In this vast and unpredictable world, there was never a shortage of those who dared to dream, ambitious souls who burned with desire to carve their names into history.
Roronoa Zoro was one such soul.
He, too, was a dreamer. A boy with ambition so fierce it could ignite steel. A boy with a vision clear and unshakable, drawn not from fantasies or stories, but from someone real, someone close to his heart.
To be precise, his father was his aspiration.
Shimotsuki Village, nestled in the quiet folds of the East Blue, was a serene and humble place. Far removed from the chaos of the open seas, it was the kind of village where days passed peacefully and life thrived in gentle rhythm. Yet even here, in this tranquil haven, there existed a quiet understanding that peace was not guaranteed and it must be protected at all cost.
To ensure the village's safety, there was a group of dedicated men entrusted with its defense. These men were not ordinary villagers. They were individuals who trained diligently in the art of combat, who wielded real swords with disciplined hands and prepared hearts. They were trained swordsmen.
Among them was Roronoa Arashi, Zoro's father.
Though the East Blue was often regarded as the calmest of the four seas, danger still lurked beneath its surface. Pirates, criminals, and all manner of wrongdoers drifted like shadows, always searching for a place to sink their teeth into. The island where Zoro resided had once been raided several decades ago, and if it had not been for the timely arrival and intervention of Shimotsuki Kozaburo and his group, the island would have either become a base for pirates or been destroyed by marines in their possible attempt to eliminate the pirates. Either way, Shimotsuki Village would not exist today.
As the chief, he was determined to prevent history from repeating itself. He established a dojo, not as a place of prestige or competition, but as a sanctuary for growth and preparation. He opened its doors to the village's youth, hoping to instill in them the strength and skill needed to defend their home, just as he once had.
The years that followed were calm. Too calm. The young men who passed through the dojo had no real battles to fight, no true enemies to face. They trained, yes, but without real danger, their swords lacked purpose. Their fighting spirit softened.
The newer generations, raised in comfort, did not share Kozaburo's urgency. Their swordsmanship, though practiced, lacked the edge he had hoped to cultivate. It was a bitter truth for the aging swordsman to accept.
There was only so much one old man could do. He could not summon threats from thin air. He could not lead the village's men into artificial conflict just to harden them.
So he taught and he waited.
Until Arashi joined the dojo, showing exceptional talent in swordsmanship.
Arashi was the son of Kozaburo's sister, making him his nephew.
Therefore, Arashi had the privilege to be trained under Kozaburo, the master swordsman himself. With his genuine interest in swordsmanship, and bearing the responsibility to protect the village from potential dangers, Arashi had not let the peace lull him into a sense of ease. He was constantly training, sharpening his swordsmanship, and passing on his skills to his son, Zoro.
Similarly, Zoro's interest in swordsmanship came from his father.
Once, Arashi had brought his son out of the village, and it was their luck that they encountered a starving, desperate tiger. To protect the small Zoro, Arashi drew his sword and fought the tiger.
The clash was fierce and chaotic. Steel met claw. Flesh was torn. Blood was spilled. But in the end, the tiger fell. Arashi stood victorious, his body wounded but his grip on his sword unwavering.
Zoro had witnessed it all. Until today, the white tiger's fur had remained on the floor of the Roronoa family's living room as a display of his father's victorious heroic deed.
From that moment on, Zoro knew. He did not just want to hold a sword; he wanted to become a swordsman. Not just any swordsman.
A great one.
At first, his dream was simple: to be good with a sword. But as the days passed, that simple desire evolved. He wanted to be strong, as strong as his father. Then stronger than his father. And to do that, he would need to push himself harder than anyone else.
But dreams, as many learn, are easy to speak of and far harder to chase.
Before Zoro could reach the heights he imagined, he had to start at the bottom. And that meant one thing-
He had to become the strongest little swordsman in the dojo, first!
.
.
.
Several days later, the dojo was once again alive with activity, just as it always was on a bustling afternoon.
"Winner, Kuina!" Koushirou, the esteemed dojo master, announced, his voice carrying clearly across the wide, open room.
The older girl, standing triumphantly in the middle of the dojo, held her wooden sword high. Zoro lay on the floor, defeated once again, staring up at her with disbelief. His own wooden sword had flown and landed several meters away from him.
"Ughhh!" Zoro groaned dramatically, scrambling to push himself up, a fierce scowl twisting his face. "You cheater! You didn't even wait for me to get ready!"
Kuina lowered her sword with an exaggerated flourish and gave him a smirk so smug it could have been trademarked. "Not my fault you're always unprepared, Zoro," she teased lightly. "Besides, you're way too slow."
The jab hit its mark. Zoro's cheeks flamed red, his frustration boiling over.
"Then let's go again!" he shouted, jabbing an accusatory finger at her as if he were a knight declaring a blood feud. "That match ended too fast! This time, I am definitely going to defeat you!"
Kuina arched a delicate eyebrow, crossing her arms across her chest with a look that screamed unimpressed. "You? Defeat me?" she repeated, as if she could not quite believe the words. She laughed, a bright and amused sound that filled the room. "In your dreams, Zoro. You will never beat me, so why waste your time?"
"Tch! Just you wait! One day, I will beat you, and you will eat those words!"
"Sure you will," Kuina said sweetly, clearly humoring him. She even stuck out her tongue playfully, which only made Zoro's face redden even more with outrage.
