A boy who appeared no older than five sat by the shore, his small legs dangling into the gentle waves. His black hair, long enough to brush against his shoulders, swayed with the sea breeze, his round cheeks still carrying the pudgy softness of youth. In his hands, he held a folded newspaper.
The date printed on the front page read 1503, and the headlines spoke of newly risen pirate crews carving their names across the East Blue.
"Five years," the boy thought, his dark eyes narrowing. "Five years since Roger died, and the Great Age of Pirates began."
He placed the paper beside him, watching as a news coo waddled away into the distance. Then, with a soft sigh, he lay back on the warm sand, staring up at the sky.
"To think I'd actually get reincarnated into the One Piece world…"
His lips curled in a faint, wry smile.
"I should be about five now. By the time Luffy sets sail, I'll be twenty-four."
Aragorn's gaze drifted to the corner of his vision, where a faint blinking light had nagged him for as long as he could remember.
"Damn thing's been flashing since the day I got here,"
he muttered aloud, his voice carrying into the empty seaside air. The words etched themselves in the silence.
[Loading…]
He scowled. "When is this piece of shit system supposed to finish loading?"
As if hearing his words, the blinking light abruptly vanished. For a brief moment, Aragorn's vision cleared—only for a massive light screen to expand before his eyes, covering his entire view.
[System Initialization Complete]
A new line appeared, glowing with authority.
[Welcome to the Progress Tracking System]
Aragorn shot upright, a wide grin breaking across his face.
"Finally! This thing is done!" He clenched his tiny fists, barely able to contain the excitement bubbling in his chest.
"Come on, system—tell me what you can do!"
Words etched themselves across the screen in crisp golden text.
[The Progress Tracking System will digitalize the power rankings of this world, giving you an exact idea of where you stand.]
[Physical stats are divided into stages: 1–10, 11–100, and finally, the peak of this world—101–1000.]
[Skills and abilities are ranked separately: Beginner → Intermediate → Advanced → Epitome. Each stage is divided into Low, Middle, and High tiers.]
[That is the core function of this system.]
The text faded. Silence followed.
Aragorn's grin faltered. His brows knit together, disappointment dripping into his expression. "What? No shop? No gacha? No broken powers?"
The screen flickered again, almost as if it had read his thoughts.
[Worry not. The Novice Package is here to aid you on your path to the Epitome.]
A pouch appeared in the air before him, its simple design overlaid with a flashing, colorful [Click Me] button.
Aragorn's eyes lit up with excitement. He raised his hand, his heart pounding, and tapped the button.
The pouch's rope unraveled, loosening with a snap—
—and a blinding multicolored light burst forth, washing over the sand and sea.
From within, three cards shot out, each one shimmering with countless hues that twisted and blended like living rainbows. Their brilliance was so intense that Aragorn had to squint against the glow, his small hand raised to shield his eyes, a useless gesture.
The three cards hovered in midair, suspended by an unseen force. For a few tense seconds they simply floated, trembling softly, as if brimming with unrestrained energy. Then, at last, the card on the right snapped forward and flipped around.
Its surface shimmered with radiant light before revealing bold words, scrawled above a crude drawing of a black fist and a glowing mind, as though a child had etched them in ink.
[Peak Haki Talent]
Lines of glowing script appeared beneath it.
[Awakened: Your body is now the perfect vessel for Haki. What takes others years, you will accomplish in weeks. Future Sight. Ryuo Haki. The power to imbue weapons with your will—abilities that most will never touch, you will inevitably achieve, so long as you train.]
Aragorn's lips curled into a massive grin, his small fists trembling with excitement. "Peak Haki…!" He could almost feel his blood singing.
"Haki trumps all."
Before the rush could even fade, the center card quivered violently and spun to face him.
[Supreme Sword Talent]
The description was short, sharp, and absolute.
[With this boon, you are without question the most naturally gifted swordsman in history. You were not born for the sword—the sword was born for you.]
Aragorn's eyes widened, his heart hammering. A laugh burst out of him, boyish yet brimming with unrestrained excitement. He had always admired swordsmen above fistfighters, and now… now he could walk the path of the blade at the very peak.
Finally, the last card glowed and turned.
[Item: Spirit Weapon]
A strange warmth seemed to pulse from the card itself as the words appeared.
[A spirit weapon will be nurtured within your soul for seven days. At the end of this period, a weapon most suited to you will manifest. This weapon will grow alongside you. Should it ever be broken, it may be restored by returning it to your soul.]
Aragorn stared, speechless, before slowly exhaling in awe. Three boons, each greater than the last, and together… they promised him an actual future.
The system's text shimmered again.
[Prepare yourself. The talents will now be etched into your body and soul.]
Aragorn barely had time to react before the three radiant cards shot forward, slipping through the screen and plunging straight into his chest.
His breath caught. He braced himself, shutting his eyes with a grimace. From all the fanfictions he'd devoured in his past life, he expected agony—bones cracking, blood boiling, flesh tearing apart.
But instead…
A wave of bliss unlike anything he had ever felt washed over him. It was as though divine hands were kneading every muscle, every nerve, every fiber of his being. A shiver ran down his spine, his tiny body relaxing as warmth seeped into his soul.
Aragorn almost let out a sound of pure pleasure, collapsing onto his back once more. His eyes slid closed, his lips curling in sheer contentment. "God… this feels… amazing…"
The sensation swelled, blanketing him completely—until the world around him faded away.
When his eyes opened again, the bright blue sky and glittering sea were gone. Darkness stretched endlessly in every direction, suffocating and still.
Aragorn's eyes flew wide in alarm. He shot up to his feet, panic flashing across his youthful features.
"Shit!" he cursed under his breath. "The matron's gonna beat my ass for being this late!"
His head whipped around, searching. In the distance, faint outlines shimmered—a vast silhouette of what could only be a city, its edges glowing faintly against the black void.
Without hesitation, Aragorn bolted toward it, his small legs carrying him forward.