-? POV:
I lay on my back, shirtless and drenched in sweat from my rigorous daily training. My body heaved with each breath, my muscles screaming in protest from the exertion. The grass beneath me felt cool against my heated skin as I stared upward into the endless expanse of a cloudless, brilliant blue sky. The sun was high, warm and comforting, its rays easing the exhaustion from my muscles. This serene field had become my sanctuary, a quiet retreat from reality.
Oceanus Island, where I now lived, was indeed breathtaking at first glance, a picturesque landscape of lush greenery and crystal-clear waters. Yet, this beauty was but a mask for its true nature. On the opposite side of the island lay sprawling industrial factories, constantly belching black smoke as they produced weaponry and battleship components for the Navy. The air there was thick with soot, staining the skies a perpetual gray. Meanwhile, nestled away from the industry, the quaint town where the families of marines resided was filled with cobbled streets, well-maintained parks, and homes lined with white fences, as if it existed in a separate world.
Here, children ran freely through the streets, playing with wooden swords, dreaming of becoming great marines like their fathers. Mothers gathered in markets, trading stories and recipes, while elderly veterans sat outside shops, watching the world pass with quiet amusement. The contrast between the two halves of the island was staggering, as if one side was built for war and the other for a life untouched by it.
And me? I was the adopted son of a Marine captain.
It has been almost six years since I was transmigrated to the one piece world. That's right. I'm not from this world, I came here from a world where one piece is but a story written down, a story I'd adored in my previous life, filled with adventures, mysteries, and dreams.
However, as much as I loved that story, the world it's set in is entirely different from what I had imagined. My first two years here have deeply ingrained that realization into my mind. While One Piece does hint at dark and twisted secrets hidden within its colorful universe, these elements are only subtly touched upon and never fully expanded. Instead, the narrative primarily centers on the vivid adventures and significant struggles of the main cast, drawing attention away from the shadowy corners of its world. This focus creates a vibrant tapestry of storytelling that emphasizes resilience and camaraderie over the lurking depths of its lore.
However, when I woke up here, I found myself inhabiting the body of an 11-year-old child, who appeared to have been crafted solely to serve as a vessel for my consciousness. As I awoke, I was granted brief access to the child's memories. He was nameless, perpetually devoid of emotions, and never spoke a word, more a puppet than a human. His existence seemed devoid of personal agency or desire, engineered to fulfill commands silently and without question. While his eerie, emotionless state might have been alarming to most, it made him the perfect candidate for those in search of an obedient puppet, one who performs tasks flawlessly without ever making a sound.
That's how I found myself waking up on a slave trader ship. The boy whose body I now inhabited had been taken to work as a slave, performing the grueling and menial tasks that the crew considered beneath them. It didn't take long for them to notice the change when their previously emotionless puppet began to display signs of life and emotions. Alarmed by this unexpected development, they employed the harsh methods they traditionally used to suppress the wills of their slaves. They subjected me to beatings, torture, starvation, and prolonged deprivation of light, employing every cruel tactic in their arsenal to strip away the burgeoning emotions and enforce submission.
Honestly, I still don't know how I managed to maintain my sanity through it all. I was teetering on the brink of a complete breakdown; more than a year had passed since I awoke in this new reality, and the relentless abuse had not subsided. Unlike other captives who were sold off to new owners, I remained on the ship. The crew was reluctant to part with me, seeing my potential to revert to a perfect, emotionless puppet. Their determination to erase any trace of personality or resistance meant that my existence was a continuous cycle of cruelty, aimed at suppressing any spark of individuality that might threaten their control.
But then one day, everything changed dramatically. The usual monotony of the ship was shattered by traders screaming and scrambling in a frenzied panic, hastily preparing for an imminent battle. As I peered over, a surge of hope washed over me for the first time since my capture. A marine battleship was rapidly closing in on the ship's rear, its presence bold and intimidating. Noticing that they hadn't readied their cannons, I realized they were probably aware that this was a slave transport ship. Their deliberate avoidance of cannon fire likely indicated a precision rescue operation was underway, aimed at minimizing harm to the captives like myself. This strategic and careful approach provided a glimmer of hope, stirring a cautious optimism that rescue might finally be at hand.
