It's night in Tokyo.
A man walks through a narrow alley, his shoulders slouched in exhaustion. His suit is dirty, his tie loosened. It's around 2 a.m. when he approaches a familiar bar. He lifts his eyes and sees a sign taped on the front:
> "Temporarily Closed — Owner Out of Town."
"...Why is it closed?" he mutters, voice low and tired.
As he rests his back against the glass door, he lights a cigar. Just as he's about to take a drag, he hears footsteps—running.
A boy, no older than fourteen, rushes toward him, panic all over his face.
"Hey, mister! Please help me!" the boy pleads, looking back.
Two older men are chasing him, yelling:
"Give that pouch back!"
"We'll beat you up, brat! Hand it over!"
The boy stops beside the tired man, hoping—begging—for help.
The man looks down at the kid. His eyes... hollow. Lifeless.
With one arm, he shoves the boy's back forward.
"If you wanna escape, you better run, boy."
"But mister… they'll catch me! They'll hurt me!"
"Do I look like I care?" the man scoffs, puffing his cigar. "Run. Now."
The boy runs, and the men follow.
The man watches the scene fade into the dark, then whispers to himself:
> "The boy should know... no one's coming to save him."
Memories flood back.
He remembers himself as a boy, forced by his parents to steal from stores, jewelry shops, pawn shops. When he got caught, they never came for him. His mother only looked at him when she needed someone to shout at. His father treated him like a thief, never a son.
He remembers coming home on his 16th birthday—schoolbag in hand—only to find the apartment abandoned. His parents were gone. Left nothing. Not even a note.
> "Bad memories do shine the brightest, huh…"
The man returns to his tiny apartment, tosses his workbag on the ground, and faceplants into his creaky bed. Sleep comes instantly.
---
The Man's Routine
Wake up at 5 a.m.
Brush teeth.
Eat a leftover sandwich from the fridge.
Suit up. Tie straightened. Leave.
He works at a bank. Just an assistant. No respect. No future. Just debts.
From 5 a.m. to 7 p.m., he grinds.
Then it's the same alley again. The same walk home.
> "Should've eaten those rice balls… I'm starving…"
Rain starts to pour—sudden, heavy. His suit is soaked in seconds.
> "Oh, come on… my head's spinning…"
He collapses.
Passersby walk past.
Not one helps.
> "No one will come to save you. You have to save yourself," he once said.
Now he lies there, unconscious in the rain.
---
Hours pass. The rain continues.
When he opens his eyes, he's no longer on the street.
Instead... he's in a stone cell—cold, dripping, moldy. His arms are bound to a wooden log.
> "Huh? What is this place?"
He panics. "What did I do?! Why am I here?!"
The heavy door creaks open. A tall, fat man enters, dressed in a dirty white cloth with a strange symbol on his chest.
"Let me go!" the man yells, rattling his restraints.
"Staa Sharra voohn!" the fat man barks.
"…Huh? What are you even saying?!"
None of the words make sense—it's all gibberish.
In frustration, the fat man slams a wooden rod into his stomach.
"WAIT—wait! I'm sorry—!"
The rod slams down again. Again.
The fat man finally leaves, locking the door.
The man lies on the cold stone floor, bloodied and dazed.
> "What… did I even do…?"
Using the last of his strength, he crawls up and peers through the iron-barred window.
What he sees makes his eyes go wide—
The endless blue ocean.
He's on a ship.
A medieval, wooden ship in the middle of the sea.
> "Where… the hell… am I…?"
Then he remembers the symbol on the fat man's pocket—something he once read in a history book.
> "That crest… that's a pirate flag…"
His pupils dilate.
> "Wait—don't tell me…"
> "Did I just get… transmigrated into a PIRATE FANTASY WORLD?!"
---
🌊📜 TO BE CONTINUED...