Chapter 1: A New Dawn in the Land of Waves
Shinra blinked, the world swimming into focus. The air tasted of salt and damp earth. His last memory was of blinding light and tearing metal. Now, he was… somewhere else.
He pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing at the soreness in his muscles. He was on a beach, the coarse sand gritty beneath his palms. Gentle waves lapped a few feet away. Beyond the shore, dense, unfamiliar foliage formed a wall of vibrant green.
"Where…?" His voice was a dry croak.
The scene before him was peaceful, yet utterly foreign. This was not the Land of Fire. The trees were shaped differently, the air held a different weight. A profound sense of dislocation settled in his gut. He was a shinobi of Konoha, or had been. Now, he felt utterly untethered.
With a grunt, he forced himself to stand, his body protesting. He wore his standard mission gear, but his headband felt heavy with unspoken questions. He needed information, a bearing, anything.
A rustle in the treeline. Instincts honed by years of training kicked in before his conscious mind could follow. He melted into the shadow of a large rock, his chakra suppressed to a whisper, his presence vanishing.
Seconds later, two figures emerged from the jungle. They were not shinobi. Their clothes were rough, practical, and stained with sea salt. One wore a striped bandana, the other had a crude tattoo of a wave on his forearm. Pirates. The term popped into Shinra's mind, though he'd only heard tales from traders.
"—told you, the log pose is still setting," the bandana-wearer grumbled, kicking a shell. "This island's got a weak magnetic field. Gonna be another day, at least."
"Captain's gonna be pissed," the tattooed one replied, scanning the beach. "He wants that tavern in Windmill Village cleared out. Says it's a good spot for a base."
Windmill Village? Shinra's mind raced. No such place existed in the Five Great Nations. The language was common tongue, but the context was all wrong.
"Eh, we'll get it done. Bunch of farmers and a drunk mayor. What's the worst that could happen?" Bandana laughed, a harsh, barking sound.
They were talking about attacking a village. A civilian village. Shinra's hand tightened around a kunai hidden in his pouch. His duty as a shinobi, even a lost one, warred with his need for stealth. Konoha's Will of Fire was clear: protect the innocent. But this was not his world. Did the rules still apply?
Before he could decide, a third voice, shrill with panic, cut through the air.
"Hey! Who are you? This is private property!"
A young boy, no more than ten, stood at the edge of the trees, clutching a fishing rod. He wore simple shorts and a vest, his hair a mess of black spikes. His eyes were wide, fixed on the two rough men.
The pirates turned, their casual malice snapping into focus.
"Well, look what we have here," Tattoo sneered, stepping forward. "A little local guide. Perfect. You're gonna take us to your village, kid."
"No! Go away!" the boy shouted, backing up but holding his ground. He brandished his fishing rod like a tiny spear.
Bandana laughed again. "Feisty. This'll be fun."
As the tattooed pirate lunged for the boy, Shinra's hesitation evaporated. The calculus was simple. These were aggressors. The boy was a civilian. The path was clear.
In a blur of motion too fast for normal eyes to follow, Shinra was between them. He didn't draw his kunai. He didn't need to. A simple, precise strike from the side of his hand connected with the pirate's wrist. There was a sharp crack, and the man screamed, clutching his broken arm.
Bandana stared, dumbfounded. "Wha—?!"
Shinra didn't give him time to finish. A low sweep knocked the man's legs out from under him, and a follow-up tap to a specific nerve cluster on his neck sent him into unconsciousness. The whole encounter lasted less than three seconds.
The boy stared, his fishing rod now hanging limply at his side. His gaze traveled from the groaning, broken-armed pirate to his unconscious companion, then up to Shinra. He took in the strange attire, the metal forehead protector with its spiral symbol.
"Who… who are you?" the boy breathed, awe and fear mixing in his voice.
Shinra looked down at him, then out at the vast, unknown ocean stretching to the horizon. He had no answers, only more questions. But one thing was certain: his principles had followed him here.
"My name is Shinra," he said, his voice quiet but firm. He glanced at the pirates. "You should get home. It's not safe."
The boy, however, didn't run. A fierce, grateful light sparked in his eyes. "You… you saved me. Thank you! Are you a Marine? A hero?"
Marine? Hero? More unfamiliar terms. Shinra shook his head slightly. "Just a passerby." He looked toward the jungle, where the boy had come from. "Windmill Village. Is it that way?"
The boy nodded vigorously. "Yes! I'm Luffy! I live there! You should come! Mayor Woop Slap will want to thank you!"
Luffy. The name meant nothing to him. But the village was a starting point. A place to gather information, to understand where—or when—he had landed. And if these pirates had plans for it, perhaps his path was already set.
"Alright," Shinra said, a sense of grim purpose settling over him. "Lead the way, Luffy."
As he followed the chattering boy into the trees, leaving the stunned pirates behind on the beach, Shinra knew one thing for certain. His life as a Konoha shinobi was over. A new, uncharted sea had begun, and he would have to navigate it with the only compass he had left: his own resolve.
(End of Chapter)