My Voyage as a Treasure Hunter is Bizarre as Expected!

As I was about to suggest we organize a proper scouting party—because apparently I was the voice of reason now, which was terrifying—when a voice rang out from the treeline behind the beach.

"Stop Right There!!"

'Oh, come on.'

We all turned toward the sound, relief transforming into tension so quickly I could practically see it happening.

From behind the trees stepped a figure that made my heart sink into my stomach—a teenager with curly hair, an olive bandana, a brown shirt and pants, and a slingshot in his hands.

And a very, very, very iconic long nose…

Among the trees behind him were the pirate flags that began appearing, dozens of them, creating the illusion of a vast army hidden in the foliage.

'Of all places…You have got to be kidding me…'

"I am the great Captain Usopp!" the teenager declared, his voice carrying across the beach with theatrical authority that would have been impressive if I didn't know exactly what was happening.

"This Island Is Under The Protection Of My Eight Thousand Subordinates! State Your Business, Or Prepare To Face The Wrath Of My Pirate Crew!!!"

Eight thousand subordinates. Pirate flags in the trees. A dramatic declaration of territorial control delivered with the kind of over-the-top bravado that belonged in a children's theater production.

'Sigh, of all places, we have actually arrived at Usopp's island.'

Even though I didn't want to get involved with anyone important in the story to not complicate my already complicated situation any further, I guess sometimes, there is no avoiding it.

'Well, thankfully it is Usopp's island, not somewhere else like Nami's island, for example, that would have been a disaster.'

If I remembered correctly from the manga, Usopp's "pirate crew" consisted of three local children who were probably hiding behind trees at this very moment, trying not to giggle at their leader's performance.

'However, the people with me don't know that. The people who were actual refugees, who had just escaped actual pirates.'

The survivors looked around nervously, some of them reaching for the weapons.

The people who'd been grateful for safety just moments before now looked like they was considering whether drowning might have been the more pleasant option.

A few of the sailors were muttering about jumping back into the boats, injured or not.

This was exactly the kind of situation that would spiral out of control if left unmanaged. Panicked people made poor decisions, and poor decisions in a world where actual pirates with actual weapons existed tended to have fatal consequences.

Someone needed to take control of the situation before it devolved into complete chaos.

'Unfortunately, that someone appeared to be me.'

The irony of my situation wasn't lost on me—here I was, someone who had spent years perfecting the art of avoiding social responsibility, about to take charge of a group of strangers.

I stepped forward, my boots crunching against the sand with what I hoped was a confident stride.

In reality, I felt about as confident as someone wearing a wizard hat and cloak while trying to negotiate with a teenager armed with a slingshot for the sake of some injured sailors and passengers.

'A fake wizard, a slingshot pirate, and an injured sailor are all trapped on an island. That would be the start of a good joke, or a bad one because an untimely prank and armed panicking people involved.'

My movement caught Usopp's attention, his eyes focusing on me with the kind of intensity that suggested he was trying to determine whether I represented a threat or just someone with questionable fashion choices.

'Tsk!'

"Oi! Slinger-kun," I called out, using a deliberately casual tone that I hoped would defuse some of the tension. The nickname was intentional to suggest I wasn't intimidated. And a bit disrespectful too, to stop escalating the situation.

'Don't blame me, you are the one aiming a slingshot at people with actual guns.'

Usopp blinked, clearly not expecting to be addressed like that.

Behind me, confused murmurs arose from the survivors.

"What is he doing?"

"Is he negotiating with pirates?"

"Is this okay?"

"Could you call one of the adults from the village?" I continued, keeping my voice steady and reasonable. "We're having an emergency here, and we could use some help."

The word 'adults' was enough to shatter the whole theater, and 'emergency' seemed to cut through Usopp's dramatic persona like a knife through paper.

His posture shifted slightly, the slingshot lowering just a fraction. I could see the internal conflict playing out on his face—the desire to maintain his already failing pirate captain facade warring with what was probably genuine concern for people in distress.

I could see the conflict in his eyes—the same kind of internal struggle that plagued anyone who tried to maintain a false identity while their genuine nature fought to break free.

"E-E-Emergency?" he repeated, his voice still carrying that forced bravado but with an underlying note of concern that betrayed his act. "Wha-What kind of emergency could—"

"We're survivors of a pirate attack," I interrupted, deciding that direct honesty was the best approach. "Our cargo ship was destroyed three days ago. We've been at sea since then, and we have injured people who need medical attention, including our captain."

The effect was immediate and dramatic. Whatever composure Usopp had been maintaining shattered like glass.

