Chapter 1: The Execution and the Demon Maid
The return to consciousness did not come with the gentle warmth of sunlight or the familiar buzz of an alarm clock. It arrived as a jagged, splitting pain that felt as though a rusted nail were being slowly driven into his temples.
"Hey, you brat! Do you have a death wish? How dare you defy the Captain's rules?"
"Suzaku! You ungrateful little rat! Why aren't you on your knees begging for the Captain's forgiveness?"
The voices were harsh, grating, and dangerously loud. They assaulted his ears before he could even peel his heavy eyelids open. The air was thick, carrying the overpowering stench of brine, rotting fish, cheap tobacco, and the distinct, coppery tang of old blood.
As Suzaku's eyes finally fluttered open, blinking against the harsh glare of the midday sun, the world swam into a dizzying focus.
He wasn't in his apartment. He wasn't in the hospital.
He was tied to a mast.
Rough, coarse hemp ropes bit deep into his skin, binding his chest and arms tightly to the thick wooden pillar. The rough bark of the wood scraped against his back with every sway of the floor beneath him.
Sway?
Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in his chest. He looked down. The floor was wooden decking, bleached white by salt and sun. He looked up. Above him, dirty canvas sails snapped in the wind against a cloudless blue sky.
What is going on?
He looked around wildly. Surrounding him was a mob of scruffy, heavily armed men. They wore tattered vests, bandanas stained with sweat, and expressions that promised nothing but violence. Their teeth were yellowed, their eyes bloodshot with cruelty.
Where did they take me? Am I still in the city? Kidnappers? Terrorists?
Before he could process the absurdity of the situation, a violent headache—far worse than the initial throbbing—slammed into his skull like a sledgehammer.
"Gah...!"
Suzaku squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched tight as a torrent of alien information forced its way into his neural pathways. It wasn't just pain; it was memory. Two lifetimes, two distinct identities, were colliding and merging in the span of a heartbeat.
"Captain! Look at him!" a pirate with a missing ear jeered, stepping forward to fan the flames. "Suzaku is unrepentant! He's not even looking at you! We absolutely cannot let him off easy this time!"
The other crew members roared in agreement, a cacophony of bloodthirsty shouts rising into the salty air.
"Skin him!"
"Keelhaul the brat!"
"Teach him the price of betrayal!"
Standing before the mast, arms crossed over a broad, barrel-like chest, was Captain Corliss. He was a towering figure of intimidation, his face scarred and weather-beaten, with a beard that looked like a bird's nest made of steel wool. Seeing Suzaku's eyes shut tight in apparent defiance, Corliss's face darkened, his expression twisting into a scowl that could curdle milk.
Inside Suzaku's mind, the storm finally began to settle. The chaotic jumble of images sorted themselves out, revealing the terrifying truth.
He remembered.
He was no longer the ordinary office worker from Earth. He remembered the blinding headlights, the screech of tires, and the crushing weight of the truck that had ended his previous life in an instant.
But he was also Suzaku Yareon, a young man of this world—the world of One Piece.
The memories of this body were tragic. His parents had been honest merchants, worked to death and starved by the exorbitant Heavenly Tribute demanded by the World Nobles. Orphaned and destitute, Suzaku had been forced to join this third-rate pirate crew just to keep starvation at bay. It was a life of misery, scrubbing decks and dodging beatings.
But he hadn't lost his humanity.
Yesterday, the crew had raided a small coastal village. They had dragged several weeping young girls onto the ship, intending to sell them to slave traders in the next port. The "original" Suzaku, his conscience screaming, had waited until the crew was passed out in a drunken stupor. With trembling hands, he had picked the lock of the brig, led the girls to a lifeboat, and lowered them into the dark, silent sea.
He had thought he was stealthy. He was wrong. A deckhand, waking up to relieve himself, had spotted him.
"Hmph. On this ship, my word is law. No one defies Corliss and lives to tell the tale!"
The Captain's voice boomed like a cannon shot, snapping Suzaku back to the terrifying reality. Corliss drew a heavy, single-edged cutlass from his belt. The blade was chipped and stained, a testament to the brutal violence it had inflicted over the years.
"Lads!" Corliss pointed the tip of his blade at Suzaku's throat. "Execute him. Chop him into pieces and throw him overboard to feed the Sea Kings! Let every man on this ship see clearly—this is the consequence of disobedience!"
"Aye, Captain!"
"Finally! I've been waiting to gut this traitor!"
"He needs to taste some real bitterness before he dies!"
Three burly pirates stepped forward, drawing their weapons with malicious grins. The sunlight glinted off their blades, signaling an imminent, messy death.
Suzaku's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale and trembling.
Seriously? Are you kidding me?
I just got here! Counting the time since the memories merged, I've been in this world for less than three minutes! And it's going to end like this?
This wasn't how the stories were supposed to go. Where was the cheat ability? Where was the golden finger? Other transmigrators became Pirate Kings, Admirals, or built massive harems of beauties. They didn't get executed by a no-name pirate captain in the prologue!
The executioner, a fat pirate with rotting teeth and arms as thick as tree trunks, raised a heavy executioner's blade high above his head. He licked his lips, savoring the moment.
Death was seconds away.
In his desperation, Suzaku's mind fractured into pure, primal panic. He didn't care about dignity. He didn't care about logic. He screamed internally, his soul crying out to the uncaring void.
Anyone! Anything! No matter if you are a god, a demon, or a devil! East, West, past, or future! If there is any power in this wretched universe that can hear me, save me!
I don't want to die! Not again!
A desperate litany of names flashed through his mind, a frantic prayer to deities he didn't even truly believe in.