Before I knew it, men in crisp white uniforms had boarded, dispatching the traders with practiced ease. The air quickly filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder, and screams echoed around me as the scene descended into chaos. The ship's crew, lacking in both skill and experience in combat, were easily overwhelmed. Meanwhile, the mercenaries hired for protection at the journey's outset found themselves outmatched by the higher-ranked marines. Leading the charge was the battleship's commander, a marine Captain, who skillfully coordinated his forces, ensuring that each threat was swiftly neutralized. This swift and decisive action by the marines transformed the ship into a battleground of desperation and precision.
As the fighting tapered off, the outcome was unmistakable: the marines had secured a flawless victory, with no casualties on their side, a testament to the meticulously crafted strategy the captain had devised before the siege. As the dust settled, the soldiers began to regroup, forming teams to free the slaves held below deck. In the midst of coordinating the rescue efforts, the Captain, who had been issuing orders to his lieutenant, suddenly paused and turned his attention toward me. His gaze, intense and discerning, fixed on me as if he recognized something significant or unusual in my presence amidst the chaos.
His gaze was kind and warm, melting away some of the harshness I had endured. An involuntary smile emerged on my face as my savior approached slowly. When he reached me, he crouched to my level and gently placed his hand on my head. Instinctively, my body tensed at this contact. I noticed a hint of sadness enter his eyes as he observed my reaction, prompting me to consciously relax my tense muscles. His presence conveyed a deep understanding and compassion, offering a stark contrast to the cruelty I had become accustomed to.
"What's your name, buddy?" he asked in a gentle and soothing voice that seemed almost out of place coming from the commanding figure before me.
"I don't have one," I replied, my voice raspy and weak, barely audible as the words struggled to escape my lips.
Hearing my answer, I saw him struggle to maintain his smile, resisting the urge to frown, probably concerned that showing distress might further alienate or frighten me. He managed one more reassuring smile before he slowly rose to his feet and turned back towards the lieutenant he had been conversing with earlier.
"Leasly, bring me some water and light food. He was being starved," he commanded, his voice resonant with authority and tinged with disgust at the treatment I had suffered.
"Right," he replied, turning toward their battleship. I could almost hear him mutter "fucking scum" under his breath as he walked away.
Just as the lieutenant turned around, I caught sight of the master of the slave ship, his chest marred by a gaping wound, rising shakily to his feet. In his hand was a gun, aimed directly at the back of the marine captain. My body moved on its own, propelled by the intense fury built up from months of suffering aboard the ship. But above all, it was the sheer audacity of this wretched man, this vermin, daring to point a weapon at the man who had just saved me, that sparked my visceral reaction.
"CAPTAIN, BEHIND YOU!" screamed a marine seaman, alerting everyone to the danger.
As the captain whirled around, I was already in motion, racing toward the slave trader. The deck's chaos faded to a distant murmur; my vision tunneled, focusing solely on the man before me. A surge of adrenaline I had never felt before propelled me forward with unexpected speed. My mind faded into the background, instincts taking complete control. Power built up involuntarily in my left hand, gathering momentum without my conscious command. And then, almost as if watching myself from afar, I saw my arm swing forward in a powerful arc, delivering a devastating punch driven by raw, unguided fury.
An eerie silence descended around us, broken only by the gentle lapping of ocean waves against the ship. Everyone, myself included, was rooted to the spot, our eyes wide in shocked silence. My punch had delivered more than just impact; my entire forearm, up to the elbow, had driven straight through the chest of the slave ship's master, leaving a ghastly wound. The gravity of what had just occurred held us all in a spellbound stillness.
As I pulled my arm back, the man impaled by it collapsed to the ground. For a brief moment, I noticed my arm flickering black, an ominous and unexpected sight that added to the surreal horror of the moment.
"—Haki?" The thought barely registered before my body gave in, exhaustion crashing over me like a tidal wave. My vision blurred, the world tilting as I felt myself falling backward. The last thing I saw before everything faded to black was the captain's steady hands reaching out, catching me before I hit the ground.
