One Piece: With Sign-in System

Around nine in the evening, Momonga arrived at Dock Four. Not far off, Vice Admirals Gion , Chaton, and Strawberry were positioned atop the courtyard walls under the night sky.

Gion took a quick look. Despite the night setting, Marineford was still lit up, so the area wasn't too dark.

In the midst of the crater-laden Dock Four, a black-haired boy stood, holding a long sword almost as tall as himself. His eyes were focused, his demeanor calm and composed.

"That boy is Ron," Gion remarked, eyeing him with intrigue.

The last time she met with Hina, all the young Marine had spoken about was this boy. Just what kind of child could so quickly capture the attention of the confident, prideful Hina after only half a day together?

Chaton, who had just sobered up, couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as he caught Gion staring intently at the black-haired boy.

"So that's the special recruit, huh? Doesn't look like much to me."

"Stop talking and just watch quietly."

With Gion's command, Chaton immediately fell silent.

Over at Dock Four, as Momonga approached, Ron's eyes snapped open, his dark hair lifting with an unseen force as a powerful sword aura radiated from him.

"Can you cut me down today?"

Momonga slowly drew his sword. As the blade left its sheath, his overwhelming sword aura swiftly suppressed Ron's, forcing it back within the boy.

Before each sparring match, Momonga would meticulously suppress Ron's sword aura, causing him significant discomfort.

"Begin."

Momonga raised his longsword, pointing it at Ron.

Ron fixed his gaze on Momonga, saying nothing. Planting his foot, he charged forward, gripping Raikiri with his right hand and swinging it like he was chopping wood—completely devoid of any technique.

Momonga lifted his blade.

Clang!

The blades collided, producing a crisp sound.

Ron's first strike was blocked, and he instantly launched into a second one. Both his movements and strikes were crude and simple, easily deflected by Momonga.

For a time, Dock Four resounded with the continuous clang of clashing swords.

Clang!

Clang!

Clang!

"This is way too crude, full of openings. Can this guy even handle a sword?" Chaton averted his gaze, unable to bear watching. "And Momonga too, what's he doing playing along with this kid's antics?"

His gaze drifted over Strawberry and landed on Gion, who was still watching Dock Four. Her profile was flawless—smooth skin, high nose, delicate lips. Beautiful… , If only she could be my wife.

It's already the 63rd time I've tried to confess to her. If I were to confess again now, it would be the 64th time, wouldn't it?

Just as Chaton was eyeing Gion and debating his next confession attempt, Strawberry suddenly leaned forward, blocking his line of sight.

Irritated, Chaton muttered, "Hey, Strawberry, what are you doing? Move…Hey, what's got you so shocked?"

Chaton looked at Strawberry, whose eyes were fixed on Dock Four, shock evident in his expression. Chaton couldn't help but follow his line of sight.

He saw the long slash mark extending ten meters in front of Momonga, who was standing with his sword raised. At the end of that gash stood Ron, both hands gripping his long sword, breathing heavily.

"What happened?!"

"That…that was a swordsman's slash," Strawberry murmured, his voice trembling.

Chaton's eyes gradually widened.

Gion stood in stunned silence, gazing at the black-haired boy gripping his sword in the distance, utterly shaken.

She had seen it clearly just now. That slash was undoubtedly at the level of a swordsman!

Nothing else could have forced Momonga back, sending him skidding back several meters, or left such a mark on the solid ground of the port.

An 11-year-old… swordsman.

If she hadn't witnessed it herself, Gion would never have believed it.

So this is why Hina is so fond of him?

Ron controlled his breathing, finally managing to steady it as he maintained the "Sun Breathing" technique.

Slowly, he loosened his grip on the sword, noticing both his hands were trembling—not from exhaustion, but from excitement.

"How did that slash feel?" , Momonga, not far off, looked at him with a complex expression.

Ron glanced at his trembling left hand, recalling the sensation of that strike moments ago.

"Good. Really good. It felt like I was releasing something pent up inside. It felt like I could cut through anything…"

"Remember that feeling well. That's the Iron-Cutting realm of a true swordsman."

Momonga sheathed his sword, his words leaving Ron momentarily stunned.

"…Huh?"

"Huh, what?" Momonga lit a cigarette. "Sword aura, sword Will, and even the Iron-Cutting technique—they're all just ways of experiencing the sword."

"To reach the Iron-Cutting realm, a swordsman needs unwavering spirit and willpower. Even if I held a wooden stick, if I wanted to cut, I could slice through iron. That's the spirit of a swordsman! Those who reach this level are known as swordsmen of the sea."

"Of course, it's no easy feat. Achieving this level requires extensive training and considerable talent."

Momonga exhaled a puff of smoke.

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T/N:

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