Kaito stared at the ocean stretching before him, a torrent of conflicting emotions churning in his gut. Fear of the vast unknown warred with a fierce excitement for the adventure he desperately hoped to find.
Thirteen years, he thought. It's been thirteen years since I transmigrated here. What a long, strange time.
"Heh." A soft, emotional laugh escaped him. "Thinking back to when I first figured it out… I can't help it."
When Kaito had been reborn into this world, two years of infantile confusion had followed. His mind, though developing faster than any normal child's, was still too young to comprehend anything. But by his second birthday, the pieces had finally clicked into place.
He would never forget the moment it happened. His father had taken him outside their small house for the first time, walking him through the village until they arrived at a familiar-looking dojo.
"Master Koshiro, this is my son, Kaito. He's two years old now and insisted on seeing the dojo's swordsmanship. Say hello to the master, Kaito."
Kaito stared at the man before him, a flicker of recognition stirring in his young mind. The green hair, the kind eyes… he'd seen this face before. Only when his father, Menma, nudged him did he finally speak.
"Hello. It's nice to meet you, Uncle."
"Uncle?" Menma chided gently. "He is your master! Didn't you say you wanted to come here to learn?"
Koshiro just smiled. "It's quite alright, Menma. He is young. There will be plenty of time for titles when he is older and ready to learn." He turned his gentle gaze to Kaito. "It is nice to meet you, little one. You are welcome to come with your father and watch anytime you like."
"Thank you, Uncle," Kaito said, his eyes still fixed on the master's face.
Koshiro smiled and turned back to Menma. "How are things? Tell me if you need anything."
"Thank you, Master. Ino is well. Things have been better lately, so please don't worry."
"Good. I am heading home for a while. Can you mind the dojo?"
"Of course, Master! You're a newlywed—you should be with your wife as much as you can," Menma said with a look that clearly said, I've got your back.
Koshiro shook his head with a helpless smile and left.
"Come on, kid," Menma said, taking his bewildered son's hand. "I'll show you around."
As they stepped inside, the thwack of wooden swords filled the air. Dozens of children in green outfits practiced their forms, some sparring while others watched. Seeing the uniforms, the final piece of the puzzle slammed into place for Kaito.
This is the dojo. The one where Zoro trained.
A casual fan of One Piece in his past life, Kaito had always had one unwavering favorite: Roronoa Zoro. The rational voice of the Straw Hats. The man of immense self-discipline and respect who was never afraid to bow his head if it meant protecting his friends.
Awe quickly curdled into sheer, ice-cold terror as the full implications crashed down on him. This wasn't a story. This was a world where men could punch apart islands and slice through battleships. A world of terrifying devil fruits and the celestial dragons, who could ordain genocide for sport. It was a brutal, unfair, and utterly fucked-up place.
The panic hit him like a physical blow. But it was more than panic. As his fear spiked, something broke open inside his mind.
The world exploded.
It wasn't just sound—it was a crushing wave of intent. He could feel the competitive drive of the two boys sparring, the dull boredom of the boy in the corner going through the motions, the quiet focus of a girl perfecting her form. He felt his father's pride and slight worry like a tangible warmth beside him. From outside, he felt the gentle contentment of a shopkeeper sweeping his step, the simmering anger of a man arguing with his wife three streets over, the simple, hungry curiosity of a seagull circling the bay.
It was a tsunami of sensation, a million whispers screamed directly into his soul. His brain, too young and utterly unprepared for this flood of information, short-circuited. His vision whited out. The overwhelming cacophony of the world's spirit was too much. His small body, overloaded, shut down completely. He crumpled to the floor.
Menma, walking ahead, heard the thud and turned. His heart stopped. His son lay on the ground, pale and still as death.
In his office, Koshiro, who had just picked up his coat, paused. He frowned, turning back toward the dojo. For a single, inexplicable moment, he had felt… something. A ripple. A wave of pure, undistilled perception that vanished as quickly as it came. He shook his head, dismissing it as imagination, and continued on his way, unaware that the child he just met had, for a split second, heard the very voice of the island itself.
