The morning after the pirates left, Greyshore felt different.
Not destroyed.
Not broken.
But changed.
Joe sensed it the moment he stepped outside.
People were alive—nets were being repaired, boats checked for damage, supplies counted—but there was a quiet heaviness in the air. Conversations stopped when he passed. Eyes lingered longer than before.
Not fear.
Something more complicated.
Gratitude… mixed with unease.
Joe lowered his gaze and went to help where he could, carrying baskets of fish with aching arms. No one stopped him. No one chased him away either.
But whispers followed.
"That's the kid…"
"He spoke up to them."
"He could've gotten us killed."
"He saved that fisherman."
Joe heard it all.
He accepted it.
This is the cost, he thought. If I want to act, I have to accept how people feel about it.
By noon, the village headman called him over.
"You're not in trouble," the old man said before Joe could speak. "But you frightened people."
Joe nodded. "I know."
The headman studied him. "Why did you step forward?"
Joe didn't answer immediately.
Because he didn't want to see someone taken.
Because he couldn't stand watching.
Because he'd already lost too much once.
Instead, he said simply, "Because doing nothing would've scared me more."
The headman sighed.
"…You're too young to carry that."
Joe met his eyes. "Then I'll grow into it."
The old man said nothing more.
That afternoon, Rook found Joe at the edge of the forest, practicing footwork with the wooden knife.
His movements were slow.
Deliberate.
Clumsy—but improving.
"You didn't tell me you planned to play bait," Rook said.
Joe stopped and bowed his head slightly. "I'm sorry."
Rook scowled. "Don't apologize. Explain."
Joe straightened.
"If I didn't step forward," he said, "someone else would've been taken. If I charged, everyone would've died. So I chose the option that limited damage."
Rook stared at him.
"…You calculated that?"
Joe nodded. "As much as I could."
Rook was silent for a long moment.
Then he turned and walked a few steps away. "Follow me."
They went deeper into the forest, to a clearing where the ground was packed hard and marked with old footprints.
"This is where I train," Rook said. "Or used to."
Joe's eyes widened slightly. "Train… how?"
Rook picked up a thick branch and tossed it at Joe's feet.
"Balance," he said. "Awareness. Endurance."
Joe frowned. "No techniques?"
Rook shook his head. "Techniques come after control. Anyone can swing a weapon. Few know when not to."
Joe felt something click.
This wasn't about fighting pirates.
This was about preparation.
Training began simply.
Standing still.
Eyes closed.
"Listen," Rook said.
Joe did.
At first, it was noise—wind, leaves, distant birds.
Then patterns emerged.
Footsteps.
Breathing.
Movement.
"Again," Rook said.
Joe stumbled often. His legs shook. Sweat soaked through his clothes.
But his breathing stayed steady.
Calm.
Focused.
Days passed.
Greyshore continued rebuilding. Some villagers warmed to Joe again. Others kept their distance.
Joe didn't push.
He helped. Quietly. Consistently.
At night, exhaustion claimed him faster than thoughts ever could.
But one night, after training, Joe sat with Rook by the fire.
"You're not training to fight pirates," Rook said suddenly.
Joe looked up.
"You're training to survive long enough to choose," Rook continued. "That's different."
Joe nodded slowly. "I don't want strength that controls me."
Rook smirked. "Good. Strength like that destroys more than it saves."
Joe stared into the flames.
In his past life, he'd reacted too late.
Too slow.
Too restrained.
Now, he was learning something new.
Not hesitation.
Control.
Resolve wasn't a roar.
It was a steady flame.
"I'll leave one day," Joe said quietly.
Rook glanced at him. "You're sure."
"Yes," Joe replied. "If I stay, Greyshore will suffer for it. Names travel. People talk."
Rook grunted. "You're right."
Joe clenched his fists—not in anger, but determination.
"When I go," he said, "I want to go strong enough that I don't have to gamble with other people's lives."
Rook smiled faintly.
"That," he said, "is the first smart reason you've given for wanting strength."
Joe stood alone at the shoreline before dawn.
Cold water washed over his feet again and again, steady and indifferent. The sea didn't care who he was. It didn't bow. It didn't threaten.
It simply existed.
Joe closed his eyes and breathed.
In.
Out.
I bowed too much in my last life, he thought.
To fear.
To responsibility.
To people stronger than me.
Not because I believed in them—but because I had no choice.
His fingers curled slowly, not in anger, but certainty.
"This time," he whispered, voice calm, unwavering, "I won't bow."
Not to pirates who rule through fear.
Not to Marines who decide justice by rank.
Not to names, legacies, or expectations placed on him before he could walk.
"I'll become strong enough," he said quietly, "that no one can stop me from moving forward.
He opened his eyes and looked toward the sea.
"I'll become strong enough," Joe said quietly, "that no one can stop me from moving forward."
Not strength to dominate.
Not power to crush.
But strength that lets him walk freely—wherever he wants, for however long he wants.
"And this time…" his lips curved into the faintest smile, "I'll enjoy my life to the fullest. Just how Luffy taught me to. I'll eat what I want and whenever I want and laugh howerver I want."
No chains.
No apologies.
No living only for tomorrow.
"I'll laugh," he continued softly. "I'll travel. I'll chase the horizon just because I feel like it. This is my life and I'm not gonna waste it this time . I'm gonna make friends and go on many adventures without any fear and without any care heeeejhajajjahahaha..."
Without fear.
Without guilt.
Without caring about expectations that were never his to carry.
The waves rolled in, steady as his heartbeat.
Joe straightened his posture.
Calm.
Centered.
Unyielding.
This wasn't a challenge thrown at the world.
It was a promise to himself.
And vows like that didn't need witnesses.