His eyes widened, the slingshot dropping to his side as the reality of the situation hit him. Behind the trees, I could hear rustling and what sounded like panicked whispers.

Then three small figures burst from the tree line—children, probably around ten years old, each clutching crude pirate flags that they'd obviously been using as props for Usopp's performance.

Their faces showed the kind of genuine alarm that only children could display when confronted with real danger.

"Captain Usopp! This-This is bad!" one of them shouted, a boy with hair that made him look like an onion and a determined expression. "They-They really need help! We have to tell the grown-ups!"

"Yeah!" chimed in another, this one with pepper-like hair and a more nervous demeanor. "Real pirates hurt them! We need to get the doctor!"

The third child, the one with a bandana, was already running toward the village, his pirate flag forgotten on the sand as he shouted for help at the top of his lungs.

The transformation in the atmosphere was immediate. What had been a tense standoff between survivors and supposed pirates suddenly became what it actually was—children trying to help adults in distress.

The survivors, realizing that their "captors" were actually a teenager and three kids playing pirates, began to relax again.

"Thank god," breathed a merchant, his shoulders sagging with relief. "I thought we'd escaped one set of pirates only to run into another."

"Pirates don't use slingshots," muttered one of the sailors, shaking his head. "Should have known it was just kids playing around."

"How did you see through it so quickly?" asked one of the passengers, a middle-aged woman whose travel clothes had seen better decades.

"That was brilliant," added another. "I was ready for the worst."

I felt that familiar discomfort that came from being praised for something that hadn't required any particular skill or insight.

The fact that recognizing an obvious theatrical performance counted as an impressive deduction said deeply troubling things about either the intelligence of my fellow refugees or the stress-induced deterioration of their critical thinking abilities.

"It wasn't that difficult," I replied, trying to deflect their praise while simultaneously feeling embarrassed by how simple the deduction had actually been.

"What kind of pirate captain would be a kid with a slingshot? And eight thousand crew members would make him one of the most famous pirates in the world, not the East Blue."

Even if it were only 80, he would be very famous too. And we would see actual menacing pirates with weapons, not some prop flags.

'Wait, why am I overanalyzing such an obvious lie. Damn I am getting dragged into the pace.'

"So smart," someone said.

"Good eye," agreed another.

Were these people really this easily impressed, or had three days of stress and fear simply lowered their standards for what constituted cleverness? Either way, it was mildly disturbing.

While the other survivors began the process of unloading their few possessions and spreading out on the beach, I noticed that Usopp had remained standing at the edge of the trees, staring at me with an expression that was difficult to read.

It wasn't quite suspicion, but it wasn't trust either. More like the look someone gives when they're trying to solve a puzzle and aren't sure they have all the pieces.

His three companions had returned from their mission to alert the village, and I could see them whispering among themselves while shooting glances in my direction.

'Wonderful. I'd managed to attract the attention of main storyline characters, which was exactly what I'd been trying to avoid since arriving in this world.'

The problem with being transported into a fictional universe was that every interaction carried the potential for massive consequences. Change the wrong thing, influence the wrong person at the wrong time, and suddenly you're dealing with butterfly effects that could reshape the entire narrative.

'Well, in the end, looking at the world from the perspective of a manga is dangerous anyway. My knowledge should only be used as a reference, not anything more.'

The next few hours passed in a blur of organized activity. The villagers of Syrup Village responded to our emergency with the kind of practical efficiency that suggested this wasn't their first experience dealing with unexpected problems.

Tents appeared as if by magic, erected in neat rows that transformed the beach into a functional refugee camp.

The village doctor—an elderly man with gentle hands and the kind of bedside manner that suggested genuine compassion—moved among the injured with quiet competence.

He spent considerable time with our former captain, whose injury required more attention than could be provided with basic first aid.

"This is going to hurt," the doctor warned as he began setting the broken bone.

"Can't hurt worse than the last three days," the captain replied through gritted teeth.

Food began appearing with remarkable speed, prepared by villagers who somehow managed to stretch their supplies to accommodate unexpected guests.

The soup was simple but warming—the kind of basic sustenance that tasted like luxury when you'd been living on rations, half-cooked food, and hope.

"Eat slowly," advised one of the village women, ladling soup into bowls. "Your stomachs aren't used to real food right now."

"Thank you," whispered the old woman with the bag of trinkets. "Thank you so much."

What impressed me most was how naturally the villagers organized themselves. There was no committee formed to study the problem, no bureaucratic process to determine who was responsible for what.

People simply saw what needed to be done and did it. It was the kind of community response that idealists pretended was normal but which would rarely be seen in practice.