Oh God, save me!
Great Spirit of the Sea! Kami-sama! Anybody!
Lord of the Heavens! Bodhisattva of Mercy!
Hell, I'll take the Devil! Satan! Hades! If this is the Grand Line, then Poseidon!
System! System Daddy! Stop playing dead! Where is my beginner's gift package?! What kind of trash plot starts with the protagonist getting decapitated in Chapter One?!
He squeezed his eyes shut as the wind whistled—the sound of the heavy blade beginning its descent.
Save me! Someone, please!
[DING!]
A crisp, mechanical chime resonated directly within his skull, drowning out the roar of the waves and the jeers of the pirates.
Suddenly, a translucent, light-blue interface materialized behind his closed eyelids. A line of concise, cold text flashed into existence:
[Detecting Host status... Critical peril confirmed.]
[Condition Met: Host has successfully survived until the age of eighteen across two lifetimes.]
[The Multiverse Summoning System has been activated!]
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. In this life-or-death moment, Suzaku didn't have the luxury to read the terms and conditions. He didn't care about the font size or the user agreement. The instinct for survival overruled everything.
Activate! Suzaku roared in his mind, pouring every ounce of his will into the command. Open the starter pack! Summon a demon! Summon a dragon! I don't care what it is—just get me out of here! QUICKLY!
[Ding! Strong Host intent detected. Beginner Summoning Authority enabled...]
[Initiating First Summon...]
The system's prompt sounded like a choir of angels to his ears.
In the real world, the fat pirate's sneer had reached its peak. His muscles bulged, veins popping against his dark skin, as he drove the heavy blade down toward Suzaku's neck with lethal force. The surrounding pirates leaned in, their eyes wide with anticipation, eager to see the blood spray.
Suzaku could physically feel the air pressure from the falling blade pressing against his skin. A cold sweat instantly soaked his back. This was it.
Buzz—!!!
An indescribable, powerful, and strange energy fluctuation suddenly exploded outward, centered directly on Suzaku.
It wasn't a sound, but a vibration that rattled the very timber of the ship. It felt as if invisible strings in the fabric of reality had been violently plucked.
A dazzling, almost demonic purple light erupted without warning. It was blindingly intense, instantly engulfing the executioner, the mast, and the descending cutlass.
"What the hell?!"
"My eyes! I can't see!"
"Where did that light come from?!"
The pirates who had been closing in stumbled back, shielding their eyes with their arms. They cursed in confusion and terror as the purple radiance turned the deck into an otherworldly stage.
As the blinding intensity subsided slightly, a complex magic circle, roughly the height of a person, appeared within the purple glow. It hovered in the air between Suzaku and his executioner. Countless mysterious runes flickered within the circle, spinning and rearranging themselves like living constellations.
The next second, the light rapidly contracted, imploding inward with a sharp crack of displaced air.
Under the astonished, watering eyes of everyone present, a figure materialized from the void.
It was a girl.
She was petite, standing in stark contrast to the brutal, hulking men surrounding her. She had short, sky-blue hair that framed a delicate, heart-shaped face. One eye was covered by her bangs, while the other—a large, gem-like eye the color of the calm ocean—blinked open.
She was dressed in a pristine maid outfit that looked utterly out of place on a pirate ship. The dress was black with white frills, featuring a white apron and a floral hair ribbon. The layered ruffles emphasized her slender, feminine frame.
However, the aura she radiated was anything but soft.
Her visible eye was devoid of warmth. It was frozen with an emotionless, terrifying killing intent.
With a movement too fast for the pirates to track, the girl raised a slender, pale hand.
CLANG!
The sound of metal hitting an immovable object rang out.
The muscular pirate, who had been swinging his blade with enough force to cleave a man in two, froze. His face flushed a deep crimson, veins popping on his forehead as he strained against an impossible resistance.
The delicate maid had caught his wrist.
She held him effortlessly. Her grip was like an iron clamp, stopping the massive blade inches from her shoulder. The pirate's thick arm trembled violently from the exertion, but he couldn't force the weapon down another millimeter. It was as if his arm had been welded to a steel wall.
In her other hand, hanging casually by her side, was a weapon that completely mismatched her cute appearance. It was a massive flail—a spiked iron ball larger than her own head, connected to a thick chain that trailed on the wooden deck. The spikes gleamed with a cold, hungry light.
The sudden, drastic change plunged the deck into a deathly silence.
The sea wind still whistled through the rigging, and the ship creaked on the waves, but the human noise had vanished. The pirates, who had just been baying for blood, now stood with their mouths hanging open, looking like fish gasping on dry land.
Their brains couldn't process the image. A maid? Catching an executioner's blade? Out of thin air?
Even Captain Corliss, a veteran of the seas who prided himself on his composure, involuntarily took a step back. His eyes narrowed to slits, his hand tightening white-knuckled around the hilt of his own sword.
"Who... what are you?" the executioner stammered, his voice trembling as he looked down at the small hand crushing his wrist.
The blue-haired maid ignored him. She ignored the horrified gazes of the crew. She ignored the rocking of the ship.
She slowly turned her head, surveying the surroundings with a detached, clinical gaze. Then, she looked back at Suzaku, who was still tied to the mast, his jaw practically on the floor.
She tilted her head slightly, her short blue hair swaying with the movement. Her voice, when she spoke, was cool, polite, and melodious—like a silver bell ringing in a graveyard.
"Where is this place?" she asked, her tone carrying a hint of genuine confusion, though her grip on the pirate did not loosen in the slightest.
"Has Rem... been kidnapped?"
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