The sensation of drowning still clung to him, an invisible weight pressing against his chest as if the sea refused to let him go. His lungs burned with brine, each breath dragging the taste of salt deeper into his throat. With a sudden, violent jolt, his body lurched upright. He doubled over, coughing seawater onto the white sand in wet, hacking bursts. Behind him, the ocean whispered in gentle, mocking waves, each retreating foam-line curling like fingers letting go too late.
Sunlight poured down in fractured beams, cutting through the drifting mist above the shore. His vision swam—blotches of light, drifting clouds, the fleeting shadow of a gull's wings gliding across his face. For a moment, the world seemed unreal, a painting smudged by trembling hands.
Then the memories struck.
It wasn't a slow recollection, but a surge—sharp, cold, and alien. Names he had never spoken screamed in his mind. Faces blurred by time and saltwater flashed before his eyes. The damp cobblestones of port towns under bare feet. The bitter taste of cheap rum on his tongue. The muffled laughter of drunken sailors over the groan of wooden docks. The distant crack of storm tearing through the night.
They weren't his memories. They belonged to someone else—a man whose body now shuddered with his breaths.
He clutched his head, fingers digging into damp hair, trying to untangle himself from the ghost lodged within him. His own life's recollections tangled with another's, threads of two worlds weaving into something jagged and unnatural. The seams bled together, refusing to be undone.
It felt wrong—horribly wrong—yet deep down, he sensed there would be no going back. The sea had stolen one life and given another, and in the process, had sewn them together in ways that could never be undone.
Then, from the chaos, realization dawned. The streets, the flags, the very names ringing in his head—he knew them. Not from travel. Not from study. But from years spent reading and watching.
This was no longer his world, not Earth. He had crossed into a place that, until now, had been nothing more than a story—One Piece.
Whether it was some cosmic joke, divine intervention, or the weight of his own obsession pulling him across realities, he didn't know. But the truth was undeniable—he was no longer an observer of the story.
He was now part of it.
Before he could calm down, a soft chime echoes in his mind. An illusory square, like some sci-fi holographic interface appeared before his eyes.
[The Great Summoning System is binding to host.]
The voice wasn't cold and mechanical — it was steady, reassuring, like a hand on his shoulder in a storm. His heart slowed without him telling it. The ache in his chest eased, as though the weight of this new reality had been padded.
[Binding complete. Welcome, Summoner.]
Then, in that same calm tone, the presence began to speak — not in words he heard, but in knowledge that simply appeared in his mind.
[System Overview]: Allows the host to summon characters or objects from other worlds under a binding contract.
Summons retain their own morals, beliefs, and personalities. Summons cannot directly or intentionally harm the host. But, they can defy orders if it contradict their ideal.
. . .
By the time it finished, the world no longer felt as suffocating as before. The panic was still there, but dulled, as if his fear had been wrapped in layers of cloth.
[Novice Aid granted: One free summon available. Do you wish to begin?]
Lazarus looked at the screen and a flicker of light appear in his eyes. "Alright, begin summoning." He controls the interface with his mind and soon lines of text and pictures scrolled down… and after a few seconds, it finally ended on a character.
[Name: Dobby
Race: House-Elf
Age: 19
Alignment: Loyal to those he deems worthy.
Belief: Freedom is sacred, but service is fulfillment.
Abilities: Elf Magic and Household Chores
Notes: A loyal companion, but may be too hard on himself if met with failure.]
Lazarus' eyebrows lifted as he immediately recognized the character. "…A house-elf? Dobby from Harry Potter?"
[Do you wish to proceed summoning? Y/N?]
(Note: Free summon will not be returned once declined. But, the next summoning cost will be discounted to 50%)
"Yeah. Why not?" With his current situation, it's best to have some helper. After all, he didn't know how long he'll be stranded here or earn enough Berries to request the next summon.
The air in front of him rippled, like heat rising from a road. With a pop sharp enough to make him flinch, a small figure appeared — big green eyes, bat-like ears, pillowcase tunic.
"Master!" Dobby gasped, beaming so wide his eyes nearly teared up. "Dobby is free, but Dobby will serve you if you pay fair wages and give Dobby days off!"
"I… I don't have money to pay wages." Lazarus was taken aback, blinking at the earnest creature before him and eventually told the truth. His predecessor was a daring merchant who set sail with dreams, but the waters in Grandline eventually took his life. His entire fortune sink into the seabeds, no longer seeing the light.
