The first thing Zodd felt was pain—a brutal, throbbing ache that pulsed behind his eyes, pounding like a war drum. Nausea curled in his stomach, the familiar aftermath of too many drinks and too little sense. For a fleeting moment, he thought he was still sprawled on the sticky floor of some back-alley tavern, the stench of cheap liquor clinging to his skin. He groaned, the taste of stale beer and something metallic lingering on his tongue, and tried to burrow into the nonexistent softness beneath him.
But there was no wooden floor. No cold cobblestones. Instead, a coarse, grainy texture pressed against his cheek, warm beneath the sun. A slow, rhythmic hush reached his ears—waves. The sharp tang of salt filled his lungs.
His brow furrowed. This was wrong. He hadn't been near the sea in... well, he couldn't remember. His mind was a foggy mess of laughter, overflowing mugs, and the droning voice of some self-important philosopher.
With a monumental effort, he forced his eyes open. The world swam into focus—blinding blue sky, the shimmer of sunlight on an endless expanse of water. He blinked, disoriented. No tavern. No city. Just an empty stretch of golden sand and the sound of distant gulls.
Panic slithered up his spine. How had he gotten here?
The last thing he clearly remembered was... darkness. A sudden, overwhelming void swallowing him whole. He sat up abruptly, head spinning, and scanned his surroundings. The beach stretched in both directions, bordered by lush jungle and distant jagged peaks.
And then there was his clothing.
He was draped in an oversized white robe, far too pristine, far too smooth against his skin. He ran his fingers over the fabric, noting the intricate, almost microscopic patterns woven into it. It wasn't just clothing—it felt... significant. Important.
Before he could process any further, a flicker of blue light blinked into existence before his eyes, solidifying into a translucent screen filled with crisp, white text.
[Welcome, User.]
Zodd recoiled, scrambling backward in the sand, heart hammering. A hallucination? Had someone slipped something into his drink?
More text scrolled down in precise, orderly lines.
[You have successfully transmigrated into a new world.]
[Host body: Regulus M. Figarland (Age: 5)]
[Character Template System Initiated.]
[Initial Template Acquired: Monkey D. Garp (0% Integration)]
His breath hitched. Transmigrated? A new world?
His gaze locked onto the name—Regulus M. Figarland. It stirred something in his memory, something half-forgotten, buried in discussions of manga and web novels. Then, realization struck like a hammer.
One Piece.
A chill crawled over his skin. This wasn't just any world. This was a world of pirates, Marines, Devil Fruits, and power beyond imagination.
More text materialized.
[Scanning Host Body...]
[Minor injuries detected. Healing process initiated.]
A soft warmth spread through him, soothing the lingering aches. His hands—small, too small—shook as he flexed his fingers. This wasn't his body. It belonged to someone else. To a child who had... died.
The screen remained, oblivious to his growing dread.
[Analyzing Circumstances...]
[Host body was a passenger on a vessel that was recently caught in a severe storm and shipwrecked.]
[You are the sole known survivor. The original host's life force was extinguished during the wreck. Your soul has been successfully integrated.]
A shipwreck. A dead child. The robe he wore felt less like a garment and more like a shroud.
His pulse pounded in his ears. He clenched his fists, staring at the floating text as it continued to feed him information.
[The Character Template System allows you to integrate the abilities and characteristics of various individuals.]
[Current Template: Monkey D. Garp. This template will gradually integrate over time, enhancing your physical prowess.]
The name sent a fresh jolt of clarity through him. Monkey D. Garp. The Marine hero, a legend in this world. A powerhouse.
Zodd exhaled sharply. If this was real—and every part of him screamed that it was—then he was alone, stranded, and five years old in a world where power determined survival. The Figarland name loomed in his mind, its significance elusive but ominous.
The ocean stretched before him, vast and unknowable, carrying both danger and possibility. A deep loneliness settled in his chest, but beneath it flickered something else—a spark of defiance.
He wasn't just going to survive. He was going to thrive.
Zodd took a shaky step forward, the warm sand shifting beneath his feet. The floating screen followed, pulsing like a silent promise of power and challenges to come. The world of One Piece lay ahead, and he would carve his place in it.
One step at a time.