HIIIYAH!"
CRUNCH
Punching trees is goddamn therapeutic. I sigh, centering myself, and the tree groans as splinters rain around me. I pull my hand out of the hole I made in the side of it, and take a step back, trying to let the flow of my kata center me. Hands at waist height, feet shoulder width apart, knees bent...
I take a slow step back with my left foot, rotating my shoulders to the side and bringing my right hand back in a fluid motion, before using my back foot to launch into a spin. Foot lands, body turns, feel the currents, the air flow, the motion -
My palm hits the already damaged tree, and the wood yet again shatters under my hand, splinters flying into the air as a crater is formed.
I let out a slow breath, running through the rest of Kata 14. Noyera called it 'Tide formation of the Waxing Moon on the Coral Reef', but I never did learn all the Fishman words for the different forms he taught me. And 14 is much easier to say than the weird poetry-esque names he used for everything.
Arms straight, knife hand, Tekkai to reinforce the striking edge of my fingers, step, step, extend -
CRUNCH
My hand sinks into the thick oak tree up to my elbow, and I let out a slow breath before withdrawing.
Fishman Karate has a lot of strange, flowing motions that seem unneeded and stupidly showy. Lots of spins and flips and wave-motions of the hands, doing a roundhouse or three spins where one kick or punch would normally do.
Until you take into account that Fishman Karate was designed to be used underwater, and you realize that the weird spins and flowing arms and motions are designed to create and manipulate currents in the water. High-level Fishman Karate users can create currents even in the air when they fight like this - creating a sort of field around them that they can manipulate.
It's all about awareness, to be simple. Awareness of self, awareness of surroundings. Manipulation of self comes from training of the body, manipulation of surroundings comes from training of the mind.
Masters of Fishman Karate, such as Jinbe, can create massive shockwaves through the air, or even more incredible ones while in the water. They can also extend this awareness into the water inside of other people's bodies, manipulating it as easily as they would an ocean current.
Being a human and a devil fruit user means that, sadly, I will never be able to become a Master of the art - a wide portion of Fishman Karate's high-level techniques rely on, well, being a Fishman.
As of right now, I'm barely even a novice - level 12 was how high I had gotten before I left the island.
I sigh, before centering myself, palms together, releasing a large puff of air as I come to stop.
I miss my sensei. If I imagine, I can hear him shouting at me, his manta-mustache flapping as he speaks.
Seven thousand push ups, Little Songbird who Soars Wingless! Then we will work on the Breath of Endless Circling Reforms!
...Maybe not that much.
Humoring myself, I set up in a push up position, before focusing on my Devil Fruit.
The Kilo Kilo no mi is a marvelous thing. I desperately hope that one day I can master it to the point of being able to swap from next to no mass to thousands of times my normal mass at the speed of thought, but for now, it takes time and focus to grow or shrink.
An interesting thing to note is that I am exactly as strong as normal when I shrink my mass - making me a whole lot faster and making movement incredibly easy. Soru, Geppo, Kami-e - I can do these things with incredible ease, moving almost five or six times as fast as I normally would. All the muscle and strength, but none of the resistance of my body weight to keep me held down.
Taking a hit with almost zero mass is brutal, however. Having less mass means force is diffused through my body incredibly quickly. A simple punch to my ribs can nearly shatter my ribcage if I'm not careful - and tripping is, ah, not a fun experience.
Being speedy at the cost of sacrificing most of my defense might come in handy later, but for now, I focus on what is currently the most useful part of my powers:
Effectively, weight training.
Being as strong as I normally am also applies to having more mass. This is probably why Miss Valentine never bothered to learn any other ways to use her devil fruit -
I increase my mass 400%, then wheeze as air rushes out of my body at the sudden pressure. My arms tremble as they struggle to hold up two hundred and fifty kilograms of weight, and muscles all over my body scream out at being forced to lift much, much more than they are used to.
This is worse than just strapping on a two hundred kilo vest, because at least then all the weight is centered. Your body can use specific muscle groups to hold up the weight, and most of the force is put on your upper body and core muscles. Now, however, my entire body has to deal with the weight, and muscles that get less use than usual are flaring in pain as they have to deal with a massive workload.
I take a slow, shuddering breath, then lower myself, slowly. Back straight, arms bending to a near 90 degree angle. Then, much to my body's protest, I slowly raise myself back up.
"...One."
Six thousand, nine hundred ninety nine to go.
---
Posedoneis had a decently large Fishman community. They made a decent living on the shore towards the Calm Belt, and spent most of their time deep-sea fishing or working on the pearl farms they had set up deep undersea. To be honest, I'm pretty sure they had a whole city, or at least a small town under there - the only people who worked in the section we could see were healthy adult males and the occasional female.
We had a distinctly 'hands off' approach to them - they were seperated from us by a thick jungle, and they liked it that way. One poorly-tended road through the foliage was the only way to get to them, and it could barely fit a single cart on it. Once a month a contingent of Fishmen would come through, sell their haul of pearls and salted fish, buy supplies, and leave.
