Haki Monster in One Piece World - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: How it Works?

The high of existential confirmation had worn off, replaced by the gnawing, grinding reality of hunger. Mike’s stomach felt like an aching void, the handful of stream water doing nothing to fill it. Survival 101 kicked in with brutal simplicity: find food, or become food. He pushed himself away from the stream, every movement cautious, his senses straining against the backdrop of alien jungle sounds.

He scanned the undergrowth, desperately searching for anything that looked remotely like prey he recognized, or at least something that didn’t look actively poisonous or likely to fight back with razor-sharp appendages. After nearly an hour of tense, fruitless searching, his eyes landed on a flash of movement near the base of a large, pulsating blue mushroom.

It vaguely resembled a rabbit, perhaps if rabbits evolved during a rave. It was about the right size, covered in patchy brown fur that shifted to an iridescent purple along its spine. Its ears were slightly too long and twitched independently, and its nose pulsed with a faint bioluminescent light. It was currently nibbling on some kind of bright yellow fungus.

Mike froze. His stomach cramped violently at the thought of food, any food. But hunting? He’d never hunted anything more dangerous than a misplaced TV remote. Could he even bring himself to kill it? He watched the creature nibble, its glowing nose twitching. It looked… relatively harmless. Compared to the death beetle, anyway.

Necessity, cold and sharp, overrode his squeamishness. Starvation was a far more certain threat than his conscience right now. He glanced around, spotting a loose rock about the size of his fist, its surface slick with moss. He picked it up, its weight feeling inadequate but better than nothing.

Taking a deep breath, he began to stalk the glowing-nosed rabbit-thing. He moved slowly, trying to emulate stealth tactics from video games, stepping carefully on the balls of his feet, avoiding snapping twigs (or pulsating vines, as the case may be). The creature’s long ears twitched, sensing something, its head lifting.

Mike lunged.

It was pure desperation, a clumsy, adrenaline-fueled burst of movement. He brought the rock down, not with skill or precision, but with frantic force. There was a sickening thump, a brief, high-pitched squeal that cut off abruptly, and then stillness.

Mike stood panting over the small, furry body, the rock heavy in his suddenly trembling hand. Revulsion churned in his gut, mixing with the fierce pang of hunger. The creature’s bioluminescent nose flickered weakly, then went dark. He’d done it. He’d killed something. The reality felt greasy and unpleasant.

But the smell of raw meat, however alien, hit his nostrils, and his stomach responded with a demanding roar. He couldn’t afford regret right now. He quickly dragged the carcass deeper into the undergrowth, finding a small, relatively concealed hollow beneath the roots of one of the giant trees.

Starting a fire was out of the question. Smoke, the smell of cooking meat – it would be like sending up a flare, advertising his presence to anything bigger and meaner than a rainbow beetle. That left only one option, an option that made his stomach roil even as it growled with anticipation.

He pulled out the small, cheap multi-tool he always carried on hikes – miraculously still clipped inside his pocket. The small blade felt woefully inadequate, but it was better than using his bare hands. Steeling himself, trying very hard not to think about what he was doing, he began the messy, unpleasant task of skinning and butchering the small creature.

The fur came away easier than expected, revealing pale, slightly bluish meat underneath. The smell was gamey, stronger than rabbit back home, with a faint, underlying metallic tang. He cut off a small piece of thigh meat, ragged and uneven. He stared at it for a long moment, trembling slightly. Raw. He was going to eat raw meat.

Survival, he told himself fiercely. Just survival.

He closed his eyes and brought the meat to his mouth. The texture was the worst part – soft, slightly slimy, and stringy. The taste was… strong. Intensely gamey, irony, with that weird metallic aftertaste lingering. He gagged, forcing himself to chew and swallow, fighting the urge to vomit. It was, without a doubt, the most disgusting thing he had ever eaten.

He managed a few more small, trembling bites before he couldn’t take any more, pushing the rest of the carcass away. He felt nauseous, violated somehow, but beneath the disgust, something else was happening. A wave of warmth spread through his limbs, pushing back the bone-deep exhaustion. The gnawing emptiness in his stomach subsided slightly.

