-Doubt: Reduced Goal Clarity: Improved
I forced myself to sit up, wiping sweat from my face with my sleeve. The night was still young, and I had more work to do.
The tire came next. I'd seen strongmen competitions where they flipped massive tires down a field, but this was just a regular truck tire—heavy enough to provide resistance without being completely impossible to move.
I positioned myself in front of it, squatting down to get a good grip on the tread. The rubber was cold and slightly damp from the night air. I took a deep breath, engaged my core, and tried to flip it forward.
Nothing happened.
I adjusted my grip and tried again, this time putting my whole body into the motion. The tire rocked slightly but didn't flip. My face burned with embarrassment, even though no one was watching.
Strength Deficit: Critical Current Load: 45 kilograms User Capacity: Insufficient Recommendation: Reduce load or modify technique
The system's assessment was brutally honest. I simply wasn't strong enough to flip the tire in the traditional manner. But I could work with what I had.
Instead of trying to flip it, I began rolling it around the yard. It was still challenging—I had to lean into it with my whole body weight—but it was manageable. I pushed it in a large circle, focusing on maintaining steady pressure and keeping my footing on the uneven ground.
After ten minutes of tire rolling, my shoulders and back were screaming. But I'd completed the circuit, and the system registered the effort:
Functional Strength Training: Active Muscle Groups Engaged: Posterior chain, core, grip Strength: +0.3
Finally, I moved to bodyweight exercises. Push-ups were still a disaster—I managed five before collapsing—but I'd researched progressions during my previous life's fitness phases. I found a sturdy crate and used it for incline push-ups, reducing the amount of bodyweight I had to lift.
The incline push-ups were humbling but achievable. I managed three sets of eight before my arms gave out completely. Sit-ups were easier—I could knock out thirty without too much trouble, though my form probably left a lot to be desired.
Calisthenics Assessment Push-up Progression: Modified incline Core Stability: Below average but improving Flexibility: Poor Overall Form: 4/10
The flexibility comment stung, but it was accurate. Years of sedentary living had left my body stiff and unresponsive. I needed to address that if I wanted to avoid injury and maximize my training efficiency.
I spent the last twenty minutes of my session doing basic stretches, focusing on my hips, shoulders, and hamstrings. It was boring, unglamorous work, but I'd learned enough about fitness to know that mobility was foundational to everything else.
As I held each stretch, I found my mind drifting to the bigger picture. The newspaper headlines from earlier today had mentioned more pirate activity in the region. Nothing major yet, but the ripples were spreading outward from wherever Luffy was making his mark.
How long did I have before the East Blue became too dangerous for someone at my level? Months? A year? The timeline was fuzzy in my memory, but I knew things would accelerate rapidly once the major story arcs began.
Flexibility: +0.2Recovery Rate: Improved
Training Session Complete
I gathered my improvised equipment and returned it to its original positions, careful to leave no trace of my activities. The last thing I needed was someone discovering my secret training sessions and either mocking me or trying to interfere.
As I made my way back to the barracks, I caught sight of the bulletin board near the main entrance. A new posting had been added since this morning—something about increased pirate activity requiring additional patrols. Nothing immediately threatening, but a reminder that this world was becoming more dangerous by the day.
I slipped into the darkened barracks as quietly as possible. Most of the other Marines were asleep, their breathing creating a steady rhythm punctuated by the occasional snore. I settled onto my bunk, my body aching but my mind oddly at peace.
Daily Training Summary
Endurance: +1.3 Strength: +0.3 Flexibility: +0.2 Mental Resilience: +0.2 Pain Tolerance: +0.1Overall Performance: Consistent effort despite limitations
The gains were small, almost insultingly so. But they were real, measurable progress. And more importantly, I'd proven to myself that I could push through discomfort and maintain discipline even when no one was watching.
Tomorrow would bring another day of humiliation during official training. I'd stumble through drills, fail at basic exercises, and endure the casual contempt of my fellow Marines. But tomorrow night, I'd be back in that supply yard, dragging that sack around the perimeter and fighting for every fraction of improvement.
The path to strength was going to be long, painful, and often thankless. But for the first time since waking up in this body, I felt like I was actually moving forward instead of just surviving.
In the darkness of the barracks, I allowed myself a small smile. Hayato Okabe had been content to dream about adventure from the safety of his couch. But Windhelm Kael was going to earn his place in this world, one brutal training session at a time.
The weakest Marine on Island 17 was going to become someone worth remembering.
Even if it killed me in the process.
Physical Stats
Strength: 12 Minimal improvements from tire work and modified push-ups. Still struggles with basic load-bearing exercises.
Endurance: 14 Noticeable improvements from sustained cardio work. Can maintain moderate effort for extended periods, though recovery remains slow.
Agility: 14 No change. Limited mobility work during stretching, but no dynamic movement training yet.
Coordination: 13 Slight improvement from handling irregular equipment. Better proprioception during complex movements.
Flexibility: 11 Marginal progress from dedicated stretching routine. Range of motion slightly improved but still well below average.
Combat Stats
Martial Arts: 0 No combat-specific training yet.
Weapon Proficiency: 3 No change. Still clumsy with standard Marine equipment.
Combat Instinct: 5 No change. No combat situations to develop reflexes.
Pain Tolerance: 10 Slight improvement from sustained discomfort during training. Better able to function through fatigue.
Tactical Awareness: 22 No change. Still purely theoretical knowledge.
Mental Stats
Focus: 16 Improved ability to maintain concentration during extended training sessions.
Stress Management: 8 No change. Still struggles with social pressure and scrutiny.
Learning Rate: 28 Better at recognizing training patterns and adapting techniques mid-session.
Strategic Thinking: 30 No change. Planning skills remain theoretical.
Special Conditions
Malnutrition: Still present but slightly reduced. More consistent food intake helping with recovery.
Sleep Deprivation: Reduced. Better sleep quality after physical exhaustion, though total sleep time remains limited.
Healing Injuries: Minor rope burns on palms. Muscle soreness throughout body but no significant damage.
Psychological Block (Low Self-Worth): Significantly improved. Growing confidence in ability to improve through sustained effort.