Other than that, people tended to ignore them, and they us. Even the Blacksuits hadn't bothered them in the slightest - they had gladly bought the pearls the Fishmen made, but never tried to exert any form of dominance over them. Part of that could have been because they could easily slip into the ocean and just leave if attacked.
Part of that, I'm sure, was that they were fucking scary.
The five that normally came for the trading were massive, heavily muscled men with myriads of tattoos and scars. Noyera was a Manta Fishman - two long tendrils gave him a sort of mustache, and two 'wings' protruded from the side of his head. His chest was a stark white, and his back was a dark blue with gray stripes.
He also had razor-sharp teeth the size of my fingers.
He was the one I asked to teach me.
I had been waiting for weeks for this - I was barely ten at the time. The Fishmen had come to town earlier in the day, and I decided to wait for them there, where I knew they had to pass by.
Sure enough, five massive men, with scales and sharp boney fins and sharp teeth, came towards the trail. They stopped when they saw me, and for a moment, we just stared at each other.
Enlario was a Baccuda Fishman, and he grinned, hundreds of sharp teeth. "Can we help you, tadpole?" He might have been trying to be kind, or insulting - I'm not sure.
I nodded, steeling my pride, then asked "Do you know Fishman Karate?"
They were silent, and when I looked at them they were glaring. None of them bothered to answer, until Noyera spoke up.
"Yes." His voice was like gravel being ground under a millstone - deep and gravely. "We all do. Why do you wish to know, little human?" He spat the word out like a curse, and I turned to him and bowed.
"Teach me. Please."
He laughed, and it was not a nice laugh. "You, who taints the Sea with Filth? You, who claims the land because you cannot see under it? You, human, want to learn our art?"
"Yes."
"No." He spat, sharp teeth flashing, then bent down to glare at me. "I will not let you humans desecrate my art any further."
He turned and left without another word, and the rest of them snickered or glared at me as they left.
Next month, I presented him with a purse that held all my earnings I had saved up - sixty thousand Beri. He slapped it out of my hand, then spit on the spilled coins before leaving.
"Please teach me."
"Not unless you grow gills, girl."
Next month, I pressed my forehead to the ground, supplicating myself on the dirt. He seemed to see my asking as being selfish or haughty - I would try to show him otherwise.
"Please."
"Never."
Next month, he groaned as he saw me standing in his way, blocking the entrance to the road. His friends chuckled, and I saw Beri exchange hands.
"Teach me, please."
He glared, walking up to me, before stopping a few feet in front, towering above me. "I will not. I will never teach a human."
I glared back up at him, and he smirked.
"Fine. I was done asking nicely anyways."
I punched him in the face, swinging an uppercut at his chin as hard as I could, using my whole body behind the blow, shoulders twisting, legs lifting.
Or tried to, at least. His arm shot out, slapping my hand aside, and he took a quick step back. He glared down at me, but I saw what else he had done - taken a stance, feet spread apart, hands held by his sides, plams flat, torso twisted slightly.
"If you will not teach me Fishman Karate, then I will learn it another way." I said, and I moved, emulating his stance. "You learn the most about a person when you fight them - so if you will not teach me, I will fight you until I learn it."
His teeth bared in anger, and all I saw was a blur before his fist slammed into my temple with enough force to knock me out.
Next month, I used the same punch back at him, and managed to dodge his first palm strike before a kick to the chest got me.
Next month, I dodged two punches, three strikes, one elbow, and deflected a kick before he kneed me in the stomach hard enough for me to see stars.
Next month, he stood in front of me, as I held a basic form. Knees bent slightly, feet shoulder width apart, arms at waist height, palms flat, parallel to the ground.
He grunted, then sat down in front of me, legs crossed under him. His crew simply passed by, giving me a variety of strange stares that I couldn't decipher.
"I asked the men about you in town today. I said, 'who is the fool girl of red hair and thick skull?'" His voice was gravelling and low, but there was no anger. He eyed me up and down, and I did the same to him, sitting down in front of him in the same position.
There were scars all over his body. Arms, legs, what little of his chest I could see under his vest. A small chunk of his Manta wing hood was missing on the left side, as if it had been cut off.
"They said, she is the songbird with no nest. She is the one who cages her self, in hopes of breaking her mother free." His eyes were blue, deep and mournful. There was a scar I couldn't see before I sat down like this - a long one, that ran from one side of his neck to the other.
He shrugged off his vest, and turned his back to me. There were tattoos, tribal and stark on his back. There were scars here too, like swords or knives had been driven into his back. Dozens more small, thin scars as well - whips. A long, thick scar ran from left shoulder to right hip, and it bisected another mark - a brand, not a tattoo.
00059282, branded onto his left shoulder.
He shrugged his vest on, and met my eyes, firm and determined. "You will meet me by the shore at the end of this road, in the Place where Land Meets the Sea of the Unbroken. You will be there before the sun rises, each day."
"Yes, Sensei."
He grinned.
