The morning turned out to be cloudy — the sky was covered with a gray veil, and there was a slight dampness in the air. Muichiro was already standing in the wasteland, holding two bokken in his hands. He turned around, noticing that Usopp was trailing behind, dragging his feet and yawning.
"Again? " Usopp drawled, stretching. "We trained yesterday.… I haven't moved away yet."
Muichiro silently handed him a wooden sword.
"We need to continue. You said yourself: to become a real pirate, you need strength."
Usopp froze, then awkwardly looked away.:
"Well, I told you… But that doesn't mean you have to torture yourself to exhaustion every day!"
Muichiro paused, looking at him carefully.
"You dreamed of great adventures. About how you will fight against strong opponents, guide your ship through storms, find treasures..." he raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Is a pirate who gives up after the first training worthy of such a future?"
Usopp frowned, clearly hurt.
"I'm not giving up! It's just... well, you know, it's hard."
"It's hard to sail through the Grand Line, fighting with sea kings and admirals. And this..." Muichiro lightly waved his bokken, "is just a step towards being ready for this."
Usopp sighed, shifting from one foot to the other. There was something in his eyes, something between annoyance and stubbornness.
"Okay, let's say. But why do I need close combat at all? I'm the shooter! My strength is in precision, in cunning, in unexpected moves!"
"A pirate should be prepared for anything,— Muichiro replied calmly. "What if your opponent gets too close? What if you don't have a slingshot? You should be able to defend yourself in any way."
Usopp was silent for a moment, considering his words. Then he suddenly straightened up, clenched his fists and resolutely took the bokken.
Good. But if I faint from exhaustion, it will be your fault!"
Muichiro smiled faintly:
"If you fall, it means you're not ready yet. And a real pirate never gives up."
Usopp snorted, but excitement was already burning in his eyes.
"Okay, let's see what you can teach me. But I warn you: if it gets boring, I'll run away!"
"You can't escape," Muichiro said confidently, taking a stance.
"Because you want to become stronger. And you know it's important."
Usopp rolled his eyes, but he knew in his heart that Muichiro was right. He really wanted to become a pirate—not just to dream of adventures, but to live them. And if you need to put up with a few workouts for that.… Well, then, so be it.
"Let's go," Muichiro commanded, and the first blow of the wooden sword broke the morning silence.
At first, Usopp moved clumsily — every step betrayed his inexperience, every block seemed belated. But Muichiro did not rush: he methodically showed the basic racks, explained how to distribute the weight, how to feel the center of gravity.
"You're too tense," Muichiro remarked, gently adjusting the position of Usopp's hand. "When you hold a sword, you don't have to squeeze it with all your might. Imagine that this is an extension of your hand."
"That's easy for you to say!" panted Usopp, trying to repeat the movement. "You've probably been waving a blade since you were a baby!"
"no. I studied too. Step by step."
Muichiro took a step back, raised his bokken and slowly demonstrated a simple combination: step forward, block, counterattack. The movements were smooth, almost dancing, but there was a hidden power in each one.
"Try this. Take your time. Feel the rhythm."
Usopp frowned in concentration, repeated it — clumsily at first, then a little more confidently. On the third approach, he finally succeeded: the block came out clear, the blow was sharp and accurate.
"It worked!" He exclaimed, not hiding his joy.
"Yes," Muichiro nodded. "Now repeat it a thousand more times."
"A thousand?!"Usopp theatrically clutched his head. "You're ruthless!"
"Pirate training," Muichiro replied calmly. "Or do you think the pirates surrendered after the first strike?"
Usopp froze, then grinned.:
"Okay, I talked you into it. A thousand so a thousand."
He took up his stance again and began to repeat the sequence. With each movement, his posture became more confident, his movements more precise. Muichiro watched without interfering: he saw the fire igniting in Usopp.
Half an hour later, Usopp was already breathing heavily, but excitement was burning in his eyes.
"Now try to counterattack after the block," Muichiro suggested. "Use the momentum of the opponent's punch."
Usopp nodded, concentrated, and performed the combination—this time adding his own lunge. It turned out imperfectly, but significantly better than at the beginning.
