One Piece: The user of the Nen-Nen Fruit, who overturned the sea.

Breakfast ended in chaos.

After breakfast, Ace and Luffy insisted on going out to train.

Ace took two simple weighted leg wraps from the wooden shelf by the door, skillfully wrapped them around his calves, and then wrapped them around Luffy's as well.

Luffy almost tripped over the leg straps halfway through binding his legs, but Ace caught him quickly and gave him a sharp rap on the head.

"Kuina-neechan, would you like to come along?"

Ace turned around and asked, his tone polite but his eyes showing a hint of probing—he was also curious about this suddenly appearing kendo girl.

Kuina glanced at Roy instinctively.

Roy leaned back in his chair, holding his teacup, and nodded slightly to her, a faint smile playing on his lips as always.

"Go ahead, go and see for yourself."

Kuina stood up, politely thanked Rouge, and followed the two boys out the door.

The morning light had completely bathed the stone-paved roads of the windmill village.

Luffy sprinted ahead, while Ace chased after him, yelling at him not to run too fast or he'd fall. Kuina followed at the very back, keeping a distance of about ten steps.

Her observation began the moment she stepped out the door.

These two children are physically superior to their peers.

Luffy's explosive running power is unlike that of a six-year-old child; every step he takes leaves a shallow mark on the dirt road.

Ace wasn't fast, but his rhythm was extremely steady, and his breathing and footwork were coordinated to a very high degree.

This cannot be explained by talent; it is the result of meticulous refinement.

Garp?

Guina silently memorized the name.

Her knowledge of the navy was limited to the few words her father occasionally mentioned.

But the trainer who could give these two children such a physical foundation at such a young age must not be an ordinary naval instructor.

The training grounds on the back hill had clearly been used repeatedly.

On a bare patch of ground, several crooked wooden stakes stood, with several weight-bearing stones of varying sizes nearby.

The ground in the center of the open space was lower than the surrounding area—a dent formed by countless falls.

"Today's goal is—"

Ace stood in the center of the open space, hands on his hips, and announced,

"First, run five laps around the mountain to warm up, then do one hundred sit-ups, and then sparring."

Whoever loses has to carry the stone down the mountain.

"I absolutely will not lose!"

Luffy had already taken off his jacket, revealing a wrinkled red vest underneath, and looked as spirited as a young rooster just out of its burrow.

Kuina found a crooked tree at the edge of the clearing, turned over and sat on the lowest branch, placed the wooden sword across her lap, and began her observation.

She noticed something more before the warm-up run had even gone 300 meters.

Ace's running posture is extremely standardized. Every push-off, arm swing, and breath carries a precision beyond his age, which is the mark of repeated practice etched into muscle memory.

Luffy, on the other hand, has a completely different style—his running movements are haphazard, his arms swing like a windmill, and his steps are sometimes big and sometimes small, but he still managed to catch up with Ace and even took a few steps ahead in the middle.

Chaotic, but fast.

It was completely haphazard, but its instincts were extremely sharp.

Kuina frowned. She had seen all sorts of students at the dojo: talented ones, untalented ones, hardworking ones, and lazy ones.

But she had never seen anyone like Luffy before.

It's not that he's strong, but rather that his body seems to be bypassing all the rules in its own way while still achieving the same effect.

After warming up, we begin physical training.

Ace and Luffy stood facing each other and gave each other a standard naval salute.

Then Luffy pounced on him—without testing the waters or using any feints, he went straight for the head.

"Idiot! Who told you to headbutt him!"

Ace cursed as he dodged to the side, grabbed Luffy's arm with his left hand and hooked his ankle with his right foot, slamming Luffy to the ground with a clean and decisive motion.

Luffy bounced on the ground once, really once, then rolled over, got up, and pounced again, this time with his fist.

As Kuina watched this "physical training," her confusion deepened.

Ace's wrestling skills clearly show naval influences; his foundation is solid, his movements are standardized, and every grappling and counter-grappling is clean and beautiful.

As for Luffy—Luffy's fighting style is entirely driven by instinct, without any set patterns, but his ability to quickly learn while being beaten reminded her of Zoro.

Zoro is that kind of person too.

He gets knocked down, gets up, gets knocked down again, gets up again, and after falling down eight hundred times, he will find that he has unknowingly mastered seventy percent of his opponent's moves.

Is this what Mr. Roy asked me to come here for?

Kuina fiddled with the wooden sword on her knee, her eyes darting back and forth between the two boys.

She saw talent, she saw hard work, and she saw the subtle bond between a precocious child and a reckless child.

But One Piece?

She simply couldn't reconcile the two kids, still arguing about "who should carry the stones down the mountain," with the title that carried Roger's will.

What exactly does Roy mean?

Kuina leaned against the tree trunk, the wooden sword slowly spinning in her fingertips. Her calm eyes reflected the figures of two boys sweating profusely, her mind filled with unsolved mysteries.

Kuina stayed on the back mountain until the sun was high in the sky, filled with questions.

Ace and Luffy's training ended in a very ceremonial way—the two stood face to face in an open space, bowed to each other, and then Luffy cheered and rushed down to the stream, plunging into the water to cool off.

Ace, meanwhile, was tidying up his weighted leg wraps on the spot, his movements slow and methodical, even the way he folded the straps had a fixed habit.

Kuina jumped down from the tree branch, her wooden sword slung diagonally at her waist, and her gaze lingered on the two children for a few seconds.

She's seen enough today, but the answer to that core question—who is the Pirate King—remains shrouded in mystery.

Meanwhile, Roy followed Rouge out of her house and slowly walked along the village's stone path toward the Makino Tavern.

Rouge changed into a simple and elegant coat, and loosely tied her hair back with a light blue hairband. As she walked in the morning light, she exuded a calm and composed aura.

Having lived in the windmill village for so many years, she had long since become one of the villagers, and people kept greeting her along the way.

"Rou! Are you going to help out at the tavern today?"

"Hey! Keep an eye on the lunch market for Makino for a bit. Is your husband out fishing today?"

Rouge responded familiarly to each question, her voice both gentle and crisp.

Roy walked beside her, hands in his pockets, looking at the peaceful scene, and felt a rare sense of relaxation.

While the New World is rife with conflict and bloodshed every day, this small fishing village in the East China Sea is so peaceful that you'd want to stay a few more days.

The Martino Tavern is located at the corner of the main street at the entrance of the village; it is a two-story wooden building.

The sign at the entrance was slightly curled at the edges by the sea breeze; it read "PARTYS BAR" in white paint. When Rouge pushed open the door...

The wind chimes on the lintel jingled with a series of clear, crisp sounds.