I started reading One Piece when I was sixteen years old.
Back then, it was just a getaway from the mundane reality of being a teenager in a middle-class family.
It took me less than a week of sleepless nights to catch up to the Marineford Arc, and even now, after fourteen years and a lifetime of other stories, it remains my favorite arc.
In my humble opinion, the “War of the Best” is the most beautiful symphony of chaos ever written.
It is the moment where the gears of the world stop grinding and simply explode.
But today, the irony of it has turned into a cold, hard weight in my gut.
Standing right in the middle of that symphony isn’t something I ever imagined, not even in my wildest self-insert fantasies.
Yet, after the chaotic four years I’ve endured, believe me when I say this isn’t even the worst situation I’ve found myself in since arriving in this world.
I stood on the tilting deck of a ship, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the ozone of clashing Haki.
To my flank stood Whitebeard, a titan of a man whose very breathing seemed to vibrate through the wood beneath my boots.
Facing us was the full, terrifying might of the World Government, Sengoku and his endless legion of white-shirt-wearing morons, the Logia-wielding Admirals who looked at us like insects, and that absolute, helmet-wearing asshole standing with the vice admirals.
I wasn’t here for the adventure.
I wasn’t here to see the “Pirate King” born.
I was here for my family.
They were kneeling on that cold execution platform, not to pay for any crime, but to be used as a bloody example to the world.
I had kept up with the manga through the Elbaf Arc back in my old world, but as we stood on these shifting sands, that future knowledge felt almost useless.
We had changed too much over the last four years.
The timeline had diverged, the dominoes had fallen differently.
Now, I could only pray that the few predictions I had left from my “alternate future knowledge” would manifest in some recognizable way.
Who would have thought that waking up in that cave all those years ago would result in this?
I glanced at my partner standing beside me, both of us ready to plunge into a sea of enemies.
My goal was simple ensure no one close to me dies today.
I was here to change destiny.
To be truly free is to mold the future with your own hands, not to follow the ink of a manga panel drawn a decade ago.
Today, I would change the future of many, just as I had changed my own.
(Four Years Ago – Unnamed Island, Calm Belt)
You know that feeling when you wake up from a well-deserved sleep after a grueling thirty-hour editing session for a corporate project?
Your brain is fried, your eyes feel like they’ve been rubbed with sand, and a few standard questions usually drift through your mind before you even open your eyes.
Question one: Did I fall off the bed?
The surface beneath me was punishingly hard, lacking the familiar give of my memory foam mattress.
Question two: Why does my body feel like it was put through a professional tenderizer?
And the most confusing one: Why is it so cold?
The last thing I remembered was a record-breaking summer heatwave that had my AC unit screaming for mercy.
I forced my eyelids open.
I expected to see the messy desk of my apartment or the glow of a standby light.
Instead, all I saw was stone.
The ceiling was a vaulted expanse of grey rock, dimly lit by a soft, ethereal glow.
As I sat up, my back popping in protest, I realized this wasn’t a natural formation.
The walls were unnervingly smooth, as if someone had taken industrial-grade sandpaper to the stone until it had the texture of glass.
It was a man-made cavern, silent in a way that modern life never is.
No hum of electricity, no distant traffic, just the sound of my own shallow, panicked breathing.
“How did I get here?” I whispered.
My voice echoed, sounding small and frail.
I tried to apply logic to the situation.
Was I kidnapped?
I ran the numbers.
I was from a middle-class family, just me and my sister.
No parents, no massive inheritance.
I didn’t possess any “underworld” skills that a cartel would want.
What were they going to do, force me to edit propaganda videos?
They could have hired a freelancer on Fiverr for cheap; kidnapping me seemed like a massive over-calculation.
I stood up, my legs feeling like jelly, and began to move toward the source of light at the cave entrance.
I needed to find a clue, anything that wasn’t polished rock.
A little further from where I woke up, I spotted it: a wooden box resting on the floor, about the size of a small jewelry case.
Beneath the box lay a thick envelope.
I picked it up, my fingers trembling.
On the front, in elegant, flowing calligraphy, was a name: Victor.D.Costa.
I stared at the ink.
That was my name, yet the syntax was wrong.
My name was Victor D’Costa.
The “D” was never an initial; it was just part of the surname.
But seeing it separated like that, Victor D.
Costa, sent a chill down my spine.
In the context of the story I loved, that “D” wasn’t just a letter.
It was a target.
I tore the envelope open and found five handwritten pages.
As I read, the questions in my head were answered, only to be replaced by a terrifying new reality.
“Hi there,
For the person reading this: my name is Damien.
I’m a Planeswalker and the current holder of the Second True Magic, the Kaleidoscope.
This letter is the answer to everything.
First: ‘Where are you and how did you get here?’ You are in the world of One Piece.
I brought you and two others here to fulfill a promise I made two centuries ago to your ancestors.
Yes, your ancestors were native to this world.
I met them two hundred years ago, four scrawny teenagers running from slavers.
I saved them, and they helped me explore this world.
When it was time for me to depart the omniverse, they joined me.
They saw countless worlds, but being human, they eventually aged.
They chose to settle in your old world, a quiet place with no supernatural elements, to live out their final days in peace.
But before we said goodbye, they made me promise to guide their descendants back to their native world when the ‘Drums of Liberation’ were about to sound.
They had a pact to keep with Joy Boy, to aid him in the war against the False King.
So, here I am, fulfilling that vow.
Three of you have been brought here.
You are one of them.
I know you aren’t built to survive this world yet, so I’ve left a care package.
Each of you receives the same three items:
A vial of edible Compound V: A stabilized variant that grants superpowers, strength, speed, durability, and a unique power based on your genes.
It is safe with no side effects.A Digivice: A device to communicate with Digimon, creatures of pure data.
Wear this, and it will summon a partner who will stay by your side for life.A Busorenkie (Alchemical Weapon): The hexagonal metal piece.
A drop of blood will bond it to you, transforming it into a custom, self-healing weapon.
As for the box itself, it is made of sunlight-absorbing wood.
Fully charged, it can power a city for a day.
It is also your key home.
If you want to return to your world, you must take this box to Laugh Tale.
Find the cave with the solar system carving, place the box on the pedestal, and a portal will open.
‘Almost impossible,’ I know.
But you must make it possible.
Your specific location is on the following pages.
Survive until then.
P.S.
This is likely our only contact.
I’m off to new worlds.”
I finished the letter and let out a long, shaky breath.
My brain, the part of me that had spent thirty hours editing corporate projects, tried to find a “delete” button for this reality.
But the cold was too real.
The stone was too hard.
I looked at the box, then back at the letter.
Only three words came to mind, summarizing my entire existence in this new world.
“I’m sooooo FUCKED.”
Word Count: 1446