The inherenter of jin mori

Chapter 20: Three Months of Blood and Sweat

Yuta Takahashi

The first thing I learned on this island was that I wasn't ready to survive on my own.

The second thing I learned was that I didn't have a choice.

The first few days were the worst. I woke up shivering, the dampness from the ocean still clinging to my skin, my muscles sore from being tossed around by the waves. My stomach ached with hunger, and my throat was raw from the salt water I had swallowed. The heat of the sun burned my exposed skin during the day, but at night, the temperature dropped enough to make me regret every second I had spent lying on the beach instead of searching for shelter.

By the second night, I was forced to move.

The jungle beyond the beach was thick with trees, their branches twisting together like something out of a nightmare. I could hear the rustling of leaves, the distant calls of animals I didn't recognize, and the occasional thud of something heavy moving in the distance. I wasn't alone here. That much was obvious.

I forced myself forward anyway.

The first thing I needed was water. The thirst was unbearable, a constant burn in my throat that made it hard to think straight. I wandered deeper into the jungle, scanning for any sign of a stream or river. It took hours—long enough that my legs felt like they were going to give out—but eventually, I found it. A small stream, hidden between thick roots and moss-covered rocks. I dropped to my knees and drank greedily, not caring about the dirt or the taste. It was cold. Clean. And for the first time since I had washed ashore, I felt like I might actually live.

That was the first step.

The next was food.

I tried hunting at first. That was a disaster. The animals here were too fast, too wary of me. I set up crude traps with vines and sticks, but I had no idea what I was doing. I spent an entire day trying to catch something—anything—only to come up empty-handed.

I had to change my approach.

Instead of wasting energy chasing after animals, I started looking for easier food sources. Fruits, nuts, anything that wouldn't kill me if I ate it. I tested small bites first, waiting to see if I got sick before eating more. Some were bitter, others nearly made me throw up, but a few were good enough to keep me alive.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

Once I had water and food, I focused on building a shelter. I didn't trust the beach—too exposed. The jungle was dangerous, but at least it offered some kind of protection. I found a large tree with thick roots that created a natural alcove, then started gathering whatever I could to reinforce it. Large leaves for cover, thick branches for support. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to keep the rain off my back and give me some sense of security.

But survival wasn't enough.

I needed to get stronger.

The first time I tried using my Devil Fruit on purpose, I nearly broke my own arm.

I had felt the power before—brief, wild bursts of speed and strength, but nothing I could control. I wanted to tap into it, to force it to obey me. But the moment I focused too hard, it lashed out. I threw a punch at a tree, and instead of a normal strike, my body blurred forward, the force behind the blow far stronger than I had expected. My fist slammed into the bark, the impact sending a shockwave up my arm that nearly dislocated my shoulder.

I collapsed, clutching my hand, gritting my teeth against the pain.

I didn't try again for a while.

Instead, I turned to something I could control.

That was when I found the branch.

It was washed up near the jungle's edge, half-buried in the sand. It wasn't just any branch—something about it felt right.The length, the balance, even the way it curved slightly at the ends. It reminded me of the wooden staffs I had seen in martial arts demonstrations back on Earth.

I picked it up, testing its weight.

It wasn't perfect, but it would do.

And so, I started training.

I used the branch like a staff, swinging it through the air, testing different grips and stances. At first, I was sloppy. My movements were too wide, too uncoordinated. But over time, I started to improve. The staff gave me something to focus on, something that grounded me when my Devil Fruit abilities threatened to spiral out of control.

I used it to fight against imaginary opponents, practicing strikes, blocks, and counters. I remembered the basics of boxing, the footwork, the way I used to move in the ring. I adapted it, combining those movements with the reach of the staff. My muscles ached, my hands blistered, but I kept going.

Eventually, I worked my Devil Fruit into the training.

I started slow, experimenting with short bursts of movement. If I focused just enough, I could feel the power building in my legs, in my arms. I learned how to direct it—not just let it explode out of me, but guide it. I could swing my staff faster, strike harder. I wasn't just relying on brute force anymore—I was learning control.

By the end of the first month, I could fight with my staff well enough to hold my own against the smaller creatures on the island. By the second month, I could use my Devil Fruit to enhance my strikes, launching forward with bursts of speed without losing my balance.

By the third month, I felt different.

Stronger.

Not just physically, but mentally. The fear that had ruled me when I first arrived was still there, but it wasn't crippling anymore. I knew what I was capable of. I knew how far I had come.

But I also knew one thing for certain.

This island wasn't my home.

I couldn't stay here forever.

I stood on the beach, my staff resting against my shoulder, staring out at the ocean. The waves crashed against the shore, endless and unyielding. Somewhere beyond them, the world was waiting.

I clenched my fists.

It was time to leave.