Dobby froze, his wide eyes shrinking slightly. Then, as if something had jabbed at his nerves, his entire posture stiffened. He began to whip his head from side to side, looking for something—anything—to punish himself with. Finding nothing, he balled his fists and started hitting his own arms with frantic smacks. "Bad Dobby! Dobby is a bad elf! Asking master for wages when master has nothing! Bad Dobby—!"
"H-Hey! Stop! Don't hurt yourself!" Lazarus stepped forward and grabbed Dobby's wrists before he could strike himself again. The elf trembled in his grip, eyes darting nervously as if awaiting a scolding.
Lazarus, however, only let out a long breath. "Listen. You want wages, right? You want days off, right?"
Dobby nodded meekly, still unsure.
"Then… why don't we make it happen?" A spark of determination lit Lazarus's eyes. "Instead of working for someone else, we start our own business. No master and servant nonsense—we'll be partners. We'll choose our own customers, keep our own profits, and no one will be able to order us around."
Dobby's ears twitched, his expression torn between disbelief and awe. "Own… business? Dobby… a boss?"
"Exactly." Lazarus grinned, already imagining the possibilities. "You wanted fair wages? We'll set them ourselves. You want days off? You can take a week if you like. We'll build something from scratch, and this time, the sea won't swallow it."
Dobby blinked several times, his lips trembling. Then, slowly, a wide smile spread across his face—one so bright it almost seemed to glow. "Yes, Master—uh, Partner! Dobby will work harder than any elf in all the seas! We will make mountains of gold! And Dobby will polish them every day!"
"You can call me Lazarus." Lazarus chuckled. "Let's just make the gold first, yeah?"
. . .
Of course, making the first gold is always the hardest—especially when they didn't even know where they were. The beach was quiet now, save for the lazy crash of waves and the distant cries of seabirds. Beyond the treeline, a dense jungle loomed, its canopy thick enough to swallow the sunlight.
Lazarus scanned the surroundings with a calculating eye. "Before we talk about profits and customers, we need to deal with something more important."
Dobby tilted his head. "More important than gold?"
"Survival," Lazarus said flatly. "We're on an unknown island, we don't know if anyone lives here, and I'm pretty sure there's nothing edible in my pockets. Step one: food. Step two: somewhere to sleep without getting eaten."
A thought struck him, and he turned to Dobby. "Wait—you can teleport, right? What if you just… Apparated us out of here?"
Dobby's ears drooped a little. "Dobby can Apparate, yes, but Dobby must know the place first… or at least see it in Dobby's mind. Without knowing where to go, we might splinch or end up in the middle of the ocean!"
"So, you can't just… pick a direction and go?"
"Not unless Master—uh, Lazarus sir—wants to arrive in a volcano by accident," Dobby said gravely.
Lazarus sighed. "Right. Scratch the instant escape plan. Looks like we're stuck here until we figure things out the hard way."
Dobby's ears drooped further. "Dobby should have known better! Bad Dobby!" He raised a hand to smack himself—only for Lazarus to catch his wrist mid-swing.
"Enough with the self-harm. It's not your fault," Lazarus said firmly.
"But Dobby failed to whisk Sir Lazarus away from danger!"
"And if you had tried without knowing where to go, we'd be dead."
With that settled, the two set off from the shore, Lazarus moving cautiously while Dobby darted around, sniffing plants, poking at shells, and occasionally yelping when something moved unexpectedly. The air grew warmer as they pushed into the jungle, the ground damp and soft underfoot. They found a small stream trickling between rocks, its water clear enough to drink after a quick boil.
By the time the sun began to dip, Lazarus had gathered a modest haul—wild fruits, a few fish caught in Dobby's magic power, and enough dry palm leaves to weave into bedding. Dobby had been overzealous in his efforts, returning with an armful of random items: driftwood, oddly-shaped stones, and a large, suspiciously shiny shell that looked like it had been gnawed on by something with very big teeth.
"Not bad for day one," Lazarus said, setting their supplies down in a shallow cave they'd found near the shore. It wasn't much, but it was dry, sheltered from the wind, and—at least for now—safe.
Dobby placed the shiny shell at the entrance like a trophy. "Tomorrow," he declared, "We will build an empire, and I will be Dobby, the Boss Elf!"
Lazarus smirked faintly. "Tomorrow, we figure out where the hell we are. Then we'll talk empire."
The waves outside rolled on, indifferent to their plans. For now, the night belonged to survival.