Blize eyes snapped open. He didn't remember when he had fallen asleep, but he could feel the dampness of sweat clinging to his shirt. His body ached as though he had been through a storm. But it wasn't the ache that made him panic—it was the complete unfamiliarity of everything around him.
He sat up quickly, his heart pounding in his chest. Where was he? He took in the surroundings—a room, a simple wooden table, and a window. The air smelled of salty sea breeze mixed with the scent of old wood. He was disoriented. Last thing he remembered, he had been… somewhere else. Now, he was here. But where here was, he had no idea.
He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his mind. His thoughts raced—how had he gotten here? He tried to focus but only felt the overwhelming sense of anxiety. This wasn't home. He didn't know where this was. He didn't even know what day it was.
He stood up, pacing in the small room. His head spun as he tried to make sense of everything, his heartbeat quickening with each passing second. He couldn't remember exactly how or why he ended up here. All he could feel was fear—the kind of fear that gnaws at you when you're somewhere you're not supposed to be.
He glanced around the room for something familiar. Nothing. His stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in what felt like ages. He paused, looking around for any sign of food or supplies. A quick glance around the room confirmed it: nothing.
Okay, survival mode. Find food. Find shelter. He could figure out what was going on later, but right now, he was starving.
Blizz made his way out of the small room, his bare feet brushing against the cold, wooden floorboards. The hallway outside was dimly lit by a flickering lantern. His gaze shifted from side to side, scanning for anything that could be useful—anything that would answer his growing list of questions.
Where the hell was he?
The building he found himself in was old, likely a few centuries old, judging by the creaking of the floorboards and the thick dust accumulating on the windowsills. It looked like a hostel or maybe some sort of inn. But no sign of life. No other sounds but his own breathing and the distant, muffled noises from outside. There was no one in sight, but he could hear the faint, ever-present crash of waves against the shore.
His first instinct was to head outside. Maybe someone could tell him where he was, and more importantly, how to survive here.
He grabbed a long, tattered coat hanging by the door and pulled it on. It was a little too large for him, but it would do. As he stepped out onto the cobblestone streets, the chill of the evening air hit him. He shivered involuntarily, but it was better than being in that dark room.
He took a few steps forward, walking slowly, unsure of where to go. The town seemed relatively quiet. The street was lined with old buildings, some of which looked like they had been abandoned for years. There was no one around, and the silence was almost suffocating. The only sound was the distant crashing of waves, like a steady rhythm beating in his ears.
He walked a little farther, turning the corner of an alley, and that's when he saw it.
A large public notice board. Papers and flyers were pinned to it, flapping lightly in the breeze. As he approached, one caught his eye. It was a picture, crudely drawn but instantly recognizable.
A pirate ship. The Jolly Roger.
His heart stopped in his chest. He knew that flag. He'd seen it countless times before in his old world—had studied the faces of the people who carried it. This was… One Piece.
The world of pirates. A world of adventure and danger. And it hit him like a ton of bricks.
He was here. In the world of One Piece.
His mind raced, panic bubbling up in his chest. He could barely grasp the reality of it. Was this a dream? A hallucination? But no—he could feel the cold breeze, hear the faint sounds of the bustling port in the distance. He was here, in the One Piece world, and there was no escaping that fact.
His eyes scanned the notice board again, landing on a poster with a bright red background. It was a wanted poster—one he recognized all too well.
"Monkey D. Luffy."
He blinked, trying to steady his breathing. There it was. Luffy, the man who would become the Pirate King. He couldn't deny it any longer—he was in One Piece. This was the world he had only known through the screen, the anime, and manga. Now, he was here, in it, and he had no idea what to do.
His legs felt weak as he staggered back from the board, his mind spinning. What the hell was he supposed to do now?
Pirates? The Marines? Was he supposed to be a part of this world, or should he just stay out of the way? Should he be a civilian? Or maybe a pirate? Was he crazy enough to try to become one? He didn't know. All these thoughts spiraled in his head. He couldn't think straight.
