Andrew Slayn

Chapter Two: Grinding Levels

Added 2025-04-20 22:03:35 +0000 UTC

Two weeks into his new life, Andrew discovered the true potential of his Devil Fruit for training. It happened during his first session at Master Jinto's dojo, after a particularly grueling set of exercises that had left his muscles burning with fatigue.

"Enough," Jinto called to the class of eight students. "Ten-minute rest, then we continue with kata practice."

Andrew collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily. The old master worked his students hard, insisting on perfect form for even the most basic movements. As he sat there, feeling the familiar ache in his muscles, a thought occurred to him.

If his Saisei-Saisei no Mi could heal injuries, could it also accelerate recovery from normal exercise fatigue?

Closing his eyes, Andrew focused inward, directing the warm, pulsing energy of his Devil Fruit toward his tired muscles. He visualized the microscopic tears being repaired, lactic acid being processed and cleared away, energy stores being replenished.

The sensation was subtle at first—a gentle warmth spreading through his limbs, followed by a tingling that reminded him of the recovery items in RPG games. Within moments, the burning sensation in his muscles faded, replaced by a feeling of refreshed readiness.

When Jinto called them back to the center of the dojo, Andrew stood with ease, his body feeling as though he'd rested for hours rather than minutes.

The old master noticed immediately.

"Slayn," he called sharply. "Your stance was faltering before the break. Show me again."

Andrew dropped into the stance, holding it with perfect stability. Jinto circled him, prodding and examining with narrowed eyes.

"Interesting recovery," the master commented. "Most students take far longer to catch their second wind."

Andrew maintained a neutral expression, but his mind was racing with the implications. If he could accelerate his recovery between training sets, he could effectively train multiple times in a single session. The progress that might take others months could potentially take him weeks.

"Thank you, Master," he replied simply. "I have good stamina."

Jinto made a noncommittal noise and moved on to the next student, but Andrew caught the old man watching him with increased interest throughout the remainder of the class.

That evening, alone in the small yard behind Mabel's Boarding House, Andrew tested his theory more thoroughly. He set up a training circuit—pushups until failure, followed by squats, core exercises, and shadowboxing. Typically, such a circuit would require significant rest between rounds.

After completing the first round, his muscles trembling with exhaustion, Andrew sat cross-legged on the ground and activated his regenerative powers. He directed the energy methodically, starting with his arms, then core, then legs, monitoring how quickly each muscle group recovered.

Within three minutes, he felt ready for another full round.

"Exponential training," he murmured to himself as he dropped into position for his second set of pushups. "While everyone else is limited by recovery time, I can just... reset."

By the end of two hours, Andrew had completed seven full circuits—the equivalent of perhaps three or four normal training sessions. When he finally stopped, it wasn't due to muscular fatigue but because his Devil Fruit energy was depleted, the warm sensation reduced to a faint ember that needed time to replenish.

As he toweled off the sweat, Andrew noticed Tomás watching from the back porch, eyes wide with fascination.

"How did you do that many pushups?" the boy asked. "No one can do that many!"

Andrew smiled. "Special training technique. But don't tell anyone, okay? It's a secret."

Tomás nodded solemnly, clearly delighted to be entrusted with adult secrets. "Grandma says you're welcome to use the yard whenever you want. She likes that you're 'industrious,' whatever that means."

"Tell her thank you," Andrew replied. "And industrious just means I work hard."

"Like with your devil powers?" the boy asked innocently.

Andrew knelt to the boy's level. "Tomás, it's very important that you don't talk about my powers to other people. Some might not understand."

"Because of the Marines? Grandma says they don't like Devil Fruit users much around here."

"That's part of it," Andrew confirmed. "It'll be our secret, okay?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically. "I won't tell. Promise!"

At the Marine base, Andrew's second week in the kitchen coincided with an unexpected staff shortage. Two cooks had been reassigned to a ship heading to Logue Town, leaving Cook Radish shorthanded during the busy lunch service.

"You—new boy!" Radish bellowed across the kitchen. "Ever cooked fish before? Not just prep work, actual cooking?"

"Yes, sir," Andrew replied confidently. "Several methods."

"Good. Station three is unmanned. Simple menu today—grilled sea bass with herb sauce, side of roasted vegetables. Think you can handle it without poisoning my Marines?"

"Yes, sir," Andrew repeated, moving quickly to the indicated cooking station.

