The Sea Is Too Dangerous For One Person Alone
by Hikigaya Hachiman
They say the sea is beautiful. That its endless blue horizon holds freedom, adventure, romance. People idealize it in poems and postcards, pretending it's some metaphor for the soul or life or whatever abstract nonsense makes them feel less empty inside.
But here's the truth: the sea is cruel. The sea doesn't care about your metaphors. It swallows people whole and gives nothing back. It's vast, indifferent, and merciless. Much like society, come to think of it.
"The sea is too dangerous for one person alone." It sounds like a warning, but it's also a truth we're all too eager to ignore. Everyone likes to pretend they're strong enough to face it—just like they pretend they can survive this world alone.
They say things like, "I don't need anyone," or "I can handle it." Lies. Lies we tell ourselves so we don't have to face the vulnerability of relying on others.
But I understand that solitude. I've lived it. Chosen it, even. It's easier to be alone. No expectations. No misunderstandings. No betrayals. People always say "you need someone by your side" like it's a given, like companionship is inherently good.
But the moment you let someone close, the risk begins. Of being hurt. Of being misunderstood. Of needing them more than they need you.
That's the danger of the sea. Not the waves or the current—but the illusion that you can conquer it. That you can swim across it and come out whole.
If the sea represents life, then being alone in it is both freedom and punishment. There's a kind of grim dignity in paddling alone, cut off from the noise and messiness of others.
But it's also exhausting. And eventually, you'll drown. Not dramatically, not all at once—just slowly. With each wave of silence. Each moment of disconnection.
People drown quietly all the time.
They talk about companionship like it's a life raft. But sometimes, that life raft has holes in it. Sometimes, the people you rely on are the ones who pull you under.
So no, I don't believe in easy salvation through others. I've seen how people interact—how shallow, how transactional it all is.
Smiles as currency. Popularity as a social credit system. What happens when you stop smiling? What happens when you don't play along?
You're cast off. Alone. In the sea.
Still, there's a part of me—small, stupid, and endlessly naive—that wonders if maybe… just maybe… one day, someone might look at that same sea and say, "Let's cross it together."
Not because they want something from me. Not because they pity me. But because they see the same cruelty in the waves and choose to face it anyway.
But I'm not counting on it.
The sea is too dangerous for one person alone. But bringing someone else along just means they might drown with you. So maybe it's better to keep drifting solo. At least then, when you sink, no one else goes under.
But if, and it is only if, someone chooses to cross it, someone who is ready to face the high waves and the terrible currents, even if they are going to risk drowning.
Will they ask me to cross it with them…
——————————————————————
—Almost Two Years After The Fishmen Attack—
——————————————————————
I sat at the bow of our small vessel, holding a weathered book between my hands—The Brag Men: Tales of Grand Line Explorers.
The irony wasn't lost on me that in this world, what most people dismissed as fantasy fiction was actually closer to historical documentation than anyone realized.
"Yo-hohoho, yo-hohoho...♪"
The pages chronicled adventures that seemed too outlandish to be real, yet after nearly two years in this bizarre maritime world, I'd learned that the impossible was merely Tuesday's agenda.
"Yo-hohoho, yo-hohoho...♪"
The salty breeze carried the familiar scent of the ocean, a smell I'd grown accustomed to despite never particularly enjoying it.
My fingers traced the worn edges of the book as I tried to focus on the text, but my concentration kept wavering.
"Yo-hohoho, yo-hohoho...♪"
It wasn't the content that was distracting me—though the stories of bizarre seas and unbelievable islands still managed to strain my already flexible definition of reality—but rather the melodic voice of my self-proclaimed one-year-long follower drifting from the stern.
"Yo-hohoho, yo-hohoho...♪"
Something about the melody wormed its way past my usual defenses.
Maybe it was the haunting quality of the tune, or maybe I was just getting soft after two years of adapting to this mad world. Either way, I found myself actually listening instead of simply enduring.
"Going to deliver Binks' Sake ♪
Let's all sing it with a Don! A song of the waves ♪
Doesn't matter who you are, Someday you'll just be bones ♪
Never-Ending, Ever-wandering, Our Traveling Laugh Tale! ♪
Yo-hohoho, yo-hohoho…♪"
The words drifted across the deck, and despite my best efforts to maintain literary focus, I caught myself tapping my finger against the book's spine in rhythm.