"Not bad," Muichiro approved. "Five more times, and we'll take a break."
"Five?!" Usopp rolled his eyes, but then he smiled. "Okay. This is not the limit for a future pirate!"
Muichiro smiled faintly in response. He knew that Usopp was joking now, but there was a grain of truth in those words. And if he is ready to work, it means that one day he will really be able to become what he dreams of.
When they finally stopped, Usopp leaned on his side, breathing heavily, but with obvious satisfaction.
"You know... it was... unexpectedly pleasant," he confessed. "It's kind of hard, but you feel like you're getting stronger."
"That's right," Muichiro nodded. "Every step forward is a victory."
Usopp straightened up, looked at his wooden sword, then at Muichiro.
"thanks. Truth. I... I didn't even think that I would be able to learn anything."
"You're doing well in school. I just showed you the way."
Usopp chuckled
"Well, then let's have more tomorrow. Don't tell me you need a thousand repetitions!"
"We'll see about the circumstances," Muichiro bowed his head slightly. "The main thing is not to stop."
Usopp took a deep breath, looking up at the sky, where the first rays of the sun were already breaking through. At that moment, he felt that his path to his dream had become a little closer.
The morning mist was still lingering on the ground when Muichiro and Usopp came out onto a rocky clearing. Usopp, still slightly stretching after a nap, cast a sidelong glance at the massive boulder towering in the center of the playground.
"So, are we going to... hug this stone?" He chuckled. "Or have you decided to have a weight-lifting competition?"
Muichiro silently approached the boulder. In his hands was the same bokken — a simple wooden stick, unremarkable in appearance. He stood in a low stance, closed his eyes, and concentrated.
Usopp crossed his arms over his chest, preparing for another "instructive lecture" on the importance of perseverance.
But instead of words, Muichiro exhaled sharply, and the world seemed to freeze.
His movements became fluid, almost inhumanly smooth. The bokken in his hands turned into a blur, describing complex arcs in the air. Muichiro took a step forward, shifted his weight to his front leg, smoothly turned his body — and at the culmination of the movement, he sent the blade down a long diagonal trajectory.
Crackling.
The wooden sword struck the boulder with almost silent precision. A deep, perfectly smooth slit appeared on the surface of the stone, as if an invisible chisel had drawn a line from the top to the base. The boulder did not shatter into fragments, did not crumble into a pile of debris — it was cut in two, but retained its shape, only barely noticeably tilting along the incision line.
Usopp staggered back, eyes wide:
"Wh‑what?! This... this was solid granite! Did you... did you chop him up with a stick?!"
Muichiro lowered his bokken, looking at the split boulder. His breathing remained even, his face impassive.
"That's just a small part of what I'm capable of."
Usopp slowly approached the stone, ran his fingers over the perfectly smooth surface of the incision. The edge was so smooth that it hardly scratched the skin.
"But... why? Why show it to me? It's not like I'm going to chop rocks with wooden sticks!"
Muichiro turned to him, and there was something almost sad in his gray eyes.
"I wanted you to understand that strength is not just the ability to swing a sword. This is control. This is the knowledge of how to put into one movement the whole essence of your breath, of your whole will."
"But I don't need it!" retorted Usopp hotly."I'm not a warrior! I'm the shooter! My strength lies in accuracy, in cunning, in the ability to deceive the enemy, and not in crushing mountains!"
Muichiro nodded as if he had expected this answer.
"You're right. You don't need to be able to do what I can. But you have to know the limits of your abilities — and be able to expand them. You may not be able to chop rocks, but you can learn to hit so accurately that no enemy will escape your bullet. You can move so fast that no one can catch you. You can become someone who doesn't just dream of adventures, but lives them."
Usopp paused, looking down at his hands—the hands of a gunslinger, used to a slingshot, not a sword.
"So... you didn't show it so that I could learn the same thing?"
"no. I showed this so that you can see that everyone has their own power. Yours is no worse than mine. She's just different."
Usopp took a deep breath, then suddenly grinned:
"Well, if your strength is chopping rocks with a stick, then mine is knocking them down from a hundred paces away with a single bullet!"