Cooking had been one of the few stable skills in his unstable childhood. Foster homes changed, but kitchens remained relatively consistent, and showing he could prepare meals had often been his way of making himself useful in new homes.

The ingredients here were different—species of fish that didn't exist in his original world, vegetables with unfamiliar properties—but cooking principles remained the same. Heat, timing, seasoning, presentation.

Andrew fell into a comfortable rhythm, grilling the fish to perfection—crisp skin, moist flesh—and preparing the herb sauce with ingredients laid out at the station. As he worked, he found himself enjoying the process more than he had expected. There was something satisfying about creating something both functional and pleasurable.

When Radish came to inspect his work, the big cook's perpetual scowl softened slightly as he sampled the fish.

"Not bad," he admitted, which Andrew was learning was high praise from the taciturn chef. "Who taught you to cook?"

"Mostly taught myself," Andrew answered truthfully. "Had to be useful."

Something in Radish's eyes suggested he understood the implication. "Well, you're useful here. Starting tomorrow, you're on station three permanently. That's a hundred beri raise per week."

"Thank you, sir," Andrew said, genuinely pleased.

"Don't thank me yet," Radish grunted. "More responsibility means more work. And I expect consistency, not just one good service."

The extra hundred beri per week made a significant difference to Andrew's budget. After paying Mabel for his room and board and setting aside the training fee for Master Jinto's dojo, he now had three hundred beri weekly for other expenses and savings.

Some of this went toward proper clothing—work clothes, training clothes, and a more respectable outfit for his days off. He also invested in a small notebook where he could record his Devil Fruit experiments and training progress.

Three weeks into his new life, Andrew established a rigorous routine:

4:30 AM: Wake up, quick breakfast at Mabel's
5:00 AM - 11:00 AM: Work in the Marine base kitchen
11:30 AM - 1:30 PM: Personal training in Mabel's yard (on non-dojo days)
2:00 PM - 5:00 PM: Study at Shell Town's small library or explore the island
5:30 PM - 8:30 PM: Training at Master Jinto's dojo (Wednesdays and Sundays) or at the dockside boxing ring (observing, not yet participating)
9:00 PM - 10:30 PM: Devil Fruit experimentation and development

The routine was demanding, but Andrew's regenerative abilities allowed him to push far beyond normal human limits. Each night, before sleep, he would fully activate his healing powers, ensuring his body recovered completely for the next day.

His progress was remarkable. Muscles developed definition at an accelerated rate. Techniques that Jinto's other students took months to master, Andrew perfected in weeks. His endurance extended from being able to maintain his Devil Fruit enhancement for two minutes to nearly eight minutes before the energy depleted.

And people were beginning to notice.

"Your form has improved considerably," Master Jinto commented after a particularly intensive Wednesday session. The other students had left, but the old master had asked Andrew to stay behind. "Almost unnaturally quickly."

Andrew bowed respectfully. "I practice extensively outside of class."

"Even so." Jinto paced around him, assessing. "I've taught martial arts for fifty years, young man. I know the normal rate of physical development. Yours is... exceptional."

Andrew remained silent, neither confirming nor denying.

"The question," Jinto continued, "is whether this exceptional progress comes from natural talent, supernatural assistance, or both."

Their eyes met, the old master's gaze penetrating and knowing.

"Devil Fruit users are rare in East Blue," Jinto said conversationally. "But not unheard of."

Andrew tensed slightly. "Would such a person be unwelcome in your dojo?"

Jinto laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "My own master was a Devil Fruit user—Motion-Motion Fruit, allowed him to accelerate his movements to incredible speeds. Terrifying to spar against." He shook his head, reminiscing. "No, I have no prejudice against Devil Fruit abilities. But I do believe in transparency between master and student."

Andrew considered his options. Jinto was clearly too observant to be fooled for long, and having the old master's full support could be invaluable.

"Saisei-Saisei no Mi," he said finally. "The Regeneration-Regeneration Fruit. It allows me to accelerate healing—both for myself and others."

"Ah." Jinto nodded thoughtfully. "And you use this to recover between training sessions."

"Yes, Master."

"Clever application." The old man stroked his thin beard. "But potentially limiting in the long term."

Andrew frowned. "Limiting? How so?"

"True mastery comes not just from repetition, but from adaptation to resistance." Jinto moved to a wooden chest against the wall, opening it to reveal training weights and bands. "The body must be stressed, then recover stronger. If you bypass the recovery phase too quickly, you might miss crucial adaptations."

