"So you need to promise me," I said, my voice steady and unyielding, each word carrying the weight of everything I felt. "Promise me you'll stay strong until the day we walk out of this place. No matter how bad it gets, no matter how much it hurts—you hold on. Understood?"
For a moment, there was only the quiet crackle of the torches on the walls. Then Hancock's voice broke through, trembling, but firm enough to carry her resolve. "Yes… I promise."
"Me too," came Sandy's gentle voice next, soft as a whisper yet steady like the tide.
"Me too," Mari followed, her words small and hesitant, her voice low enough that I almost missed it. But even in that shyness, I could hear the quiet steel she was trying to muster.
"Hancock," I said softly, seeing the exhaustion etched across her face, "you've been through enough for today. Rest now—gather your strength for what's ahead. I'll tell you all some stories to carry you into your dreams."
I began weaving tales, most of them borrowed from the Disney princess stories I could still recall. The girls always loved those—bright worlds of castles, gowns, and happy endings that felt a universe away from here. My voice filled the dim space, painting colors over the darkness, until gradually their replies grew softer, replaced by the muffled rhythm of slow, even breaths through the wall. They were asleep, safe for now. I let out a quiet breath of my own, letting my body and soul sink into the thin mat beneath me. Tomorrow would demand every drop of strength I could muster.
—
The sun had barely begun to lift its head over the horizon when Darius and I were already drenched in sweat, the sting of early morning chill replaced by the burn of labor. Work here started long before the first light touched the sky, and it didn't end until the moon was high above, watching us from her cold perch.
Today, we were stationed at the construction site for a new mansion. My tasks were always the backbreaking ones—digging deep trenches for the foundation, hauling heavy cargo from the material stockpiles at the outskirts, mixing cement with water until my arms felt like they might tear apart.
Darius's work was different. He cut marble to precise measurements or stacked bricks to form perfect walls. His jobs weren't as physically brutal as mine, but they carried their own weight—one wrong cut or misplaced brick and the entire section could collapse, earning punishment neither of us wanted. Still… I'd be lying if I said I didn't envy him. His work at least spared his back and knees, while mine felt like it was carving years off my body one day at a time.
On top of the grueling labor, there was my so-called "break time"—which Darius had turned into training sessions. Not that there was much break to begin with. His methods were as merciless as the sun overhead, pushing me until my muscles screamed and my stomach threatened to revolt. Some days it did, and I'd end up hunched over, gasping, while he just told me to get back up. Still… every day I could feel the difference. Stronger. Faster. Sharper.
Today, however, Darius had a surprise waiting.
"Got a guest trainer for you," he said with a faint smirk.
The man who stepped forward looked like he'd been carved out of stone. "Heyyo, kid," he greeted, voice booming. "Name's Draven. This old man here says you're his disciple, so he invited me to teach you a thing or two." He offered his hand.
The first thought that hit me was: Damn, this guy's huge. He wasn't as tall as Edgard, sure, but his muscles bulged in a way that made Edgard look like he'd been skipping arm day for years. And, of course, my brain had to betray me again by flashing the name Draven from League of Legends—though this guy looked nothing like the in-game version. Just another misplaced pop culture cameo in my twisted reality.
[Draven – Age: 50 | Male]
Strength: 98
Speed: 87
Stamina: 99
Devil Fruit: N/A
Armament Haki: 97
Observation Haki: 90
Conqueror's Haki: N/A
Intelligence: 71
Charisma: 61
Leadership: 43
Combat Skill: 92
Bro… just look at those numbers. The guy was a walking war machine. And sure, those weren't his actual stats—more like his potential—but still, with enough muscle grinding and mastery of Armament Haki, he could probably go toe-to-toe with Garp himself.
"Yes, I'm Vincent. I'll be in your care," I said politely, reaching for his hand.
That was a mistake.
The instant our palms met, his grip clamped down like a vice, every bone in my hand screaming in protest. It was the kind of handshake that didn't just say hello—it said I could snap you in half if I felt like it.
But I wasn't about to give him the satisfaction. If this was some power play, then fine—I'd play along. My face stayed as neutral as stone, even as a tremor ran through my arms and my jaw clenched so tight it felt like my teeth might crack.
"Hah, that's my boy. You passed the test," he said with a grin, finally releasing my hand.
I flexed my fingers under my sleeve, half-expecting to hear something snap back into place. A test? Seriously? That was a test?
"Now, kid… do you want to get stronger?" His voice carried a weight that cut through the noise of the colosseum, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that demanded more than just a casual answer.
I straightened my back, forcing every shred of hesitation out of my body. "Yes," I said, the word leaving my mouth sharp and certain, like steel meeting stone.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Then I'll teach you something the old man hasn't." He jerked his thumb toward Darius, who just stood there with his usual stoic expression, as if this exchange didn't surprise him in the slightest. That, of course, only made my mind spiral. What could this guy possibly know that Darius doesn't? And more importantly, why hasn't Darius taught it to me already?
Draven stepped closer, his presence like a wall of muscle and menace. "I'll teach you a power called… Haki."
The moment the word left his mouth, my heart skipped a beat. Haki. The legendary force of the One Piece world—the equalizer between monsters and men, between Devil Fruit users and those who dared to fight them bare-handed. It was the kind of ability that could turn a scrap of paper into a blade sharper than steel, or let you glimpse moments into the future itself.
Getting Haki training here would boost my strength beyond anything I'd ever imagined—and this man could give it to me. The logical move was clear: bow. So I did.
"Please, teach me, sir." I bent at a full ninety degrees, my voice steady but my heart pounding.
"Sure," he replied, his tone casual, almost bored. "But I don't want to deal with you all the time. Once a week at most."
