The first rays of dawn painted the sky in soft pink and gold, stirring Regulus from his restless sleep. His makeshift shelter had kept the worst of the night's chill at bay but did little to cushion him from the hard-packed sand. His body ached, every muscle sore from the previous day's exertion. Yet, as he stretched, a small sense of accomplishment flickered within him. He had survived his first night alone on the island.
Hunger gnawed at his stomach, demanding attention. He stepped out of his shelter, the cool morning air waking his senses. The ocean stretched before him, shimmering turquoise under the rising sun, but offered no easy meal. He returned to the rocky outcrop where he had found clams the day before. This time, his hands worked faster, stronger, prying the stubborn shellfish from the rocks. The taste was briny and unsatisfying, but it was enough to dull the worst of his hunger.
With food taken care of, Regulus turned his focus to training. The blue screen had mentioned the Garp Template integrating, promising greater physical prowess. He needed to push himself, to speed up the process. He began with simple exercises he vaguely remembered—push-ups, squats, jumping jacks. His arms trembled after just a few push-ups, his legs burned from squats, and jumping jacks left him breathless. It was humbling. But with each repetition, he willed himself to improve, imagining the legendary Marine Vice Admiral's strength flowing into his own small frame.
Over the week, a routine took shape. Each morning, after his meager breakfast, he exercised, gradually increasing repetitions as his stamina improved. He also tested his strength, lifting heavier rocks each day. The melon-sized rock that had strained him on day one felt slightly lighter now. He could lift it higher, hold it longer. It wasn't the earth-shattering strength of Monkey D. Garp—not yet—but it was progress.
Hunting remained a struggle. He tried setting simple traps with vines and branches, mimicking techniques from survival shows, but the island's creatures were too clever. He relied on scavenging clams and the occasional edible berry, carefully avoiding anything unfamiliar. Hunger became a constant companion, driving his determination to grow stronger, to one day hunt and provide for himself.
As his body adapted, he thought about combat. This was the world of One Piece—a world filled with danger. He couldn't remain defenseless forever. He found sturdy fallen branches and practiced swings and blocks, mimicking sword techniques he barely remembered. His movements were clumsy, his grip weak, but every attempt carried purpose. He had to be ready.
On the fourth day, he faced his first real test.
Venturing deeper into the jungle, searching for food, he heard a rustling in the undergrowth. A wild boar burst through, tusks gleaming, eyes locked onto him. Fear shot through him. It was bigger and more aggressive than anything he had encountered.
Instinct took over. He raised his wooden weapon, heart pounding. The boar charged. He barely dodged, stumbling as it rushed past, its tusks narrowly missing his leg. His wooden weapon slipped from his grasp. Scrambling backward, he saw the boar turn, snorting, preparing to charge again.
Panic threatened to paralyze him. But then, something shifted. A surge of adrenaline—maybe the Garp Template at work—gave him speed. He darted behind a tree as the boar charged, the impact shaking the ground. He couldn't outrun it forever. He had to fight back.
His eyes landed on a heavy, sharp-edged rock. Gripping it tightly, he waited. When the boar charged again, he ducked and drove the rock upward with all his might, aiming for its underbelly. The stone struck true. The boar squealed, stumbling back, blood seeping from a shallow wound. It hesitated, eyes wary, then turned and disappeared into the jungle.
Regulus stood there, panting, hands shaking. He had survived. He had driven away a predator. A small victory—but a victory nonetheless. Perhaps the Garp Template had already begun sharpening his reflexes. He was adapting.
Throughout the week, he improved his shelter, reinforcing it with sturdy branches and weaving larger leaves into a better roof. He learned to read the island's signs, spotting food sources, recognizing animal trails, tuning into the subtle shifts in the jungle's sounds.
And then, there was the humming.
It had been faint on his first day, barely noticeable. But as the week passed, it grew more distinct—a low, resonant thrumming in the air, sometimes just a whisper, other times a deep vibration he could almost feel in his bones. He tried to track its source, venturing further inland, but it always seemed just out of reach. Was it natural? Or something else entirely? The uncertainty sent a shiver down his spine.
As the first week came to an end, Regulus sat outside his reinforced shelter, watching the sunset paint the sky in vibrant orange and purple. He was still hungry, still sore, still alone. But he was also stronger, sharper, more resourceful than before. The Garp Template was taking hold. He had faced danger and survived. He was learning.
The humming remained a mystery, a reminder that the island still held secrets. But for now, he focused on the small victories, the steady progress. He would not just survive. He would endure. He would train. He would grow stronger. He had to.
His future depended on it.