When Delgado, the sailor who somehow became my employee for almost a year now, finally finished the song, letting the last note hang in the salt-tinged air, I found myself setting down the book with more force than necessary.
"That was quite the performance," I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral. Compliments had never come easily to me, and two years of survival in this world hadn't exactly helped with my social skills.
Delgado looked up from the sail lines, his face breaking into one of those genuine smiles that made me simultaneously grateful and uncomfortable. "Thank you, Master Hikigaya. I hope the song didn't disturb your reading."
Master Hikigaya. The ridiculous title that I'd long since given up trying to correct.
In my original world, the most formal address I'd ever received was "Hikigaya-kun" from teachers who remembered I existed. Here, I had a grown man calling me "Master" with complete sincerity, and I still wasn't sure how to process that.
"What was that song?" I asked, partly out of genuine curiosity and partly to deflect from the uncomfortable warmth his consideration had sparked.
"Oh, it's 'Binks' Sake'—an old pirate song." His expression shifted, becoming more serious. "I probably shouldn't have been singing it at sea. Singing pirate songs while sailing is considered bad luck by most sailors."
'Bad luck. If only he knew the cosmic joke the universe seemed to be playing on me.'
Bad luck was missing the last train home. Bad luck was having your homework eaten by your dog. Bad luck wasn't being transported to a world where teenagers could punch through ships.
"It's fine," I said, waving off his apology. "I'm not particularly superstitious. Besides, if singing pirate songs brought bad luck, half the taverns in this world would have sunk by now."
Delgado chuckled, some tension leaving his shoulders. "You have a point there, Master."
"Do you know anything about the song's history?" The question came out more curious than I'd intended.
"Binks' Sake," he began, his voice taking on the measured cadence of someone recounting an old tale, "is said to be as ancient as the sea itself."
"Nobody knows who first wrote it or when, but pirates have been singing it for generations beyond counting. It's... It's part of what binds them together, in a way. A shared heritage that connects every crew that's ever sailed under the black flag…Or that's what the old pirates' sailors had been saying anyway…"
As he spoke, I found myself thinking about the implications of that.
'A song that united pirates across generations, that served as a cultural touchstone for people who lived outside the bounds of normal society.'
There was something almost romantic about it, which naturally made me suspicious. In my experience, anything that seemed romantic in this world usually had a much depth lurking beneath the surface.
"But what caught my attention," I continued, "was the last verse. Something about a 'Never-Ending Laugh Tale'?"
Delgado nodded, his eyes growing distant as he recalled the lyrics. "Aye, that's right. It's... It's hard to explain, Master, but there's something about those words that always makes my mind wander. Like they mean something more than just the obvious."
'A Never-Ending Laugh Tale.'
The phrase rolled around in my mind, triggering that same sense of almost-recognition that had been nagging at me since I first heard it.
There was something significant about those words, something that connected to this world in a way I couldn't quite grasp. It was frustrating, like having a puzzle piece that clearly belonged somewhere but being unable to see where it fit.
But before I could pursue that line of thinking further, Delgado called out from behind me, his voice taking on an excited edge that immediately put me on alert.
"Master Hikigaya! Our destination is in sight!"
I looked up to see what had captured his attention, and even after nearly two years of this world's casual impossibilities, I had to admit I was impressed.
Floating on the horizon like an architectural fever dream was Baratie, the sea-going restaurant that served as both a high-end dining establishment and one of the famous landmarks in the East Blue.
The structure looked like someone had decided that the concepts of "seaworthy vessel" and "fancy restaurant" weren't mutually exclusive and had proceeded to prove their point through questionable engineering and sheer stubborn determination.
Multiple levels of dining areas were stacked on what appeared to be a ship's hull, complete with ornate windows and decorative elements that seemed more suited to a luxury hotel than something designed to survive ocean storms.
What really caught my attention, though, was the sheer number of ships anchored around the floating restaurant.
Marine vessels sat alongside civilian craft, with more than a few pirate flags visible among the mix. The sight should have been impossible—in most circumstances, Marines and pirates sharing the same anchorage would result in a battle that left half the participants dead and the other half wishing they were.
