Ash D. Ketchum believed in two things more than anything else: that anything others can do, he can do it better, and that flirting was an acquired skill just like everything else in this life. If someone tries hard enough at something, there is nothing they can't learn or do.
Those beliefs had been battered, mocked, and almost got broken in his first week at Marineford.
Almost.
"Early mornings still slapped him awake like a bucket of seawater. But where once he stumbled half-dressed to roll call, now he prided himself on being there on time. It was a huge improvement for someone who woke up at 11.
He had made it a point of honour to waltz through the barracks with bed hair proudly uncombed, striking his best "rugged hero" face.
"You look like a scarecrow that lost a fight with a mop," Filo muttered one morning, watching Ash march around with his chin up.
Ash only winked. "Fashion is temporary, Filo. Confidence is forever. Besides, the girls like it this way. Trust me." (They did not.)
The truth was, a truth Ash rarely admitted, that every muscle in his body still felt like it was being replaced with red-hot steel by noon each day. Every single push-up bit a little deeper; every squat made his thighs ache. At lunch, no matter how many jokes he cracked, the shaking in his hands lingered even long after the bowl was empty.
But each dusk saw Ash back on the moon-drenched parade ground, fearlessly alone. Here, under the blue glow of his system's reminders, a different Ash emerged: one stripped bare of performance, just sweat, pain and sheer resolve. Ever since he realised eating a lot of food can cure almost everything overnight, he kept pushing his body to be better, strong and faster.
He whimpered through push-ups, sometimes cursing, sometimes singing the song:
'I wanna be the very best—that no one ever was~'
The first week was agony. Most nights, his arms barely obeyed as he willed out the last push-up, shoulders buckling on the gravel. He finished with a final, desperate set of crunched sit-ups, groaning, seeing stars in the sky and in his vision. And every night, his mind flickered with the system warning:
{Daily Task: Incomplete. Progress: 0. Confidence: Questionable.}
He growled. "Damnit, Saitama was doing it daily despite being a normal human, I refused to believe I can't. For the sake of losing my virginity, let's go!!"
But on the seventh night, something different happened. With the last squat done and his chest heaving, the system finally chimed in his mind with a blue, celebratory ping:
{Daily Task: Completed! Progress: +0.01%. Well done, Ash!}
He collapsed back in the dirt and stared up at the moon. Hearing this message for the first time, he felt Elevated and Thrilled. It was proof that he wasn't just wasting his time. "Did you hear that, moon? That's the sound of greatness! Take notes, for I will be the one to change this world!"
Unbeknownst to him, Smoker and half the squadron could hear every word from their open dorm window, but they did. Tashigi choked on her water from laughing so suddenly; Filo just muttered into his pillow, "He's so embarrassing. But that's my roommate, what can I do?"
The change wasn't overnight, but it was real. Every day following, the pain faded a little faster, the effort grew a little lighter, and his mouth only ran quicker.
Most days, Ash was his walking comedy routine self. He would approach the line-up, straight-faced, then whisper, "Careful, Hina, I wouldn't want to distract you with my dazzling new muscles."
Hina's lips barely twitched as she gave him a sidelong glance before withdrawing her gaze. "Hina says, you're better at making noise than muscle. Keep at it and you might soon as muscles bigger than an 8-year-old."
"I can do both!" Ash grinned. "I'm multi-talented."
But behind the gags, Ash's focus never faded. By halfway through the second week, he looked forward to dusk, no, he yearned for it.
He sprinted laps under the silver sky, steady and rhythmic, the parade ground his personal gym. He sometimes sang to himself halfway through, just to keep himself going.
It was during one such late session that Tashigi stopped on her way in from remedial sword drills. She saw Ash, sweat pouring, shouting out a slow count to the stars.
"Are you in pain or trying to court the stars, Ash?"
"Why not both?" he panted. "Stars love a hardworking man. Or so I'm told." (They do.)
Instead of leaving, she joined him for a few stretches, correcting his form between giggles. "If you push your legs out just a bit more, you'll get stronger and less likely to fall over when trying to impress a girl."
He tried it, but nearly crumpled, barely managing to finish the set. Seeing this, she smiled and slapped a hand on his shoulder, which sent him tumbling forward in the dirt. "You'll get there soon. At least your jokes are improving."
A few days later, Smoker appeared while Ash was midway through his second extra set, cigar glowing in the darkness. Smoker didn't say much; he just dropped into a squat beside him, counted off with a quiet "1, 2, 3," and finished in perfect silence. Before leaving, Smoker flicked some ash at Ash's boots. "Just don't get too carried away and ruin your chances with the ladies, boy. I am still counting on you to entertain me and Hin- I mean, date Hina."
Even Hina lingered in the shadows once, leaving an extra bottle of water near Ash's training bag.
"Hina says, muscles also need adequate rest to recover. Don't be a fool and chase pain for its own sake."
He just grinned at her back before she disappeared, shouting after her, "I'm only chasing two things, Hina! Strength and that beauty of yours!"
By the end of two weeks, Ash's routine was legend among the junior marines. He would finish his assigned tasks and just keep going, wagering with himself. "One more lap! If I finish this faster than her, Tashigi owes me a dance at the next festival!" (He never won, but she would sometimes smile anyway.)
His camaraderie, positivity, and unwillingness to break made him both the heart and the comic relief of Marineford's new blood. Inspired by him, other people also began to push themselves harder daily.
But he earned more than friendships; he was changing, physically and mentally, before their eyes. The system's messages lost their edge of condescension and became almost proud:
{Daily Task: Completed! Progress: +0.01%. Recovery speed up. Muscular growth: Accelerating. Good job, Ash!}
There were still aches and bruises, but now every night in bed, Ash stared at his hands—not baby-soft, but callused and strong. It was proof of how far he had come.
"If the girls like strength," he said to Filo, "then I'm about to be the most popular man in Marineford. Too bad my jokes are just too advanced for most to comprehend, ya know."
Filo grinned. "Keep working hard, Ash. You're catching up to the monsters."
But Ash's goal was never to catch up. He had a new goal now; he did not want to feel pathetic and weak he did the first day. He wanted to be stronger than anybody else here. Stronger than Smoker, Hina and others. Stronger than Vice Admirals, stronger than Admirals or Fleet Admirals. He wanted to be the strongest of them all.
Because it was only with strength that he could begin to catch them all.