One Piece: As Heavy as a Gale #6

Two months had passed, and Gale had come a long way.

The air crackled as he moved, each punch a blur of force, each kick carrying the weight of a cannonball. His opponent—a massive wooden post reinforced with iron bands—groaned under the punishment, its battered surface a testament to countless beatings.

Gale twisted his torso, planting his foot before delivering a straight punch. The moment his knuckles connected, the air itself seemed to shudder. A loud CRACK rang out, but it wasn’t the post that gave way.

“Gah—! Damn it!” Gale hissed, pulling his hand back. His knuckles were split, blood dripping down onto the dirt.

Kiwanu, arms crossed, stood a few feet away, watching with an unreadable expression. “Tch. You’re getting ahead of yourself again.” He stepped forward, grabbing Gale’s wrist and inspecting the damage. “I told you already. After snapping and healing so many times, your connective tissue’s gotten strong enough to endure the increased density of your muscles.”

Gale flexed his fingers with a wince. “Yeah, yeah, I remember—”

“But,” Kiwanu interrupted, raising a finger, “your skin is another issue.”

Gale scowled, shaking off the pain. “Figures. I finally get my muscles tough enough to handle this power, and now I gotta worry about my skin peeling off every time I throw a punch.” He huffed, staring at his bloodied knuckles. “That’s just nasty.”

It wasn’t just his sheer strength that had grown. Over the last two months, Gale had realized that his body healed way faster than it should. His bones set quickly, bruises faded in hours, and dislocated joints from overusing his Devil Fruit were no big deal.

He chalked it up to his naturally absurd endurance—maybe something about this strange body he took over and the ridiculous amount of recovery medicines and supplements Kiwanu shoved down his throat daily.

Gale stretched his fingers, watching the blood start to clot. “Alright, so if I wanna stop punching my skin off, I just gotta increase my skin’s density separately, yeah?”

Kiwanu rubbed his chin. “Yes, but it won’t be as easy as with your muscles.”

Gale quirked an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“You were able to separate your muscles, focus on them, and increase their density because of the very specific training you’ve been doing,” Kiwanu explained. “Those drills were designed to make you aware of every individual muscle in your body. But skin? There’s no exercise to isolate and train ‘skin’.”

He shrugged. “If such a method exists, I sure don’t know it.”

Gale clicked his tongue. “Great. So what? I just gotta figure it out as I go?”

“Not necessarily.”

Gale raised a brow at Kiwanu’s smirk, already suspecting he wasn’t gonna like whatever came next.

“If you can’t feel your skin the way you did with your muscles,” Kiwanu said, “then you need to study it.”

Gale frowned. “What, like, reading about it?”

“Exactly.” Kiwanu nodded. “The village library has plenty of books on medicine and anatomy.”

There was a long, awkward silence before Gale deadpanned, “Are you seriously telling me to go study medicine?”

“Why not?” Kiwanu replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s the best way to understand how your body works, and besides—medicine’s a valuable skill. No matter where you go, it’ll be useful.”

Gale sighed, looking up at the sky as she muttered. “Looks like I'll have to break my oath of never reading a book once I graduated....”

Kiwanu raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Gale groaned. “It's nothing...”

...

Gale slouched over a heavy tome, his head barely supported by his palm. His other hand gripped a quill, tapping it mindlessly against the desk as Kiwanu paced back and forth in front of a stack of books taller than a Marine battleship.

“Alright,” Kiwanu began, flipping open yet another book Gale absolutely did not care about, “the epidermis is the outermost layer of skin, consisting mainly of keratinocytes that—”

Gale groaned, letting his face slam into the open pages. “Damn it...…” he whined, voice muffled by paper. “This is so boring.”

Kiwanu didn't even blink. “And yet, if you wanna avoid looking like a peeled banana every time you punch something, you’ll listen.”

Gale lifted his head just enough to glare. “I miss the days when training meant punching things.”

