PIRATE:SEEING MY PROFICIENCY I BECAME A LEGEND

The following days were monotonous, filled with repetitive training, but Dongze, completely immersed in refining his swordsmanship, lost track of time. His strikes became increasingly precise, his breathing synchronized with every motion, and his senses sharpened beyond normal perception.

To the other disciples, his training seemed mechanical and uninspired. His swings were controlled, predictable, even boring. But Koshiro saw through the illusion. At first, he was shocked by Dongze's rapid improvement, then disturbed, and finally, he refused to watch altogether. It was too absurd.

If Zoro was running and Kuina was cycling, then Dongze was aboard the Merry with a Coup de Burst, blasting through limits at speeds unthinkable. A single sword technique per day, practiced until perfection—something even seasoned swordsmen would struggle to achieve.

It was as if someone had been taught the Three-Sword Style overnight and could already replicate Zoro's Oni Giri flawlessly. It was outrageous.

To outsiders, Dongze merely repeated his swings, day in and day out. But Koshiro saw the fine-tuning—the minuscule adjustments in angle, breath control, footwork, and intent. It was reminiscent of the precision Mihawk demonstrated when he sliced through bullets with ease. It was the mark of a swordsman reaching new heights.

Koshiro, despite his calm demeanor, felt an unease creep into his heart. For a master swordsman, a single flaw could mean the difference between victory and death. Some warriors stagnated, others ascended. Dongze was ascending at a terrifying rate.

Had he discovered his own path?

The realization sent a rare shiver down Koshiro's spine. He muttered to himself, "Perhaps he can reach it… the level even I failed to grasp."

Time flowed swiftly. Two months passed. During this time, Dongze relentlessly honed his skills, refining his physique to an unprecedented level. Every cut, every parry, every stance was optimized for efficiency. Even the equipment Zoro once struggled with now felt weightless to him.

Still, Koshiro never paired him for sparring. Was it deliberate? Or mere coincidence?

Just like in the original timeline, Zoro suffered his thousandth defeat at Kuina's hands. But this time, things were different.

Dongze, having mastered the tenth form of basic swordsmanship, encountered a bottleneck. The eleventh form eluded him. No matter how much he trained, he couldn't grasp the next step.

Koshiro, ever perceptive, took notice. And so, the stage was set.

"Father! You know Dongze is no match for Zoro!" Kuina protested as Koshiro arranged the match.

Kuina had improved drastically herself, fueled by the words Dongze once whispered to her about names—those tied to destiny. Zoro had grown as well, but he remained just a step behind. Even now, he trailed Kuina in their duels, having lost over a thousand times.

So why pit Dongze against him? It made no sense. Was this meant to humiliate him?

Koshiro exhaled deeply, his gaze steady. "Kuina, have you ever heard the phrase: Three days apart, and you must regard a person with new eyes?"

The words struck her. Dongze… stronger than Zoro?

Impossible.

She had witnessed Zoro's relentless growth firsthand. Every loss only drove him to push harder. Even she, training with all her might, struggled to stay ahead. How could Dongze, unnoticed, surpass him?

Koshiro's voice held the weight of experience. "A true swordsman does not let superficial perception cloud their vision. Only by seeing clearly can you grasp the path to the world's strongest throne."

A realization dawned on Kuina. Dongze's growth was unseen… but not unreal.

At the dojo, Zoro stood ready, one bamboo sword in hand. He didn't take Dongze seriously. Why would he? This was just a stepping stone before his next challenge against Kuina.

Dongze, silent, met his gaze.

"Begin!"

Zoro lunged forward with the force of a wild beast, bringing his sword down in a powerful arc. His raw strength was formidable—even at this young age, his blows could rival those of seasoned adults.

But as the attack neared, something changed.

Dongze's knees bent slightly, his stance lowered. His grip adjusted subtly, and then—

He struck.

A single thrust. No flourish. No wasted motion.

The tip of his bamboo sword met the body of Zoro's weapon, stopping it dead in its tracks.

The room fell silent.

It was Baratie all over again. Zoro, meeting Mihawk's smallest blade.

The weight of Dongze's precision crushed the momentum of Zoro's strength.

"Impossible!"

The spectators gasped. Even Zoro's eyes widened in disbelief. He knew what this meant.

Dongze's skill was beyond him.

He gritted his teeth. No. He wouldn't accept it.

Zoro stepped back, adjusting his grip, and charged again—faster, stronger, more reckless.

But every strike met the same result.

Dongze's bamboo sword intercepted each blow, always striking the exact point to nullify the attack.

Again.

And again.

The dojo filled with the rhythmic sound of bamboo meeting bamboo. Zoro attacked relentlessly, but the outcome never changed.

The spectators could only watch, eyes widening with each exchange. Some swayed where they stood, as if the very foundation of their beliefs had been shaken.

"What… what's happening?"

"Did Dongze always have this strength?"

"This is unreal…!"

Zoro, panting, finally stopped. His grip on the bamboo sword tightened until his knuckles turned white. His pride screamed at him to keep going. But deep inside, he understood.

This was no ordinary match.

This was a lesson.

A lesson that reminded him of Mihawk's words from the future: Overcome this blade, surpass me, Roronoa!

And for the first time, Zoro felt that same gap between himself and an opponent. Only this time, the opponent was Dongze.

Koshiro, observing quietly, smiled to himself.

"Let's see if you can chase the world's strongest swordsman."