Then, the familiar mental ping sounded, and the blue screen updated in his vision.

[Nutrient Intake Detected.]

[Processing Biological Matter… Alien Rabbitoid compatibility: Moderate.]

[Fatigue Decreased by 15%!]

[Current Fatigue: 23%]

Mike stared at the notification, then focused on his own body. It wasn’t just his imagination; he did feel less tired. The crushing weight of exhaustion had lessened, replaced by a weary ache but also a renewed sense of… fuel.

“Okay,” he breathed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the lingering taste. “So, eating equals energy equals less fatigue. Got it.” A fundamental rule of this bizarre new reality confirmed. Disgusting, but confirmed. He carefully wrapped the remaining meat in some large, non-glowing leaves he found nearby, hoping it wouldn’t spoil too quickly. Waste not, want not, especially when ‘not wanting’ meant starving or being eaten.

As dusk began to settle, painting the alien sky in shades of bruised purple and sickly orange, Mike retreated to the small, hidden cave he’d found earlier. It wasn’t much, just a hollow scooped out behind a curtain of thick, root-like vines near the base of a cliff, but it felt marginally safer than being out in the open. He sat down heavily on the cool stone floor, pulling the system interface back into focus.

Physique: Lv.0 (0/1 EXP)

Haki: Lv.0 (0/1 EXP)

Level Zero. Mocking him. How did he change that? Physique seemed straightforward, if dangerous. Physical exertion. Running, fighting, maybe even just heavy lifting if he could find something liftable that wasn’t alive. But doing that now, at night, in this jungle? That screamed ‘suicide by giant nocturnal death-whatever’. Physique training would have to wait for daylight, and even then, it seemed incredibly risky without knowing what else was out there.

Which left Haki. Level Zero. How did you train ‘spiritual energy or willpower’? The system description echoed in his mind. He thought about monks in temples, Jedi in training montages, martial artists focusing their chi. What was the common denominator? Mental discipline. Focus. Meditation.

Could it be that simple?

It seemed almost too simple, too… trope-y. But what else did he have to go on? The system wasn’t talking, and he had hours of dangerous night ahead of him with nothing better to do than hide. It was worth a shot.

He shifted position, trying to sit cross-legged, though the uneven cave floor made it awkward. He closed his eyes, forcing down the lingering fear and the memory of raw, alien rabbit meat. He tried to regulate his breathing, inhaling slowly through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, just like he’d seen in countless movies and maybe one yoga video his sister made him watch.

Focus, he told himself. Clear your mind.

Easier said than done. The jungle wasn’t silent. Strange clicks, drips, rustles, and distant growls filtered into his hiding spot. Every sound made him jumpy, convinced something was right outside the vine curtain. His own thoughts were a chaotic whirl – fear, hunger, the image of the beetle, the blue screen, the taste of raw meat…

He forced them down. He focused solely on his breathing, on the feeling of the air entering and leaving his lungs. He tried to reach inward, searching for that ‘Haki energy’ the system mentioned. Was it a warmth? A tingling? He felt nothing at first, just the familiar beat of his own heart and the tension in his muscles.

He kept at it, stubbornly focusing, shutting out the external world as best he could. He imagined a small, warm spark deep inside him, the ‘Haki’ attribute the system said was Level 0. He pictured nurturing it, focusing his will upon it.

Minute after painstaking minute crawled by. He was about to give up, convinced this was useless, when it happened.

Ping.

[Detected Focused Application of Willpower.]

[Haki Attribute EXP +1]

Mike’s eyes snapped open. His heart leaped. He quickly checked his status screen, focusing on the Haki attribute line.

Haki: Lv.0 (1/1 EXP)

He held his breath. The bar filled instantly.

Ping.

[Haki Attribute Leveled Up!]

[Current Level: 1]

[Haki: Lv.1 (0/3 EXP)]

A wave of something subtle but definite washed through him. It was like a faint warmth spreading from his core, a sense of slightly heightened awareness, a feeling of being marginally more… solid. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was real.