The fact that everyone seemed to be coexisting peacefully spoke to Baratie's reputation for neutrality.
'Or their security. Possibly both.'
"Why did your informant want to meet at such a high-profile place?" Delgado asked, his voice carrying the practical concern of someone who'd learned to be suspicious of everything.
I appreciated the question because it was one I'd been asking myself. Meeting a marine informant at the most famous restaurant in the East Blue was either brilliant or incredibly stupid, and I hadn't figured out which yet.
'With his personality, I think it is the second one.'
"He probably wants me to buy him an expensive meal plus the money for the intel," I said, which was probably truer than I would think.
The informant had been useful over the past year, providing information about marine movements and intel over the major pirate groups.
Corrupted Marines are everywhere, but even among those corrupted, very few dared to deal with pirates.
My informant is…Not one of them.
He was actually a very rare case, his boss was corrupt enough to deal with pirates, but he—while being corrupt himself—didn't dare to do so, the most he could do was to cover for him. He was that cowardly.
Therefore, he could barely make scraps while his boss kept all of the money.
So, when he met me—someone with the need and the money—he was practically offering his services.
"Or maybe he wants to be seen with the famous Dead-Eyes Hikigaya," Delgado said with what sounded like pride.
I winced at the nickname. Dead-Eyes Hikigaya. Who came up with these things? It sounded like something a thirteen-year-old would think was cool, which probably meant it was exactly what a thirteen-year-old had thought was cool.
'The fact that the name had stuck was a testament to how easily impressed people were by anyone who could swing a sword without cutting their own limbs off.'
"Who really knows," I muttered, because the alternative was explaining that I was trying to avoid becoming a character in someone else's story, which would sound insane even by this world's standards.
"Master Hikigaya?" Delgado's voice pulled me back to the present. "Should I prepare to dock?"
"Yes," I said, forcing myself to focus. "Find us a spot away from the larger ships if possible. I'd prefer not to advertise our presence."
Delgado nodded and began maneuvering our unremarkable vessel toward the docking platforms. Our ship looked like a fishing boat, exactly the kind of appearance I preferred.
'Though I suspected my reputation had grown to the point where disguise was becoming increasingly difficult.'
The docking process should have been routine. But as we approached the platform,
CRAACKK!!!
Disaster struck in the most mundane way possible—our rudder, apparently more damaged than we'd realized, chose that exact moment to give up entirely.
The wooden blade simply snapped off at the mounting point, leaving us with a useless metal shaft and a piece of maritime debris floating somewhere behind us.
"Oh no," Delgado said, mortification clear in his voice. "Master Hikigaya, I'm so sorry. The rudder must have been more damaged than I thought from that storm last week."
I stared at the broken shaft and felt familiar resignation settling on my shoulders. This was exactly the kind of thing that happened whenever I tried to maintain a low profile.
Some cosmic force apparently decided my life wasn't complicated enough.
"It's not your fault," I said, meaning it. "Can you fix it?"
Delgado examined the damage, his experienced hands tracing the break. "I can repair it, but it'll take time. At least two or three hours to do it properly." He looked up with genuine regret. "I'm sorry, Master. I know you wanted to keep this brief."
Three hours. Three hours in a floating restaurant surrounded by Marines and pirates while wearing a distinctive costume and carrying a sword that screamed "rob me." Three hours of trying to blend in while looking like I'd stepped out of a fantasy novel.
"Go ahead and fix it," I said, trying to keep resignation out of my voice. "I'll handle the meeting and try not to cause any incidents."
Delgado's face brightened with relief. "Thank you for understanding, Master. I'll have us ready to sail as soon as possible."
The docking platform was busier than I'd expected, with people moving back and forth between the various ships and the restaurant proper.
Most were clearly sailors or merchants going about their business, but I caught sight of several individuals whose elaborate costumes and dramatic postures marked them as pirates.
The fact that they were mingling freely with what appeared to be off-duty marines spoke to the Baratie's reputation.
I made my way across the platform toward the restaurant's entrance, doing my best to ignore the stares that were beginning to follow me.
My attire was distinctive enough to draw attention under normal circumstances, but combined with the reputation I'd apparently developed over the last two years, it seemed that subtlety was going to be impossible.