Muichiro smiled faintly:
"Now that sounds like a challenge."
"And this is a challenge! "Usopp put his hands on his hips, excitement lit up in his eyes. "I will prove that a marksman can be no less dangerous than a swordsman!"
"Prove it," Muichiro replied calmly. "But remember, the real power is not in destruction. It's about knowing when and how to apply it."
Usopp nodded, already mentally figuring out where to find a suitable target. At that moment, he realized that he didn't need to become a copy of Muichiro. He needs to become the best Usopp, the pirate he dreamed of.
After that, the guys trained separately, but after training they decided to test each other's strength until one of them gave up. But Usopp would give up after Muichiro approached him and the fight would quickly end.
The next day:
Dawn had just touched the edge of the forest when Muichiro and Usopp converged on the training ground. The ground was still cool at night, dry twigs crunched underfoot, and a light smell of dew and decayed foliage hung in the air.
"Well, I'll definitely beat you today," Usopp said with forced bravado, checking the bowstring of the slingshot. His fingers habitually felt a few smooth stones in a leather pouch on his belt.
Muichiro didn't say anything, just bowed his head slightly, taking a low stance. The bokken lay in the hands as an extension of the body.
Usopp did not wait. With a sharp wave of his hand, the stone whistled through the air. In Muichiro's normal vision, the projectile flew fast, but in the Transparent World, its trajectory was outlined by flickering lines of force. Muichiro smoothly deflected the body: the stone flew in the palm of his hand from his temple, and his movement left behind a barely noticeable energy trail.
The second shot. Now Muichiro saw not just a flying stone, but a network of thin threads entwining the space around him. He calculated the intersection point of the force streams and blocked the blow with his sword — not by chance, but precisely in that split second when the stone's energy reached its peak. The thud of wood.
The third shot. Muichiro stepped forward, closing the distance. In his perception, the world slowed down: he saw how Usopp's muscles were tensing, how the energy in his hands was pulsating, how the next plan was being formed.
Usopp retreated behind a boulder, pulling out a smoke bomb as he went. The cotton—gray cloud began to spread. Three quick shots followed from the curtain.
In the Transparent World, smoke was no obstacle. Muichiro could make out Usopp's energy contours through the veil, a shimmering silhouette pulsating with the rhythm of his breathing. He knocked off two stones, missed the third one so that it only touched his shoulder slightly: not for damage, but to feel the force of the blow.
Muichiro then charged through the smoke. Now he saw more than just Usopp's figure — he saw the lines of tension in his body, the points of balance, the zones of vulnerability. Every move of the opponent read like an open book.
The distance has been reduced to two meters, an area where the slingshot is almost useless. Usopp tried to retreat, but Muichiro pressed down: a series of short, precise punches, forcing him to block, dodge, and lose his balance.
Usopp went on a desperate maneuver — he threw a handful of sand from a pre-stored bag into the opponent's face. Muichiro blinked, but did not stop: a block, a step to the side, a sharp lunge.
The tip of the bokken pressed against Usopp's chest.
"Gotcha," Muichiro said softly, lowering his sword.
After the fight
They sat down on a fallen log. Usopp was rubbing his shoulder, where the blow had caught him. His breathing hadn't leveled off yet, and his temples were pounding.
"How did you..." Usopp began, frowning. "Every time, it's like you know where I'm going to go. Are you reading my mind?"
Muichiro smiled tightly, choosing his words carefully.:
"Nothing supernatural. I've just been watching you for a long time. The way you hold the slingshot, the way you step over it, the way your eyes flicker before you shoot."
"Have you been watching?" Usopp narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "We've only been training for a couple of weeks!"
"It's enough to notice patterns. For example, you always raise your left shoulder slightly before a long throw. Or you put your weight on your right foot when you're going to retreat."
Usopp involuntarily straightened up, as if checking his own posture:
"And you remember all this...?"
"Training is not just about punches and blocks. This is the ability to see the enemy. His habits, his rhythm. When you understand how a person moves, you can predict the next step."
Usopp rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"So you're not a wizard, but just... very attentive?"
