What can I say. My Laptop gave up on me and I was lazy to post from my phone. I can't promise chapter everyday simply cause I don't know when my laptop will give up on me and I am too broke to repair it right now.
Anyway, apologies to the one who are reading it. I will try to publish a chapter a day. Emphasis on I will try.
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I walked as the three kids ran ahead of me, kicking up dust and leaves as they darted between bushes and branches, full of the kind of life only kids could maintain without sleep or sugar.
They were loud—so loud. Screaming war cries, laughing at jokes only they understood, boasting to the skies about their bravery and strength. One of them had a stick and acted it was a legendary sword. Another acted like a bear that was going to eat the legendary warrior. The third acted like a evil mastermind behind the fight between the warrior and the bear, laughing and cackling in between. I smiled, watching them go at it like overconfident pirates in a tavern brawl.
It was fun to watch. Mostly.
The problem was, they were fearless in the dumbest ways. At least once every five minutes, one of them would decide that gravity no longer applied to them. They'd scramble up a tree, race across a branch, and leap off like they were born with wings. They always landed on their feet—somehow—and then turned to me with wide grins as if expecting applause.
I didn't give them any.
They really took after their Captain, didn't they?
"Ninjin. Tamanegi. Piiman." I called, my voice firm.
They froze mid-boast like someone had hit pause on reality. Their heads turned slowly, eyes wide like they'd just been caught stealing from the pantry. In unison, they shuffled over, standing in front of me like new recruits facing a drill sergeant. For a second, I let the silence hang. Their bravado peeled back to show the trembling underlayer—eyes darting, lips pressed shut, hands twitching by their sides.
I crouched down to their level, meeting their stares. They tried to look tough. Tried really hard. But their eyes betrayed them. Wide. Guilt-ridden. A little scared. I pointed at the tree behind them. Then at them. Just one word.
"No."
They nodded—fast, almost synchronized.
Maybe they understood. Maybe they didn't. In a village like this, where time moved like molasses and nothing ever really happened, their antics were inevitable. Tell them not to do something and it just meant they'd do it again later, but with slightly more caution and a touch more flair.
I sighed and straightened up.
"Usopp." I muttered under my breath.
That name was enough. The trio threw their arms into a dramatic salute, chests puffed out like proud soldiers. Then they bolted forward again, taking the lead as if the scolding never happened.
I followed at my own pace. I knew the route. The trail curved gently through the trees, sun filtering down in sleepy rays through the canopy. Cicadas buzzed in the distance. The breeze rustled the leaves above us with the gentlest hush, like the island was half-asleep and didn't want to be disturbed.
Ahead, Ninjin, the tallest and self-proclaimed leader, was the loudest of the three. His hair was a mop of tangled red curls, sticking out under his crooked headband like wild vines. He wore a ragged blue shirt three sizes too big and insisted on carrying a stick shaped vaguely like a sword.
Beside him was Tamanegi—short, round, always eating something. He had a habit of stuffing his cheeks like a squirrel, even while talking. Today it was rice crackers. He wore goggles on his forehead and had a backpack loaded with "essential tools," most of which were rubber bands, bottle caps, and a water pistol.
And bringing up the rear was Piiman, lean and fast, with spiky black hair and a serious face that didn't match his tendency to burst into laughter at the dumbest things. He carried a slingshot he never used properly and kept score of everything: who won a race, who climbed higher, who got scolded the least. Apparently, he was winning.
We walked like that for a while—me quiet, them chaotic—until a strange sound echoed through the trees. It was high-pitched, screechy, and somewhere between a goat and a seagull.
The kids stopped dead.
I saw their bravado vanish in real time. They huddled together like penguins, eyes darting around, feet inching closer to mine. I couldn't help it—I laughed. A full, deep laugh. They turned to glare at me, cheeks puffed, fists balled, but their knees still knocked together like skeletons in the wind.
Then it happened.
A small explosion—more like a loud pop with too much smoke—erupted just ahead of us. Leaves scattered, birds fled, and a faint cough followed from above. The kids screamed. Actually screamed. Piiman tripped. Tamanegi threw his crackers. Ninjin tried to climb me like a tree.
I didn't even flinch.
I waited two seconds. Three. Then called out, loud and flat: "Usopp."
There was a scrambling noise above. A yelp. And then, from the top of a thick old tree, Usopp fell—not elegantly. He crashed through two branches, did a half-turn in the air, and landed on his back with a soft whump in the grass, slingshot still in hand and goggles askew.
