One Piece: Reborn as Satoru Gojo

A pocket dimension where I could train with Satoru Gojo—yeah, the Satoru Gojo

It was insane. Like, next-level, mind-blowing, "is-this-even-real?" kind of insane.

Which made coming back to reality a total buzzkill.

One second, I was standing there, holding a ball filled with my cursed energy. The next… Face-planted on a carpet that hadn't seen a vacuum since the Stone Age. And let me tell you, my body is still messed up.

For a hot second, I thought maybe I'd imagined the whole thing. Maybe my consciousness was so shocked by the events that were happening that he decided to give me a wonderful vacation. But then I opened my eyes, and—whoa.

The world looked… different. Like, way different.

It was as if someone had increased the resolution of reality from 144p to 8k. New colors, everything was brighter, movement was clearer, and I could see details I didn't even know existed. Small bumps and cracks in the wall? There are. Dust specks floating in the air? Double check. And my own cursed energy? Oh, I could see that, too. Every thread, every pulse, every flicker - it was as if my body had become a glowing neon sign, and I was the one holding the remote control.

At first, it was too much. My brain felt like it was about to short-circuit from information overload. I mean, Satoru made this look easy, but he's basically a walking cheat code. For me? It was like trying to drink from a firehose.

I spent the next hour just lying there, staring at the ceiling, trying not to freak out. Slowly, though, I started to get the hang of it. My brain and eyes adjusted and stopped feeling like they were about to explode, and I finally managed to sit up—of course, accompanied by pain.

Squeeeak!

The door groaned like it hadn't been oiled since the invention of doors. In walked this older guy—big, burly, late fifties, with a wooden box full of supplies that looked like they'd seen better days.

"Already awake," he said, his voice low and gravelly, like he'd been chewing on rocks for breakfast.

"Yeah," I muttered. "Thanks for the help."

He plopped the box down next to me like it weighed nothing.

"We need to re-treat your wounds."

"Yeah, sure," I said, because what else was I going to say? No thanks, I'll just bleed out here?

He pulled out a jar of medicine and some clean bandages—actual medical supplies, not the crusty rags from the ship that looked like they'd been used to clean up.

The whole process took forever, and let me tell you, the first-class treatment I'd gotten earlier? Total garbage. This guy, though, he knew what he was doing.

As he worked, my mind started wandering. Reverse cursed energy. That was the goal. If I could master that, I'd never have to worry about wounds again. And could I use it for other people, I'd be the best doctor in the world. Throw in some flashy skills, and I'd be rolling in cash.

"It should be fine now," the guy said, snapping me out of my daydream. "Might leave some scars, but you'll live."

"Thanks," I muttered. Scars were whatever, but the idea of my body looking like a girl's hands after a depressive teenage period? Hard pass.

"So," he said, casual as anything, "where are you from?"

"Huh?"

Crap. I wasn't ready for this. Couldn't I just wake up without immediately having to lie my face off?

Honestly, if I was going to get Gojo's powers, they should've thrown in Usopp's lying skills too.

Okay, focus. I needed a real island name. Something that existed in this ocean—whichever one I was in.

I racked my brain. One Piece islands could be crazy, but most of the weird ones were on the Grand Line. So where was Nami from again? Coco Island? No, Coto? Cono… something?

Damn, I didn't remember any of the stupid islands outside the grand line at all.

Ok, that is One Piece, and probably there will be some strange names. So my island will be-e-e… Noco? No. Something more Japanese.

Hmm...

Miku... Mikuno.

Yeah. That sounded legit. Even if not just act natural. Confidence is key.

"I'm from Mikuno," I said, smooth as butter.

"Mikuno?" He frowned. "Never heard of it."

Fuck.

But no giving up. People usually go along with it if you keep talking nonsense with enough confidence.

"Yeah, it's far away," I said, keeping my tone steady. "In the north."

"And you sailed from there straight to the Grand Line?"

"Yeah. Long trip."

He stared at me for a second, then nodded. "Ah. Now I get it."

I tilted my head. "Get what?"

"The bandits. They must've taken advantage of you being so young."

I blinked. Oh. That was the conclusion he came to?

"Merchants," I corrected him.

"Same thing," he said with a grunt.

Hard to argue with that. Especially in this world.

"And your name?"

"Allen," I replied. "Allen Walker."

"I'm Joe. Until you're back on your feet, you'll be staying here."

"Thanks."

Joe stood up, but instead of leaving, he walked over to a pile of junk near a half-broken closet, rummaged through it, and pulled out an old metal bucket. He carried it back over and set it beside me.

I frowned. "Uh… what's this for?"

"If you need to relieve yourself," he said flatly.

I stared at the bucket. Stared at him.

"...What?"

"I can't carry you, so that's your option for now."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Stared at the bucket again.

"...Right. Okay," I said awkwardly.

With that, Joe left, shutting the door behind him.

I looked at the bucket. The bucket looked at me.

Yeah. Hell no.

There was zero chance I was using that thing. No way was I going to just sit here with my own waste next to me like some medieval prisoner.

I wasn't an aristocrat, but I had standards.

Fine. If that was the choice, I'd just limit my water and food intake. I'd last five days, tops. By then, I'd be able to walk to a proper toilet.

This was a battle of willpower.

And I was not going to lose.