The first thing he noticed was the smell.
Not the dry, metallic tang of a laboratory filled with humming machines, but the raw, unfiltered scent of salt carried by the ocean breeze. It stung his nose, made him cough. The second thing was the sound—a deep, rhythmic crashing that echoed in his bones. Waves. Too loud, too close.
And then came the third: his reflection.
The boy stared down at the water pooled between rocks, watching ripples distort a face that wasn't his own. Wide, curious eyes of a child. A thin frame, smaller hands, skin untouched by the stress of adulthood. His throat tightened as he touched his cheek. His reflection did the same, confirming what his racing mind refused to accept.
He was six years old.
"This… can't be real," he muttered. His voice was lighter, higher pitched. Childish.
But the sensation of sand beneath his bare feet was real. The wind tugging his hair was real. The gulls circling above were real. There was no metallic ceiling, no computer screens, no bed cluttered with snack wrappers and late-night textbooks. The lab… the quantum computer… everything was gone.
Just hours ago, he had been a 20-year-old—an ordinary student, half-dreamer, half-researcher. A young man who drowned himself in science journals during the day and anime marathons at night. One Piece had been his greatest escape, his guilty obsession. He had followed every episode, every panel, every theory. A world vast and free, where men laughed in the face of gods and mortality itself could be challenged.
Now he was standing in it.
He pressed his palm to his forehead. Panic clawed at his chest, but it was tempered by something else—an odd, cold clarity. He had always asked questions no one around him cared to answer. Why must humans die? Why must time be the one enemy no one could defeat? He had read about quantum immortality, transhumanism, neural uploads… dreams too far for his old world. But here, in this world, those dreams weren't impossible.
Here, men lived centuries.Here, death could be cheated.Here, immortality was not fantasy, but pursuit.
The thought calmed him. For the first time in years, he felt… alive.
He wandered the shore, scanning for anything familiar. It didn't take long before his eyes landed on something half-buried in the sand. A fruit. Strange, unnatural. Its skin twisted with patterns that seemed almost alive, veins of lightning etched into its surface. He froze.
He had seen it before. On screens, in fan wikis, in late-night theories debated by strangers across the globe.
The Goro Goro no Mi. The Thunder Fruit.
His chest tightened. If he were in any doubt about this world, it vanished now. The fruit radiated a presence that was almost oppressive, as if it was daring him to touch it.
But beside it lay something stranger. A shard of stone, gray and dull, but heavy in the way only legends are heavy. He picked it up—and immediately dropped it as a crushing weakness spread through his limbs. His knees hit the sand, breath stolen from his lungs. When he pulled his hand away, the weakness vanished as suddenly as it came.
Seastone.
The man—no, the boy—sat heavily on the ground. His thoughts spun, tangled between awe and terror. Before him lay the very essence of the One Piece world. Power and counter-power. Promise and restraint.
He stared at the horizon for what felt like hours, knees hugged to his chest, letting the waves speak while he remained silent. He thought of his old life—the small dorm room, the half-finished projects, the shelves of manga stacked next to unread research papers. He thought of the shows he'd watched, the dreams he'd whispered into the void when no one else was listening.
"I don't want to be a god," he said quietly, almost to himself. "I don't want to rule the seas, or sit on some throne."
He closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, he saw a younger version of himself, sitting at his desk, scribbling equations and notes about eternity, about how to delay the inevitable. He remembered the ache in his chest whenever he thought of his parents growing old, of his own limited time.
"No," he whispered, gripping the sand until it cut into his skin. "All I've ever wanted… is to escape death. To live long enough to see what lies beyond tomorrow. To keep living when others can't."
Immortality.
That was his North Star. Not wealth. Not fame. Not godhood. Just freedom from the one chain every human carried.
When he opened his eyes again, he looked at the Devil Fruit. His lips curved into a faint smile. It was vile, unnatural, and he knew what awaited the moment he tasted it. But it was also the first step.
He lifted it to his mouth and bit.
The taste was hell itself—bitter, acidic, a poison disguised as fruit. He gagged, but forced himself to swallow. And then it began.
A spark at first. A tingling under his skin. Then lightning. His veins lit up like wires, sparks leaping between his fingertips. The sand beneath him sizzled. His breath came heavy, but his eyes shone with a fire that had never existed in his old life.
Power. Raw, untamed power.
For the first time, he felt unshackled.
And yet, as arcs of electricity danced across his arms, he whispered not of gods, not of conquest, but of eternity.
"This world… will not bury me."
The boy who once chased immortality through books and broken machines had been reborn.Not as a hero.Not as a villain.But as a seeker of forever.
And with that vow, his journey began.