"Exactly. Mindfulness is also a weapon."
Usopp chuckled, then laughed.:
"Okay, I admit it—you outplayed me. But next time, I'll change my "habits", okay? I will move unpredictably!"
"I'm waiting with interest," Muichiro nodded.
After a year of training at the rocky glade, they gradually came to naught. Muichiro did not insist — he knew that everyone goes their own way. Usopp disappeared more and more often, returning with a mysterious smile, but he answered questions evasively, joked off and turned the conversation to something else.
That evening, Usopp, as usual, came to Kai's house. She was waiting for him when suddenly he appeared in a tree opposite her window, with a book in his hands, but when he saw him, she postponed reading.
"You're disappearing again," she smiled. "Where do you get all these stories?"
Usopp turned up his nose importantly:
"These are not stories, this is the pure truth! For example, my Nakama is a swordsman.… He's as tough as a rock, but I always beat him."
Kaya narrowed her eyes, stifling her laughter:
"And how do you manage it?
"Oh, we need a strategy here!" Usopp spread his arms, depicting the scale of the plan. "Last time, I gave him a test: I lured him into the gorge where the stones were lying so cunningly.… One push and his sword broke! He didn't even understand how it happened."
Kaya shook her head.:
"You must be very brave if you can outsmart a swordsman like that."
"Well, I'm a brave sea wolf!" Usopp winked. "And wolves should be able to defeat any opponent. Even if he's carrying a sword."
Kaya thought for a moment, then suddenly got up and disappeared into the house. A minute later she returned with a long bundle.
"Here," she handed it to Usopp. "This is for your swordsman friend. I found an old blade that we had kept for many years—not new, but strong. "
Usopp accepted the gift in confusion:
"But... why?"
"Because you spoke about him with such warmth. So he's important to you. Since he was able to break his blade, then I'm ready to help you in any way I can."
Usopp rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment:
"thanks. I'll... pass it on."
The next day, Usopp showed up at the training ground with a bundle on his back. Muichiro, who was warming up with bokken, looked up.
"What is it?" He asked, noticing the package.
"This is for you," Usopp held out the gift. "One of my friends passed it on. He said you deserve a real blade."
Muichiro carefully unwrapped the cloth. Inside was a katana—not new, but well-groomed, with a simple but elegant tsuba and a polished handle. The blade flashed in the sunlight.
"From where?.." Muichiro looked up, genuine surprise in his voice.
"Yes, I know someone," Usopp casually waved his hand. "He has long wanted to give the sword to someone worthy. Well, I thought..."
Muichiro stared at the katana in silence, then at Usopp. There was something elusive in his eyes, either gratitude or mild irony.
"Worthy, then?"
Usopp straightened his back, trying to look taller.
"You deserve a real sword. Not sticks, but weapons."
Muichiro ran his finger along the guard, feeling the cold hardness of the steel.
"thanks. I'll keep him safe."
"Well," Usopp smiled like a child receiving a long-awaited toy. "You have a real sword now."
When Usopp left, Muichiro stayed on the set. He slowly pulled the katana out of its scabbard, feeling its weight, balance, and the cold hardness of the steel.
"One of my friends..." he thought, remembering Usopp's words. "I wonder who this 'friend' is?"
He knew that Usopp was lying. But there was no greed or malice in this lie — only a desire to keep someone's secret. And that made the gift even more valuable.
Without finishing his sentence, Usopp abruptly raised his slingshot from the bushes and fired a stone directly into Muichiro's chest.
Muichiro didn't even flinch. At the last moment before the impact, he slightly deflected the body and with a light movement of his bokken knocked the stone aside. He fell into the grass with a thud.
"What was that?" asked Muichiro calmly, looking at Usopp.
"Uh... checking," Usopp scratched his head awkwardly. "I wanted to make sure you were still in shape. You know, so that you don't get the sword for nothing..."
Evening fell quietly on the village, shrouding the houses in a soft twilight. There was a small lantern on the porch of the house where Muichiro was temporarily staying. The air was filled with the smell of tea and cooling earth.
Muichiro and Usopp were sitting on the steps. In front of them are two clay cups with a hot drink. Steam rose in thin streams, dissolving into the twilight sky.
