Hoo… hoo… hoo…
Dawn spilled gold across the endless sea.
On a lonely stretch of sand, a boy trained: bare-chested, sweat gleaming like beads of glass on pale skin.
Right hand wrapped in a worn ribbon, feet planted firm on sun-warmed sand.
Every punch cut the air; every kick rippled muscle across a frame still small, yet already coiled with promise.
His breathing matched the roll and pull of the waves—steady, relentless.
"Again… and again… no wasted motion…"
This was Jin.
Six years old in body, but inside—a mercenary king reborn.
Eyes sharp as steel, heart beating to the rhythm of discipline burned into him through blood and war.
His arms felt heavy, burning with fatigue; sweat stung his eyes. But the fire in his chest blazed higher with every strike.
"This is nothing. Back then, I trained with cracked ribs, in deserts that could boil a man alive… this pain? A gift."
The Five Dragon Fist wasn't just a martial art—it was Jin's past life, his honor, his shield against death.
Muscles coiled, uncoiled, breath flowed deep.
Even the breeze seemed to dance around him, caught in the wake of each punch.
An hour later, his chest heaved, every fiber aching.
But Jin smiled—a small, savage curve of the lips.
"It's only been two days… and I'm already stronger. This body's limits are much higher than an Earth kid's. That damn sea must be full of monsters for children to need this kind of toughness."
He wiped sweat from his brow, gaze drifting across the brightening horizon.
Two days ago, Jin had built himself a crude shelter: palm fronds lashed to driftwood, just enough to keep wind and rain at bay.
He'd eaten little more than coconut meat and strips of sun-dried fish.
"Tch… I still can't believe those damn seabirds took my prize catch. The biggest damn fish I've ever hauled in, and gone in a night."
His stomach growled, a low reminder of how little he'd eaten.
But Jin wasn't someone who accepted weakness.
Rest? Only to regain the strength to move forward.
He stepped to the shoreline, toes digging into the wet sand, salt wind in his face.
"Enough surviving. Time to start living again."
Morning passed.
Jin scoured the beach, driftwood spear in hand, eyes always alert—mercenary habits dying hard.
He gathered what he could: more coconuts, sharp stones, broken planks for the fire.
Then paused, scanning the coastline.
"If I keep wandering this beach forever, I'll die with a strong body and an empty belly. Need real food… and a way off this rock."
The sun climbed, merciless and bright. Sweat darkened his short hair to near black; the breeze felt like breathing fire.
At last, something caught his eye—a dark line in the distance where cliffs broke the horizon.
"Cliffs. Maybe shelter, maybe signs of people. Or at least something new."
Determined, he shouldered his crude spear and walked.
Another day passed.
Jin walked until his feet ached, resting only to crack open coconuts for water.
He slept beneath his makeshift shelter, but his mind never rested: remembering past battles, refining each motion of the Five Dragon Fist, replaying old lessons from a master who had lived through wars and famine.
By noon of the second day, he finally reached the cliffs.
Sheer stone rising two hundred meters into the sky—jagged, sun-bleached, defiant.
"Hah… figures. Life's never easy."
He craned his neck, sweat running down his spine, and gave a dark laugh.
"Just like back then. Nothing worthwhile ever comes without blood and sweat."
But he was no fool. Climbing now, under the punishing sun and half-starved? Madness.
Instead, he gathered more driftwood, sharpened a few sturdy branches, and let himself rest.
"Tomorrow. I'll tackle that wall tomorrow. Tonight… I hunt."
That evening, as shadows stretched across the sand, Jin stalked the beach spear in hand.
Then—by a miracle or fate—he saw it: a cluster of wreckage half-buried in the shallows, battered by waves but surprisingly intact.
He sprinted, lungs burning.
Up close, his breath caught.
"A navy ship… or what's left of it."
Tattered flags still clung to splintered masts. Cannons lay silent and cracked, hull split like an old bone.
But to Jin, it was a treasure trove.
He clambered aboard, ignoring the stab of barnacles and rusted nails.
Inside, amid salt-rotted boards and drifting sand, he found what he needed:
A naval saber: edge nicked, but still sharp enough to cut rope—or climb.
A half-broken leather case, sea-salted and swollen.
A few tattered uniform scraps.
"Come on… something good, something more than rags…"
Hands shaking with something close to hope, Jin cracked the case open.
At first, he only saw paper: stained, water-wrinkled. But then his eyes caught the careful script, the diagrams, the notes written in a strong hand.
A memory surfaced—faint, from this body's past life.
"This was his. Father's notes…"
Jin sat heavily on the wreck's timbers, brine smell sharp in his nose, chest tight.
"A mercenary king… and now the son of a marine major. Funny how fate twists things…"
Carefully, reverently, he turned the pages.
Descriptions of training. Step-by-step breakdowns of moves. Sketches of figures in motion.
At the end, lists: exercises, insights, half-finished plans.
And three words burned deepest:
Navy Six Styles.
Observation Haki.
Armament Haki.
Jin exhaled, long and slow.
In that breath, hope, sorrow, and fierce determination mixed like fire and steel.
"Father… you really were a madman for training. And you left it all behind."
He closed the case, gripping it until his knuckles whitened.
"Thank you. I'll use it. And I'll go further than you ever dreamed."
The sun was sinking.
Jin's stomach growled, as loud as cannon fire in the quiet dusk.
"Right. First step to power: don't starve."
He gathered dry driftwood, lit a small fire, and roasted what little dried fish he still had.
Smoke curled into the wind, and Jin's mind raced ahead:
Combining these new techniques with the Five Dragon Fist.
Using his old mercenary training to master them faster.
And, one day, matching the monsters that ruled this sea.
As he ate, his gaze turned seaward.
"Just wait. Marines, pirates… even the monsters of legend. I'm coming."
Firelight danced on his sharp, still-young features.
A boy's body, but eyes that had seen war, death, betrayal—and still burned with hunger.
"Tomorrow, I climb those cliffs. Then… who knows?"
A grin ghosted over his lips, remembering the ex who'd once made the cold-hearted mercenary laugh.
"Kikoru… if you could see me now…"
Jin lay back, arms crossed behind his head, listening to the surf pound rock and sand.
"Fate gave me a second life. I won't waste it hiding. The sea waits… and I'm ready."
Above, the stars turned in silent witness.
Below, Jin's heart beat steady, stubborn, hungry.
"Let the world remember my name."
This story is inspired from various fanfics i have read from around the world so if you find any similarities please dont mind . Thank you
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T/N :
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