The next morning, the Revolutionary Army was already busy.
One after another, carts at the Shimotsuki Village dock were loading grain onto the ships, the sacks piled up like small mountains, and several Revolutionary Army soldiers, shirtless, were carrying the goods.
Shouting work chants, sweat glistened in the morning light, forming bright arcs.
Long stood by the dock, holding a contact list of the various branches in the East Blue, and was checking the distribution and destination of this batch of grain with several branch leaders.
"In the Goa Kingdom, there are four outposts near the Gray Terminal that need to be restocked with food."
"This batch of grain from Shimotsuki Village will be prioritized for that side."
The dragon's voice remained as steady as ever, and he traced a line on the list with his finger.
"Also, Ivan, could you check with the Baratie restaurant to see if they're willing to continue providing supplies as a transit point?"
Those chefs were a bit difficult to talk to, but our last collaboration went fairly smoothly.
Ivankov rolled his eyes, but still picked up the Den Den Mushi and made the call.
Roy didn't go to the docks to join the fun.
He sat under the eaves of the dojo, a plate of tea and snacks that Koshiro had brought that morning beside him, watching the group of boys sweating profusely in the courtyard.
Today's training session was even more lively than yesterday's.
Zoro barely slept last night, and his eyes were still bloodshot, but his sword-wielding posture was much better than before.
Although it still carries a brute force, at least that brute force is being used in the right place.
Kuina remained calm as always, leading the other boys in basic slashing practice with meticulous movements, though she would occasionally lose focus.
Whenever she was distracted, her gaze would drift to the man drinking tea in the corridor.
Roy always managed to catch her gaze, but he didn't say anything. He simply picked up his teacup, took a sip, and continued watching the boys practice their swordsmanship.
Sometimes he would casually offer a word or two of advice, such as, "That kid on the right has too stiff a back; he needs to practice his fundamentals more."
Or, "That girl in the front row has a good sword style; she should be more gentle with it."
The teenagers went from initial awe to now taking it for granted.
These children haven't yet been brainwashed by the World Government's "all pirates are evil" mentality.
In their eyes, Roy was a big brother who was very skilled in swordsmanship, had a funny way of speaking, and was always teasing Zoro.
"Mr. Roy."
Kuina suddenly appeared beside him, still holding the wooden sword, her kendo uniform sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a thin layer of sweat on her forehead.
"Um?"
"Could you tell me more about the stories you told me last night—Big Mom, the Pirate Empress of Amazon Lily, and the female swordswoman in the Navy?"
Roy glanced at her.
The girl's face was expressionless, but the longing in her eyes was impossible to hide.
From childhood to adulthood, all she heard was the saying "girls can't become Great Swordsman," and she was so tired of hearing it that her ears were practically calloused.
One day, someone told her that there were many ridiculously powerful women on the high seas, some of whom even stood on a throne at the top of the world, looking down on all living beings.
She wanted to know more.
I want to confirm that those stories are true.
I want to confirm that I can really continue down this path.
"Sit down." Roy patted the cushion next to him.
Kuina sat down obediently, placed the wooden sword across her lap, and rested her hands on the blade, her posture perfectly upright.
Roy smiled slightly as he watched the boy obediently listening to an adult's bedtime story, and then spoke.
"Let's talk about the female naval swordswoman first. Although I don't know much about her, her strength should not be underestimated."
Roy told Kuina what he knew about Momousagi Gion and Hawk Eyes's exploits, and then recounted Charlotte Linlin's story of building Totto Land from scratch.
It tells the story of how Hancock, after being enslaved by the Celestial Dragons, gradually climbed to the position of Pirate Empress.
It tells the story of how the female warriors on Hachinosu earned their formidable reputation in the New World.
Kuina listened attentively, occasionally asking a question or two, but most of the time she just listened quietly.
Those eyes went from initial curiosity, to shock in the middle, and finally to unwavering determination.
Training ended in the evening.
The boys dispersed in twos and threes and went home, but Zoro lingered in the backyard, refusing to leave.
He practiced repeatedly in front of the wooden stake. Koshiro tried to dissuade him several times, but to no avail, and in the end, he could only let him do it.
Instead of going back to her room to read as usual, Kuina went straight to Koshiro's room.
She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
Koshiro was sitting on the tatami mat, wiping the Wado Ichimonji.
The blade of this Twenty-One Great Grade Swords, gleamed with a cold, silvery-white luster under the lamplight, reflecting in his eyes behind his glasses as if evoking old memories.
"Father."
Kuina knelt before him, her back ramrod straight, hands resting on her knees, her voice more solemn than ever.
"I'd like to talk to you."
Koshiro paused in wiping the blade, then looked up.
Looking into my daughter's serious, almost solemn eyes through her glasses, a bad feeling suddenly welled up inside me.
"What's up?"
"I would like to ask you to teach me more advanced swordsmanship."
Kuina said, word by word,
"This is not what I'm currently training; it's the swordsmanship you use on a real battlefield."
I want to become the World's Greatest Swordsman.
This isn't a child's joke, nor is it childish naiveté; it's serious, a dream I absolutely want to achieve.
Koshiro's hand stopped.
He looked down at the blade of the Wado Ichimonji sword, his own face reflected in its surface—
His expression was so complex that even he himself couldn't decipher it.
" Kuina."
Koshiro sighed, sheathed his sword, and his voice carried a hint of helplessness.
"I thought we'd discussed this issue many times already."
"We've talked about it many times."
Kuina did not back down; her voice trembled slightly but remained steady.
"But yesterday Mr. Roy talked to me a lot. He told me that if my father really didn't believe in my talent, he wouldn't have forced me to do a thousand basic knife swings from a young age."
They wouldn't point out the flaws in my swordplay after each match, nor would they frantically apply medicine to me when I was injured.
Koshiro's fingers tightened slightly.
He also said that the reason his father repeatedly told him 'girls can't become Great Swordsman ' wasn't because I really couldn't—
It's because the father cares too much and is afraid of losing his only daughter.
Therefore, it's better to break her wings than to let her fly to the dangerous sea.
The room was so quiet that only the rustling of bamboo leaves in the wind could be heard outside the window.
Koshiro sat there, his glasses reflecting light, making it impossible to see the emotions in his eyes.
But the way his fingers rubbed back and forth on the scabbard—that unconscious little gesture—betrayed the turbulent emotions he was feeling at that moment.
He's right.
Koshiro finally spoke, his voice much lower than usual, as if he had aged considerably.
Did Mr. Roy tell you what the ocean is like?
Kuina did not respond.
When I was your age, I also practiced swordsmanship with your grandfather.
Koshiro took off his glasses and wiped them, his tone tinged with heavy memories.
"Back then, I thought I was so amazing, setting sail with just a knife."
I want to venture out and see just how vast this ocean really is.
I saw it later.
Pirates, the Navy, the World Government, underground forces—every sea route on this ocean is paved with corpses.
Slave ships plunder the Four Blues, and the first half of the Grand Line is littered with the sunken ships of nameless pirates.
But upon arriving in the New World—
The weak don't even have the right to cry.