Kiwanu smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. We’re getting to that. But first…” He slammed a thick medical book onto the table. “Time for a pop quiz.”

Gale gasped in horror.

...

The sun blazed overhead, the salty breeze offering little comfort as Gale sprinted down the beach—except "sprint" was a generous term when huge boulders were tied to his shins.

“This is stupid,” Gale wheezed, his feet sinking into the sand with every agonizing step. “This isn’t training. This is bullying.”

Kiwanu jogged beside him, arms crossed. “You’re strengthening your legs while adjusting to the increased density. The more natural it feels, the easier it’ll be to apply it to your skin later.”

Gale gasped like a dying fish, dragging his feet forward. “If I collapse—”

“I’ll laugh first, then drag you back to the village.”

“I hate you.”

Kiwanu grinned. “Hate makes you stronger. Keep running.”

Gale made a mental note to kick Kiwanu into the ocean the moment this was over.

...

Balancing on a thick tree branch, Gale wiped the sweat from his brow, his grip tightening around the bag in his hands— inside it were iron ingots, wooden blocks, and a handful of metal coins. Each had a different weight, a different density, and yet, for this exercise, they all had to fall at the exact same speed.

Simple in theory. Infuriating in practice. Nothing was ever easy with Kiwanu.

He exhaled slowly, focusing. It wasn’t just about dropping them; he had to manipulate their density, adjusting each one in perfect sync. Too heavy, and it would slam into the ground too fast. Too light, and it would drift unnaturally. His control had to be precise, every adjustment identical, or the whole attempt would be worthless.

And if he failed?

Gale’s gaze flickered to the darkening sky. Kiwanu had made the consequences painfully clear—until he got it right three times in a row, he wasn’t coming down.

Grumbling curses under his breath, he picked up a coin and after increasing its density, he let go.

The metal coin shot down like a cannonball. The rock drifted like a feather. The wood hovered somewhere in between.

Gale clicked his tongue. “Damn it.”

“Again,” Kiwanu called from below. “Until you can control the density perfectly.”

Gale grumbled under his breath and grabbed another set of objects. “I swear, when I’m done with this training, I’m gonna drop you from a cliff and see if I get the density right.”

Kiwanu smirked. “That’s the spirit.”

...

The same battered training post stood before him—the one that once left his knuckles raw and bleeding.

But not this time.

Gale exhaled, rolling his shoulders. His muscles tensed as he focused, increasing their density just enough. Not too much, or he’d hurt himself. Not too little, or it’d be pointless.

With a smirk, he drove his fist forward.

BOOM.

The post exploded into splinters.

Gale grinned, shaking off the dust. “Finally.”

Kiwanu clapped from the sidelines. “Nice. Now go clean that up.”

“...I hate you again.”

...

Gale stared at the rows upon rows of dried herbs, powders, and weird-smelling liquids in the library's medicine section. He glanced down at the list Kiwanu had given him.

-Ground Saza root

-Dried Ferga leaves

-Transponder snail mucus (???)

Gale made a face. “Do I even wanna know what that last one’s for?”

“Faster wound recovery,” Kiwanu answered, grinding herbs into a paste. “You should pay attention. The better you get at this, the less you have to rely on others to patch you up.”

Gale sighed, reluctantly picking up a mortar and pestle. “I swear, if I ever meet someone who enjoys making medicine, I’m punching them.”

Kiwanu smirked. “At least you’ll be able to heal them afterward.”

Gale groaned, grinding the herbs with a vengeance.

...

Gale didn’t remember what a day off felt like.

Not once in nearly three years had he gotten a break, and honestly? He didn’t want one. Well… not after the first two months, at least. Back then, he might’ve cried with joy if Kiwanu had given him a single afternoon to just lay down and contemplate why he was suffering so much.

But now?

Now, he’d refuse.

Training had become as natural as breathing. His body no longer ached like it used to, even after the most grueling exercises. He’d long since mastered his ability to manipulate his own density—every single muscle, bone, organ, and tendon, down to the smallest shift in weight.