---
Returning to the present, fifteen-year-old Kaito shook his head, dispelling the memory of that day. He now understood what had happened—the terrifying awakening of his Observation Haki. He turned from the ocean and headed home. Though only fifteen, he had grown considerably, his demeanor far calmer and more focused than the terrified boy he'd been, his mind learned in the art of quieting the endless whispers of the world.
"I'm home," he announced, stepping inside.
His mother, Ino, called from the kitchen. "Good. Wash your hands; lunch is ready."
"Okay."
After they ate, Kaito stood. "Mother, I'm heading to the dojo. Do you need me to bring anything back?"
Ino was silent for a long moment. "Ask… if there is any news."
Kaito paused, his hand on the doorframe. He didn't need Haki to feel the weight of her anxiety. "Okay."
He left the house in a heavy silence and made his way to the dojo.
"Big Brother Kaito! Will you watch us train?"
He looked over to see a group of younger kids looking at him with hopeful eyes. He could feel their eager, bright spirits like little suns.
"Maybe another time," he said, passing by without stopping. Their disappointed sighs faded behind him, a wave of faint melancholy he chose to ignore.
He went straight to Master Koshiro's room and knocked.
"Come in."
Kaito entered to find Koshiro seated behind his desk, a newspaper in his hands.
"Kaito. You look well. Stronger. Your spirit feels… focused."
"I've been training harder, Master. In all things." Including silencing the noise, he thought.
"Always in moderation, remember. What brings you by?"
"Are there any news?" Kaito asked, getting straight to the point.
Koshiro was silent for a beat too long. Kaito could feel the man's carefully controlled concern, a steady but troubled current beneath his calm exterior. "I have heard something, but it is unconfirmed."
Kaito took a deep, steadying breath, closing down his other senses to focus. "Is he dead?"
Koshiro was taken aback by his bluntness, then shook his head. "No. The ship was attacked by pirates. Your father and the others defeated them. The problem came after. A Marine colonel was pursuing that same pirate crew. He found them defeated, their captain slain. To make up his numbers and claim credit, he arrested your father and three of your uncles, branding them as pirates. They have been taken to a local prison."
Kaito was stunned into silence. The guard business—his idea—had led to this. He'd warned them only of pirates, never dreaming the Marines would be the threat.
"Don't worry," Koshiro said. "I believe it is a minor misunderstanding. They will likely be released soon."
"Master," Kaito said, his voice low and firm. He let a fraction of his perception wash over the room, not to intrude, but to emphasize his point. "I can feel you're downplaying it. Please do not lie to me."
Koshiro studied him for a long moment, then sighed, his composure finally cracking to reveal the genuine frustration beneath. "You are right. Your… gift has made this dojo stronger than ever. I am not lying about their safety. But the truth is, the Marine higher-ups in East Blue see us as a problem. We have been too effective. By capturing and killing so many pirates, we are thinning the very ranks they need to hunt for promotions. This is a message. We have graduates within the Marines themselves; this is a political move."
The world seemed to grow darker. Of course, Kaito thought. It's never simple. It's never fair.
"I see," he said flatly. "I will take my leave."
Koshiro nodded. "Do not tell your mother yet. The situation is complicated. I will work to get them released, but we must avoid causing a panic."
Kaito paused at the door. "What about the guard business?"
"Kaito, while it has been beneficial, it has now become a liability. I have ordered a halt to all new missions as of today."
Kaito nodded. "I understand. But if we close it entirely, Mother will know something is wrong. I will tell her business is slow for now, to give her hope."
"A sound plan," Koshiro agreed. "Our graduates in the Marines will help, but there will be concessions. The dojo's reputation will shield us somewhat."
Kaito offered a thin, hollow smile and left.
The moment the door closed behind him, his face fell, his expression hardening into a mask of cold fury. He could feel the tangled web of emotions from the dojo students—the simple, clean focus of their training a stark contrast to the ugly political reality he'd just learned of. If anything happened to his father, it would be his fault.
And his mother… her health was fragile. Her spirit, which usually felt to him like a gentle, steady flame, would flicker and die under the worst of this news.
He let out a long, slow breath, the weight of the world—this brutal, magnificent, and messed up world—pressing down on him. He didn't just know it was the world of One Piece; he could feel its injustice screaming in his soul, a constant whisper he could never escape.