A sharp, stinging whiff of salty ocean air snapped Alex Ford out of whatever pitch-black void he'd been floating in.
His head was absolutely killing him. It wasn't just a headache; it was a rhythmic, pulsing throb that timed itself perfectly with the world rocking gently beneath him. For a second, he thought he was just hungover on a boat, but the sensation of cold, wet sand scraping against his cheek told a different story.
Blinking hard against the glare of a midday sun, Alex pushed himself up on his elbows. He immediately regretted it as the world spun.
"Ugh, God..." he groaned.
Waves lapped at his legs, cool, foamy, and relentless dragging bits of grit and crushed shells back into the sea with every receding pull. The breeze was thick with that unmistakable, fishy tang of the coast.
"The beach?" he muttered, his voice sounding weirdly scratchy, like he'd been screaming for hours. Why the hell am I at the beach?
Alex had a legitimate reason to hate this scenery. He'd almost drowned when he was ten during some stupid lake trip that went south, and ever since, he'd treated deep water like a personal enemy. Pools were fine, but the ocean? Total death trap. He hadn't stepped foot on a beach in years.
He rubbed his throbbing temples, trying to force his brain to reboot, and staggered to his feet. His balance felt... off. Like his legs were shorter than they were supposed to be.
Wait.
His eyes dropped to his left wrist. A sleek digital watch gleamed there, matte black, high-tech, and looking like something out of a tech-bro's wet dream.
"Did I buy this?" He turned his arm, frowning. "No way. I can barely afford rent, let alone a three-hundred-dollar smartwatch."
He shook his head, desperate to jog a memory, but it was like someone had taken an eraser to the last twenty-four hours. He knew who he was: Alex Ford, twenty-five, currently "between opportunities" (translation: unemployed), single, and living in a cramped studio apartment that smelled like old pizza. But the how of getting here? Total blank.
He turned away from the water, brushing sand off his oversized gray T-shirt, and then he saw it. He froze.
"What the-?"
He looked down at his hands. They were small. Smooth. Like, pre-puberty small. He glanced down at his body and felt his heart do a frantic tap-dance against his ribs. He was tiny. We talking barely four-foot-something, way shorter than he'd been even in middle school.
The T-shirt, which usually fit him pretty well, was hanging off his frame like a literal dress. His boxers were sagging so low he had to grab the waistband with one hand just to keep from flashing the seagulls.
"You've got to be kidding me," he whispered, his voice pitching up into a youthful treble. "This isn't right. I'm twenty-five. I'm six feet tall. I... I have a beard. Or I did."
His brain immediately jumped to the most ridiculous pop-culture explanation it could find. Oh, come on. Did I pull a Conan? Did some secret organization slip me a mystery drug that shrunk me back to middle school?
He spun around, half-expecting to see a hidden camera crew or a bunch of guys in black suits laughing at him from the dunes. There was nothing but the sound of the surf. In the distance, though, he could see the silhouette of a town. It looked old-school, lots of weathered wood and buildings on stilts.
Wobbling like a toddler learning to walk, Alex started trekking toward civilization. His center of gravity was all messed up, and his tiny legs had to work twice as hard to cover any ground.
He did a quick inventory of his pockets as he walked. He found a phone hanging around his neck on a lanyard, a cheap model he didn't recognize that was completely waterlogged and dead as a doornail. But, tucked behind the battery cover, he found a crisp hundred-dollar bill.
"Okay," he breathed, a tiny bit of relief washing over him. "Cash. That's a start. I won't starve today."
The closer he got to the town, the weirder the "vibes" got. It wasn't just that it looked poor; it looked like a movie set. People were walking around in loose-fitting linen shirts, colorful bandanas, and he blinked to make sure he wasn't hallucinating actual swords strapped to their belts.
Is there a Renaissance Fair in town? he wondered.
He caught bits of conversation as he passed the first few houses. It was English, thank God, and they didn't have any strange accents he couldn't follow.
Then, his stomach growled. Not just a little rumble, but a full-on, hollow roar. Right on cue, a scent hit him that made his knees weak: fried garlic, sizzling oil, and some kind of savory seafood.
He followed his nose to an open-air diner. The place was packed with rough-looking guys who looked like they hadn't seen a shower in a month. They were slamming glass mugs on the tables and laughing loud enough to shake the rafters. Alex slipped inside, keeping his head down, and found a small table in the back corner.
A waitress maybe eighteen, with dark hair tied back and a look of permanent exhaustion—spotted him and walked over.
"Hey, kid. You lost?" she asked, not unkindly.
"Just hungry," Alex said, his high-pitched voice still catching him off guard. "What's the fastest, cheapest thing you've got?"
"Fried rice is the move. It's always ready to go," she said with a shrug.
"Perfect. I'll take that."
Minutes later, she dropped a steaming plate in front of him. It looked incredible fluffy rice, big chunks of shrimp, and ribbons of egg. He picked up the spoon, ready to dive in, when she lingered.
"That'll be a hundred and fifty bucks," she said.
Alex froze, the spoon halfway to his mouth. "A hundred fifty? For a plate of rice?"
She blinked, looking confused. "Yeah? It's the cheapest thing on the menu, kid. You want it or not?"
