The hum of the fluorescent lights was his only companion, a quiet white noise against the symphony of his own frantic thoughts. For three years, the Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency (JAXA) had been his sanctuary and his prison. Dr. Tonjiro Masuda, a name known to few but respected by all who knew him, was a man who spoke in numbers and equations, his world a precise and predictable dance of celestial mechanics. Tonight, however, the dance was off-kilter.
He was a ghost haunting the fifth floor, a shadow glued to a monitor displaying a swirling vortex of data. A black hole, specifically. The latest observation of a supermassive black hole at the center of a distant galaxy had presented a paradox that gnawed at his mind. Sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford; his personal life, a casualty of his single-minded obsession. His only escape, his silent vice, was the grand adventure of the Straw Hat Pirates. One Piece was more than a story; it was a manual for a life he never lived, a vibrant world of friendship and boundless freedom. He'd lost count of how many times he'd binge-watched it, each time a dose of calm for his stressed soul.
"Tonjiro, come on, man. You look like you've been on the wrong side of a zombie apocalypse."
The voice was Tanaka's, his only friend at the agency and a man who specialized in worry. Tonjiro didn't even turn his head. His eyes were locked on the screen, a canvas of abstract patterns that made perfect sense to him.
"I don't know. Maybe two days," Tonjiro murmured, his voice a dry rasp. "The observation data… there's a discrepancy. I have to find it."
Tanaka sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "This is going to kill you one day, you know that?"
Tonjiro let out a short, humorless laugh. "If it does, so be it. But right now, I'm in the middle of something. Just… leave me be, Tanaka. I'll talk to you when I'm done."
Tanaka lingered for a moment, his concern a tangible weight in the quiet room, before finally walking away. The door closed with a soft click, and Tonjiro was alone once more. Hours melted into one another, each minute a frantic search for the one missing piece of the puzzle. The numbers on the screen began to blur, the lines of code a dizzying, unintelligible river. His head pounded, a steady, rhythmic thrumming behind his eyes.
He needed coffee. He needed it more than he needed air. Pushing himself out of his chair, he took one step, then another. The world tilted. The fluorescent lights spun into a dazzling, sickening vortex of white. The floor rushed up to meet him, a cold, hard finality. He didn't even feel the impact.
When consciousness returned, it was not to the scent of sterile lab equipment, but to the sharp, metallic tang of cigarette smoke and something else—something earthy and acrid, like old, wet stone. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, his vision a hazy, unfocused blur. He tried to speak, to call out, but the only sound that escaped his throat was a high, thin wail, the inconsolable cry of a baby. Panic seized him, a cold knot in his chest, but he was powerless.
A shadow loomed over him, a massive figure with a jagged scar stretching across his face, a thick cigar clamped between his lips. The man's eyes were cold, assessing, and when he reached down and lifted him, Tonjiro felt a surge of pure, animal terror. The man held him like a sack of potatoes, not with tenderness but with a rough, practiced ease. Tonjiro's frantic cries only seemed to annoy him. The man grunted, a low, guttural sound, and handed him to a woman standing nearby.
"Take him home. I'll be there when I'm done." The man's voice was a gravelly rumble, his words clipped and authoritative.
As the woman, a weary-looking brunette in a simple dress, took hold of him, Tonjiro felt a sense of relief mixed with profound disorientation. The woman cooed at him softly, her words in a language he couldn't place, but her tone was gentle. Suddenly, a series of deafening blasts echoed through the air—the sharp crackle of gunfire. The woman flinched, holding him tighter.
"It's okay, Antonio. It'll be okay," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
Antonio. The name resonated in his mind, a new title for a new life. He was no longer Tonjiro, the physicist. He was now Antonio, this baby in the arms of a stranger. As the woman hurried toward a large, ornate car, he took in his surroundings. The architecture was stunning, a blend of worn stone and elegant arches that felt distinctly… Mediterranean. The people around them wore clothes from a bygone era, and the car itself, a sleek, black vehicle, looked like something out of a classic gangster film.
A wave of dizzying, terrifying conclusions washed over him. He was not in Japan. He wasn't in the modern world. He was in some kind of time-displaced nightmare. The gunshots, the grim-faced men, the vintage car—it all pointed to one thing: he had been reborn into a mob family. He was a captive, a pawn, and the people who might have been his real parents were likely just a few smoking bullet casings away.
He forced himself to be still, to stop the useless crying. Crying would just get him into more trouble. He was a scientist, a man of logic and observation. He would not panic. He would watch and listen and try to understand. He was no longer the master of his own destiny; he was a silent, helpless observer in this strange, new reality.
The car rumbled to life, the engine a deep, throaty purr. The two men who had been with the scar-faced man settled into the front seats, their low voices a constant murmur. Tonjiro—no, Antonio—tuned in, his hyper-analytical mind working overtime to decipher their words. They spoke in a language he had never heard before, but a few words, names, and places were enough to send a jolt of ice through his veins.
"Capone… Big Father… and something about a Big Mom. We need to get back to the castle."
Antonio's world, which had just become an Italian mob film, shattered and reformed into something far more bizarre and unbelievable. The name, Capone Bege, echoed in his mind like a thunderclap. His silent, scientific life had been replaced by the very world he used to escape into. He had died in a sterile lab, only to be reborn in the treacherous, gun-toting, and utterly insane world of One Piece.
He wasn't just reincarnated. He was reincarnated into the worst possible family. The notorious, treacherous, and utterly ruthless pirate captain, Capone "Gang" Bege, of the Fire Tank Pirates.
A cold sweat broke out on his tiny, infant forehead. This wasn't just a new life. This was a death sentence waiting to happen. He had to be a part of Capone's crew somehow, maybe his son? He needed to figure out his place, his purpose, and most of all, how to survive. He was a physicist, not a gangster. And he was in way over his head.