He walked aimlessly for a few more minutes, deep in thought. His gut twisted with fear, excitement, and a bit of nausea. The gravity of the situation was setting in. This was no dream, no game. This was real. His heart raced as he tried to think through the possibilities.
After a few more moments, his thoughts turned inward, reflecting on his current situation. He had no money, no food, and no place to stay. The streets weren't exactly filled with friendly faces, and he had no idea how to survive here—let alone what his next move should be.
The choice seemed simple at first: survive. But how?
He could try to blend in. Work as a simple civilian. Maybe get a job at one of the markets or shops and build up some resources. But in a world like this? With pirates roaming free and the Marines ever-present, he wasn't sure if it was the best option.
On the other hand, he could take a risk—join a crew of pirates. Maybe he could find a group that would take him in. After all, he had seen some of the most powerful pirates ever in the One Piece world, and some had made their own mark without any significant power at the start. But was he really willing to take such a huge gamble?
And what about the Marines? He could join them, he thought. Become a Marine and try to make a difference in this chaotic world. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it wasn't right for him. The Marines were too strict, too bound by rules that might stifle his own potential.
For now, he had to focus on surviving. Training, finding food, figuring out how to adapt to this world.
That was when he realized that there was one other option: staying under the radar.
Laying low. There was no need to get involved in the larger conflicts right now. He could survive, learn, adapt. There was no reason to rush into anything.
But even as he walked through the streets, he knew the journey ahead would be filled with uncertainty. He didn't know where he would end up, who he would meet, or what dangers lurked around the corner. But for now, he would survive. He had to.
He couldn't be the hero, at least not yet.
As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, he knew he had to figure something out fast. His stomach growled, reminding him that food was still a priority. He needed to get a job, find some way to make money. The city was alive with activity, the perfect backdrop for him to make his move.
After a few moments of standing in place, he decided to try his luck. There were plenty of places offering work to people who weren't afraid of getting their hands dirty. He had no choice but to take the risk.
He walked toward a nearby tavern, hoping there would be something he could do. As he pushed open the door, the sounds of laughter and the clinking of mugs filled the air. There were sailors, merchants, and even a few pirates scattered around the room, each absorbed in their own conversations.
"Can I help you?" the bartender asked, eyeing him suspiciously as he approached.
"I'm looking for work," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady despite the nervousness bubbling inside him. "I'm willing to do whatever you need."
The bartender raised an eyebrow but said nothing for a moment, then gestured toward the back of the tavern. "There's a guy in the back who might have something for you. But be warned—he's not the kind to deal with the faint of heart."
He nodded and made his way to the back, pushing open the door to a small, dimly lit room. Inside, a man sat at a table, a grizzled old man with a scar running down his face. He looked up when he entered, sizing him up.
"You looking for work?" the man asked, his voice rough.
"Yes," he replied. "Anything you need done."
The man leaned back in his chair, studying him for a long moment before nodding. "Alright, I got a job for you. There's a shipment coming in, but we need someone who won't draw attention. It's not exactly legal work, but it'll pay well."
His heart skipped a beat. "What's the catch?"
"No catch," the man said with a grin. "But you'll be dealing with some unsavory characters. You still interested?"
He didn't hesitate. It was a job, and he needed it. Plus, it would give him a chance to learn more about the world he had suddenly found himself in.
"I'll do it," he said.
The man stood up, extending his hand. "Good. We'll meet tomorrow morning at dawn. Don't be late."
He shook the man's hand, feeling the weight of the decision he had just made. He had no idea what kind of trouble he was walking into, but for now, it was his only option.
As he walked out of the tavern, the night air was cool against his skin. The stars above seemed to mock him, as though they knew more than he did about the world he was now a part of.
But he wasn't going to let fear control him. He had made his choice. He would adapt, survive, and figure out what came next.
After all, he had a lot to learn in this strange new world.