The third day of my secret training regimen brought a harsh reality check: I was starving myself into weakness.
I discovered this unpleasant truth when I nearly collapsed during morning PT. Not the usual stumbling or heavy breathing—actual black spots dancing at the edge of my vision as I struggled through what should have been a basic warm-up run. Lieutenant Bragga's voice became distant and hollow, and I had to grip the fence post to keep from face-planting into the gravel.
"Windhelm! You look like death warmed over! Did you forget to eat breakfast, or are you just naturally this pathetic?"
The other Marines chuckled, but there was less malice in it than usual. Even they could see something was genuinely wrong. I mumbled something about feeling under the weather and forced myself through the rest of the drill, but my performance was noticeably worse than my already abysmal baseline.
Nutritional Deficit: CriticalCaloric Intake vs. Expenditure: -890 calories (48-hour average)Muscle Catabolism: ActiveWarning: Current trajectory will result in strength loss within one week
The system's assessment hit me like a splash of cold seawater. I'd been so focused on pushing my body harder that I'd completely ignored the fuel it needed to function. All my nighttime training was literally consuming the muscle mass I was trying to build.
I was an idiot. A well-meaning, determined idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.
During lunch, I stared at my usual tray of marine slop with new understanding. The watery soup, paste-like rice, and jerky masquerading as fish weren't just unappetizing—they were mathematically insufficient for my goals. The system helpfully calculated the nutritional content as I picked at my food:
Meal Analysis:Total Calories: 285Protein: 8.2 gramsCarbohydrates: 47 gramsFat: 3.1 gramsMicronutrient Density: Poor
Daily Requirement (Maintenance): 2,100 caloriesDaily Requirement (Training): 2,800+ caloriesCurrent Intake: 855 calories
No wonder I felt like I was dying. I was slowly starving while simultaneously demanding more from my body than ever before. It was like trying to run a car on fumes while flooring the accelerator.
But here was the problem: I couldn't just request larger portions. The mess hall operated on strict allocations, and asking for extra food would draw exactly the kind of attention I was trying to avoid. Marines who suddenly started eating more were either getting promoted, getting transferred, or up to something. None of those explanations would help my cause.
I needed to be clever about this.
After finishing my meager lunch, I lingered in the mess hall longer than usual, observing the patterns I'd noticed before but never really analyzed. The key insight hit me as I watched Morrison scrape half his rice into the waste bin: waste wasn't just common here—it was systematic.
The marines fell into predictable categories. The nervous eaters like Hendricks, who picked at their food and left substantial portions untouched. The dieters like Morrison, who threw away carbohydrates in a misguided attempt to maintain their physique. The picky eaters who avoided certain items entirely. And the social eaters, who spent more time talking than eating and often abandoned their trays when conversations moved elsewhere.
There was enough discarded food to feed an extra person, if someone was shameless enough to claim it.
That someone would have to be me.
The first step was timing. I started volunteering for mess hall cleanup duty—a job no one else wanted that kept me in the area after official meal times. This gave me legitimate access to abandoned trays and the waste bins where perfectly good food ended up.
It was humiliating work. Scraping leftovers from other people's plates, fishing discarded bread from trash bins, salvaging chunks of meat that had been deemed "too chewy" by more privileged palates. But humiliation was a small price to pay for survival.
Scavenged Nutrition (Day 1):Additional Calories: 420Protein Boost: +12 gramsSource Cleanliness: Questionable but acceptable
The system tracked everything with clinical detachment, but I could sense approval in its assessment. Progress was progress, regardless of how it was achieved.
My second strategy involved the kitchen staff. Marine Island 17 wasn't exactly a premier posting, and the cooks assigned here were either new recruits learning their trade or veterans who'd been demoted for various infractions. Both groups had one thing in common: they were human beings who responded to basic courtesy.
I started arriving early for kitchen prep duty, volunteering to help with food preparation and cleanup. Not because I enjoyed chopping vegetables or scrubbing pots, but because it put me in position to form relationships with the people who controlled the food supply.
Petty Officer Chen was the head cook, a middle-aged man with permanently stained aprons and the weathered look of someone who'd been feeding ungrateful marines for too many years. He barely noticed me the first few times I showed up, treating me like another pair of hands to exploit.
But I made myself useful in ways that went beyond the basic requirements. I showed up consistently, worked without complaining, and most importantly, I listened when he talked about his problems.
"Half these idiots don't know good food from pig slop," he grumbled one afternoon as we prepped dinner. "Spend hours making a decent stew, and they wolf it down without tasting it. Might as well be feeding animals."