His words immediately shrank my fantasies of mastering Haki in two years like Luffy. That kind of timeline was a pipe dream now. Between endless labor, survival, and only getting lessons during my rare days off, progress would crawl. Still, I couldn't get greedy. Even once a week was a gift. With his guidance, I would grow stronger, faster—and I would take this challenge head-on.
"Then here." He tossed me a plain strip of cloth. The moment it landed in my hands, I couldn't help but recall Luffy's training with Rayleigh—blindfolded, relying on nothing but instinct.
I tied it around my eyes.
"Heh… so you do know about Haki." There was a flicker of surprise in his voice. Maybe Darius had told him that less than a month ago, I didn't even know how to throw a punch. If that was the case, I couldn't blame his skepticism.
"Now run, kid."
Before I could even take a step—whack! Something slammed into my ribs with the force of a hammer. Pain exploded through my chest, sharp enough to make me stumble. I barely had time to breathe before instinct pushed me forward, my feet pounding against the dirt.
Then I tripped—hard—over something I couldn't see. My hands barely shot out in time before—thud!—a rock crashed into my back, the impact jolting through my spine.
"Argh! C'mon, man! You don't have to throw them that hard!" I shouted, staggering forward again.
But my protests meant nothing. Another barrage came, rocks pelting me from all directions, each one carrying enough force to bruise, break, or worse. My breath turned ragged, my legs ached, but somewhere in the chaos, a spark of excitement burned.
Because this was Haki training—and I wasn't about to quit.
--
Gasp—haaah…
Today was more brutal than I'd imagined. Having rocks hurled at me with that kind of force wasn't training—it was attempted murder with extra steps. That man was a psychopath, no doubt about it. My ribs still throbbed from the earlier hits, and my back felt like it had been used as a drum.
And yet, after an hour of that so-called "lesson," I didn't even get the luxury of lying down and questioning my life choices. No. I went straight back to labor—hauling, lifting, sweating under the sun. Then, during my next short break, he found me again. Another barrage of rocks, each one as merciless as the last, pelting me like I'd personally offended the gods. That, in short, was my day: no mercy, no rest, just pain layered on pain.
By the time I made it back to my cell, leaning against the cold wall felt like heaven. That wall had seen more of my exhaustion than any bed ever would. My only real reprieve was talking with the Boa sisters—sharing bits of stories, watching their eyes light up, and waiting for them to drift into sleep. Once they were finally out, I could start preparing for my own rest.
But apparently, Darius had other plans.
"So, what do you think of today? Hard, right?" His voice carried that smugness I'd come to expect. You already know the answer, old man—put the smirk away. I turned my head toward him, giving a deadpan stare sharp enough to cut steel.
"Don't look at me like that, kid. I'm not some cheap man. And I told you already—try Mandle. He swings both ways, you know." He made an exaggerated show of covering his chest and crotch, as if I'd been eyeing him like a piece of meat. Which I hadn't. Ever. Not in a million years. The smirk on his face didn't waver for a second.
"Stop it already. Why are you interrupting my precious sleep time?" My voice was flat, drained of anything resembling amusement.
"Aww, man, you're no fun," he sighed, the tone of a man whose surprise party had been spoiled. "Fine then." He said it like I'd just ruined his sweet seventeen birthday bash.
"What I wanted to ask," Darius began, his voice losing its usual playful bite and sinking into something heavier, "is what you said the other day."
The sudden shift in his tone made me wary. With him, you could never be sure—half the time his "serious" was just a mask for some twisted joke. I narrowed my eyes. "Which one?"
"The one about you thinking up a plan for us to get out of this hell."
That made me straighten my back. My body might have been tired to the bone, but my mind snapped into alertness. This wasn't his usual banter. This… mattered.
"Do you know how many people have stepped foot on this cursed land as slaves?" he asked.
I frowned. What did that have to do with my plan? "I dunno. Fifty thousand?" I threw out the number without much thought—ridiculous, yes, but in a place like this, anything felt possible.
His eyes didn't even flicker. "No. More than a million."
I almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it. A million? Here? In this one place? It sounded impossible—like the kind of exaggerated number someone uses to scare you. But the way he looked at me, there was no exaggeration in his eyes.
"You think it's absurd," he said, leaning back against the wall, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the cell bars. "But it isn't. Every month, a new batch of slaves arrives to replace the ones who die—whether from exhaustion, starvation, or just giving up and ending it themselves. Hundreds at a time. And this place…" He gestured vaguely to the oppressive walls surrounding us, "has been running for centuries. Nine hundred years, maybe more. Do the math."
I didn't need to. The weight of it sank into my chest like a stone.
I thought back to the construction site earlier. I'd noticed some familiar faces missing but assumed they'd been sent to another work crew. If what Darius said was true, they weren't building anything anymore—they were already gone. Replaced. Forgotten.
The number didn't feel so absurd now. It felt like a black hole that had been swallowing lives long before I was born… and if I wasn't careful, it would swallow mine too.
"How many do you think have dreamed of escape? How many have plotted every step, every detail?" His voice was low, heavy. "And yet, the number who've made it out alive…" He held up his hand and formed a circle with his fingers. "Zero."
Now I understood his concern. In his eyes, I wasn't clever—I was delusional. Just another fool clinging to a plan that would end with my body rotting in the dirt.
"Then why keep encouraging me?" I asked, genuine curiosity slipping into my tone. If he truly believed I'd fail, what was the point of his constant push?
"To give you hope," he said simply. "Because in this place, if you haven't yet made peace with your chains, then hope is the only thing that keeps you on your feet instead of lying in the dirt." He paused, letting the silence press in.
"But you," he continued, his eyes narrowing, "you speak of escape like it isn't a gamble, but a certainty. So tell me… can we really escape?"