Nami and Carina's expressions changed at once.
"Fifty percent... because you're worried the ship might get torn apart?" Nami's grip tightened around her self-defense staff, her knuckles turning pale. "Hey, you're not serious, are you? That Treasure guy might be strong, but it shouldn't be that bad—"
"Mad Treasure is a devil fruit user."
Zaraki cut in flatly, then sat back down.
His fingers brushed over Murasame's scabbard without thinking, his gaze drifting as though he were digging through the memories buried in his head.
"That bastard can turn parts of his body—and even the chains he touches—hard as steel. He can also grind out heat through friction." Zaraki yawned, sounding as lazy as ever.
"I've split cannonballs and carved up Sea Kings before, but that was brute force, flying slashes, or a better blade doing the heavy lifting. That's not the same as truly understanding how to cut steel." He tapped the hilt lightly.
"I've got the strength for it. What I don't have yet is the control to do it cleanly every time without wrecking my blade—or myself."
Raw power could crush through a lot.
But the Kenpachi Zaraki Template was still developing.
Without a Shinigami's body to match it, forcing a head-on clash could leave his sword broken in pieces—and him not far behind.
He needed a technique.
Something that could take all that brute force and drive it straight through steel without wasting half of it.
Zoro frowned. "So what? Since you've only got a fifty percent chance, you're thinking of running?"
"Running?" Zaraki got to his feet, walked over to the sea chart, and jabbed a finger at an island not far from their current route.
"I call it pulling back before the kill. We're going here."
Zoro leaned in, then his face twisted. "Shimotsuki Village? You're going to my hometown?"
"More accurately, I'm going there to get stronger." Zaraki picked up an apple core from the table and flicked it cleanly into the trash can across the room.
"There's a Dojo there. I want to learn something."
His grin widened.
"How to cut steel properly."
Zoro stared at him for a moment, then let out a mocking laugh.
The movement tugged at his wounds and made him wince.
"Hah? You've got to be kidding. I trained at that dojo for years, and even I can't cut steel. The old man there is just a swordsmanship teacher. Sure, that squinty four-eyes is strong, but only by East Blue standards!"
In Zoro's memory, Koushirou had always been gentle, smiling all the time, forever talking about deep principles nobody could make sense of.
A teacup in hand, calm as still water. Nothing about him looked like someone who had stepped into that kind of realm.
Zaraki turned and looked at Zoro like he was beyond saving.
"Moss Head, know how the frog in the well died?"
Zoro's face darkened. "How should I know?"
"Because it was too stupid to see the sky." Zaraki's voice stayed calm, but there was weight in it.
"You thought he was ordinary because you were weak. Weak enough that you couldn't even see what was standing in front of you."
Zoro's face flushed red.
He wanted to argue, but the words stuck in his throat.
In front of a man who had split the sea with one swing, any excuse he came up with would sound pathetic.
"Raise anchor," Zaraki said, waving a hand as he headed for the cabin door.
"Let's go see your teacher. While we're at it, maybe he'll teach me how to make this sword behave."
...
Three hours later, at the modest dock of Shimotsuki Village.
Compared to the crowded ports elsewhere, this place felt almost too quiet.
The air carried the fresh scent of earth and bamboo leaves.
Now and then, a dog barked somewhere in the village.
Everything about the place was ordinary.
Zaraki jumped down from the ship, boots hitting the hard-packed road. The solid ground beneath his feet eased the tension in his nerves by a fraction.
Only a fraction.
The blood in his veins was already heating up as Zaraki's instincts were stirring.
There was someone here.
Someone who could make him stronger!
"Hey! Isn't that Zoro?"
A few villagers passing by spotted the Moss Head behind Zaraki and greeted him right away.
"Long time no see! Heard you became a bounty hunter! What happened to you? Why do you look like that?"
Zoro, wrapped in bandages and carrying a heavy iron chest in one hand—the so-called tuition fee Zaraki had forced onto him—turned red all the way to his ears.
Letting the villagers see him in that miserable state was worse than taking a blade to the chest.
"Sh-shut up!" Zoro roared, face black with embarrassment. "I just got a little hurt!"
Zaraki ignored the noise behind him.
He stopped, closed his eyes, and drew in a slow breath.
He wasn't admiring the scent of the village.
He was feeling for something.
The system had never directly given him high-level Observation Haki, but as the Zaraki Template fused deeper into him, that beast-like intuition had begun to wake in him.
He could feel a presence in the bamboo forest north of the village.
Faint.
Quiet.
Like a pool of still water nobody would spare a second glance.
But beneath that stillness, in Zaraki's senses, something immense was sleeping there.
The kind of force that could overturn rivers and tear through seas once it moved.
"Found you."
His eyes opened sharply.
A cold gleam flashed through those dark golden pupils, and the corner of his mouth lifted.
Now that he had the target, there was no need for anyone to lead the way.
His figure vanished where he stood.
