The days bled into weeks, and Jackson's training became more and more grueling. Under the unforgiving gaze of Shimotsuki Kouzaburou, Jackson was pushed to his limits. The old swordsmith wasn't kind. He would correct Jackson's stance, his form, and his grip, often with a harsh word or a sharp reprimand. But despite the relentless difficulty of it all, Jackson felt something growing inside him—something he hadn't felt before: purpose.
Kouzaburou didn't have time to train him every day, nor could he spare more than a few hours a week to personally oversee his progress. The rest of the time, Jackson was left to his own devices. But the absence of the old swordsmith wasn't a problem—it was an opportunity. Jackson wasn't the kind of person to sit idly by. If Kouzaburou didn't have time to teach him, then Jackson would find other ways to improve.
Every morning, he would wake up before the sun and start his routine. His first task was always to stretch and loosen his body—something Kouzaburou had emphasized. After that, Jackson would head straight to the beach, where the rough waters of the East Blue would become his battleground. Swimming in the ocean was harder than anything he had ever experienced, but it was also one of the best ways to build strength. The tides and waves would crash against him, pushing him in every direction, but Jackson would fight to stay afloat. He would swim against the current, feeling every muscle burn with the effort.
The saltwater stung his skin, and the exhaustion hit quickly, but he didn't stop. The physical toll of swimming in the rough ocean was nothing compared to the mental toll of forcing his body past its limits. Each stroke felt like it could be his last, but Jackson would push through. His body ached, but every day, it became a little stronger. His endurance grew. His muscles, which had once been weak from the sedentary life of a child, now felt solid and capable. And he could feel the difference—the slow, but steady, transformation of his body into something that might one day be worthy of the sword.
His father, Isaiah, didn't understand. Every day, he would see Jackson's bruises and exhaustion, and ask what had happened.
"What are you doing to yourself, son?" Isaiah would grumble, his brows furrowed in concern. "You're just a boy. This is too much."
Jackson would just smile and assure him that he was fine. Isaiah didn't understand, and it was hard to explain. His father, a humble baker, had no concept of the world Jackson was now in. To Isaiah, strength came from hard work and dedication to his craft—he had no reason to believe that physical strength, in the way Jackson was pursuing it, could be necessary. He didn't know about the pirates or the threats in the East Blue. He didn't understand why Jackson was so determined to train.
But his mother, Aiko, understood.
Aiko had been born in Wano, a place where the way of the sword was not just a skill—it was a way of life. Though she had left her homeland many years ago, her roots were still in Wano. She knew what it took to be strong, what it meant to wield a sword, even if she had never trained with one herself. Every day, she would watch Jackson's relentless pursuit of strength, and though she said little, Jackson could see the pride in her eyes. She knew the world he was growing up in would require more than what the village could offer.
One evening, after Jackson returned from his swim, exhausted and covered in cuts from the ocean's rocks, Aiko approached him quietly as he rested on the porch.
"You're getting stronger," she said softly, her eyes gentle but serious. "I see it in you."
Jackson smiled faintly, wiping the salt from his face. "I'm trying, Mom. I want to be strong."
Aiko's gaze softened further. "I know you do. But don't forget, strength comes in many forms. You can't just train your body. Your heart must be strong, too. It's the heart of a true warrior that makes them powerful."
Jackson nodded, the weight of her words settling into him. His mother had seen the world in ways that his father hadn't, and her words felt like they carried more meaning now than ever before. Her voice was steady, but there was an unspoken knowledge in her eyes. She was telling him that strength wasn't just about muscle. It was about resilience, spirit, and focus.
Days turned into weeks, and Jackson's training continued. Without Kouzaburou's direct supervision, Jackson would often experiment on his own. He would practice his sword swings against the sturdy trunks of trees, imagining the strikes he would one day deliver to foes. His footwork was still shaky, but his stamina was growing. It wasn't just the physical strength that he was developing. It was the mental toughness that allowed him to push himself past his pain and exhaustion.
But reality was a hard teacher. Jackson found himself often wishing for the simplicity of his old world, where he could rely on advanced technology or carefully crafted strategies to solve problems. But here, things were different. There was no app to track his progress, no online guide to teach him the fastest route to power. Every swing of the sword, every stroke through the ocean, had to come from within himself. There were no shortcuts.
Still, he drew inspiration from the movies and anime of his previous life—the characters who overcame impossible odds, who pushed through their struggles and came out victorious. He could hear the familiar speeches in his mind, words of encouragement from heroes who never gave up. He wasn't naive enough to believe it would be that easy, but those lessons, the fire that burned in the hearts of the characters he'd admired, helped fuel him when his resolve faltered.