"I'm still thinking about the sword," Muichiro began, not looking at Usopp. His fingers slowly traced the edge of the cup. "I'll be leaving soon...I can't live at someone else's expense. It's not my style."
Usopp chuckled and sipped his tea.:
"You don't live at someone else's expense. You deserve it."
"No," Muichiro shook his head. "I didn't give anything in return. And duty... it's burdensome."
Usopp put down his cup and looked into his friend's eyes:
"Then listen up. You will need a landmark in the sea. It's easy to lose your way without a map, especially if it's your first time in these waters."
He took out a folded piece of parchment and unfolded it on his lap.:
"Here. A simple map of the nearest islands. Villages, towns, safe bays, and major shipping lanes are marked here. Nothing secret, just something that will help you stay safe and find shelter when you need to rest or replenish supplies."
Muichiro studied the lines and markings carefully. The map was uncomplicated, with no red circles or mysterious symbols. The places that were nearby were clearly marked on it. Having roughly realized what he could do on this sea, he finally set off. After making a boat for a while, he loaded the supplies and necessary things into it.
Dawn spread across the harbor with a golden‑pink glow, coloring the sails of the ships standing in the roadstead. Muichiro stood on the deck of a small ship. Just him and the sea.
The wind played with the floors of his haori, bringing to his ears the muffled cries of seagulls and the creaking of ship rigging. It was time to sail.
Usopp slowly came closer, stopping at the water's edge. He was silent, looking at the ship, and only his fingers nervously tugged at the edge of his shirt.
"Did you really decide to go alone?" he finally asked without looking up.
"Yes," Muichiro went down the ramp. "This is my path. I have to go through it myself."
Usopp nodded as if he had expected such an answer. There was a heavy silence in the air—not awkward, but the kind of special silence that happens between people who have said a lot to each other without words.
"You haven't changed your mind?" Muichiro asked softly. "You can come with me. There is a place."
Usopp shook his head. He smiled broadly, as always, but there was sadness in his eyes.
"no. My road... it's here. I have people to take care of. And the stories that need to be told."
"I understand."
"But you..." Usopp stammered, then blurted out: "You promise to come back. At least sometimes. So that I can tell you a new story. The real one."
Muichiro nodded.
He went back up to the deck. He lifted the anchor himself and steered the ship towards the mouth of the bay. No signals, no wires—just him and the sea, just the wind and the course he chose himself.
Usopp stayed on the shore. He didn't wave his hand or shout parting words—he just stood with his hands in his pockets and watched the small ship recede.
Muichiro stood at the rail. The wind ruffled his hair and hit his face with salt spray. He looked ahead to where the water line merged with the sky.
The ship entered the fairway. The sun rose higher, turning the sea surface into molten gold. The wind filled the sails, and the ship headed out to sea, where the horizon disappeared into the blue sky.
Muichiro didn't look back. He knew that if he turned around, he would see everything he was leaving behind. For now, he needed to look ahead.
Usopp stood on the shore for a long time until the silhouette of the ship turned into a barely discernible dot on the horizon. Then he turned around and walked back to the village, with his back straight and his head held high. He had his own way.
And Muichiro has his own.
Time skip
After a year of wandering, Muichiro Tokito has changed beyond recognition. Lonely voyages, countless fights with sea robbers, nights under the stars and days in bloody storms — all this tempered his spirit and honed his skills to perfection.
His ship is a small ship with a black sail, gliding over the waves like a shadow. There are no crew or assistants on board. Just him, the sea, and the sword.
For his ruthless efficiency, lightning—fast attacks and the ability to appear as if from nowhere, he was given the nickname - the Ghost of the Sword.
His sword became a legend among pirates: the blade is deep black with scarlet veins, like frozen blood, a massive round guard cast from dark bronze, the handle, braided with black and red braid, fits perfectly into the palm, the blade, which has never known rust, is always sharp as the first ice.
Muichiro wasn't looking for fame. He was looking for order. Pirates plundering coastal settlements, sea robbers terrorizing fishermen — they all became his target. He appeared suddenly, without warning, and disappeared just as completely.