The entrance to the Baratie was impressive in its own right—ornate double doors that would have looked at home on a luxury hotel, flanked by windows that somehow managed to maintain their integrity despite being on a floating structure in the middle of the ocean.
As I pushed through the doors, I was immediately struck by the warmth and noise that greeted me.
The interior of the restaurant was spacious and well-appointed, with multiple levels connected by stairs and balconies that created an almost theatrical atmosphere.
The dining area was filled with tables of various sizes, most of them occupied by patrons who represented every walk of life imaginable. The smell of cooking food was rich and complex, speaking to the quality of the kitchen that had made this place famous.
But what struck me most immediately wasn't the impressive décor or the tantalizing aromas.
It was the sudden silence that seemed to spread outward from my entrance like ripples on a pond.
Conversations didn't stop entirely, but they definitely shifted in tone and volume as heads turned in my direction.
At first, I assumed it was simply because of my distinctive appearance. The wizard's cloak and hat were certainly eye-catching, and the sword at my side marked me as someone who was prepared for trouble.
But as the whispers began to reach my ears, I realized that the attention was more specific than that.
"Is that...?"
"It can't be."
"The Dead-Eyes Hikigaya?"
"The treasure hunter?"
'Arrgg…'
The whispers multiplied and grew more animated as word of my identity spread through the dining room.
I found myself the center of attention in a way that was both flattering and deeply uncomfortable. These people weren't just staring at a stranger in unusual clothes—they were staring at someone they recognized,
"I heard he defeated an entire pirate crew single-handedly."
"Look at that sword - it's glowing with power."
"They say he can work actual magic."
"I heard he rebuilt an entire village in a single day using sorcery," one patron was saying to his companion, his voice carrying clearly across the now-quiet dining room.
"That's nothing," another replied. "My cousin saw him find a treasure that had been lost for over a century. Led them right to it like he had some kind of magical compass."
The irony of that particular comment wasn't lost on me, considering that I did indeed possess a Magical Compass.
"I heard he made a deal with the devil for his powers."
"They say his eyes can see into your soul - that's why they call him Dead-Eyes."
"My acquaintance saw him summon lightning from his bare hands."
"The Sorcerer," someone—clearly a young child—whispered with obvious awe. "The greatest treasure hunter in all the East Blue."
Each whispered conversation was like a nail in my coffin. Some of the stories had kernels of truth. But the embellishments were mortifying.
'Besides…'
Dead-Eyes Hikigaya? The Sorcerer? What kind of chunibyo had come up with these ridiculous epithets? And more importantly, how had I managed to accumulate a reputation this dramatic without realizing it?
The worst part was that I couldn't even properly deny most of it.
I had found lost treasures and given them away. I had helped rebuild villages using what would seem like magic to locals. I had defeated entire crews with what appeared to be superhuman abilities.
'But hearing it transformed into legend, complete with dramatic nicknames, made me want to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.'
"They say he's searching for a cure to some ancient curse," one patron was explaining to his obviously fascinated companion. "That's why he never removes that cloak and hat. They're hiding some terrible disfigurement."
'What the…?'
"No, no," another voice interjected. "My brother's friend met someone who said Hikigaya is actually searching for the secret of eternal youth. That's why he's always looking for lost treasures—he's trying to find some legendary artifact."
'Who…?'
"You're both wrong," a woman said with a dreamy tone. "My brother's in the Marines, and he heard that the Sorcerer is actually searching for true love. That's why he never stays anywhere long—he's looking for the one person who can break the curse on his heart."
'Excuse me?'
Each new rumor was more ridiculous than the last. A curse? Eternal youth? True love? Where did people even come up with this stuff?
'Though I supposed in a world where Devil Fruits existed, cursed wandering treasure hunters searching for immortality weren't exactly outside the realm of possibility.'
Still, the romantic subplot additions were particularly galling. As if my antisocial tendencies and preference for solitude required some tragic backstory to justify them.
'Sometimes people were just introverts, for crying out loud!'
I scanned the restaurant, trying to locate my contact while simultaneously wishing I could turn invisible.