This world was different from his own. It didn't care about comfort, about logic or convenience. It was a world where strength mattered, where the ability to stand firm in the face of overwhelming odds could make all the difference. And Jackson was starting to see just how real that truth was.
He would need to adapt—physically, mentally, and emotionally. But he wasn't afraid. He was determined to master the ways of this world, and nothing would stop him.
The sea would make him stronger. The sword would shape him. And the fire in his heart would drive him forward, no matter how tough the road ahead became.
Jackson knew that becoming strong in this world wasn't just about swinging a sword. He had to build his body, his endurance, and his strength from the ground up. But the tools available to him were limited. There were no fancy gyms or high-tech equipment here in Shimotsuki Village, not like the world he had come from. No advanced machines or training programs to optimize his gains. This was a different world, a world where the strongest lived by their own sheer will and determination.
But Jackson had something this world didn't: knowledge.
Drawing on the memories of his past life, he began to build a training ground on the beach, creating his own makeshift gym using the resources he could find. He used ropes to construct resistance training setups, stretching them across trees to create makeshift pulley systems. He collected heavy stones from the shore and hung them up using those pulleys, turning them into makeshift weights. He used logs to practice his strikes, imagining them as opponents that could test his strength.
His most effective piece of equipment, however, was a sandbag he hung from a sturdy tree branch. It wasn't much—a simple burlap sack filled with sand—but it served its purpose. Jackson would throw punches at the bag, working on his form, his speed, and his power. Each strike made his knuckles ache, but it also made him stronger.
It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. The resources may have been crude, but Jackson's resolve was unwavering. This was his way of compensating for what he lacked in the raw power of his body. Every day, he pushed himself to exhaustion, and every day, his muscles ached in protest. But he refused to stop. This was the world he now lived in, and if he wanted to survive, to make a name for himself, he couldn't afford to slack off.
One day, Kouzaburou came to check on Jackson's progress, as he often did. The old swordsmith didn't say much, his gruff demeanor never changing, but today, he lingered a little longer, watching Jackson's training with a sharp eye. After a while, he finally spoke.
"You're shaping up to be... adequate," Kouzaburou said, his tone as blunt as ever. "Your stamina's improving. Your form is getting better. You've got the right mindset. But don't think that's enough. You still have a long way to go."
Those words hit Jackson harder than any punch he had thrown at the sandbag. Adequate. The word felt like a slap in the face. He had been working so hard, pushing his body to its limits, but in Kouzaburou's eyes, it wasn't enough.
Adequate wasn't good enough for this world.
Jackson's mind raced. There were monsters out there—figures so powerful that they could change the world with a single swing. Kaido, the Beast; Roger, the Pirate King; Garp, the Hero of the Marines; and the Five Elders, the puppet masters who controlled everything from the shadows. These were the people whose names were legends, whose strength defined entire eras. Adequate wasn't even close to what he needed to be to stand among them, to survive in a world filled with such threats.
He clenched his fists so hard that his nails dug into his palms.
I need more.
Jackson couldn't afford to be average. He needed to push himself harder, go further than anyone else was willing to. The strength of this world wasn't just about training—it was about grit, about surpassing the limits of what anyone thought possible.
He knew the road ahead would be brutal. He had no illusions. The world was unforgiving, and there was always someone stronger, someone more dangerous around the corner. But that was what made this world exciting, wasn't it? The fact that if you didn't push forward, if you didn't become strong enough, you would be left behind. If you weren't strong, you were prey.
That night, after Kouzaburou had left, Jackson stood alone on the beach, staring at the horizon. The ocean stretched out before him, vast and endless, just like the journey he was on. He wasn't going to settle for being adequate. He was going to become something more.
I'll become the kind of person this world will remember.
The next day, he pushed himself harder than ever before. He wasn't just swinging the sword now—he was training his mind and body to become sharper, faster, more resilient. The sandbag became a constant companion, the stone weights a challenge he could never quite conquer. Every morning, he swam against the current, forcing his body to adapt, to build strength in ways it had never been forced before.
But Jackson wasn't only building his body. He was building a will of steel.
I'll push past my limits, he thought. I'll make them remember my name.
And so, Jackson continued to train. With each passing day, he became stronger, more focused. But deep down, he knew that this was only the beginning. The real challenge would come later, when the true monsters of this world came for him.
He wasn't ready yet. But he would be.