We reached the island by dusk the next day — a jagged silhouette rising from the mist, surrounded by razor-sharp rocks and swirling waters. It didn't appear on any map the crew had, and from what I could tell, that was by design.
"No Navy patrols. No bounty hunters. Not even birds," Jaro said as we anchored just beyond a natural cove. "We call it Ghostjaw Island. Only a few crews know about it."
As the rowboat glided toward shore, I saw why. The island was wild — gnarled trees clinging to cliffs, thick jungle canopy beyond the beach, and ruins peeking through the vines. Something ancient slumbered here.
"Why here?" I asked.
"You wanted training," Jaro said, pointing toward a crumbled stone arch deeper inland. "This place has… history. Some say it was once home to monks who worshipped sea beasts. Their ruins are filled with traps, beasts, and puzzles. You survive? You come out stronger. You die? Well. Then you weren't strong enough."
Comforting.
Still, something in my chest — maybe the Kirin inside me — stirred with interest.
I spent the night in a makeshift tent on the beach, watching embers rise from the campfire. The crew stayed aboard the ship, giving me space. Or maybe they just didn't like the island. Superstitious types.
In the morning, I walked into the jungle alone.
The ruins weren't far — just past a ridge of black stone, hidden behind vines so thick I had to burn my way through. As soon as I crossed the arch, something shifted. The air grew heavier. The birds fell silent.
A temple — long abandoned, but still majestic — stood at the heart of a clearing. Pillars choked with moss. Statues of sea serpents, weathered by time.
And at the center, a wide open space. A stone floor marked with concentric circles — a training arena.
I stepped inside.
That's when the trap activated.
Stone doors slammed shut behind me. Arrows fired from hidden slits. I dodged, instinctively summoning my partial Zoan form — golden hooves sparking against stone as I kicked off a wall and rolled behind a broken column.
More mechanisms triggered — swinging blades, dropping nets, even a rolling boulder that felt like a bad movie reference.
But none of it was enough.
I adapted. I learned.
By the time the traps stopped, I was sweating, bruised, but alive.
And grinning.
Because for the first time since arriving in this world, I felt ready.
Over the next three days, I lived inside the temple ruins.
There were no Fishmen. No orders. Just me, the jungle, and my powers.
I trained.
I learned how to shift between forms — human, hybrid, and (briefly) full Kirin, though that last one still burned me out. I practiced lightning control, using the sparks to trigger small bursts or stun jungle beasts. I discovered I could walk over hot surfaces without burning — my hooves absorbing and dispersing the heat.
I even started meditating, trying to connect with whatever spiritual energy this fruit had awakened.
Sometimes, in the stillness, I felt a presence. Not hostile — more like a watcher. A guardian.
One night, I dreamed of the Kirin — huge, glowing, noble-eyed — standing in the ruins, looking at me in silent judgment.
It didn't speak.
But I knew what it meant.
You're not ready yet. But you're on the right path.
When I finally returned to the beach, Jaro greeted me with a rare nod of approval.
"You didn't die," he said.
"Disappointed?"
"Maybe. Would've made a great story."
We set sail that night.
But I wasn't the same.
The beast within me was no longer just a threat.
It was a promise.