Alex felt his face go hot. He looked around. Are they serious? Is this place in the middle of a hyper-inflation crisis or are they just trying to rob a kid? He reached into his pocket and pulled out his lone hundred-dollar bill, laying it on the table.
"Look, I asked for cheap," he said, trying to sound tougher than he felt. "This is literally everything I have. A hundred bucks. Take it or leave it."
The waitress, her name tag said 'Julie', stared at the bill like he'd just handed her a piece of alien technology. "You're serious? What is this?"
"What's the holdup, Julie?"
A massive guy with a beard that could hide a family of squirrels stomped over. He was wearing an apron that was more stain than fabric. The owner.
"Nothing, boss" Julie tried to snatch the bill up, but the big guy was faster. He ripped it out of her hand.
"The hell is this play money?" he growled, squinting at Benjamin Franklin's face.
Alex's stomach dropped. "That's a hundred-dollar bill! It's worth way more than your rice!"
The owner's eyes narrowed into slits. "You trying to scam me, brat? You think you can come in here, eat my food, and pay with colorful trash?"
Before Alex could even start to explain, a meaty hand grabbed his collar. He was yanked out of his chair so hard his feet left the floor.
"Hey! Let go! We can talk about this!"
He was half-dragged, half-thrown toward the entrance. Two other guys, probably regulars who just wanted to see a kid get tossed, grabbed his ankles. They hauled him out like a sack of garbage and threw him into the dirt street.
Thud.
"I've got money! I swear!" Alex yelled, coughing as dust filled his lungs.
Suddenly, Julie's voice echoed from inside. "Boss, wait! Look at this!" She held up a different bill, a piece of paper with "1000" printed on it in bold, blocky letters. "He dropped this! I was just... I was messing with him before..."
The boss snatched the thousand-unit bill, stared at it, and then without a word backhanded Julie so hard she hit the floor.
"You tried to pocket the change, you little thief?" he roared.
Alex's blood boiled. He forgot he was four feet tall. "Hey! Leave her alone! She didn't do anything!"
But the guys outside weren't interested in justice. They were interested in a punching bag. Fists and heavy boots started raining down. Alex curled into a ball, tucking his chin and covering his head as pain exploded across his ribs and back.
He didn't know how long it lasted. When the boots finally stopped clicking against the dirt, he couldn't move. He just lay there as the sun dipped below the horizon, wondering if he was actually going to die in the dirt of some weird-ass theme park town.
Night fell, and the air turned chilly. Then, that smell of fried rice drifted over again.
Alex cracked one eye open. Julie was kneeling next to him in the moonlight, her silhouette framed by the stars. She was setting a fresh plate of rice down on the ground.
He swallowed hard, his throat feeling like it was full of glass. "I don't... I don't have any more money."
"It's on me," she whispered. She gave him a small smile, though her left cheek was already swelling into a nasty purple bruise.
Alex looked at the bruise and felt a wave of guilt that hurt worse than his broken ribs. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I shouldn't have said anything."
"Just eat," she said gently. "You look like you're about to pass out."
"Thanks," he breathed. He tried to reach for the spoon, but a sharp spike of pain in his side made him hiss and pull back.
Julie scooted closer. She picked up the plate, scooped up a bite, and held it to his lips. "Here. Let me help."
Alex's face went nuclear. "I—uh—I can do it"
"Oh, shut up," she teased softly. "Don't be shy now."
He gave in, opening his mouth as she fed him. The rice was warm and salty, and after a few bites, his body seemed to remember it was alive. His stomach growled loud enough to break the silence.
Julie looked away quickly, her own stomach giving a faint, traitorous echo.
"You didn't eat dinner, did you?" Alex asked.
"I'll find something later," she mumbled.
"No, take some. This is your food." He sighed, leaning his head back against a wooden post. "Seriously, though. Thanks. Best rice I've ever had."
"Did I hurt your feelings earlier?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Nah." Alex shook his head. "You saved my life. Hey... your name's Julie, right?"
"Julie Ann. And you?"
"Alex Ford." He managed a weak, painful grin. "Julie Ann... that's a fancy name. Sounds almost foreign."
"Says the guy with the weird money." She winced as she shifted. "Sorry that just came out."
"Weird money? That was just a regular hundred-dollar bill."
"Dollar?" She tilted her head, looking genuinely confused. "Where's that even from? Some tiny island in the East Blue? Or maybe somewhere on the Grand Line?"
Alex felt his entire world stop spinning. His heart didn't just race; it stopped.
"What... what did you just say?"
"Alex? You're acting weird again..." She tried to pull her hands back, but he grabbed her wrists, ignoring the ache in his arms.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said, breathing fast. "Just... you mentioned the Grand Line. And the East Blue?"
She nodded slowly, looking at him like he'd lost his mind.
"One more thing," Alex said, his voice trembling. "Do you know who Gol D. Roger is?"
"Everyone knows him," she said, her brow furrowed. "The Pirate King. He was executed fourteen years ago. Why are you asking this?"
Alex flopped back onto the dirt, staring up at the stars. He raised his hand and flipped the entire night sky the bird.
"Son of a bitch. I'm in the One Piece world."
Waking up with a wiped memory? Shrunken into a kid's body? Waking up in a literal anime universe?
At this point, it barely even surprised him anymore.