Somewhere in the East Blue
Although he'd wanted to swing by Sabaody Archipelago immediately and deal with the celestial dragon there, he wasn't in a hurry about it.
First, Nami. Then Robin. That was the plan. He genuinely wanted to improve this world, yes, but his main goal was still to enjoy life first. Just thinking about it brought a warm excitement up through his chest—traveling from island to island at his own pace, good wine, new places, interesting people. No obligations, no responsibilities, nobody needing anything from him.
And more than that, the newspaper had confirmed Ace was already a commander in Whitebeard's crew. Which meant Luffy should be setting out from Foosha Village soon.
Good, he thought, folding the paper neatly. Plenty of time to get situated before things get interesting.
Expectation was good.
Reality was something else entirely.
Three months.
Three full months since he'd left the island, and looking out at the same endless blue stretching in every direction—identical in every direction, always identical, blue and more blue and then some additional blue—he'd almost vaporized the ocean on an embarrassing number of separate occasions.
Not a single island. Not one. Not even a rock large enough to stand on.
Some degree of the sea being empty was perfectly reasonable. He understood that. The oceans in this world were genuinely vast, and he could accept occasional long stretches of open water between destinations.
But when he flew at full speed, in a straight line, for an entire continuous day, and still couldn't locate a single landmass of any size—
That wasn't bad luck anymore. That was something categorically different from bad luck.
He might have been born with Zoro's directional blindness, he thought, staring at the horizon with deep personal grievance. That would at least be an explanation. Zoro is legendarily terrible with directions and everyone accepts it as fact.
But even Zoro occasionally runs into walls. Walls require structures. Structures require land. He had found zero land.
There was definitely an outside force involved. Some kind of will or current woven through this world's fabric—not as clearly defined as the One Above All concept, not a conscious entity with intentions, but something subtle.
He couldn't explain it any other way and he'd had three months of sailing with nothing but time to think about it.
Although, he considered with painful honesty, the most statistically supported explanation is that he is simply catastrophically unlucky and is reaching for excuses because accepting the alternative is worse.
He sat with that possibility for a while.
Considered it seriously.
Decided he still preferred the cosmic interference theory. It was more dignified.
The Phoenix Force was still accessible here, capable of creation and destruction at whatever scale he chose. The physical applications worked fine. But the rule-based abilities were another matter entirely. Time manipulation simply didn't engage. Universe-level conceptual tricks bounced off this world's internal logic like they'd hit a wall.
Which meant that if he wanted to teach whatever was messing with his navigation a proper lesson, he'd have to do it in an extremely direct and explosively unsophisticated way.
He looked at the ocean.
The ocean looked back, completely unbothered, stretching to the horizon in all four directions with absolute indifference.
He took a slow breath and decided not to vaporize anything today.
The bigger problem, he reminded himself, pulling focus back to practical concerns, was timing. He genuinely couldn't keep drifting like this indefinitely. If this kept up, the entire One Piece storyline would finish without him. Luffy would find his crew, sail the Grand Line, reach Raftel, become King of the Pirates, hold a celebration, and retire to a quiet life somewhere, all before Elric managed to locate a single inhabited island in the East Blue.
He refused to accept that as his story.
He stood up, adjusted his bearing by pure gut instinct since calculation had clearly stopped working.
East Blue — Merchant Vessel, Same Day
Inside a luxurious ship, a banquet was in full swing.
The kind of banquet that existed purely because the people attending it could afford one—fine music from a small ensemble in the corner, well-dressed guests moving across polished floors. Conversation, laughter.
The ship belonged to nobility. And as everyone aboard was quietly aware, a ship of this class traveled with serious protection. Strong guards, quality weapons, enough firepower to handle whatever small-time pirates occasionally drifted too close to the shipping lanes. It happened from time to time. It was practically routine, barely worth interrupting a meal over.
So when the lookout's shout came down and cut through the music—
"Pirates! Pirates, prepare quickly!"
—most of the guests looked up with mild curiosity rather than actual alarm. The ensemble even kept playing for a few more bars before the musicians noticed the room's attention had shifted and trailed off uncertainly.
Then the second shout came.
"It's one of the Seven Warlords—Boa Hancock's ship!"
The music stopped completely.
The comfortable noise of the banquet evaporated in the space of about two seconds, replaced by the specific silence of a room full of people.
"How is she here?" someone said, voice tight. "We're nowhere near her territory—"
"We're close to the Calm Belt but this is completely wrong for Amazon Lily—what is she doing in this part of the East Blue—"
"Alright." Someone with authority tried to take hold of the room before panic could set in properly. "Nobody panic. Have the guards buy us time. We can get the escape vessels ready—"
Before sixty seconds had fully passed, the doors swung open hard.
Several Kuja warriors came through without slowing, moving through the gathering with the calm efficiency of people who'd done this many times before. The guests pressed back, the careful social formations of the banquet dissolving entirely.
Whatever the guards outside had been supposed to accomplish, it apparently hadn't worked out for them.
Outside
Hancock stood at the railing of her ship, watching her crew work through the merchant vessel's inventory with practiced, unhurried efficiency.
She was already running the mental accounting—what to keep, what to leave, what was worth the cargo space. The Kuja were thorough and she trusted them to be thorough without needing her to supervise every detail.
She looked out at the water.
Then movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and held it.
A small boat, coming from the east.
Not unusual by itself. Small vessels appeared in open water regularly enough. What was unusual—what made her look twice, then keep looking—was its behavior. It had clearly spotted their flag. The Kuja jolly roger was not a subtle design, and it was flying prominently. Any sensible small craft operating in these waters would have registered it, turned around immediately, and put as much distance between themselves and the source as physically possible.
This one increased speed.
Hancock watched it approach with an expression that started as mild curiosity and sharpened gradually into something more attentive. The boat was small, clearly not a fighting vessel.
It pulled alongside.
Then the man aboard simply jumped directly onto her ship's deck.
He landed on both knees not in formal submission, not in fear. He stayed there for a moment, head slightly bowed, both hands flat on the wood of the deck.
He didn't look up at her. He didn't look at her warriors or their weapons. He didn't appear to register any of it.
He looked at the deck itself like it was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in months.
Then he said, with tremendous quiet feeling:
"Five months."
Nobody moved.
"I finally found people."
A pause. Something in his voice was working through several emotions simultaneously.
"Yes."
His voice cracked very slightly.
"YES."
Slightly louder.
"FINALLY. FIVE WHOLE MONTHS AND I HAVE FINALLY FOUND ACTUAL HUMAN BEINGS ON AN ACTUAL SHIP."