The deep blue sea rippled gently, and from time to time, a bird flew across the sky. One of them had a bag of newspapers hanging around its neck—it was a new bird.
Rono stood up excitedly from an ancient, shabby fishing boat and waved some coins in his hand toward the new bird. The bird hesitated for a moment before flying toward him. After all, who could deny a shipwrecked young man's concern for current affairs? Besides, he had money. Yes, that wasn't the main reason. The news bird quickly flew over to Rono, who gleefully stuffed the cash into the bird's money pouch, and then casually stroked its long neck. Crack. The bird's neck twisted 180 degrees. Rono deftly removed its pouch, emptied the coins, and tossed the bag into the sea. Judging by how smoothly he did it, he'd done this at least twenty times before.
"Ugh, news birds are getting rarer these days. Am I gonna die out here?" he muttered. "So much for what the comics promised—where's the grand adventure of setting out to sea?" Rono grumbled as he twisted the bird's neck all the way and drank its bright red "beverage." After finishing, he pulled out a piece of jerky from the boat's hold and started chewing.
Rewind to two days earlier. Rono had boarded this "borrowed" old fishing boat and started his escape journey. Just thinking about being chased by more than twenty people made him click his tongue. "All that just for stealing a knife? Really?"
If Rono hadn't believed he was a good guy who couldn't just stand by while someone openly fornicated in broad daylight, and if he hadn't whipped out a loudspeaker transponder snail to live stream it for the whole town, the "gentleman" (i.e., the man in the broadcast) wouldn't have been so hellbent on chasing him. Bottom line: Rono brought this on himself.
Fast forward again. After eating and drinking (in a certain sense), Rono lay back down, playing dead to conserve his energy. Just as the sun was setting, he suddenly sat up and looked out into the distance: a cargo ship was slowly approaching. He waved both hands frantically, one holding a coin pouch that jingled pleasantly with the sound of clinking coins.
Sure enough, under Rono's hopeful gaze, the cargo ship drew closer and lowered a rope ladder.
"I'm saved!" Rono shouted as he climbed aboard with the help of the crew. The sailors eyed him cautiously. A bearded man in a captain's uniform, wearing a tricorn hat, stepped forward and asked, "Why are you out here? And on a fishing boat, no less?"
"Ahem," Rono cleared his throat—he had only had news bird blood to drink today, and his throat was dry. "Well, sir, I sort of just ran off and got lost. Could you give me a ride? I'll pay," he said, avoiding the question and shaking his coin pouch.
The captain gave him a once-over. Aside from the two pouches of money in his hands, Rono wore a pretty decent outfit and had a katana at his waist. The captain half-believed his story—probably just another thrill-seeking brat.
"Fine. How old are you? We're heading to Alabasta. If that's on your way, pay 100,000 Berries. It's not close, after all. If not, we'll drop you off at the next port—you can just chip in a symbolic amount."
"Oh, it's on the way! Totally!" Rono replied cheerfully. "I'm Rono, fifteen years old!" He scratched his greasy red hair with a grin. "Nice to meet you all! Here's the fare."
The captain accepted the Berries and waved his hand, dismissing the sailors. "You're lucky you ran into us. If it had been a pirate ship, they might've sold you off as a slave. Just a word of advice—go home while you still can."
Of course, the captain knew full well: "On the way" my ass. That junk boat couldn't have possibly come from Alabasta. If it did, I'll eat dung and die. But he had no connection to Rono, and one warning was enough—he didn't want to get involved.
That night, after a hearty meal, Rono lay in a hammock wearing a sailor's outfit (purchased, second-hand of course). In his mind, he recited: "System, show attribute panel."
Beep. A digital sound rang out in Rono's mind, and a panel projected onto his retina:
Body Strength: 21 (10)
Bone Strength: 25 (15)
Abilities: Regenerative Factor, Bone Claws
Note: Average adult body strength is 10, and bone strength is 15.
Evaluation: You have nothing to be proud of. All your advantages come from racial talents. You're still garbage.
Rono grumbled, "What's with the racial talent hate? Others would kill for these powers. I was born superior!"
Due to the host's arrogance, the system has decided to issue a reward: Inferno Training (Level 1). Failure penalty: Electric Shock LV3.
"…Uh, can I pass on that?"
[…]
"I was wrong! I repent! I shouldn't have gotten cocky! Please, great system, have mercy…"
Important item dropped. Host, please pick it up immediately. The system's tone was utterly flat.
"Eh? Where? Where?" Rono stood up and looked around after hearing the system prompt. Suddenly, he noticed a pile of shiny objects under his feet. "Wahaha! As expected of the protagonist—treasures just fall into my lap!" He bent down to pick them up.
Beep. "A pile of integrity detected. Pick up?"
∑°□°!! What the hell? Rono turned to stone, silently kicked the "integrity" aside, and flopped back onto his bed. "Just sleep, sleep… Everything will be fine when I wake up…"
The Next Morning
Rono swallowed nervously as he read the content of Inferno Training (I):
5,000 punches
5,000 kicks
1-hour horse stance
500 100-meter shuttle runs (each must be completed within 15 seconds)
Time limit: 7 days
Note 1: Hey kid, heard you're getting cocky. Come, let me teach you some humility.
Note 2: Attempts that don't meet the required standard won't count. Standards are set and assessed by the system. Final interpretation rights belong to the system.
Note 3: Fail to complete the day's tasks, and that day is void.
That same day, precisely at 6 AM, the system woke him up and began the inhumane, seven-day inferno training.
"Kid, I didn't think you had this much grit! Alright, time to eat! Don't be late or you'll miss it!" said Nick, the sailor who had sold Rono his clothes, as he called him over.
Only then did Rono realize—it was already noon.
In the Dining Hall…
After a flurry of clattering sounds, Rono leaned back in his chair with a long sigh, gazing at over twenty empty plates on the table. "Man, it's been so long since I've eaten this well! o≧v≦o"
The entire dining hall was dead silent. Everyone was stunned by Rono's monstrous appetite. The captain quietly lit a cigarette and muttered, "This brat's ticket fare should've been doubled. What a loss…"
After resting and digesting, Rono resumed another round of brutal training. If it weren't for his regenerative factor, he figured he'd already be a cripple.
5,000 punches and 5,000 kicks weren't exactly impossible for him—but the real killer was the system's evaluation criteria.
Punch thrown. Beep—Deviation exceeds 1 cm from optimal punch trajectory. Does not count. Current progress: 1,566/5,000…
At that moment, Rono's spirit shattered. One phrase echoed in his mind:
"I've got a whole list of curse words and I'm not sure if I should say them!"
Rono had undergone daily training from the system before, which allowed a 5 cm margin of error. The tasks were also fewer and easier. Compared to that, Inferno Training (I) was pure hell.
He suddenly remembered the one time he'd skipped his regular training because he got carried away partying. He received a Level 1 electric shock as punishment. The next day, he left his room with a full-blown afro. If he failed this time and got hit with a Level 3 shock, Rono figured he'd be found foaming at the mouth and passed out cold in bed. And that was with a regenerative factor—an ordinary person might just die outright.
The fear of being electrocuted surged through his body, giving him an unexpected burst of motivation.
Yep. A Level 3 shock meant 30 zaps.
Rising at 6 AM, Rono spent every day locked in the training room—except for meals and bathroom breaks—until around 10 PM, when he barely managed to complete his tasks.