Logan stood on the edge of a rocky cliff, overlooking the endless expanse of the North Blue. The waves crashed against the shore below, their rhythmic sound a constant reminder of the vast world that awaited him. But he wasn't ready to face it. Not yet.
He clenched his fists, his adamantium claws extending with a familiar snikt. The power was impressive, but he knew better than to rely solely on his devil fruit. In the world of One Piece, strength wasn't just about brute force—it was about skill, strategy, and sheer willpower.
"Wolverine's powerful in the Marvel universe," Logan muttered to himself, "but in this world? I'm just another strong guy until I push myself further."
Logan had been reborn with a gift, but it was up to him to sharpen it.
---
In his past life, Logan had been a shipwright, skilled with his hands and knowledgeable about the sea. Those skills would come in handy, but now he had a new goal: mastering combat. His memories from Earth were crystal clear, almost as if he had photographic memory. Every move, every scene from the Wolverine movies replayed in his mind like a perfectly preserved archive.
He used those memories as a foundation.
Each day, Logan honed his abilities.
He practiced relentless hand-to-hand combat, focusing on ferocity and efficiency, mimicking the brutal style of Wolverine.
He conditioned his body, pushing his endurance to its limits. Running, climbing, swimming—anything to toughen himself for the trials ahead.
His devil fruit powers were tested endlessly. He shifted between human and hybrid forms, learning how to seamlessly integrate his claws into his fighting style.
His regeneration ability meant he could push harder than a normal person. Cuts and bruises healed in moments, allowing him to train without holding back. But even with that advantage, Logan knew it wasn't enough to rely on brute strength. He started integrating haki practice, based on what he'd seen from the One Piece anime and manga.
Though he had no mentor, he focused on observation and instinct, pushing himself to sense the subtle changes in his environment. With time and relentless effort, his Observation Haki began to awaken, giving him brief flashes of incoming danger. It was rudimentary, but it was progress.
---
The isolated island he found himself on wasn't completely barren. Dense forests provided ample resources, and the beaches were littered with driftwood and shipwreck debris. Drawing on his skills as a shipwright, Logan began constructing a boat.
It wasn't easy. The wood was rough, and he had only basic tools fashioned from rocks and salvaged metal. But Logan's hands worked with practiced efficiency, each plank and nail coming together to form a sturdy, if rudimentary, vessel.
For six months, this was his life: train during the day, build the boat in the evenings, and reflect on his progress at night.
His muscles grew denser, his reflexes sharper. By the end of the six months, Logan could fight for hours without tiring, his body a well-honed weapon. His Observation Haki was still basic but reliable enough to detect threats in close range. And his claws? They cut through trees like butter.
On the last day of his training, Logan stood back to admire his work. The boat was small, barely big enough for one person, but it was seaworthy. It had a simple mast with a sail made from stitched-together cloth and a small cabin for storage.
"This'll do," he said, running a hand over the smooth wood. He packed what little supplies he had—dried fish, fresh water, and a makeshift map of the nearby islands he'd sketched from memory.
With everything ready, Logan pushed the boat into the water and climbed aboard. The waves rocked the vessel gently as he adjusted the sail and set his course.
---
As the island faded into the distance, Logan felt a mix of excitement and apprehension. He had prepared as much as he could, but the real challenges lay ahead.
The open sea stretched before him, and with it, the promise of adventure. Somewhere out there were pirates, marines, and mysteries waiting to be unraveled. Logan was ready to face them, but he wasn't naive. He knew that the North Blue was home to both opportunity and danger.
Standing at the helm of his small boat, Logan felt the wind in his hair and the sun on his face. He tightened his grip on the wheel, a determined grin spreading across his face.
"Let's see what this world's really made of."
With that, he sailed toward the horizon, the first step in a journey that would shake the seas.
---
To Be Continued…