The next thing I knew, I woke up on this very island, alone in what seemed to be a clinic room. The quiet stretched endlessly, giving me time, too much time, to think. I replayed everything that had happened since the moment I first woke up in this world, each memory sharpening the realization that refused to fade. This was no longer just a story I had once read and loved; it was a living, breathing reality, one I was now irrevocably part of. And in this world, I was no protagonist—just someone burdened with fragments of the future, vivid yet incomplete.
After what felt like an eternity, a woman, likely the caretaker of this place, finally entered my room. The moment she saw me awake, her eyes widened in shock. Without a word, she spun around, hastily turning to leave, as if rushing to alert someone else.
"Dear! Come down, he's finally awake!" she shouted through the door behind her, her voice brimming with urgency and relief.
Rushed footsteps echoed through the hall, growing louder by the second. Moments later, the door burst open, and a man stepped in. I recognized him instantly, it was the captain who had saved me. He met my stunned expression with a warm, genuine smile, one so sincere that I couldn't help but return it, feeling a sense of relief I hadn't realized I needed.
"You gave us quite a scare," he said with a light chuckle, his voice carrying both relief and warmth. "Sleeping for a whole month like that."
"Where... are we?" I asked, my voice rough and unsteady, cracking from weeks of silence.
"Rest easy now, you're in my home," he said, his ever-present smile reassuring. Then, with a lighthearted tone, he added, "Ah, let me introduce you two."
"Honey, this is the boy who had my back that day, the one I told you about," he said, turning to the woman beside him. Then, with a warm smile, he looked back at me and added, "And this is my wonderful wife, Gina."
"Nice to meet you, young man," she said with a warm smile. Then, with a slight bow and a playful glint in her eyes, she added, "And thank you for keeping an eye on my reckless husband."
"It was my pleasure, ma'am," I replied, a bit flustered by her gratitude. "I'm just glad I could help, even if it was something small."
"Melvin told me what he knows about your past," she said, her voice gentle, eyes filled with sorrow. She hesitated for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully, then added softly, "So... I want to ask you, would you accept a name from me?"
Her words stunned me for a moment, not because I didn't want to accept, but simply because I hadn't expected it. Gina, however, didn't know that. I could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the way she hesitated, as if she feared she had overstepped. She looked ready to apologize, maybe even take back her offer, misunderstanding my silence.
"I would be honored," I replied with a smile, cutting off her doubts before they could take root.
The smile that spread across her face when she heard my words could have lit up the entire room. Her smooth brown hair, loosely gathered in a messy bun, framed her gentle features. The warmth in her eyes and the softness of her smile wrapped around me like a comforting embrace, a feeling I hadn't known in a long time, not just in this world, but in my entire life.
"Then how about Justin? It sounds cool, doesn't it? Almost like Justice," she said excitedly, her eyes shining with enthusiasm. It was clear she had thought of this before.
Melvin stood nearby, his expression warm and content as he listened. Then, with a gentle smile, he stepped forward. "Well, Justin, welcome to the Vargas family," he said, his voice steady yet filled with kindness. He extended his hand toward me, not just as a greeting, but as an invitation, a promise that I belonged.
That was nearly four years ago. Since then, this place has become my home, and Gina and Melvin have become more than just guardians, they became my parents in every way that mattered. Before I even realized it, I had started calling them Mother and Father.
Father, a Marine captain, was often away on duty, but the time he spent with me, whether training, playing, or simply being together, became irreplaceable memories I held close. Mother, on the other hand, doted on me endlessly. When I learned she couldn't have children of her own, I understood that having someone to love and care for had been her greatest dream. The unconditional love she gave me became my anchor, the one thing that kept me from fearing those long years on the ship. In the end, it was also what helped me finally accept this reality as my own.
Sensing someone approaching, I sat up and saw Father walking toward me, his stride relaxed but purposeful. "Yo, Justin, have a good training session?" he asked with a grin, his hand lifting in a casual wave.