"Your cooking is better than anything I had growing up," I replied honestly. It wasn't entirely true—my previous life had included some excellent meals—but it wasn't entirely false either. Kael's memories included a childhood of genuinely terrible food.
Chen glanced at me with mild surprise. Compliments were apparently rare in his line of work.
"You're that Windhelm kid, right? The one everyone's always giving grief?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice to remain steady.
"Well, you work harder than most of them." He paused, considering something. "Tell you what—there's usually some extra portions after we finish plating. Nothing fancy, just odds and ends that don't fit on the standard trays. If you're still here helping out, might as well not let it go to waste."
That "nothing fancy" turned out to be a game-changer. An extra ladle of stew here, some surplus bread there, the occasional piece of fruit that was "too ripe" for general consumption. It wasn't a feast, but it was legitimate food that I could eat without diving into garbage bins.
More importantly, it gave me insights into the base's food systems that I could exploit further.
I learned that supply deliveries came every Tuesday and Friday, with fresh items arriving in the morning and leftovers from previous shipments being relegated to "creative cooking" by afternoon. I learned which storage areas contained emergency rations, and which locks were more for show than security. I learned that the officers' mess often had surplus food that was quietly redistributed rather than officially reported.
Most critically, I learned that Chen had a soft spot for hard workers and wasn't above bending regulations for people who showed genuine appreciation for his efforts.
"The brass never sees what goes on down here," he confided one evening as we cleaned the prep area. "They think food just magically appears three times a day. Don't understand the work that goes into keeping everyone fed on the budget they give us."
I made appropriately sympathetic noises while filing away every piece of information. Understanding the system meant finding ways to work within it without drawing unwanted attention.
The third part of my nutritional strategy was the most dangerous: night fishing.
Marine Island 17 was surrounded by water, and that water contained fish. Not exotic sea king varieties that would require advanced techniques to catch, but ordinary fish that could be taken with basic equipment and patience. The challenge was doing so without violating regulations or alerting the night watch to my activities.
I started by fashioning crude fishing gear from supplies I could legitimately access. A length of fishing line "borrowed" from the communications equipment (they had spares). Hooks scavenged from various maintenance areas. Sinkers made from small pieces of scrap metal. Nothing that would be missed, nothing that couldn't be explained if discovered.
The fishing itself was a exercise in stealth and patience. I had to find locations along the coastline that were out of sight from the guard towers but still accessible during my limited free time. I had to learn to fish quietly, without the splashing and commotion that might attract attention. And I had to do it all while exhausted from my regular training routine.
The first few attempts were disasters. I lost more hooks than fish, got tangled in my own line, and spent hours crouched on uncomfortable rocks with nothing to show for it except mosquito bites and frustration.
But gradually, I started to figure it out. The best spots were on the eastern side of the island, where an outcropping of rocks created a natural blind spot from the main facilities. The best times were during the changing of the guard, when attention was focused inward rather than on the water. And the best bait was often the scraps from my own meals—the very food I was trying to supplement.
It wasn't much, but it was something. Fresh fish, cooked over a small fire in a hidden cove, provided both calories and a sense of independence that regular meals couldn't match. More importantly, it gave me a backup food source that didn't depend on anyone else's approval or charity.
The combination of scavenging, kitchen relationships, and fishing started to show results within a week. My energy levels during training improved dramatically. My recovery time between exercises shortened. Most importantly, I stopped feeling like I was constantly on the verge of collapse.
Nutritional Status: Upgraded from Critical to SuboptimalDaily Caloric Intake: 1,850 calories (average)Protein Intake: 78 gramsTraining Recovery: Improved by 34%
But the real breakthrough came from an unexpected source: rumors.
I was cleaning up after dinner when I overheard a conversation between two marines who'd just returned from patrol duty. They were discussing something they'd heard on the radio—fragmentary reports about unusual pirate activity in the region.
"...said it was a kid with a straw hat. Took down Captain Morgan himself, if you can believe that."
"Morgan? The axe-hand bastard? No way some rookie pirate could handle him."
"That's what they're saying, though. Shells Town is apparently celebrating. Marines there are calling it the end of a reign of terror."
My blood turned to ice water. Captain Morgan. Shells Town. This wasn't just random pirate activity—this was Monkey D. Luffy making his mark on the world. The timeline was progressing faster than I'd expected, and I was still stuck at the absolute bottom of the power curve.
Canon Event Detected: Captain Morgan's DefeatTimeline Status: AcceleratingRecommended Action: Increase training intensity
The system's assessment was clinically accurate but unhelpfully obvious. Of course I needed to increase training intensity. The question was how to do it without killing myself in the process.
