Time did not slow down on Mirano Island—it pressed forward, carving its mark into flesh, steel, and resolve.
By the time Shamrock and Zoey turned ten, the quiet, uninhabited island had become too familiar, its forests memorized down to every hidden trail and every dangerous beast that lurked beneath the canopy.
Shamrock had grown rapidly, standing close to five feet six inches, his body lean but frighteningly solid, shaped by years of training that never truly paused and a metabolism that converted every meal into raw, usable strength almost instantly.
Zoey noticed the change first, as she always did.
"You know," she said one morning while shamrock practiced sword forms near the cliffs, resting her chin on her palms, "if you keep growing like this, people are going to assume you're lying about your age."
Shamrock didn't look at her as he completed another perfect swing.
"Let them assume whatever they want."
Zoey smirked, standing up and circling him slowly.
"Must be nice. I'm still the same height. Totally unfair."
"You trip less now," he replied calmly.
"That's not comforting," she shot back, though her smile never faded.
After the pirates' destruction years earlier, Shamrock had taken everything of value from their ship—not out of greed, but out of practicality.
Among those spoils were two things that changed his path permanently.
The first was a proper swordsmanship manual, detailed and brutal, describing not flashy techniques but killing intent, positioning, breath control, and how to end a fight with the fewest possible movements.
Shamrock studied it daily, rereading passages until the ideas etched themselves into muscle memory.
The second was a Rokushiki manual—the Marine Six Styles—its pages worn and stained, clearly passed between many hands before ending up in pirate possession.
Zoey flipped through it one afternoon, squinting at the diagrams.
"So… this one lets you disappear?" she asked, pointing at Soru.
"Yes."
"And this one lets you kick air?" she added, eyes widening at Geppo.
"Yes."
She paused, then jabbed a finger at another page.
"Why would anyone want to poke someone really hard with their finger?"
Shamrock glanced at the page.
"Finger Pistol."
"That's stupid."
"I agree."
They didn't speak of it again.
By ten, Shamrock had successfully learned several of the Six Styles through relentless experimentation and adaptation:
Soru: allowing him to move in explosive bursts that shattered distance instantly
Geppo (Moonwalk):giving him brief but reliable mobility through the air
Tekkai (Iron Body):hardening his muscles into near-immovable steel
Rankyaku:launching cutting wind blades with terrifying precision
He ignored Finger Pistol and Paper Arts entirely, finding them inefficient for his path.
The bounties accumulated quietly.
Pirates that strayed too close to Mirano Island never returned, and proof of their defeat was delivered through intermediaries to Marine branches far away.
Over the years, the numbers stacked steadily until Shamrock calmly calculated one evening—
"One hundred and thirty million berries."
Zoey nearly dropped her cup.
"…Say that again."
"One hundred and thirty million."
She stared at him, then burst into laughter, grabbing his sleeve.
"Do you realize how insane that sounds? We could buy ten ships!"
"That would be unnecessary," Shamrock replied.
Zoey grinned.
"Still—good to know my future travel partner is rich."
Then there was the sword.
Taken from a pirate captain foolish enough to challenge Mirano Island, the blade was unmistakably special—the weight, the balance, the hum of restrained violence.
One of the 51 Great Swords it's name was "Ragna".
The moment Shamrock held it, he knew it was meant for him. Not flashy— Not decorative —Just devastatingly efficient.
Zoey watched him test its edge, eyes sparkling.
"It looks dangerous."
"It is."
She tilted her head.
"…It suits you——hmmm...will I also get a new sword for myself"
"Ofcourse!!—you will get yours one day and I plan to forge new swords for us"he said as they started heading back——
When Shamrock was nine, Grandma Lisa passed away.
Quietly.
Naturally.
She didn't suffer, and she didn't wake again.
Shamrock sat beside her bed long after her breathing stopped, his expression still, his thoughts loud. He didn't cry—not because he felt nothing, but because the grief settled deep, heavy, and silent.
Zoey found him there.
She didn't speak.
She simply sat beside him and leaned against his shoulder, staying until the sun went down.
For several days after, Shamrock barely trained. His sword felt heavier than it ever had, his movements stiff, progress completely stalled.
Worse still, Armament Haki remained unreachable, no matter how much he analyzed or pushed himself.
One evening, standing at the cliff overlooking the endless sea, Shamrock finally spoke.
"I can't move forward here anymore."
Zoey leaned against the stone beside him, smiling softly.
"Then let's go somewhere you can."
He looked at her.
"You're serious?"
She met his gaze, red eyes steady.
"I wouldn't joke about that."
Convincing Zoey's parents was easier than expected.
They knew Shamrock's strength.
They trusted him but still they are worried about them—
"Bring her back alive," her father said firmly.
Shamrock bowed.
"I will."
They bought a ship soon after—simple, sturdy, about the size of the Going Merry, its hull clean,it has a figure head of pheonix bird, its sails new, its future wide open.
As the ship pulled away from Mirano Island, Zoey stood beside Shamrock at the helm, wind tugging at her black hair.
"So," she said with a playful grin, nudging him lightly, "Captain. Where to first?"
Shamrock stared toward the horizon.
"The West Blue," he answered calmly.
"That's where our journey begins."
The sails filled.
And Mirano Island faded into the distance.
Thanks For Reading.....