Whether Shimotsuki Kozaburo had done wrong in his past, Luffy didn't care. All that mattered to him was that the old man was good now. Every world, every era had its own rules for survival.
If judged by modern morals, even historical figures like Liu Bei and Liu Bang would be condemned, along with any transmigrators who allied themselves with them. Morality, when taken to extremes, could be quite absurd. Most people who preach it only do so on the internet, where they point fingers at others.
So Luffy didn't worry about Kozaburo's past. He had saved this village from destruction and kept it safe for a long time—that was enough. In a story like this, Luffy hoped he could see the old man get a good ending.
"So, that's your answer, huh?" Kozaburo murmured, pulling out his old pipe. He lit it with a small click, taking a slow puff.
"A gentle king indeed…" he said thoughtfully.
"Is that so? Don't get it wrong, old man. I'm just doing what I want to do. If that's your idea of gentleness, then your standards are pretty low," Luffy laughed. Then a thought struck him: could this man actually mean what he was saying?
People from Wano had peculiar ideas—they called someone like Oden a "good man." With that kind of mindset, calling Luffy "gentle" was unexpectedly… normal.
"Please, spare me from that. I don't want to be gentle, nor do I want to be a good person. It would just get in the way of all the bad things I want to do," Luffy declared, bowing seriously to prevent himself from getting infected by Wano's peculiar morals.
Kozaburo laughed heartily. "You're an interesting kid, even if you say that, your actions betray you!"
As if Garp's grandson would do anything bad—impossible, really. This was the grandson of the Navy's hero, after all.
I should get back to the dojo and practice my swordsmanship, Luffy thought, feeling things were getting strange.
"Well then, I won't disturb your fishing any longer… see you around!" he said, making a quick exit.
As Luffy walked away, Kozaburo had a sudden thought: Was this kid forging a double-edged sword as a reminder to himself that "those who wield the blade may also get cut"?
"As expected of Garp's grandson… a king worth following, even as I grow old."
Kozaburo fell silent. A true swordsman had to follow a lord; only then could he call himself a samurai. Those without a master were called ronin, wandering warriors at the lowest end of the samurai hierarchy.
When he'd left Wano and given his blade, Enma, to the young Oden, Kozaburo had become a ronin, cut off from his homeland. He had thought he'd take his title of samurai to the grave. But fate seemed to have other plans.
Just as he was nearing the end of his life, a young king appeared, too late for him to serve.
But even so… perhaps there was something he could still do.
Kozaburo gathered his fishing rod and slung it over his shoulder, heading back to the dojo with a new resolve.
"Shiro… do you want to learn the art of swordsmithing?"
He found his son, Shimotsuki Koushirou, taking a tea break, adjusting his glasses.
"Father… you'd actually teach me the way of the forge?" Koushirou was astonished by his father's decision.
He watched in shock as the old man's frail arms swelled with muscle, ripping through his clothes, transforming him from a withered elder to a towering, muscular figure.
"Pay attention! This is the Shimotsuki way of forging!"
"I'll show you only once!"
Kozaburo led his son to a storage room, filled with tools for swordsmithing—a large hammer, steel blocks, and that black whetstone.
With powerful arms, Kozaburo unlocked a hidden mechanism on the floor, revealing an underground forge filled with tools Koushirou had never seen before.
"To forge a true blade, you must heat the metal to extreme temperatures. We use our Haki to shield ourselves from the heat…"
"Once the steel glows red, hammer it evenly and continuously…"
Koushirou could only watch in awe as his father's muscular arms hammered the glowing steel with mechanical precision, shaping the heated metal with each powerful strike.
The heat was unbearable, yet Koushirou stayed to observe the family's secret technique. Only now did he realize how physically powerful his father was.
"Shiro, I need you to assist me. Lift that massive square hammer and coordinate with me!" Kozaburo commanded.
Koushirou reluctantly complied, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his slim arms. With all his strength, he lifted the heavy hammer, feeling the searing heat wash over him.
"We have to hammer the steel blank repeatedly, rotating it ninety degrees each time to form the blade's grain. Be careful not to break the steel blank. If it cracks, the blade is ruined, and we don't have another piece of steel here for another attempt."
...
By the time their lunch break ended, the dojo students returned for their afternoon lesson, only to find their instructor missing.
Guina announced that they'd be studying on their own, much to the joy of the other students, who quickly scattered to play in the nearby forest.
Self-study, after all, meant freedom to play.
"Father didn't say where he was going," Kuina said, disappointed.
"Let's go to the dream world instead!" Zoro suggested excitedly.
None of them worried about Koushirou's absence—he was their teacher, after all. And so, the four of them
reconvened in the dream world, sparring against their own reflections once again.
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