(07/02/24 - 10:00) (Sunday February 7, 1524)
The smell of sharp iodine and stale tobacco smoke filled the cramped room. Uma opened his eyes. A stained wooden ceiling covered in peeling yellow paint hung a few feet above his face. He lay flat on a narrow, creaking cot. A thin, scratchy wool blanket covered his legs.
He took a shallow breath. A dull, throbbing ache radiated from the center of his abdomen. The sensation of tearing flesh and burning saltwater had vanished, replaced by a tight, binding pressure. He shifted his right arm slowly. Thick layers of white linen bandages wrapped securely around his entire torso, binding his ribs and his stomach. He felt similar bandages covering the deep whip lacerations across his back.
He reached a trembling hand up to his throat. His fingers brushed against bare, raw skin.
The heavy iron collar was gone.
He traced the outline of his neck. A thick, raised ring of blistered flesh completely encircled his throat. The metal had chafed the skin raw during his time in the hold, leaving a permanent physical reminder of his enslavement. The explosive device threatening to blow his head off had been entirely removed.
He pushed his elbows against the mattress, attempting to sit up. A sharp spike of pain shot through his abdominal muscles. He let out a harsh, rasping cough.
"Stay flat on your back."
The voice came from the corner of the room. It was gruff and thick with phlegm.
Uma turned his head. The room was a chaotic mess of medical supplies and discarded junk. Glass bottles filled with cloudy liquids lined sagging wooden shelves. Rusted surgical tools sat soaking in a metal basin of clear alcohol. A single oil lamp cast long, dancing shadows across the floorboards.
An older man sat in a high-backed wooden chair near a small, cluttered desk. The man wore a faded, blood-stained white medical coat over a rumpled gray shirt. He possessed a receding hairline, thick gray sideburns, and a lit cigar clamped firmly between his teeth. He held a freshly printed newspaper in his hands.
A massive shadow detached itself from the wall behind the doctor.
Uma felt his heart rate spike. The figure stepping into the dim light of the lantern was easily eight feet tall. The being possessed broad, muscular shoulders and pale blue skin covered in dark, jagged stripes. A row of three distinct gills sat flush against the side of his thick neck. His hands were massive, with thick webbing stretching between each finger. He wore loose, dark canvas trousers and a simple open vest. A dark, circular tattoo of a sun with radiating points marked the center of his chest.
He was a Tiger Shark Fish-Man.
"Water," Uma croaked. His throat felt like cracked desert mud.
The doctor gestured with his cigar. The Fish-Man picked up a small tin cup from a nearby table, filled it from a clay pitcher, and walked to the edge of the cot. The Fish-Man moved with surprising silence for a creature of his massive size. He slipped a large, webbed hand behind Uma's head, supporting his neck with careful precision. He tilted the tin cup against Uma's cracked lips.
Uma drank greedily. The cool, clean water washed away the lingering taste of blood and seawater. He swallowed until the cup was entirely empty. The Fish-Man lowered his head back onto the flat pillow.
"Thank you," Uma whispered, staring up at the towering figure.
"My name is Koro," the Fish-Man stated. His voice was a deep, rumbling baritone that vibrated in his chest. "I smelled fresh blood mixing with the ocean currents near the surface. I swam up to investigate. I saw the wreckage of a galleon. I saw a man with a slave collar sinking into the depths. I pulled you out before your lungs filled completely then, brought you here."
Uma processed the information. He remembered the blinding pain of the musket ball and the freezing water. He remembered fading into total darkness. The immense physical strength and swimming speed of a Fish-Man provided the only logical explanation for his survival.
"I owe you my life, Koro," Uma said, maintaining direct eye contact. "I am Uma."
"You owe me a massive medical bill, Uma," the doctor interjected, flipping a page of his newspaper. "I am Doctor Vance. I spent three hours digging a lead musket ball out of your intestines and stitching your abdominal wall back together. I also picked the lock on that government collar. You slept through the entire day."
Uma shifted his gaze to the doctor. "What day is it?"
"Sunday, February the seventh," Vance replied, tapping his cigar over a glass ashtray. "You have excellent timing for waking up. The world is currently turning completely upside down."
Vance folded the newspaper and tossed it onto the edge of Uma's cot. The bold black ink of the headline stared up at him.
The text announced that Donquixote Doflamingo had resigned from the Seven Warlords of the Sea and abdicated the throne of Dressrosa. A smaller column on the side reported an alliance formed between the Straw Hat Pirates and Trafalgar Law. Another column mentioned an alliance between Kid, Hawkins, and Apoo.
Uma stared at the paper. The pieces of the canon timeline aligned in his mind. Today was the exact day the Dressrosa incident began. Luffy and his crew were currently landing on that island with the objective to destroy the SMILE factory.
A massive fire ignited in his chest. He was alive. He had survived the horrors of the celestial dragon ship. He had survived a gunshot wound and drowning. He possessed knowledge of the future, but that knowledge meant absolutely nothing if he remained a weak, malnourished victim. In this world, political power and freedom stemmed entirely from individual physical strength.
He remembered the web novels he read in his past life. He remembered the fitness channels and combat sports training videos. Progressive overload. Calisthenics. Muay Thai bone conditioning. The internet trainers always talked about creating micro-fractures in the bones by punching hard surfaces like wood or bamboo, forcing the body to rebuild the bone structure denser and stronger. He also knew the cartoon logic of this specific world. Characters suffered devastating injuries, ate enormous quantities of meat, and healed almost instantly.
He needed to start right now. He needed to build his foundation, unlock Haki, and become an impenetrable force.
"I need food," Uma demanded, his voice gaining a sudden edge of determination. "I need a massive amount of food. Meat. Fish. Whatever you have."