The stares were getting worse, people not even bothering to pretend they weren't gawking. Some were pulling out Den Den Mushi - probably to call their friends and tell them they'd spotted the famous Dead-Eyes Hikigaya in person.
This was exactly why I'd tried to stay under the radar.
Fame was nothing but trouble, especially in a world where reputation could paint a target on your back for every ambitious pirate looking to make a name for themselves. Or money in my case.
'There'
In a corner, a man in civilian clothes was using the oversized menu to hide his face, occasionally peering over the top with obvious nervousness.
Petty Officer Kowalski.
I made my way across the restaurant, hyperaware of the continuing commentary following my movement. Conversations stopped mid-sentence as I passed, only to resume in hushed, excited whispers once I'd moved on.
"He's heading for that table..."
"Who's he meeting with?"
"Looks like a Marine in disguise."
"Think they're planning something big?"
By the time I reached Kowalski's table, he had given up any pretense of stealth and was glaring at me with barely contained panic.
His face had gone pale, and there were beads of sweat forming on his forehead despite the restaurant's comfortable temperature.
"Why are you hiding when you asked me to meet here?" I slid into the seat across from him, leaning my sword on the table where its silver surface immediately caught the light and drew even more attention from nearby diners.
"Because you're completely high-profile!" he hissed, leaning forward and lowering his voice to barely above a whisper.
"By the heavens, Hikigaya, you should have disguised yourself. Normal clothes, hidden face, something! I'm here secretly - if anyone from my base recognizes me meeting with the famous Dead-Eyes Hikigaya, my career is over. Hell, they might think I'm selling information to pirates."
'Isn't your boss already doing that? Damn it, how cowardly can you be?'
"I have my reasons for this outfit. Besides, I didn't know I was this famous. And you picked the most well-known restaurant in the East Blue for our meeting, so maybe don't blame me for your poor planning."
"I thought..." Kowalski looked around nervously. "I thought the crowd would provide cover. Blend in with all the other diners. I didn't expect you to show up looking like... like..."
"Like a wizard?"
"Like a walking legend!" He slumped back in his seat.
"Do you have any idea what people are saying about you out there? Half the East Blue thinks you're some kind of supernatural being. The other half thinks you're the reincarnation of some ancient adventurer."
That was news to me, and not the good kind. "Ancient adventurer?"
"They say you have knowledge of treasures that were lost centuries ago. That you can find anything, anywhere, because you have some connection to the past." Kowalski shook his head.
"The stories just keep getting more elaborate. And you are gaining so much attention lately, reports about you are being sent to the Marine Headquarters."
Wonderful. Not only was I famous, but I was famous for all the wrong reasons, and lately with all the wrong people.
'This was going to make keeping a low profile significantly more difficult going forward.'
"Look," Kowalski continued, "I'm already here and already compromised, so let's just get this over with. But at least let me order something expensive since I'm risking everything for this meeting."
I sighed and nodded. Small price for information, and honestly, after hearing about my supposed legendary status, I felt like I owed him something for the trouble. "Go ahead."
He raised his hand for service, and within moments a waiter appeared at our table.
Everything inside me went cold.
'…Fu*k…'
The waiter was maybe seventeen, with a cheerful face marred by a distinctive scar under his left eye. Red vest, blue shorts, simple sandals. A tea towel around his waist, notepad ready in his hand.
'And that hat.'
STRAW HAT with a red band, now wrapped with a kitchen towel in deference to his temporary job.
Even disguised as restaurant staff, there was no mistaking that iconic piece of headwear or the impossibly bright smile that came with it.
'Monkey D. Luffy.'
The protagonist. The child of luck. The future Pirate King. The boy who would turn the world upside down with his ridiculous optimism and rubber powers.
My mind went blank for a moment, then kicked into overdrive. After two years of carefully avoiding the main storyline, fate had finally caught up with me.
'If Luffy is here, working at Baratie, it means the timeline has reached a very specific point in the story. Which meant this peaceful floating restaurant was about to become a war zone.'
'Shit…'
Don Krieg would arrive with his battered fleet. There would be battles, explosions, and chaos. Mihawk might show up. Everything I'd worked to avoid for two years was about to come crashing down around me, and I was sitting right in the middle of it.
'I needed to get my information from Kowalski and get out. Now! Before the plot kicked into high gear and dragged me along with it.'
