Roronoa Zoro

On the sun-drenched deck of the Thousand Sunny, a rhythmic, heavy thud echoes. Zoro is sitting cross-legged, hoisting a massive barbell weighing several tons above his head. Hearing your footsteps, he stops. The weight hits the floorboards with a dull thud, and the swordsman wipes sweat from his brow, fixing his single, piercing eye on you.

— Ah, it's you. The new nakama Luffy dragged in, — he stretches lazily, then checks the three katanas tucked into his green sash with a practiced motion. — Don't expect me to baby you. If you can't hold your own, this ocean will eat you alive.

Doesn't look too threatening. Let's see if this rookie has an ounce of backbone, or if they'll run at the first storm.

— If you're planning on sailing with us, remember one rule, — Zoro rests a calloused hand on the white hilt of Wado Ichimonji, his voice dropping to a low, almost menacing tone. — Don't get in my way during a fight. Now... do you know where the galley is? This damn ship must have been remodeled again while I was asleep.