"The Kouda family is providing funding for supplies," I heard one of the organizers explaining to another. "We can purchase what we need from the neighboring towns."

Money, apparently, wasn't going to be an issue. One of the village's wealthy residents had stepped forward to provide financial support for the relief efforts.

It was a practical solution that transformed good intentions into effective action, avoiding the kind of resource conflicts that could have turned charity into resentment.

Still, even with adequate funding and genuine goodwill, I could see the strain. Syrup Village was small, its resources limited. Supporting several dozen refugees, even temporarily, represented a significant challenge.

'The arrangement might work for a few days, but it wasn't sustainable long-term. We need to put people on track back home as soon as possible.

Thankfully, we still had our transportation, so the rest of what we need now is some supplies, and simpler navigation personnel.'

Which brought me back to my original problem—I needed to find the Devil Fruit on this island to continue my own journey home.

Moreover, as I have now decided to take it slow and safe, I needed to determine what my next move would be.

As I discovered again how dangerous the sea could be, the first thing I need to do is to invest in my survivability and self-defense.

'The Devil Fruit would be very useful in that front, but'

Unfortunately, my plans for a quiet search were being complicated by the fact that I was Still under surveillance.

"He's still watching you," Delgado mentioned quietly as he settled beside me with his own meal. "That kid with the nose. Has been for the past hour."

I glanced over my shoulder without making it obvious, confirming what I already knew. Usopp and his three young companions were indeed conducting surveillance, though their idea of covert observation left much to be desired.

They were crouched behind a supply tent, with about half their bodies visible, engaged in what they probably thought was subtle reconnaissance.

The problem was that they weren't particularly good at being subtle. I could hear their conversation clearly, partly because they weren't as far away as they thought they were, and partly because children had a tendency to whisper at volumes that defeated the entire purpose of whispering.

"Why are you watching him, Captain Usopp?" I heard one of the boys ask—the one with the pepper hair, I thought, though I couldn't be entirely certain of the name.

"My senses are telling me he's dangerous," Usopp replied in what he probably thought was a mysterious tone but came across more like a teenager trying to sound important. "A great pirate like myself can sense these things."

A great pirate. Right. The same great pirate who'd been using a slingshot to threaten refugees and employing children as his crew.

"Really?" another child asked, skepticism clear in his voice. "How can you tell?"

"Don't underestimate the senses of the great Captain Usopp!" came the indignant response. "Look at him! Look at that cloak and that wizard hat! Nobody normally wears clothes like that!"

-1000 self-esteem!

I felt a spike of irritation mixed with embarrassment.

The cloak and hat were practical choices—protection from stray projectiles and pickpocketing, adding to their usability with Hamon. They weren't fashion statements; they were survival gear.

But apparently, they made me look suspicious to a teenager with delusions of grandeur.

"Maybe he's a wizard," suggested one of the children, his voice filled with the kind of excitement that only kids could muster for the possibility of meeting actual magic.

"Don't be stupid," Usopp scoffed. "There's no such thing as wizards. He's probably just... eccentric."

-800 self-esteem!

"What does eccentric mean?" asked another voice.

"It means weird," Usopp explained with the authority of someone who'd probably learned the word recently. "And look at those dead fish eyes! That's the look of someone who has done terrible things!"

That did it.

Dead fish eyes? From someone whose nose could probably be used as a ship's figurehead? The sheer audacity of Usopp commenting on anyone else's appearance when he looked like someone had attached a carnival prop to his face was almost insulting.

"Also," Usopp continued, warming to his subject, "did you see how he knew we weren't real pirates? Nobody figures that out that fast unless they know about pirates. Real pirates."

"So you think he's a pirate too?" one of the children asked.

"Maybe," Usopp said thoughtfully. "Or maybe he's a bounty hunter. Someone dangerous, anyway."

I finished my soup with perhaps more force than necessary, the spoon clinking against the bowl in a way that expressed my annoyance. Delgado raised an eyebrow with an amused look, but didn't comment on my obvious irritation.

The sun was still relatively high, suggesting I had several hours of daylight remaining. If I were going to search for the Devil Fruit on this island, now would be the ideal time.

The villagers were occupied with refugee management, the other survivors were focused on recovery, and I could potentially explore without drawing too much attention.

The only problem was my unwanted surveillance team.

'Fine. If they were going to watch me anyway, I might as well put their local knowledge to good use.'

I stood up, brushing sand from my cloak, and walked directly toward where Usopp and his companions were failing to hide.

The three children tried to duck lower behind their inadequate cover as I approached, while Usopp attempted to maintain some semblance of dignity despite being caught in obviously compromised circumstances.

