"Kōshirō-sensei… with your unshakable resolve, do you think you could've defeated the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger?"

Tachibana Kyūjō's voice was pure and sincere—devoid of mockery or challenge. He genuinely wanted to know.

But the moment those words hit Kōshirō's ears, his face turned a mix of red and indignant shame.

This hardheaded brat… really had no filter!

"I might not be able to beat Roger, but that doesn't mean I can't beat you, you little punk!"

Without warning, Kōshirō raised his blade—Wadō Ichimonji, one of the twenty-one Ō Wazamono grade swords—and dashed straight toward Kyūjō.

Their blades clashed midair.

Zzngg—!

There was no earth-shaking boom or shattering crash. Yet when their swords met—Kyūjō's Rairyūken and Kōshirō's Wadō Ichimonji—they didn't actually touch.

A two-finger-wide gap separated them.

But in that narrow space, a silent battle of wills unfolded—more dangerous than any loud collision.

Two layers of high-grade Busoshoku Haki, known as Ryūō in Wano, met in a focused clash. Their auras pushed violently against each other, creating a crushing force that warped the very air between the blades.

This was no simple coating of Haki—it was its advanced form. The kind that seeped into an opponent's body and destroyed them from the inside.

From that unseen collision point, raw force erupted. The shock shook the tiny training island beneath their feet.

The ground cracked and split, veins of destruction spidering outward like lightning strikes. Clouds overhead parted under the weight of their spiritual pressure.

The shockwave rippled through the trees and shattered rocks, surging like a tidal wave out toward the distant sea.

A battle between a top-grade sword and a mid-tier blade should've been one-sided. Yet, even though Kyūjō's Rairyūken was just a Ryō Wazamono, two full grades below Wadō Ichimonji, his sheer physical strength and mastery over Haki allowed him to hold his ground.

Kōshirō stared in disbelief.

This kid… had stopped his full-powered slash.

Kyūjō's body trembled slightly under the pressure, but he had deflected a blow that would've flattened most adult swordsmen.

A blow from a man who had stood atop the peak of swordsmanship—a Dai-Kengō.

"…Could it be… he's already found his own path?"

Kōshirō bit his lip, eyes briefly losing focus.

Fifteen. The boy was only fifteen—and he was already standing on the same level.

What did that say about the sword path Kōshirō had taught all these years?

Kyūjō had walked a completely different path… and still reached this height.

Pride. Regret. A strange sense of being left behind.

With a quiet exhale, Kōshirō gently pushed Kyūjō two steps back and drew his sword away.

Clink.

He returned Wadō Ichimonji to its sheath with a somber expression. There were no words for what he was feeling.

He hadn't even fully passed on Isshin-Ryū, his school of swordsmanship. And yet… Kyūjō was already beyond its reach.

What was the point in forcing his teachings any longer?

Kōshirō snorted.

"Did I train him too well? Or is he just too damn talented?"

He couldn't blame anyone. He could only grumble inwardly.

Kyūjō scratched the back of his head, unsure what to say.

He hadn't planned on fighting today. Honestly, he preferred training—especially when his growth showed no sign of slowing down. What was the point in wasting strength when there were still skills to perfect?

He calmly sheathed his blade and approached his teacher with a relaxed grin.

"That last technique was amazing, Kōshirō-sensei…"

Kyūjō circled around like a cat teasing its master.

"You nearly tore this island apart with one swing."

"Next time, maybe we hold back a little? Training shouldn't come with collateral damage, you know."

"There aren't many spare islands in East Blue, after all."

Kōshirō raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes upward.

"This damn kid… all he ever thinks about is training!"

It had been over five years since Kyūjō arrived in Shimotsuki Village—and not once had he left.

If he wasn't being forced out today, he'd probably still be holed up, slicing air until the end of time.

Was he planning to stay here until there was no one left strong enough to spar with?

Or worse… even then, would he still stay?

Kōshirō looked up at the sky.

Very possible.

But things were different now. Kyūjō had reached the level of a Dai-Kengō.

There was no reason to keep him here.

This village was too small for someone like him.

Even the four seas… weren't enough.

"…Haaah…"

Kōshirō sighed deeply and finally asked,

"Kyūjō… how long have you been living in this village?"

"Don't you ever think about setting sail?"

Kyūjō tilted his head.

Setting sail? For what?

He hadn't hit any bottlenecks. He wasn't stuck.

He was still growing—training, improving. He could keep going for years. Decades, even.

Kōshirō's temple twitched.

Even the most patient man in the village had limits.

With a voice as calm as morning dew—and just as sharp—Kōshirō continued:

"Kyūjō, your strength is more than enough."

"You should see the world. Test yourself against other swordsmen."

"There are sights you'll never see if you stay here forever."

"With your level now, there's no place in East Blue you can't reach."

"Shimotsuki is too small for you. Even the Four Blues are too small."

"You belong on the Grand Line."

"Trust me. The world is far too vast for you to ignore."

Kyūjō scratched his head again, glancing at his teacher's hopeful gaze.

"…I don't think I'm strong enough yet. Maybe… later."

Of course, he knew where this conversation was going.

But things like fame, riches, power, beautiful women—

They meant nothing to Kyūjō.

The only thing he craved… was the thrill of growing stronger.

That was his addiction.

Kōshirō forced a smile, but pressed again, eyes sparkling with one last glimmer of hope.

"…Then how much longer? Tell me. I'll have your ship ready."

Kyūjō thought for a moment.

He recalled debates from his past life—those long-winded theory threads from One Piece fans about the hidden boss, Imu.

After a few seconds of reflection…

"…At least… ten or fifteen more years."

— — —

Kōshirō's world tilted.

Ten or fifteen years? You want to stay hidden here for over a decade?

By then, there might not even be enemies left worth fighting!

Are you planning to become the Solitary Swordsman, the Seeker of Defeat?

But before he could say anything else, Kōshirō remembered something.

His face hardened.

With a voice low and cold, he asked:

"Kyūjō… didn't you say pirates killed your parents?"

"If you're strong enough to take revenge now—why haven't you?"

"Can you really look their spirits in the eye… knowing that?"

Kyūjō fell silent.

— — —

Three days later.

At a small harbor on the edge of Shimotsuki Village, Kōshirō stood holding his baby daughter, Kuina.

Other students stood nearby, waving toward the ship vanishing into the horizon.

Tachibana Kyūjō had left.

He'd finally stepped away from the miniature world he'd built for himself over the past five years.

Now, he was heading into the real one—

And so, his journey across the Grand Line… had begun.

— — —

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