His technique remained a mystery. No one could tell exactly how he was acting.
One day, a marine ship and an unknown captain tried to stop him.
He didn't kill. He did not take prisoners. He just cut it.
A swing of the sword and the ship's hull cracked along the keel. Water gushed in, and the deck tilted. The sailors rushed to the boats in a panic, but Muichiro did not interfere with them. He waited.
When the ship began to sink, the officer, clinging to a piece of the yard, shouted:
"You're going to pay for this! The bounty on your head will be huge!"
Muichiro stood at the bow of his ship, the wind blowing his hair. He raised his sword, watching the ship go under the water.
"So be it," he said. "But next time, choose your enemies according to your strength."
The next target was Don Krieg— an ambitious pirate who assembled a fleet of 50 ships for a trip to the Grand Line. Muichiro found out by accident.
Muichiro tracked down Don Krieg's armada through a chain of destruction: burned fishing villages, looted merchant ships, terrified witnesses hiding in coastal caves. Each story formed a map of the path—and at the end of this map loomed the Grand Line.
Krieg was going to break through there with a fleet of 50 ships loaded with weapons, provisions and mercenaries. His goal was clear: to claim new waters, to become the king of robbery.
Muichiro didn't wait.
It was a moonless night, and fog rolled over the water, hiding Muichiro's black ship. At dawn, when the first rays cut through the veil, he appeared — not from the fog, but as if from the very air.
His blade flashed with a cold light—not steel, but something else, like magic in the blade.
No one noticed him or even expected him. Muichiro did not approach enemy ships. He stood on the deck of his ship, holding a sword with two hands, and struck from a distance that no one considered possible.
Muichiro didn't kill the sailors, he just hacked them up. Those who managed to jump into the boats remained alive. Those who tried to shoot saw their bullets freeze in the air and then fall, decapitated.
Muichiro stood on the deck of his ship, watching the last pirate ship disappear over the horizon. He didn't finish him off. Not out of mercy, but simply because it no longer mattered.
Don Krieg's fleet was destroyed. And Don Krieg just disappeared.
Muichiro, without saying a word, unfurled the black sail and disappeared into the fog, ready for the next hunt.
There was a survivor on one of the destroyed ships of Don Krieg's pirates. In neutral waters, when the slender silhouettes of a Marine Patrol ship appeared on the horizon. Senior Lieutenant Fuldbody, noticing the battered flag, ordered to inspect all the broken ships.
Only one survivor was found on board, an emaciated pirate with deep abrasions on his face and broken ribs. He was taken to the flagship of the Marine Patrol, barely able to stand on his feet.
The pirate was thrown onto the cold metal floor. Fulbody was lounging in an armchair, idly examining the prisoner. A cup of fragrant tea was steaming on the table, and there were fresh newspapers with the headline: "Ghost of the Sword: reward increased to 50,000,000 belli!"
"Well," Fulbody drawled, stirring his tea, "will you tell me where your captain is?"
The pirate looked up, and there was no fear in his eyes, only a dull weariness.
"Krieg... is out there somewhere," he waved his hand towards the open sea. "I don't care."
Fulbody raised an eyebrow:
"Don't care? Are you serious? Your fleet is destroyed, you're a prisoner, and you don't 'care'?"
"Yes." The pirate spat out blood. "The Ghost of the Sword has done its job. Krieg escaped. And I... I just wanted to survive."
Fulbody laughed:
"The Ghost of the Sword... I've heard of it, of course. But you know what? I don't care either."
He got up, walked over to the map, and pointed to a point to the southwest.:
"There's a Barati restaurant there. Have you ever heard of it?"
The pirate nodded:
"They say the food there is better than in the king's palace."
"That's great." Fulbody clapped his hands. "We're heading there. And you..." he looked at the prisoner with a contemptuous glance, "you will be sitting in the hold. Until we get there. Then — to the court. To the headquarters."
The pirate was locked in a damp cell. They didn't give him any water or food. Only the cold metal of the walls and the distant creak of the ship's planks. He cursed the day when the one who destroyed their fleet appeared.