At Sea
A black flag bearing the sigil of the Ghost Hand Pirates snapped sharply in the wind as their ship cut across the waters of West Blue at full sail.
Inside the upper cabin, Rowan trained alone.
Stripped to the waist, muscles corded and gleaming with sweat, he braced himself against the reinforced wooden floor and drove his body upward in steady, disciplined push-ups. Balanced across his shoulders were two enormous steel dumbbells each heavy enough that an ordinary man could not lift even one.
"Nine hundred ninety-three… nine hundred ninety-four…"
His breathing was controlled, even as veins stood out along his arms. Beneath his composed exterior lay strength sufficient to overwhelm pirates worth fifty million Berries and contend with high-ranking Marine officers.
"Nine hundred ninety-nine… one thousand."
Only when he reached the count did he lower the weights from his shoulders.
They struck the floor with a dull metallic thud.
Rowan flipped onto his back, chest rising and falling as sweat pooled beneath him. The fatigue was real but so was the satisfaction. Physical strength in this world mattered. Even among Devil Fruit users, raw bodily power determined whether one could endure Armament Haki, withstand shockwaves, or survive the Grand Line's brutality.
Footsteps approached.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A knock followed.
"Come in," Rowan said without rising.
The door opened.
Nico Robin entered quietly, carrying a tray with a tall glass of lemon tea. She took in the scene her captain lying drenched in sweatwithout the slightest embarrassment or surprise.
"Your drink, Captain."
She placed the tray neatly on the table.
Rowan remained on the floor a moment longer before pushing himself upright. He reached for the glass and drained it in a single long swallow.
The citrus bite cut cleanly through the exhaustion.
"Where are we?" he asked.
Robin folded her hands calmly behind her back.
"Based on your chart calculations yesterday, we've entered the waters surrounding the Kano Country."
Rowan gave a small nod.
Kano Country the birthplace of the Happo Navy.
Unlike most nations in West Blue, Kano possessed an organized maritime fighting force independent of the World Government. It was a kingdom with deep martial traditions and ties reaching into the Grand Line.
"The White Bear Pirates should be docking soon," Rowan said. "Forty-five million Berries for their captain. They favor coastal trading hubs. Kano's outer ports would suit them."
Robin inclined her head slightly.
"The information appears reliable. However, Kano Country is not… welcoming to foreign pirates."
A faint smile touched Rowan's lips.
"I'm aware."
The Kano Country was home to the Happo Navy an officially recognized maritime militia led by powerful martial artists. Its most famous former leader, Don Chinjao, once rampaged across the Grand Line with a bounty exceeding five hundred million Berries before his legendary clash with Monkey D. Garp, which left his iconic drill-shaped head flattened.
But that was history.
"The strongest members of the Happo Navy operate in the Grand Line," Rowan continued. "The West Blue division consists mostly of trainees and reserve fighters. Unless we attract significant attention, we won't be facing their elite."
Robin studied him carefully.
"You seem unusually familiar with Kano's internal structure."
"Only what's useful," Rowan replied lightly.
He stood and stretched, rolling his shoulders.
"Besides pursuing the White Bear Pirates, we'll acquire keel timber and core materials for our next vessel here. Kano's craftsmen export quality hardwood. Once we secure materials, we'll eventually need a master shipwright from the New World."
He paused thoughtfully.
"Preferably from Wano Country."
Though isolated, Wano was famed across the seas for master craftsmen—especially shipbuilders and swordsmiths.
Robin listened without interruption.
Rowan was not the strongest pirate she had encountered in her travels through the underworld and across multiple seas.
But he was the most disciplined.
The most controlled.
His confidence did not manifest as arrogance or reckless bravado. It lingered instead in his gaze a quiet certainty, as though he understood that this vast, chaotic world was not something to fear but something to climb.
And he climbed through effort.
Though already capable of dominating most of West Blue, Rowan never neglected training. While other captains drank and celebrated, he lifted iron and honed technique.
Even when indulging in leisure, he never allowed indulgence to erode discipline.
"Since you've decided," Robin said softly, "I'll oversee preparations."
Rowan nodded.
She left the cabin.
The door closed with a quiet click.
Rowan exhaled once, then reached for a towel to wipe away the remaining sweat.
His power did not come solely from his Devil Fruit.
It came from multiplication.
His Paramecia ability allowed him to distort whatever he physically touched metal, bone, weaponry provided the target was not defended by sufficiently powerful Busoshoku Haki or Seastone. But raw contact alone was not enough in the Grand Line. Strength determined penetration.
If his base physical force was one hundred, enhancement multiplied it.
If his base reached one thousand, the increase scaled proportionally.
There was no fixed ceiling.
That was why he trained.
In this world, countless men dedicated their lives to strength yet never approached monsters like Garp or Whitebeard. Even among the Marines and Yonko crews, true top tiers were anomalies born of extreme talent and relentless tempering.
Rowan did not deceive himself.
Reaching even a fraction of that level required years.
But he possessed something most did not
A system that amplified growth.
Every gain in muscle, endurance, and speed yielded multiplied returns.
The stronger his foundation became, the greater the enhancement.
Which meant one thing:
He could not afford stagnation.
"Speaking of which…"
He walked to the desk and allowed the familiar interface of his internal system to surface in his awareness.
Two months had passed since the fall of Vice Admiral Bastille.
In that time, he had eliminated only one notable pirate worth thirty-four million Berrie but his accumulated wealth had climbed steadily, nearing ninety million Berries in assets and spoils.
Now he hunted the White Bear Pirates.
Both for bounty.
And for reputation.
At the base of his internal interface, his current reserves displayed clearly:
1 Free Talent Point.110 Talent Proficiency Points.
Rowan's eyes sharpened.
West Blue was nearly conquered ground.
Kano Country would be a stepping stone.
The Grand Line awaited.
And Ghost Hand Rowan intended to arrive prepared.