Only a cracked footprint and a burst of dust remained.
"Hey! Wait! That way is—" Zoro started to shout, but Zaraki was already gone.
He could only grit his teeth, shift the chest higher, and curse, "Damn bastard... that's the dojo's direction! Is he planning to challenge them?!"
...
Isshin Dojo.
The afternoon sun spilled through the gaps in the bamboo grove, scattering broken light across the wooden floor.
Crisp clashes of bamboo swords rang through the air along with the children's voices.
"Put your heart into every swing. The sword is an extension of the heart."
Koushirou, dressed in his usual loose robes and wearing that gentle smile of his, was adjusting a student's grip.
Then he stopped.
His eyes, always narrowed into slits, opened a little.
A sharp light flashed behind the lenses.
The wind had changed.
The soft breeze passing through the dojo turned violent without warning.
Outside, the rustling bamboo sounded less like leaves in the wind and more like some beast dragging its breath through the forest.
"Everyone, stop for a moment."
Koushirou straightened and gave a light clap. His voice was still warm, but there was authority in it that no one would disobey.
"Practice ends here today. Go home. Immediately."
"Eh? But sensei, it's not time yet—"
"Go."
This time, his voice sank a little heavier.
The children looked confused, but none of them argued.
They quickly packed up and left.
Only after the last child disappeared through the entrance did Koushirou slowly turn toward the doorway.
A tall figure was already standing there.
A young man in a coat.
But there was a dangerous aura pouring off him.
The fighting spirit was savage, undisguised, filled with wild aggression.
Just standing there, he made the skin along Koushirou's arms prickle.
What troubled Koushirou even more was the sword at the young man's waist.
Even through the scabbard, he could sense the stench of blood clinging to it.
As a swordsman, he could also feel the ominous weight of something cursed—or something close enough to make no difference.
"Murasame..." Koushirou pushed up his glasses, the smile on his face fading slightly.
"One of the 21 Great Grade swords appearing in front of me... I didn't expect that."
"You know the blade?" Zaraki strode into the dojo, his boots thudding against the wood. "Good. Means I didn't come to the wrong place."
He stopped ten meters away and flashed a grin full of white teeth.
"I'm Zaraki. That Moss Head's current creditor."
The instant he heard Zoro's name, the caution in Koushirou's eyes eased a little, replaced by surprise.
"Zoro? Is he... alright?"
"He's alive. Just got carved up pretty badly. He's dragging a chest over here right now." Zaraki answered carelessly, then the look in his eyes sharpened.
"But I didn't come here to catch up."
His hand rested on his sword hilt.
His body tilted forward just slightly, like a beast on the edge of pouncing.
"I heard someone here knows how to cut steel. The so-called breath of all things."
Koushirou was silent for a moment, then that harmless smile returned to his face.
"You overestimate me. I'm only a teacher in a small village dojo. A sword principle like that is far beyond—"
"Enough."
Zaraki cut him off and pulled out a half-finished bottle of rum from his coat.
"That fake face of yours is obvious."
Crack.
The thick glass bottle shattered in his hand.
Rum splashed across the floor, but he never loosened his grip. Jagged shards bit straight into his palm, sinking into flesh.
Blood mixed with liquor and dripped onto the wooden boards.
Then it came.
A crushing presence burst out of Zaraki's body in an instant.
It was pure Spiritual Pressure, laced with the killing intent of Kenpachi Zaraki!
The air inside the dojo seemed to vanish all at once, then crash back like a tidal wave.
The calligraphy scrolls on the wall snapped wildly in the gust. Bamboo swords rattled on their racks before clattering to the floor one after another.
The smile disappeared from Koushirou's face entirely.
What stood before him no longer felt like a young man.
It felt like an ancient beast that had torn its chains apart.
And if he didn't stop it here, this pressure wouldn't end with the dojo.
The village itself could be dragged into it.
"You want to learn how to cut steel?" Koushirou's hand slowly came to rest on the bamboo sword at his waist.
It was only bamboo, yet the instant he took hold of it, a clear ringing note echoed through the dojo, like a famous blade leaving its sheath.
"No."
Zaraki drew Murasame.
A crimson, demonic glow spread through the dim dojo at once.
"I want to see whether your way can stop mine."
That was all.
The floor beneath Zaraki's feet exploded as he launched forward like a cannonball.
Both hands locked around the hilt as he brought Murasame down in a slash heavy enough to split rock and break bone by sheer force alone.
"If it's to protect my students and this dojo..." A cold gleam flashed over Koushirou's glasses as his bamboo sword rose in a slow, almost effortless arc.
"Then I'll have to be a little serious."
CLANG—!
Bamboo met steel.
The collision rang out like two warships crashing head-on.
A visible shockwave burst outward with the two of them at its center.
The dojo roof tore free.
Amid the shriek of splitting wood, the thick roof of Isshin Dojo was ripped clean off and blasted into the sky.