Vance raised an eyebrow, taking a slow drag from his cigar. "Your stomach has been empty for days. You will vomit if you gorge yourself."
"I need calories to heal," Uma insisted, pushing his elbows down again. "Bring me food, please."
Vance sighed, a thick cloud of smoke rolling from his lips. He nodded at Koro. The Fish-Man walked to a small cast-iron stove in the corner of the room. He grabbed a thick cloth, lifted a large metal pot from the coals, and brought it over to the desk. He filled a deep wooden bowl with a thick, steaming stew of white fish, potatoes, and dark broth.
Koro handed the bowl and a wooden spoon to Uma.
Uma ignored the spoon. He brought the edge of the bowl to his lips and tipped it back. The stew was scalding hot. It burned his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He chewed the chunks of fish and potato rapidly, forcing the heavy mass down his throat. The rich, salty broth coated his empty stomach. A wave of intense heat radiated outward from his core. He finished the entire bowl in under a minute. He handed the empty wood back to the Fish-Man.
The massive influx of food provided a sudden, rushing surge of false energy. His heart pounded in his ears. His mind raced with training routines. Pushups. Squats. Planks. He needed to test his muscles. He needed to find a wooden beam to start punching.
He gripped the edge of the scratchy wool blanket and threw it off his legs. He swung his bare feet over the side of the cot. His toes touched the cold, dusty floorboards.
"What exactly are you doing?" Vance asked, his voice entirely flat.
"I am starting my training," Uma stated, gripping the edge of the mattress. "I need to get stronger. I will not be a victim again."
He pushed his weight forward, sliding off the mattress entirely. He stood on his own two feet. His legs shook violently, vibrating like plucked strings under his own meager weight.
He ignored the shaking. He dropped to his knees. He placed his palms flat against the wooden floorboards, positioning them shoulder-width apart. He extended his legs straight back, planting his toes into the wood. He intended to perform a standard pushup. He locked his elbows.
He engaged his core muscles to hold his body in a rigid plank position.
The structural failure was instantaneous and catastrophic.
The severed muscles of his rectus abdominis tore away from the fresh medical sutures. A blinding, white-hot flash of absolute agony exploded behind his eyes. The pain bypassed his nervous system entirely, registering as pure, unadulterated shock. All the air violently exited his lungs in a silent, paralyzed gasp.
His arms collapsed entirely. His face slammed hard into the dirty floorboards. He lay completely paralyzed, his vision swimming with black spots. The heavy fish stew churned violently in his stomach, threatening to come back up. The tight linen bandages around his waist grew immediately warm with fresh, seeping blood.
He could not breathe. He could not move a single finger. The reality of a gunshot wound crushed his web novel training fantasy into dust.
Heavy footsteps crossed the room. Doctor Vance crouched down next to his head.
"You are a complete idiot," Vance said, his tone devoid of any sympathy. "You possess the brain of a suicidal child."
Koro stepped forward. The giant Fish-Man reached down with one hand, grabbed the back of Uma's trousers, and lifted him effortlessly off the floor. Koro placed him gently back onto the mattress, keeping him entirely flat.
Vance grabbed a pair of iron scissors from his coat pocket. He quickly cut away the bloody section of the linen bandage. He inspected the wound.
"You tore two of the internal stitches," Vance muttered, applying a fresh gauze pad to the seeping blood. "You are incredibly lucky you did not rip the entire abdominal wall open. If you had engaged those muscles any harder, your intestines would currently be sliding across my floorboards. You would have died of extreme blood loss and sepsis in unimaginable agony within the hour."
Uma stared at the stained yellow ceiling, panting heavily as the sharp pain slowly subsided back into a dull, consuming throb. Humiliation mixed with the physical ache. He had vastly underestimated the fragility of his body in this world. The anime logic of instantaneous healing through sheer willpower and meat consumption did not apply.
Koro stood over the cot, his massive arms crossed over his chest.
"Your spirit burns bright, Uma," Koro rumbled, his deep voice filling the small room. "I have seen humans transform their bodies into living weapons. I have seen marine admirals shatter steel galleons with bare fists. I have seen pirates punch through solid stone. They achieve these feats because they spend years forging an unbreakable foundation."
Koro leaned down, casting a dark shadow over the cot. "You currently possess the physical foundation of a snapped twig. If a twig repeatedly strikes a solid oak tree, the twig shatters into splinters. You cannot condition bones that lack the basic calcium to support your own weight. You cannot build muscle when your body is cannibalizing itself to heal a massive bullet hole."
Uma swallowed hard, tasting the lingering flavor of the fish stew. The Fish-Man's logic was absolute. The Earth training methods of progressive overload and bone conditioning were completely valid, but they required a functional, healthy human body as a starting point. He had tried to sprint a marathon with two broken legs.
"You will lie in this bed for an entire week," Vance commanded, wrapping a fresh length of tight linen around Uma's waist. "You will eat the meals Koro cooks. You will sleep. You will allow the muscle fibers in your stomach to fuse back together. Once the stitches dissolve and the wound fully closes, you can begin walking around this room. Until then, you remain a patient."
Uma closed his eyes. The burning ambition in his chest remained, but the frantic, panicked urgency cooled into a cold, calculated patience. He understood the rules of his new reality. He had to play the long game.
"I understand," Uma said softly, keeping his core entirely relaxed. "I will wait. I will heal first."
He settled his head deeper into the thin pillow. He listened to the scratch of Vance's pen on paper and the heavy breathing of the Fish-Man. He focused his mind entirely on the slow, invisible process of cellular repair. He embraced the slow burn.