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I crouched down just enough to get a good look at the so-called "fallen warrior" sprawled dramatically at my feet—the legendary figure, the man of the mask, the song-singing, world-flag-burning savior of the Straw Hat Pirates.
The one.
The only.
Sogeking.
Well. Sort of. According to lore, no one knows what is the true identity of Sogeking.
But the one at my feet was the liar of Syrup Village, Usopp laying as dramatically as he could.
I smiled, then reached out and gave him a sharp flick on the forehead. Full force.
It felt like flicking a concrete wall. His skull was just that thick and hard. My finger winced more than I wanted to admit even after all this time. Yet I didn't show any sign of pain.
To his credit, Usopp didn't react. He didn't even twitch. Pure professionalism. Eyes clamped shut, limbs sprawled out, mouth slightly open like he'd been struck down in battle.
I let out a small whistle—a signal.
The kids sprang into action.
"Ninjin! Tamanegi! Piiman!" I barked, and like good little chaos gremlins, they saluted mid-run and rushed to Usopp's side, buzzing like anxious bees. One grabbed an arm, another a leg, and the third... wasn't quite sure what to grab, so he just held onto Usopp's nose until someone corrected him.
They tried to lift him, but coordination was not their strong suit. Usopp's legs dragged through the grass as they carried him back up the trail, heads bobbing, shouting orders at each other like they were moving an injured admiral instead of a very conscious man in an overly dramatic nap.
Usopp peeked one eye open.
I caught it.
He glanced back to check if I was watching. I gave him a slow, wide grin—the kind that would make a drill sergeant proud. His eye slammed shut again, and he immediately went limp in the boys' arms, groaning dramatically as they carried him.
I could make out some of what they were saying.
"He's heavy!" "Carry him!"
Their destination: a crooked treehouse Usopp had built years ago. The boards didn't match, the ladder was just rope and stubbornness, and the walls leaned in directions no architect would approve of. But it stood. Somehow.
The kids didn't hesitate—they started hauling Usopp up the rope ladder like he was treasure being looted. They made it halfway before gravity made its first argument.
Thump.
Usopp slid off and fell straight down, head-first into the dirt.
The kids gasped in unison.
"Captain!...", "Doctor!..." I could only understand this much.
But it mattered not. It was like looking at Lonney tunes in real life.
I stayed where I was, arms crossed, watching. I could almost hear Usopp thinking through the pain. He cracked one eye open again, just to see if I was there.
I was.
He shut it again and went even more limp.
They tried again. And again.
Every time, the same result: halfway up, then thud. His head had made contact with the ground at least three different angles by now. Any other kid would've gotten brain damage by now. But this was Usopp — either incredibly lucky or one of his lies about never suffering from fall damage came true.
Still, the kids were determined. Maybe it was loyalty. Maybe it was because Usopp was their Captain. Maybe it was just because they thought there'd be a reward. Or a secret treasure chest in the treehouse. Kids always think there's treasure in treehouses.
I could have stepped in. Really, I could have.
But... it was funny.
The kind of funny that doesn't come from trying too hard. The kind that grows naturally in slow, sunny places where time lets you laugh at the little things.
I could imagine what the kids were saying if this World followed One piece logic.
"Usopp's brave," Piiman wheezed. "He hasn't even cried!"
"He's unconscious!" Ninjin shouted back.
"That's even braver!"
Eventually, I decided enough was enough.
"Ninjin. Tamanegi. Piiman."
My voice cut through the scene like a Marine trumpet. They froze.
Usopp, still halfway up the rope, groaned and slipped again.
Thud.
Face-first. Again.
I winced. That one's gonna sting tomorrow.
The kids dropped everything and turned to me with wide eyes. I walked toward them slowly, every step full of silent judgment. Usopp lay sprawled at my feet once more, his nose still intact—miraculously.
"Usopp." I said, squatting down beside him.
He didn't open his eyes, but I could see the faintest twitch in his brow. The man was trying not to break character.
I leaned in, smiling.
And pulled on his nose. Hard.
He jumped straight up like a flag. Gave me a big salute with as much as respect as he could as dramatically as he could. If This weren't another world with another logic, I swear anyone of above authority would have slapped some senses on him. The salute was so dramatic, that it almost felt like disrespect.
Yet, I let it pass. He was just a kid. Kids make mistakes. You give them punishment that don't push them away.
I handed him the broken pieces of my fishing rod.
"Atarashī." I said — new.
His face straightened. Just for a second, the act dropped. He understood.
He nodded, serious as he could manage, He saluted me and I waved him off.
He climbed the rope to enter his tree house and the three kids followed him behind.