The insight struck Andrew as profound. He had been thinking like a gamer—grinding experience points through rapid repetition. But perhaps the human body didn't work exactly like a character-building system.

"I understand," he said, bowing again. "How would you recommend I modify my training?"

Jinto seemed pleased by the question. "Use your gift more selectively. Allow natural recovery for some sessions. For others, use weighted resistance to increase the challenge." He selected several bands and wrist weights from the chest. "These are yours now. They will make each movement more difficult, requiring greater control and strength."

"Thank you, Master."

"And one more thing." Jinto's expression turned serious. "I've seen you practicing movements that aren't from my teachings—combinations that remind me of stories about the fighting styles of the West Blue."

Andrew nodded cautiously. "I'm... developing my own approach. Combining traditional martial arts with a system of combination strikes."

"The Way of the Cycling Fist," Jinto said, surprising Andrew completely.

"How did you—"

"You talk in your sleep during meditation," the old master said with a hint of amusement. "Most interesting concepts. Show me what you've developed so far."

The following evening, after his shift at the Marine base, Andrew was practicing with his new weighted bands in Mabel's yard when he noticed he had an observer. Master Chief Petty Officer Melsi stood at the edge of the property, watching his movements with professional interest.

Andrew stopped mid-combo, standing at attention out of instinct. "Master Chief."

"At ease, Slayn." Melsi approached, her crisp Marine uniform immaculate as always. "Radish tells me you've become one of his more valuable kitchen staff."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Your form is interesting," she noted, gesturing to the training area. "Not Marine standard. Not traditional East Blue martial arts either, despite training with Master Jinto."

Andrew had learned that Melsi was direct and appreciated directness in return. "I'm developing a personalized style, ma'am."

"Show me."

It wasn't a request so much as an order. Andrew settled into his stance and began a demonstration of what he'd developed so far—basic input combos leading into mid-sequence techniques, all adapted from the fighting styles he'd admired in Final Fantasy games.

He didn't activate his Devil Fruit enhancements, not wanting to reveal that aspect of his abilities, but even his natural movements had improved dramatically through his accelerated training.

Melsi watched silently, her expression unreadable. When he finished, she stepped forward.

"That has potential for close-quarter combat," she said. "Particularly the rhythmic nature of your combinations. Most opponents would struggle to predict your next move."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Have you considered Marine training?" she asked suddenly. "With your physical aptitude and cooking skills, you'd be a valuable recruit."

The question caught Andrew off guard. Joining the Marines would provide structure, training, and resources—but would also limit his freedom and potentially place him on the wrong side of future conflicts he knew would come.

"I'm honored by the suggestion," he replied carefully, "but I believe my path lies elsewhere for now."

Melsi studied him, then nodded once. "Fair enough. Not everyone is suited to military life." She turned to leave, then paused. "The base is hosting a combat exhibition next month. Demonstrations of different fighting styles from our Marines, plus invited civilian practitioners. Master Jinto will be there. Consider participating—it could be educational."

"I'll discuss it with Master Jinto," Andrew promised.

As Melsi walked away, Andrew reflected on the unexpected opportunity. A combat exhibition would allow him to observe various fighting styles up close, potentially incorporating useful elements into his own system. It might also gain him recognition beyond the kitchen staff and dojo students.

But it would also mean performing publicly, drawing attention to his abnormal progress. Was he ready for that kind of scrutiny?

That night, in the privacy of his room, Andrew worked on a new aspect of his Devil Fruit abilities. He'd been experimenting with creating what he called a "regenerative aura"—a field of healing energy that extended slightly beyond his body.

So far, he'd managed to create a faint glow that extended about three inches from his skin, but maintaining it drained his energy rapidly. The effect was minimal—accelerating healing for anyone within the field, but nowhere near as effective as direct contact healing.

Andrew suspected this ability was a precursor to something more significant, perhaps related to the Ouroboros nature that Amaterasu had hinted at. But accessing that deeper power remained elusive.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he closed his eyes and tried a different approach. Instead of pushing the regenerative energy outward, he focused on the core of his power, attempting to connect with the serpentine energy he occasionally glimpsed in his meditations.

The warm energy inside him shifted, coiling like a living thing responding to his attention. In his mind's eye, Andrew saw the faint outline of a serpent, golden-white with blue markings, curled in an endless loop—consuming itself and being reborn simultaneously.

"Ouroboros," he whispered. "What are you, really?"