"You know," I said conversationally, stopping just close enough to make it clear that their hiding spot was useless, "if you're going to conduct surveillance, you might want to work on being less obvious about it."

Usopp straightened up with the kind of false bravado that suggested he was hoping confidence could substitute for actual intimidation. "I don't know what you're talking about! We were just... patrolling! Making sure the area was secure for the refugees!"

"Right," I replied dryly. "Very thorough patrolling. I'm sure the supply tent feels much safer now."

One of the children, the one with the bandana that made him look like a carrot, giggled before quickly covering his mouth with both hands.

His companions shot him warning looks, but I could see them struggling not to smile.

"Anyway," I continued, "since you're so familiar with patrolling this area, maybe you can help me with something. Do you know the terrain around this island well?"

The question seemed to catch Usopp off guard. He'd probably been expecting confrontation or denial, not a request for assistance.

His three companions looked between him and me with the kind of confusion that suggested they hadn't planned for this scenario either.

"The terrain?" Usopp repeated, his theatrical persona wavering slightly. "Why would you want to know about the terrain?"

"Because I need to look for something," I replied honestly. There was no point in elaborate deception when a simple truth would serve better. "And since you apparently spend your time exploring and... patrolling... you'd probably know the best places to search."

It was a calculated gamble. Usopp's greatest weakness—and arguably his greatest strength—was his desire to be helpful and important.

If I could frame my request in a way that made him feel valuable while also satisfying his curiosity about my suspicious behavior, I might actually accomplish something useful.

The three children were looking at their captain expectantly, waiting to see how he would respond to this unexpected development.

I could see the internal conflict playing out on Usopp's face—suspicion warring with pride, caution battling against the desire to prove his knowledge and importance.

"What kind of something?" he asked finally, suspicion still evident but tempered now with curiosity.

That was the question I'd been dreading. How do you explain to someone that you're searching for a mystical fruit that grants supernatural powers without sounding completely insane?

Especially when that someone already thinks you're suspicious and has a tendency toward dramatic storytelling?

"Something that might have been left here unattended," I said carefully, sticking as close to the truth as possible without revealing the full scope of what I was looking for. "Something unusual that doesn't belong here. I have reason to believe it might be on this island."

Usopp's eyes narrowed. "What kind of unusual thing? Treasure? Weapons? Something dangerous?"

The last option was actually closest to the truth, though not in the way he probably meant.

"Potentially valuable," I admitted, deciding that measured honesty might serve me better than continued evasion. "Something that I need to find before someone else does."

This seemed to pique Usopp's interest even further. The mention of value and urgency probably appealed to his sense of adventure, while the implication that others might be searching for the same thing added an element of competition.

"So you're on some kind of treasure hunt?" one of the children asked, his voice filled with excitement.

"Something like that," I replied, grateful that they'd provided their own explanation.

Usopp was studying me with renewed interest, his earlier suspicion now mixed with genuine curiosity. "And you think this treasure is somewhere on our island?"

"I have good reason to believe it is."

"Okay, but what's in it for us?" Usopp asked, his business instincts apparently kicking in. "If we help you find this treasure, what do we get?"

It was a reasonable question, though complicated by the fact that what I was looking for wasn't the kind of treasure that could be easily shared.

You couldn't split a Devil Fruit—it was an all-or-nothing proposition.

"The sharing part might be complicated," I said carefully. "What I'm looking for isn't exactly... divisible. But if there was anything else with it, of course you will get a share."

Usopp's eyes lit up at the mention of a share. "How much are we talking about here?"

"We will see after we find what I'm looking for," I said, hoping to defer the question until I had a better idea of what was there. I could give him plain gold, but that could start an unusual complication. "For now, are you willing to help with the search?"

Usopp looked at his three companions, who were practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of a real adventure. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and I could see it affecting their captain's decision-making process.

"Fine," he said finally, trying to sound nonchalant despite the obvious interest in his voice. "But we do this my way, and we stick to areas I know are safe. I won't be responsible for getting anyone hurt on some wild treasure hunt."

It was actually a remarkably mature response, suggesting that beneath his theatrical persona, Usopp possessed genuine leadership instincts and concern for others' safety.

"Agreed," I said, extending my hand.

Usopp looked at my outstretched hand for a moment, then clasped it with his own. His grip was firm, calloused from years of slingshot practice.

"Partners," he agreed.

The three children cheered, clearly delighted that their captain had agreed to what they undoubtedly saw as the beginning of a great adventure.

"So," Usopp said, his tone now businesslike rather than suspicious, "where do we start looking?"

…

A/N: Two more Chapters left in this Arc.

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