Before the cousins could escalate their friendly war into another all-out clash, Koushirou stepped between them, his expression a perfect blend of patience and authority. "Alright, that is enough, you two. We have rules here. The duel is officially over."
Zoro continued to glare daggers at Kuina, his tiny body trembling with pent-up frustration, but after a long and reluctant moment, he backed down with a sharp huff. With the match concluded, both young warriors returned to their places, still throwing the occasional heated glance at each other.
Hours slipped by, and as the sun dipped lower in the sky, bathing the world in rich hues of orange and gold, the dojo gradually emptied. One by one, the students drifted away, leaving behind only the faint sound of feet sliding over the worn tatami mats.
Zoro, always the last to leave, was picked up by his mother, still muttering under his breath about the rematch he was sure to win next time. Kuina, on the other hand, lingered behind with her father, helping him tidy up the aftermath of another lively day of training.
The clatter of broken wooden swords echoed through the quiet dojo as Kuina sorted them into piles, her hands moving efficiently. She inspected each piece with a discerning eye before tossing the irreparable ones into the discard heap. Despite her mechanical motions, her mind was elsewhere, thoughts drifting far beyond the dojo walls.
Koushirou watched her in silence for a moment, then spoke her name softly. "Kuina."
She paused, brushing a few strands of hair from her face, and turned toward him with a curious look. "Yes, Father?"
A warm, genuine smile curved Koushirou's lips.
"I have noticed how much stronger you have become lately," he said, his tone rich with pride. "Watching you today, handling that duel with Zoro so skillfully, it reminds me of when you first came here. You could barely lift your sword back then, and now you are one of the best students this dojo has ever seen."
Kuina's face lit up with pride, her chest swelling with joy. "Thank you, Father! But I still have a long way to go if I want to surpass you."
Koushirou chuckled, the sound low and fond. "Do not be too quick to doubt yourself, Kuina. You have already surpassed many. And no matter how far you go, know that I am already proud of the person you are becoming."
Kuina blushed under the praise, her heart blooming with happiness.
"I just... I want to get even better," she admitted shyly, a small and almost bashful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I want to show Naru-nee how much I have grown when she comes back."
The mention of Naru caused Koushirou's eyes to flash.
"You admire Naru-San a great deal," he said quietly, studying his daughter's face. "Tell me, Kuina. What is it that you truly want? I mean, beyond becoming stronger. Is there a dream you are chasing?"
Kuina's expression turned more serious, the weight of the question settling over her. These kinds of talks were rare between them, and she savored the chance to share her heart.
"I want to be like Naru-nee," she said, her voice steady and certain. "I want to be strong enough to leave home and see the world with my own eyes. I want to visit all the places she talked about, to live bravely and freely, facing whatever challenges come my way without fear."
Koushirou's chest tightened at her words. His instincts screamed at him to shield her, to warn her of the cruel and unforgiving dangers that lurked beyond the safe borders of their small world. He wanted to tell her that no matter how strong she became, the world would always seek to find her weakness.
But then he thought of Naru-san, the fiery and unpredictable girl who had shattered every expectation and forced him to rethink so much of what he had believed.
"You have an honorable dream," Koushirou said after a moment, his voice quiet and tinged with sorrow. "But you must understand something too, Kuina. The world out there is harsh. It is full of dangers that even strength cannot always overcome. Naru-san survived because she is different. She possesses a strength, a spirit, and skills that most, especially women, simply do not have."
Kuina listened intently, her posture straight, her face full of earnest determination.
"I know it is dangerous," she said softly. "But that is why I want to train harder, Father. Naru-nee said once that if we are not strong enough, we will never be able to protect our dreams. I do not want to live my whole life here, never daring to try. I want to be brave enough to make my own story."
Koushirou felt a lump rise in his throat, thick and immovable. He saw the joy and fire in her eyes, a fire that no warning could ever dim. She was so young, yet there was a ferocity in her spirit that demanded to be seen.
"My daughter," he said, his voice breaking slightly, "I do not ever want to crush your dreams. I only want you to be careful. The world will throw things at you that no amount of training can prepare you for. I only want to be sure you are ready to face them."
Kuina nodded solemnly, taking his words deeply to heart, but her resolve never wavered. "I will, Father. I'll work harder than ever. I'll be ready for whatever lies ahead."
Koushirou stared at her for a long, silent moment, emotions warring inside him. He had once firmly believed that women should remain close to home, shielded and protected. But Kuina, and Naru before her, had torn down that old belief, showing him that true strength knew no gender, only courage and will.
At last, he smiled, though it was touched with sadness and pride all at once. "Alright, Kuina. Just promise me one thing, that no matter where you go or what you face, never forget that you have a family here. A family that loves you deeply and will always welcome you back. If ever you find yourself lost, do not hesitate to come home."
Kuina's heart filled to the brim, so much so she thought it might burst. She smiled brightly, her chest aching with happiness and pride. "I promise, Father. I will never forget."
They finished cleaning in companionable silence, the last of the sunlight slipping away beyond the horizon. Koushirou paused for a moment, gazing at his daughter with a bittersweet ache.
He had always wanted to protect her from the world's cruelties, but now, perhaps the truest way to protect her was to let her go, to let her spread her wings and chase the dreams that called to her soul, even if it meant stepping bravely into the unknown.
A shame, though.
That little bird, so full of spirit and dreams, was destined for a fate that would cruelly cut her journey short before she could fully soar.