“It worked,” he whispered, disbelief warring with elation. “One EXP per minute of meditation?” He quickly did the math. To get to Level 2 needed 3 EXP – 3 minutes. To get to Level 3? Maybe 10 EXP? If the progression followed typical RPG logic, the requirements would increase. But still! This was a guaranteed way to gain power, safely hidden away.

He didn’t hesitate. He closed his eyes again, settling back into the meditative posture, his earlier struggles with focus now replaced by eager determination. He breathed, focused, reached inward, feeling for that tiny spark of Haki energy, which now seemed marginally easier to perceive.

Every sixty seconds, the system chimed softly in his mind: [Haki Attribute EXP +1]

He watched the EXP bar for Level 1 fill steadily. Three minutes passed.

Ping.

[Haki Attribute Leveled Up! Current Level: 2!]

[Haki: Lv.2 (0/6 EXP)]

The warmth intensified slightly. The feeling of inner solidity grew. 6 EXP for the next level. That was six minutes. He didn’t care. He had nothing but time and the desperate need to become less pathetically weak.

He sank deeper into the meditation, the outside world fading further into the background. The rhythm of his breathing, the internal focus, the regular chime of the system – it became a comforting loop. He felt the slow but steady accumulation of EXP, the gradual strengthening of that inner core of energy the system called Haki.

Four minutes passed. The EXP bar crept towards fullness. He felt a subtle pressure building within him, not unpleasant, like filling a reservoir.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity but his internal clock estimated as roughly two hours since he started, and he reached level 8.

Subsequent levels began ticking over much faster…

As the Level 8 notification chimed, another one immediately followed it, slightly different in tone.

[Haki Attribute benchmark detected: Lv.8]

[Calculating relative spiritual energy comparison…]

[Host’s current Haki Attribute Level grants a spiritual energy pool comparable to individuals possessing potential recognized at approximately 8,000,000 Berries within known power structures.]

[System Reminder: This reflects potential energy pool size ONLY. It does NOT equate to combat proficiency, Haki skill mastery, physical ability, or actual bounty value. Host remains fundamentally inexperienced and physically underdeveloped.]

Mike’s eyes flew open, staring wide at the blue text. Eight million Berries?! He knew that name – the currency from One Piece. And eight million… that wasn’t chump change. Arlong, the tyrannical Fishman ruler he’d seen mentioned in the manga summaries, was 20 million. Buggy the Clown was 15 million early on. Eight million put him… somewhere. Not strong, maybe, not by Grand Line standards, but vastly more significant than the Level Zero nobody he was two hours ago.

The System’s reminder was sobering – pool size only, not skill. He still barely knew how to use the Haki skills, and his physical body was still Level Zero trash. But knowing his potential, his base energy, had jumped that dramatically in just two hours of sitting still? It was exhilarating.

He felt different. The oppressive fear that had been his constant companion since arriving had loosened its grip considerably. The jungle outside still sounded dangerous, the darkness still felt menacing, but it wasn’t overwhelming anymore. He felt a core of strength within himself, a reserve of energy that anchored him. It was the confidence born of tangible progress, the knowledge that he wasn’t completely helpless, that he had a way to grow, to fight back against this insane reality.

Deep night had fallen. The strange nocturnal sounds of the jungle were in full chorus. Training his Physique was definitely off the table until sunrise, at the absolute earliest. But meditation? It was safe, quiet, and yielded incredible results for his Haki attribute. The choice was obvious.

He settled back down, weariness pulling at him but overshadowed by determination. He closed his eyes, focused his breathing, and reached for that now significantly warmer, more substantial core of Haki energy within him. The EXP gain for Level 9 required 45 points – nearly 45 minutes of constant meditation. He can level up pretty fast.

He focused, letting the rhythmic chime of [Haki Attribute EXP +1] become a lullaby. He meditated, pushing EXP into his Haki stat, strengthening his spiritual core, until finally, sometime in the deepest hours of the alien night, exhaustion won. His focus blurred, his posture slumped, and he drifted into an uneasy sleep there in the darkness of the cave, the faint blue glow of the silent System interface the last thing he saw behind his closed eyelids.