On a lonely, uninhabited island in the East Blue, the waves crashed lazily against the pale stretch of sand. Seagulls circled overhead, their cries echoing through the otherwise silent expanse. Right on the shore, half-buried in damp sand and drenched from head to toe, lay a young man. His dark hair clung stubbornly to his forehead, and his black eyes were shut tight, as though he'd been unconscious for hours.
The bright sun finally broke through the drifting clouds and kissed his face, its warmth making him stir. His eyelids fluttered open with a groan, and he raised an arm to shield himself from the blinding light. Salt stung his lips, and the sticky discomfort of seawater soaked into his clothes.
He sat up slowly, coughing as he realized how drenched he was. Sand clung to his skin in gritty patches, making him sigh in annoyance.
"Damn… they really threw me overboard," he thought bitterly, shaking his head. "Then again, I did almost pull a Blackbeard move. I just didn't kill the guy."
A crooked smile crept across his face despite his situation. There was something thrilling about it, being cast out, forced to start from scratch in a world like this.
His hand instinctively reached for his hip, brushing over the damp leather of a bag strapped securely to his side. He patted it and felt the reassuring weight inside. The bulge pressed firmly against his palm, steadying his nerves.
"It's still here… my ticket to becoming a major pirate. Heh, I can't wait to explore this world."
The thought alone sparked fire in his eyes.
His name was Travis—a stranger in this world, yet not a stranger at all. For Travis didn't belong to the seas of One Piece. He came from another place entirely, the real world. But fate, or perhaps something far more mischievous, had torn him from the ordinary and thrust him here.
And it all began two weeks ago, when he met a ROB who gave him a chance to rewrite his destiny...
[ Two Weeks Ago ]
Travis never expected his life to end at an anime convention. Yet here he was, standing in a white void, blinking at the absurdity of it all. The last thing he remembered was chatting up a Yamato cosplayer—she had the horns, the hair, the outfit, everything spot-on—and then… darkness.
And now, before him, stood a man in a shimmering robe, radiating the smug aura of someone who controlled too many universes and had too much free time.
"Wow," the being said, rubbing his temples. "I'm actually disappointed in your death. People die in dumb ways all the time—some from stroking it, some from lightning, most from stabbings, and of course, the classics: Truck-kun. But you? You died while drooling over a cosplayer's—" he gestured vaguely at his chest "—'character accuracy.' Your death bites the cake."
Travis scratched the back of his neck, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Can't blame me though, right? She nailed that cosplay to the dot. Especially those two packages up front."
The deity—ROB, as he called himself—stared flatly. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever helps you sleep at night. So… tell me. What's your wish?"
Travis's grin widened. "I wish for everything I wrote in my wishes notebook to be granted."
Inside, he was smirking like a schemer. 'I wrote that notebook just for cases like these. Man, I'm a genius.'
ROB's face twitched. "Your wish is not granted."
Travis's jaw dropped. "What?! Come on, you didn't say wishes had limits. That's cheating, ROB!"
The deity's face turned red with anger. "You wished for all types of omnipotence. You also wished for Zeno's powers—as if the first one wasn't busted enough. But the cherry on top? You wanted the system from That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime. That's literally plot armor packaged as a system! How greedy can you be?"
Travis crossed his arms smugly. "You have to admit, though… those are good wishes."
ROB pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh so heavy it felt like it shook the void. "Ugh. Just… give me one wish. One. I've got a guy who saved a kid waiting in line, and he's getting five unlimited wishes. Unlike you, he's not a degenerate simp who died to cleavage."
"Wow, unfair much? I did a lot of good for society, you know!"
"Shut up! Make your wish already before I send you to Goblin Slayer as a weak woman."
Travis's eyes widened. "Damn, that's fucked up, mate. Let me think first."
A billion ideas flooded his head. Immortality? A harem? Infinite food? 'I am kinda hungry though… nah, boring.'
He glanced up. "Wait, do I also pick where I go after this?"
"Yeah, sure, just hurry it up." ROB looked seconds away from committing a multiversal crime.
"Alright, fine. I know what I want."
"Finally," ROB muttered, exasperated.
"I wish for a Devil Fruit with the power of Sun Wukong, the Monkey King." Travis's lips curved into a sharp grin.
For the first time, ROB paused. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at his lips. "Huh. Not bad. That's actually a pretty good wish. Granted." He clapped his hands, and the void rippled like water. "So… I assume you wanna go to One Piece?"
"Ye—"
Before Travis could finish, he vanished in a burst of light.
ROB stood there, fuming. "God, I hate that guy. Fine, enjoy your little Monkey King fruit. I'll make sure you suffer before you even find it."
With a final sneer, ROB disappeared, off to reward the kid-saver who actually deserved his time.
.....
On the deck of a ship docked at a nameless island in the East Blue, Travis lay sprawled out, half-asleep under the sun's glare. His peace shattered when a bucket of cold seawater splashed across his face, jerking him awake.
"What the fuck?!" Travis sputtered, coughing as he scrambled to his feet. His black hair stuck to his forehead, dripping salty water.
A shadow loomed over him. He blinked up at the towering figure—a broad-shouldered man in the classic garb of a pirate: striped bandana, tattered vest, and a sword dangling lazily at his hip. The man's eyes narrowed.
"Last I checked, I told you to clean the deck. What the hell are you doing lying around?"
Travis opened his mouth, still dazed. "Who the fuck are y—Uhh!!"
Before he could finish, a fist slammed into his stomach. Air burst from his lungs as pain lanced through him, sending him crashing to his knees.
The man spat to the side, glaring down at him. "Did you lose your damn mind, boy?! Did you forget who saved your worthless hide? You'd be rotting at the bottom of the sea if it weren't for me. Now quit whining and scrub this deck before I toss you back where I found you!"
With that, the pirate turned sharply and stomped toward the gangplank, boots thudding against the wood.
Travis stayed hunched over, clutching his stomach, his teeth clenched against the pain. 'Fuck… where am I?'
He forced himself to his feet, his gaze sweeping across the ship. It wasn't large—maybe a dozen cannons at most, weathered sails patched up too many times to count. A working vessel, not a grand flagship. From the deck, he glanced toward the shore, where a small campfire burned. Around it, several pirates lounged and laughed, gnawing on skewered fish and passing around mugs of rum.
Travis lowered his eyes to his trembling hands. For a moment, everything blurred. Then it all came rushing back. Memories not his own, yet his all the same—his death, the void, ROB's smug face, and that cursed "wish."
'I'm still me. But I've got a life here now. A background. A role to play in this world… but where's the fruit? If I had it, I could just escape this crew. No one would stop me.'
As if mocking him, something slid from his soaked pocket and fluttered onto the deck. He bent down and picked it up. A folded piece of parchment. His stomach dropped the moment he saw the handwriting.
It was from ROB.
—Since you were a bitch, I decided why not give you a little treasure hunt. Follow the map on the back, and it'll lead you to the fruit. Have fun!
Travis's blood ran cold. His hands tightened around the paper until it crinkled. "...You've got to be kidding me."
The memory of that punch to his gut replayed in his mind, raw and humiliating. He looked at the bucket, the brush, and the salty water pooling across the deck.
He exhaled sharply, his chest heavy with frustration.
"Fuck! This isn't what I asked for!"
Still, he bent down, grabbed the scrub brush, and began scrubbing with clenched teeth. Every stroke burned like an insult, but until he found that fruit, he was defenseless in a world where weakness meant death.
TO BE CONTINUED