That night, I pushed my training routine harder than ever before. The extra food had given me energy reserves I hadn't possessed before, and I was determined to use every calorie in pursuit of improvement.
The sled-pulling exercise that had nearly destroyed me a few days earlier was now manageable. Not easy, but manageable. I completed eight laps instead of six, and my form remained stable throughout the workout. The tire rolling, which had been an epic struggle, became a challenging but achievable strength exercise.
Endurance Training: +1.8Strength Training: +0.7Cardiovascular Efficiency: ImprovedRecovery Rate: 15% faster than baseline
For the first time since beginning this insane journey, I felt like I was making real progress instead of just surviving the process.
But the most significant change wasn't physical—it was psychological. Having solved the nutrition problem gave me confidence that other obstacles could be overcome with enough planning and determination. I wasn't just a victim of circumstances anymore. I was someone who could identify problems and create solutions.
The realization hit me as I finished my stretching routine and prepared to return to the barracks. I'd been thinking like Hayato Okabe—passive, reactive, hoping things would work out somehow. But Windhelm Kael needed to think like a strategist. Like someone who understood that every advantage had to be earned and every weakness had to be systematically addressed.
Food was just the beginning. I needed to think about every aspect of my development with the same analytical approach. Equipment, training locations, skill development, information gathering—everything could be optimized if I approached it with enough intelligence and persistence.
Strategic Thinking: +2.3Problem-Solving: +1.7Self-Reliance: Significantly Improved
As I made my way back to the barracks, I caught sight of the bulletin board again. A new posting had appeared since morning—something about increased security measures due to "irregular pirate activity" in East Blue shipping lanes. Nothing immediate, but another reminder that the world was changing around me.
In my bunk, I lay awake thinking about timeline implications. If Luffy had already defeated Captain Morgan, that meant he'd recruited Zoro and was probably moving on to his next adventure. How long before the ripple effects reached this forgotten outpost? How long before being the weakest marine on a minor island became a fatal liability instead of just an embarrassing inconvenience?
Daily Nutrition Summary:Total Calories: 1,920Protein: 82 gramsMeal Sources: Standard rations (35%), kitchen supplements (45%), scavenged items (15%), caught fish (5%)Nutritional Efficiency: 68% of optimal
The numbers weren't perfect, but they were sustainable. More importantly, they represented a system I'd built from nothing using only available resources and careful planning. If I could solve the food problem, I could solve other problems too.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges and new opportunities for improvement. I'd continue pushing my physical limits, but now I'd be doing it with proper fuel instead of running on empty. The difference was already noticeable, and it would only become more pronounced as my body adapted to consistent nutrition.
For the first time since waking up in this world, I felt like I had a realistic path forward. Not an easy path—nothing about this journey would be easy—but a viable one. Step by step, meal by meal, training session by training session, I was building the foundation for something greater.
The weakest marine on Island 17 was learning to think like a survivor.
And survivors, eventually, became something more.
📋 Windhelm Kael – System Update (End of Chapter 4)
Physical Stats
Strength: 13
Noticeable improvement from consistent nutrition. Can handle heavier loads for longer periods.
Endurance: 16
Significant improvement from proper fueling. Recovery between exercises much faster.
Agility: 14
No change. Still focused on basic conditioning rather than dynamic movement.
Coordination: 14
Slight improvement from fishing activities requiring fine motor control.
Flexibility: 12
Gradual progress from regular stretching routine.
Combat Stats
Martial Arts: 0
No change. Still no formal combat training.
Weapon Proficiency: 4
Minor improvement from improvised fishing equipment handling.
Combat Instinct: 5
No change. No combat situations encountered.
Pain Tolerance: 11
Improved ability to work through discomfort during extended activities.
Tactical Awareness: 22
No change in combat awareness, but improved general situational analysis.
Mental Stats
Focus: 18
Better concentration during complex tasks requiring sustained attention.
Stress Management: 10
Improved confidence from solving practical problems independently.
Learning Rate: 30
Enhanced pattern recognition from analyzing social and logistical systems.
Strategic Thinking: 33
Significant improvement from successfully planning and executing resource acquisition.
Special Conditions
Malnutrition:
Substantially reduced. Consistent caloric intake supporting training demands.
Sleep Deprivation:
Slightly improved. Better nutrition supporting recovery during rest periods.
Healing Injuries:
Minor cuts from fishing activities. Overall recovery rate improved.
Psychological Block (Low Self-Worth):
Much improved. Success in problem-solving building genuine confidence.
New Condition:
Resource Network (Basic):
Established relationships and systems for maintaining nutritional needs above official allocations.