"Hai Hai! What can I get for you?" Luffy asked with that trademark bright smile, radiating enthusiasm even for the mundane task of taking orders.
There was something infectious about his energy, a quality that made even simple interactions feel more significant than they should be.
'This was dangerous. This was exactly the kind of charismatic protagonist energy that turned bystanders into supporting characters in someone else's adventure story.'
Kowalski, blissfully oblivious to the significance of our waiter, began rattling off expensive items from the menu. "I'll take the Grand Line Special, the Sea King steak medium rare, that rare vintage wine from the South Blue, and... oh, what the hell, throw in the dessert sampler too."
I barely heard him, too focused on trying to figure out my exit strategy.
'How quickly could I finish this meal? Do I have time before Delgado fixes the ship? How soon before whatever crisis was approaching actually arrived? Should I use the Box?'
"Just... whatever's quick. Soup. Bread. Something simple that doesn't take long to prepare."
But Luffy didn't move after taking our orders. Instead, he remained standing there, his attention completely captured by something on our table.
His eyes had that wide, wonder-filled expression that usually preceded him getting excited about something.
'My sword.'
The Gryffindor sword leaned against the table where I'd placed it, its silver surface gleaming in the restaurant's warm lighting. The rubies embedded in the hilt caught the light like tiny flames, and there was definitely a subtle aura of power emanating from the blade that someone sensitive to such things might pick up on.
And Luffy, being the protagonist of this world, was apparently very sensitive to such things.
"Whoa..." he breathed, practically vibrating with excitement as he stared at the weapon. "Is that a reeeal magical sword?"
The question was delivered with such genuine wonder and innocent curiosity that I found myself answering before I could think better of it. "Uh... yes."
'WRONG ANSWER!! DEFINITELY THE WRONG ANSWER!!!!!'
"AMAAAAZING!" His exclamation could probably be heard on the other side of the restaurant, causing several other diners to turn and look in our direction.
"That's so cool! I've never seen a real magic sword before! Does it shoot fire? Can it cut through anything? Does it glow in the dark?"
"It's... It's not that kind of magical," I stammered, completely unprepared for this level of enthusiasm from someone who was supposed to be taking my order.
"But it is magical, right? And you're really a wizard? Do you have other magical powers too? Can you fly? Can you turn people into frogs?" Each question tumbled out faster than the last, his excitement building with every word.
Kowalski was staring at us like we were both insane, clearly not understanding why a restaurant waiter was interrogating a customer about magic powers.
If only he knew he was watching the future Pirate King discover a potential new crew member.
"Are you really the famous treasure hunter everyone's talking about?" Luffy continued, apparently not needing answers to his previous questions before moving on to new ones.
"The Dead-Eyes Hikigaya? The Sorcerer? Did you really defeat a pirate crew by yourself? Did you really rebuild a village with magic?"
Each question hit like a rapid-fire assault, and I could only nod awkwardly in response to some of them while trying to deflect others.
There was something about Luffy's straightforward enthusiasm that made all of my honed 108 Hiki-skills useless. It was like trying to lie to an overly excited golden retriever—the sincerity was so overwhelming that anything but complete honesty felt wrong.
'Damn It! Is-Is This The Power Of Shonen Protagonists?!?! Such-Such A Fearsome Power!! I Will Never Accept This! NEVER!!!'
"Wow, that's incredible!" Luffy's grin somehow managed to get even wider, which should have been physically impossible. "A real wizard treasure hunter with a magic sword! That's like the cooooolest thing ever!"
I could feel my face heating up with embarrassment.
'Shit! Why am I getting embarrassed?! At least be a cute girl first! No, at least be Totsuka!!'
"You must have had so many adventures!" Luffy continued, apparently not noticing my discomfort. "And you help people too, right? That's awesome!"
"Oi!" Luffy suddenly exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with what I was beginning to recognize as a dangerous level of inspiration.
"Join my crew!"
There it was. The invitation I'd been dreading since the moment I recognized him.
The offer hung in the air between us like a bomb waiting to explode. This was the moment where everything could go wrong, where I could get dragged into the main storyline whether I wanted to be or not.
"No."
…
A/N: Well, That's it for now
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