"It went well. I can really feel myself getting stronger," I said, stretching my arms above my head, the motion easing the tightness in my muscles and filling me with a sense of accomplishment.
"Hahaha, man, you're gonna make me jealous at this rate," he teased, his laughter warm and playful.
"You're already stronger than me anyway," he said, his tone light, before his expression softened. "Just be careful not to overdo it, alright?" The concern in his voice became clear as he finished.
That's right. After settling into life here, I asked Father to start training me. At first, he hesitated, but soon enough, those sessions became one of our favorite shared activities. It was through these training sessions that I began to realize my body was anything but ordinary. Once I had recovered and regained my strength, it all clicked, I finally understood why the traders had been so reluctant to sell me.
My body was unnaturally strong and resilient. The first time I got cut during training, I watched in disbelief as the wound healed at a rate visible to the naked eye. Father immediately told me to keep this a secret, and I couldn't agree more. A person with that kind of healing ability would be prime merchandise for all sorts of unsavory characters. But it wasn't just the physical side that set me apart, it was my mind as well. I could pick up new techniques in a day, and within a week, I was performing them at a level that even surprised me.
The first real technique my father taught me was Soru, a move I was already somewhat familiar with. What took me by surprise, however, was when he pointed out that I had already used it. The punch I threw on the ship that day, the speed I had when I closed the distance between us, it was the instinctive use of an incomplete Soru.
My father was utterly speechless. In less than three days, I had mastered Soru to a level that surprised even me, effortlessly using it more than five times in a row without pause. He couldn't wrap his head around how I had surpassed him in a skill he had spent years honing, all in the span of just a few days. Yet, instead of the jealousy I thought might surface, the biggest, proudest smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile only a parent could give, full of pride and amazement.
Since then, Father had gone out of his way to get me a manual on Rokushiki to learn from. It's something I'll be eternally grateful for, especially knowing how vital it is to the Marines and the immense value it holds.
Over these four years, I trained relentlessly, burdened with knowledge I shouldn't have possessed. I knew I couldn't live a normal life. I wasn't just another person in the world, I was a variable, and I couldn't afford to hope that things would unfold like the stories I once read. So, I decided to use this knowledge to my advantage. There was no point in trying to keep things the same. The moment an outside variable enters the equation, any hope of maintaining the status quo becomes irrelevant and foolish.
The black flicker in my arm that day was unmistakably Haki. For two years, I had been trying to replicate that feeling, focusing all my power into my arm the same way I had back then, but without success. It wasn't until one day, while meditating, that I finally let my body move on its own, without overthinking it.
That day, it became clear how supernatural my body truly was, even compared to this world. The insane strength and endurance I possessed, qualities I shouldn't have, reminded me of figures like Big Mom and Kozuki Oden as children. The rapid healing? That was Kaido's trait. But accidentally using the most advanced form of Armament Haki while failing to master the basic version? That was something that simply shouldn't have been possible.
When I felt the shift in my hand and opened my eyes that day, I was stunned to see my arms glowing with a shiny black coating, a translucent grey aura radiating from them. I could only stare in awe for a moment before the sheer exhaustion hit me, and I collapsed, drifting into unconsciousness.
Since then, I was never able to replicate that feat. However, using basic Haki coating became almost effortless. It's one of the few things I kept secret from my family. I didn't want to burden my father with worry, and I certainly didn't want to put my mother in harm's way.
As I lost myself in thought, I noticed my father had settled beside me, simply enjoying the calm, serene atmosphere this place provided.
"We should start getting ready. We're heading to Sabaody later, don't forget," he said, breaking the silence as he stood and stretched.
My father had been assigned a mission at the Sabaody Archipelago, which meant we would be relocating there for a few months. The idea made me uneasy, filling me with a sense of anxious anticipation.
"Yeah, I'll be there in a bit, just need to take a quick bath," I replied, rising to my feet and picking up my shirt from the ground.
'I just hope nothing goes wrong,' I thought, a feeling of unease settling in as I headed toward the nearby lake to wash off.
-End-
Sea Calendar - Year 1516