As the crowd erupted into chaos—cheers, arguments, and scrambling over bet slips—Luffy calmly slipped his shirt back on and adjusted the collar. He turned to where Will had been standing, only to see the man bolting away through a narrow alley behind the betting table, his coat flapping behind him and both hands clutched tightly around a fat sack of belly notes. The guy didn't even look back.
But he didn't get far.
Just as he reached the edge of the alley, he suddenly froze. His entire body jerked as a shadow fell over him, and he felt something clamp down hard on his shoulder.
His eyes widened in panic.
The hand gripping him wasn't his own.
Slowly, trembling, he turned his head—only to see an outstretched rubber arm snaking all the way back to the ring.
"What the fuu—" he started, voice breaking mid-sentence.
Before he could even blink, he was yanked backward at high speed. The world blurred for a split second—then Luffy's foot met his face with a heavy crack, dropping him flat onto the ground.
A second later, Luffy walked back into view, casually carrying the bag of money slung over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
'That was a very successful side quest,' he thought, smirking to himself as he strolled off down the street.
...
After making a few stops in town, Luffy returned to the bandit base with a small sack slung over his shoulder, the weight of supplies and satisfaction both resting evenly on his steps. He pushed the door open and strolled in just as Dadan was about to open her mouth, clearly gearing up for one of her usual lectures.
Before she could even begin, Luffy tossed a hefty bag of cash at her feet.
Thunk!
She blinked, looking down, then up at him—confused.
He just walked past her without a word, not even looking back.
She frowned, bent over, and untied the bag. Her hands froze as she peeked inside.
Coins. A lot of them.
Her brows shot up. She glanced around quickly, then stuffed the bag deep into the front of her shirt, burying it in her chest like treasure.
'What happened to that boy?' she thought, eyeing the new, clean clothes Luffy was wearing. He wasn't the same ragged kid who used to sleep all day and pick fights with Ace.
But as the weight of the money settled against her chest, her expression softened.
'Whatever happened... I'm happy it did,' she thought with a smirk.
---
Luffy returned to his small shack and neatly placed the things he'd bought—bandages, a sharp whetstone, a portable water flask, and a new training gi—into a wooden crate in the corner. He didn't plan on staying long indoors.
He stepped back outside, cracked his knuckles, and rolled his neck slowly.
'Alright, let's begin,' he thought.
---
Hours passed. The sky shifted from gold to soft indigo, then to a deep, heavy night.
In the middle of the forest clearing, Luffy sat alone by a small fire, watching the flames crackle as the scent of roasting chicken filled the air. He had caught it earlier—clean hit with a thrown rock—and now it sizzled above the fire, the skin slowly turning crisp.
He exhaled quietly, adjusting a stick to rotate the meat. His legs were sore, his knuckles stung, and sweat still clung to his collarbone—but there was a calm in that pain.
He glanced to the side as the familiar black screen appeared, hovering in the darkness just beyond the light of the fire.
『 Monkey King Template.
1% 』
His first advancement.
Nothing flashy happened, no lightning or awakening of power—but his body felt different. Lighter. His steps were smoother, almost like his muscles were breathing. Even his balance felt sharper.
'At least I got some results,' he thought.
He took the chicken off the fire, tore into it with a sharp bite, and leaned back against a tree as he chewed, satisfied.
'I'm sure I'll stay like this until I fight someone strong,' he thought. 'It'll probably take more than just reps to push this template.'
The forest around him was quiet now. Just the crackle of fire, the occasional breeze, and the distant call of night birds.
Then his mind flicked back to his earlier concern.
'They better not steal my stuff,' he thought, narrowing his eyes slightly.
He stared into the dark trees beyond the flame's reach, half-considering going back to double-check his shack.
Then again… if anyone tried, they'd be in for a surprise. He smirked to himself and went back to eating.
...
The days blurred into one another.
Luffy woke up with the sun and trained until long after it disappeared. No distractions. No bandits. Just silence, sweat, and progress. He didn't return to the shack even once. He lived in the forest, slept in trees or beside his fire, hunted his own food, and stayed focused on one goal—growth.
The first week was rough. He'd push his body until his arms trembled and his legs felt like stone. His timing was off, some of his strikes too wild, and more than once he missed a branch during a Rocket and slammed into a tree with a dull thud.
But he got back up every time.
By the second week, he found his rhythm. His Gomu Gomu no Pistol evolved from a raw punch into a snapping jab, driven by torque and body weight. He threw them while moving, ducking, slipping side to side. He practiced combining Rocket launches with mid-air spin kicks. Whip attacks became faster, sharper, his legs slicing through bark cleanly.
He no longer relied on brute rubber strength. He used real footwork, clean body mechanics, and striking angles. His martial arts experience became second nature, guiding every move.
On one day, he practiced dodging blindfolded, relying only on sound and instinct. On another, he used weighted logs strapped to his limbs, increasing resistance in every motion. He simulated battles against multiple enemies, leaping from tree to tree, bouncing mid-combo, and twisting in the air before hammering down with double-fist smashes.
Each day brought a new bruise, a new lesson, a new refinement.
By the third week, he was untouchable.
His dodges became effortless. He could hear the snap of a twig behind him and move before the sound finished. His balance became flawless—he could bounce off branches, flip mid-air, and land on a single foot without swaying.
He pushed his rubber body further each time, experimenting with tension, stretch limits, and new forms. Bazooka wasn't just two palms slamming forward anymore—it became a finishing move after a full-string combo. Balloon was repurposed to soften landings or send cannonballing rebounds into the air. He even began shadowboxing while mid-Rocket, floating between trees, attacking nothing but the wind.
By the fourth week, he barely recognized the place around him.
Trees had fallen. Bushes were flattened. Rocks had been shattered, scorched, or cracked clean in half. Craters dotted the ground from powerful landings. Scratch marks, boot prints, and rubber impact dents covered every surface.
The forest had become a graveyard for everything that used to stand still.
And in the middle of that chaos stood Luffy.
His hair clung to his face with sweat. His body was leaner, sharper, every muscle defined from constant motion. His breathing was calm, measured, despite the brutal training session he had just finished. His eyes glowed faintly in the setting sun, no longer the same carefree gaze they once held.
The black screen flickered before him.
『 Monkey King Template.
1% 』
He didn't smile.
'Damn, I was right. Well it doesn't matter. I'm not massively stronger than Luffy in the original. I'll be breezing through the story until I face Smoker I guess,' he thought, lifting his fist and clenching it tightly.
After a month, Luffy decided to go back to the Bandit Base.
TO BE CONTINUED