Ron had no idea what had happened. The only thing he remembered was being struck by a speeding truck, and when his consciousness returned, he found himself drifting helplessly on the open sea, carried away by relentless currents toward an unknown fate.
His body was utterly exhausted. He could not swim, could only use the faintest strength to stay afloat, struggling not to sink beneath the waves.
Even so, sudden swells would crash over him, dragging him down again and again. Each time he would choke on salt water, coughing and gasping, the torture draining him until less than an hour later his body was already on the verge of collapse.
But fortune had not abandoned him completely.
Just as his strength was about to give out, his eyes caught sight of an island in the distance.
With the last flickers of willpower, Ron twisted his body and let the current carry him. As the island drew nearer, survival instinct flared, summoning one final burst of strength. His arms thrashed against the water, driving him toward the shore.
A crash of surf.
In a spray of foaming waves, Ron washed up onto the beach, tumbling face-first into the sand. Sand filled his mouth and nose, but the raw joy of survival drowned out every discomfort.
He rolled onto his back, chest heaving as he gulped in air, eyes clouded with bewilderment.
"What… is this place?"
Why had he suddenly appeared in the middle of the ocean? His memories blurred, fragments missing, every attempt to recall them stabbing his head with pain.
Unable to piece together what had happened, he gave up trying and instead turned his gaze outward. Before him stretched nothing but glittering waves and a golden shore. Behind lay an island dotted with strange buildings. Something about them tugged at his memory, yet he could not recall where he had seen such a place.
His stomach growled fiercely, scattering his thoughts.
"I need… food."
Pressing a hand to his hollow belly, he forced himself to rise. If he did not find something to eat soon, he feared he might perish right there on the sand.
But before he could take even a step, a shadow loomed behind him. A powerful hand seized his shirt and dragged him inland with ease.
Ron's heart pounded. He tried to struggle, but the grip was iron. Even at full strength he might not have broken free, let alone in his current half-dead state.
He opened his mouth, rasping to speak, but his voice was hoarse, the words little more than a whisper. His captor did not hear.
Cannibal? Savage? The words flashed in his mind, chilling his blood.
He twisted his head enough to glimpse his captor. What he saw froze him. The figure's skin was a pale purple. No human bore such a color.
His gaze crept higher, and horror rooted him to the spot. Where hair should have been were writhing tendrils, shifting like living things.
What the hell was this creature? Where in the world had he landed?
Pain burned across his back as he was dragged, and the sting of sand scraping his skin told him this was no nightmare. It was real.
Suddenly, the creature heaved him into the air and hurled him into a courtyard. He crashed down hard, the impact rattling his bones.
"Arlong-boss, I found this human on the coast. Looks like he washed ashore," the purple-skinned creature called out toward the courtyard.
The language was strange, yet Ron understood every word. And the first name spoken made his blood run cold.
Arlong… boss?
A familiar name. His eyes widened, disbelief eclipsing even his pain.
He turned his head with effort. There, lounging in a chair, was a figure he knew all too well. A shark-like face, sharp teeth, a body etched in his memory.
It was him.
Arlong, the Fishman.
Identical to how he appeared in memory.
"Then this place… this is the world of One Piece?"
Ron's chest heaved. His pulse thundered with excitement. He had dreamt of this countless times, wished to step into this world of pirates and adventure. And now, impossibly, he was here.
Arlong cracked an eye open, glanced at Ron, and muttered, "Washed ashore, was he? This isn't some kind of rescue shelter. According to our rules, one human costs one hundred thousand Berries."
A burly Fishman named Obby eyed Ron's soaked shirt and shorts. "Boss, this guy doesn't look like he has any money on him."
"Then kill him."
Arlong's tone was lazy, casual, as if life and death were trivial.
The words struck Ron like ice water.
He knew this story. Arlong was not joking. If Obby swung his weapon, Ron's life would end here, before it even began.
His excitement collapsed into despair. To arrive in the One Piece world only to die instantly, what a cruel fate. He hadn't even touched a Devil Fruit yet.
Thoughts raced. He clawed for any path of survival, but Obby gave him no time.
Ron's battered body lay broken. He could not even lift himself, let alone run. And even if he could, what hope did a human have before a Fishman?
Obby hefted a spiked club. Ron's eyes tracked it, his body trembling. He twisted desperately, managing only to shift one arm.
The club descended.
"Wait!"
A clear voice rang out.
Obby hesitated slightly, but the club still fell. Ron jerked his neck aside, avoiding a deathblow by a hair.
Forcing his head toward the voice, Ron saw her. A girl of fourteen or fifteen, with short orange hair and a youthful, lovely face.
Nami.
Ron's heart jolted.
So it was three or four years before Luffy set sail. Judging by her age, he understood the timeline. Relief eased his chest.
Nami didn't know him, but her nature would not let her watch him die here.
If he could just live through this moment, he believed he could carve his own future.
Arlong sat up, grinning. "Back already? If you had stayed away any longer, I would have sent someone to find you."
Nami frowned at the sight of Ron. At first she thought he was a villager of Cocoyashi and had stopped Obby instinctively. But as she looked closer, she realized he was a stranger.
"What happened here?" she asked.
Arlong spread his hands. "Nothing much. Just a castaway washed ashore. No money on him. And here, if you cannot pay, you have no right to live."
He smirked, adding, "Obby, not in the courtyard. Take him outside. No need to stain the place with blood."
"Yes, Arlong-boss."
Obby nodded dumbly, seizing Ron again.
Nami's breath caught. Arlong's words echoed against memories of Bell-mère, her adoptive mother. She could not let another life be taken before her eyes.
"Stop," she said firmly.
Arlong arched a brow. "You want to spare him? Rules cannot be broken so easily. Unless, of course, someone pays his hundred thousand Berries."
It didn't matter to Arlong. A random castaway meant nothing. But he wanted the rule burned into Nami's heart. Rules were iron. Rules could not bend.
Nami glanced at Ron. His pitiful state made it obvious he had nothing.
She herself had barely managed to gather thirty thousand Berries from countless dangerous voyages. To save him would mean giving up a third of everything she had.
He was a stranger. She owed him nothing. Yet her heart would not let her stand by. Bell-mère's memory left her no choice.
Ron, meanwhile, had calmed. Even if Nami did not save him, he had one last desperate plan. Risky, but possible.
The silence stretched. Every heartbeat felt like an eternity.
Then Nami exhaled deeply, drew out a stack of bills, and said, "I'll cover his share. A hundred thousand Berries."
Arlong's teeth gleamed in a wide grin. "So generous." He snatched the money, then waved his hand. "Fine. His life belongs to you."
Relief flooded Ron. His eyes turned skyward, watching the endless blue above.
Gentle. Brilliant. Soft-voiced.
So this was Nami.
How wonderful.
______________________________
If you're enjoying this story and want to read more advanced chapters, you can support me on Patreon: patreon.com/PurgatorialPoet. Your support helps keep the translations coming faster.