He could increase his density for devastating strikes or decrease it to move like the wind. In combat, he no longer even thought about it—it happened instinctively.

That was the scary part.

Gale wasn’t just strong anymore. He was precise.

And precision was what separated beasts from warriors.

Not that he needed his Devil Fruit powers to prove himself anymore. He could already take on a dozen Torino warriors at once using nothing but raw strength, speed, and the blade at his hip.

His swordsmanship, honed through countless spars with the warriors of the island, had reached a level where even they—warriors who’d trained since birth—had trouble keeping up.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Kiwanu had crammed so much medical knowledge into his head that Gale could diagnose illnesses, set broken bones, and mix up medicine like a pro. He swore if he couldn't figure out what to do with his life, he could probably make a killing as a traveling doctor.

Today, however, was different.

Gale stood on the beach, the golden sand warm beneath his bare feet, staring out at the crashing waves. Kiwanu had told him to come here for his final test, but hadn’t explained what the test actually was.

Which was concerning.

Because whenever Kiwanu was being mysterious, it usually meant something ridiculous was about to happen.

Gale crossed his arms, frowning as he scanned the empty shore. “Alright, old man… what the hell are you up to?”

A rustling in the bushes snapped Gale’s attention to the treeline. He turned, instincts flaring—

Then his eyes widened.

A storm of projectiles erupted from the thicket. Spears. Arrows. Rocks. Even wooden and steel spheres. Dozens of them, flying straight at him like some kind of violent nature documentary gone wrong.

'Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.'

But there was no time for complaints. His body moved.

The spears and arrows? Dodged. A step to the side, a tilt of his head—each movement precise, effortless, just enough to let them pass.

The rocks? Turned to dust. His fists shot out, density increased, and each stone shattered against his knuckles like brittle glass.

The wooden spheres? Sliced clean in half. His rapier flicked out in a series of lightning-fast arcs, severing them midair with surgical precision.

The metal spheres? Deflected. He flipped his sword into a reverse grip, arm angled perfectly to swat them away using the reinforced guard of his rapier’s hilt. The heavy projectiles bounced off harmlessly, flung in random directions.

All of this happened in seconds.

His body shifted densities with every movement, adapting on the fly—lighter for speed, heavier for power. It was instinct now, a seamless integration of his training.

And of course, this had Kiwanu’s methodical, obsessed fingerprints all over it.

Gale’s Devil Fruit had been analyzed, theorized, and categorized within an inch of its life. According to Kiwanu, there were two levels of increased density:

-Iron density—strong, durable, boosting striking power dramatically.

-Diamond density—theoretical, unachieved, and slightly terrifying.

And for decreasing density?

-Wood density—lighter, faster, boosting agility and movement speed.

-Paper, or something possibly even lighter than that—also theoretical, also unachieved.

In the past three years, Gale had mastered Iron and Wood.

At Iron density, his strikes were like getting hit by a wrecking ball. At Wood density, he could move with near-superhuman speed. He could shift between them instantly, mixing power and agility in ways that even the Torino warriors struggled to counter.

But the higher levels? Still out of reach.

And these bastards were testing him.

Because the barrage didn’t stop.

For thirty straight minutes, the projectiles kept coming, forcing Gale to dodge, block, parry, and strike with no room to breathe. His movements never faltered, his mind razor-sharp.

When the last projectile was swatted harmlessly into the sand, the treeline rustled again.

Kiwanu stepped forward, arms crossed, nodding in approval.

"Good," the old man said simply. "You’re done."

Gale blinked, breathing steady but slightly annoyed. "That’s it? That was my final test?"

"That was your warm-up."

Gale’s stomach dropped. "What—"

Before he could finish, more figures emerged from the thicket.

The rest of the village's warriors.

Grinning.

Gale groaned, rubbing his temples. "Oh, great. I bet this is gonna be fun."