"We will work first on breathing, for it is Air that Connects All things. It is the Currents that Flow On Land, the Tides Free of Sea..."
---
By the next month I was severly regretting all my choices.
I grunted as I walked up the side of the cliff, pausing just a moment to worm my foot into a crevice. I groaned as I pulled myself up, the dead weight on my back trying to pull me off of the sheer cliff face.
I wasn't regretting it because it was hard, no - I expected it to be a grueling trial, welcomed it even. Sweat more in practice, bleed less in war, and all that nonsense. I didn't think that learning Fishman Karate would be easy - I expected it to be hard.
No, I was regretting it because -
The 'dead weight' on my back shouted directly into my goddamn ear for the fiftieth time today. "You can do it, my Beautiful Little Songbird who Flies Swift! Focus on the air around you, fell the Warm Breeze of Tides and Seas- oh, that rhymes, hold on." Noyera pulled out his notebook, and I wheezed as his legs clamped around my waist, as he began to scribble into it.
Because I had apparently signed up to train with the goddamn Fishman Maito Guy of One Piece.
Noyera fancied himself a poet of some sort. In my opinion, it was the 'lovesick middleschool girl' sort. He tended to long winded, flowery descriptions of perfectly ordinary things. Which wasn't that big a deal - wierd people were abundant on the Grand Line, and being flowery and occasionally reciting shitty poetry wasn't that big a deal.
It would have been endearing, in fact, if not for the fact that he shouted it in my ear.
"Can you... Be a... Little bit... Quieter, sensei?" I groaned, and he chuckled. The novelty of a massively built, scarred, ex-cage fighter Fishman for a teacher was kind of dulled by the fact that he tended to squee a little too often and would literally swoon if you recited poetry to him.
I had recited Tyger, Tyger( I had memorized it for english class once and it never went away) to him once and he gave me a week off while he 'processed the intracate beauty and immaculate prose' of the poem.
Whatever that means.
"Nonsense, Little Songbird!" he shouted - again, right into my ear. "My poetry cannot be tempered!"
I groaned, then began pulling myself up again.
"Almost there, my Beautiful Apprentice who Strains Against the Weight of the World!" Bit of an ego, eh? "Then we shall do ten laps around the forest on our hands, and then we shall go back down!"
See? Literally a smellier Guy clone.
Ahhhhg.
I prepared myself for another night of aching muscles, and pulled myself up again.
---
Ninety Seven. Eight. Nine... "Seven thousand." I said, collapsing onto the ground with a groan, the dirt cratering slightly as I dropped.
"Why do I hate myself like this?" I mumbled, reducing my weight to a simple 200% (100 Kilos) and standing on shaking legs. I began to prepare for my cool-down stretches, when I heard a voice behind me.
"Punishin' ya'self for all the gray hairs you've giv'n me, maybe?" Ballio grinned, and I rolled my eyes as I bent down, palms flat on the ground.
"Please. You had all of those before I ever even met you, old timer." I said, counting to ten before bending back up - then continuing further back, moving until I was bent in a bridge, palms against the ground.
"Ach, just lookin' at ya makes my back hurt." He mumbled.
"Please. Waking up makes your back hurt, Gramps - I hear thats one of those things about getting old."
He faked a scowl at me, then chuckled. "Kids. No respect these days."
"Old people. No common sense these days."
We grinned at each other, then I sat back up, before moving into a slow kata, and he leaned against the tree I had been pounding the hell out of, eyeing the holes in the tree.
"Captain really set you off this time, eh?" He said, and I sighed.
"I just... Yeah. I understand where he's coming from, but..." I sigh again. "It's frustrating."
"Mmm. Yeah, there does tend to be friction when two stubborn mules wont stop yanking the same length of rope." I scowl at him.
"He tried to tell me to buy her away again." He grunted. "It hasn't worked before - why does he keep asking?" I had tried to buy her way to freedom - one million, five million, ten million beri - no sale. 'She occupies too valuable to a role on our staff.' Which was either really good - she might be a cook, which means she was well treated and fed - or...
Hunger in his eyes. She'll do.
Or it could be really bad.
"Because he doesn't want to see you hurt, lass. Fighting the Government is a death sentence, and we care for you too much to -"
CRUNCH
I whip around and slam my fist into another tree, hard as I can. Slower than usual at 200%, but -
The tree groans, a massive chunk of wood ripped right out of its middle. It creaks, then falls sideways, toppling to the ground.
"He loves you." Ballio says quietly, and I don't meet his eyes as I pick up my towel and jug of water. "You're the daughter he always wanted, lass, and he's terrified of losing you to this vendetta you have."
"She loves me too." I mutter, and he doesn't respond. "When do we head out?"
"Two days." he says quietly, tossing a pouch towards me. I catch it, and it jingles with the sound of coin on coin. "Hundred thousand Beri. I put fifty thousand into your chest in your room, like you always do."
"...Thanks, Ballio."
He nods, then turns away. "I'll see you in a few days then, aye?"
"Yeah." I say, watching him go. "...See you at home."
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