The serpent's eye opened in his vision—ancient, knowing, patient. A voice that wasn't quite a voice seemed to respond, more impression than words:

Not yet ready. Grow stronger.

Andrew's eyes snapped open, his heart racing. The connection had been brief but undeniable. His Devil Fruit wasn't just a power source—it had consciousness, or at least awareness, lying dormant within him.

"An Ancient Zoan," he murmured, recalling Amaterasu's words. "Not just regeneration powers, but the ability to transform into a mythical creature."

The implications were staggering. If the Saisei-Saisei no Mi was truly the Hebi-Hebi no Mi, Model: Ouroboros, then his potential powers went far beyond mere healing. The question was how to awaken this deeper aspect of the fruit.

Andrew added a new section to his training notebook:

Ouroboros Awakening Requirements:

Physical conditioning - ongoing
Mastery of basic regenerative abilities - progressing well
Development of the Way of the Cycling Fist - foundation established
Trigger event? (stress, danger, necessity?)

He circled the last item. Many Devil Fruit awakenings in One Piece seemed to occur during moments of extreme need or emotional intensity. Would he need to face genuine danger to unlock his fruit's true potential?

The dockside boxing matches suddenly seemed more relevant to his development. Controlled risk, real combat stakes, but not life-threatening. Perhaps that environment would help push his abilities forward.

Andrew closed his notebook, mind made up. This Friday, he would put his name on the fighters' list. It was time to test his progress against real opponents.

The next morning in the Marine base kitchen, Cook Radish was in an unusually communicative mood.

"Supply ship came in from Logue Town yesterday," he announced as Andrew took his position at station three. "Special ingredients today. Lieutenant Commander Morgan will be visiting for inspection next week—Captain wants to impress him with local cuisine."

Andrew nearly dropped the ladle he was holding. "Lieutenant Commander Morgan is coming here?"

"For two days only," Radish confirmed. "Inspection and recruitment drive. Man's making quite a name for himself—they say he's in line for captaincy soon."

So it was beginning—the events that would eventually lead to Morgan taking control of this very base, turning it into the corrupt outpost Luffy would encounter years later.

"What's he like?" Andrew asked casually, arranging his cooking implements.

Radish shrugged his massive shoulders. "Never met him myself. They say he's effective but harsh. Discipline above all else. Some call him a hero for capturing that Black Cat pirate crew."

"And others?"

The big cook glanced around to ensure no Marines were within earshot. "Others say he's ambitious and ruthless. Takes full credit for his unit's work. But that's just galley talk—pay it no mind."

But Andrew did pay it mind. This was his first direct intersection with the canonical timeline. Morgan would visit, then eventually return to take command, replacing the fair-minded Captain Ripper. The corrupt reign that would lead to Helmeppo's arrogance and Zoro's imprisonment was on the horizon.

The question now was whether to let events unfold as they had in the manga, or to subtly influence them. Morgan's corruption and eventual defeat were necessary for Luffy's early development as a pirate—his first real stand against corrupt authority.

But there were innocent people in Shell Town who would suffer under Morgan's command in the meantime.

As Andrew prepared his station for the day's cooking, he considered his options. Perhaps the most prudent approach was observation for now. Meet Morgan, gauge the man's character firsthand, then decide if intervention was warranted.

One thing was certain—Andrew's comfortable routine in Shell Town had an expiration date. Whether he chose to stay and witness Morgan's takeover or depart before then, change was coming.

"Slayn!" Radish's voice cut through his thoughts. "Special assignment for you. Captain Ripper has requested personal chef service for the visiting Lieutenant Commander. Your fish dishes caught his attention. Report to the officers' quarters kitchen on Monday at 0400."

Andrew blinked in surprise. "Yes, sir. Thank you for the opportunity."

"Don't thank me—prove you deserve it," Radish replied gruffly. "This is your chance to show what you can do with premium ingredients. Don't waste it."

An opportunity indeed—not just to showcase his cooking skills, but to observe Morgan up close, perhaps even interact with him directly. Whatever decision Andrew made regarding the timeline, having more information could only help.

"I won't waste it, sir," he promised, already planning the menu in his mind.

As he worked through the morning service, Andrew felt a familiar excitement building—the same feeling he used to get when approaching a significant boss battle or plot point in a game. The narrative was advancing, the stakes increasing.

His grinding period had built his stats and skills. Now the real gameplay was about to begin.

Author Note:

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