Shiro stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching Moria groaning dramatically on the deck. The captain didn't even bother to heal him this time — he just leaned back against the mast with an unimpressed look.
Moria clutched his aching stomach, eyes teary as he whimpered up at Shiro, "C-Captain... I think I can still be saved! Can't you use your Paw-Paw Fruit to heal me?"
"Get lost!" Shiro shot him a glare, rolling his eyes. "It's just a scratch! Tough it out — I'm your captain, not your personal nurse."
He turned away, looking toward the other side of the deck.
Mihawk and Issho's duel was still raging on — over five hundred exchanges now — the clash of blade and staff echoing like thunder. Each collision sent bright sparks flying and carved deep gashes into the deck, yet neither gave an inch.
Just as both fighters readied their finishing blows, Shiro hurriedly jumped in, waving his arms.
"Oi, oi, oi! You two! This is my ship! If you unleash those attacks here, the deck'll split in half and we'll all end up swimming with the Sea Kings!"
Mihawk paused mid-swing, Issho stopped his staff, and after exchanging a knowing glance, both sheathed their weapons.
With the captain's intervention, the chaotic sparring among the crew finally settled.
Off to the side, Hachi's eyes sparkled like twin suns. All eight of his tentacles twitched with excitement — he was dying to jump in and fight too.
But everyone knew how that would go. Every time Hachi sparred with someone, he'd get flattened within minutes. None of the crew wanted to hit him too hard.
Feeling left out, Hachi slumped into a corner, his tentacles drooping. Clenching his fists, he muttered under his breath:
"I'm gonna get stronger… I'll make everyone recognize my strength!"
From that day forward, Hachi began training before dawn.
He'd stand on deck at sunrise, holding a sword in each of his eight tentacles, swinging them in graceful arcs. The morning light gleamed off the blades as they whirled through the air like dancing water.
When he wasn't practicing swordplay, he was down in the cargo hold lifting gold bars — the ship's treasure — for strength training. Sweat poured off him like rain, but he never stopped.
Perhaps the heavens rewarded his persistence — one day, Hachi awakened Armament Haki.
When the black sheen coated his tentacles and he caught a training blade Mihawk tossed his way without flinching, he froze in shock for a moment — and then leapt into the air, cheering.
Seeing his dedication, Shiro decided to help him improve further. Watching Hachi wield eight swords at once, Shiro suddenly recalled a legendary style from the old tales — Zoro's Nine-Sword Style, Asura.
"Nine-Sword Style: Asura Ichibugin… Asura Makyusen… Asura Ashura Bakkei: Moja no Tawamure…"
If Hachi could master techniques like that, his power would skyrocket.
But Hachi's tentacles drooped again as he groaned, "But Captain, I only have eight tentacles! I can't do a nine-sword style…"
Shiro blinked — then grinned slyly and pointed at Hachi's mouth.
"Idiot. You've got a ninth spot right there. Stick the last sword in your beak!"
Hachi froze — then his eyes widened.
"Ohhh! That's genius!"
He immediately fetched another sword and carefully gripped it in his mouth. Then he tried to move it — clumsily at first.
The crew stared.
With one sword in his mouth and eight in his tentacles, Hachi looked… well… ridiculous. Someone snorted.
"Hachi, that's the weirdest thing I've ever seen!"
But Hachi didn't care. He trained day after day, refusing to give up even when the blade slipped and nicked his mouth or made his jaw ache.
After weeks of practice, he could finally control all nine blades in harmony — tentacles and mouth working together in fluid motion.
Following Shiro's instructions, he began to learn the essence of the Nine-Sword Style.
He didn't have Zoro's eerie "Asura" aura or ghostly power — but his Armament Haki covered all nine swords in a jet-black sheen, each strike roaring with strength.
Eventually, he could unleash full Nine-Sword Style combos. When he swung, nine black slashes weaved together into a web of destruction.
Even Mihawk and Issho, both seasoned masters of the blade, couldn't help but raise their brows in surprise.
From that day onward, neither of them underestimated Hachi again. They even took turns sparring with him, correcting his technique and refining his form.
Under their guidance, Hachi's swordsmanship soared — until he became a fighter the crew could truly rely on.
The Virtue's sails billowed as it cut through the unpredictable seas of the New World, waves of deep violet swirling beneath its hull.
Every so often, a pirate crew would appear on the horizon — loud, boastful, and foul-mouthed — only to be swiftly "educated" by Shiro's crew.
By the time the "lessons" ended, those pirates were battered, bruised, and bawling — fleeing for their lives and spreading the reputation of the Virtue across the seas.
One day, a lookout's voice rang from above.
Hachi, perched atop the mast, shaded his eyes with a tentacle and called down:
"Captain! There's a ship ahead — no Jolly Roger, big hull! Looks like a cargo vessel!"
T/N: If you would like to read up to 20 chapters ahead for all my works, check out my P@treon: patreon.com/GhidorahWriter
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