One Piece: Reborn as Satoru Gojo

Died, got eaten by some freak-wolf, spawned in an ocean, and fought with a giant snake...

Now, here I am, just lying on the ocean's surface, my body a mess of wounds (yeah, most of my front is torn up, but I didn't even notice until the adrenaline wore off). All thanks to that damn snake. I should've gone for its other eye. And this saltwater—hell, it stings like nothing else.

Have you ever been dunked into a pool with fresh cuts? No? Well, imagine getting stabbed all over, then marinated in liquid fire. That's what this feels like. Probably a little dramatic, but every tiny movement sends waves of pain rippling through my body.

But I'm alive. At least for now.

Forty minutes have passed since my grand duel with Mr. Oversized Eel, and my limbs are starting to feel like they belong to someone else. Heavy, sluggish. I'm pretty sure I'm just floating here like some half-eaten fish, waiting for nature to finish the job.

Maybe drowning isn't so bad. Peaceful, even. Just a little more time and—

No. No way. I didn't fight a sea serpent just to give up now.

But what can I do?

As I remember, Satoru can hover in the sky, and teleport—that would be really useful right now—but I don't even know how to use cursed energy.

That dumbass kid did say there were a lot of people like me, so I guess I'm just not the main one. Great. Not the protagonist. Just another background extra in someone else's isekai dream...

At least I won't die from torture, or burning alive, or—no, drowning is still a pretty bad way to go.

I get distracted by the sound of birds flying above me. I look at them and think that if I were reborn as one of them, I could fly freely. Yeah, maybe I'd have to eat bugs, but at least I'd be alive. My gaze follows them until they disappear over the horizon.

And that's when I see it. A blur. A ship. Small, but real. I blink a few times, making sure I'm not hallucinating. Nope. Still there.

I still barely believe it. I see it, I see the ship—finally!

I don't care whose ship it is—traders, pirates, marines—I don't care.

I gather whatever strength I have left and force my arms to move. My strokes are sluggish, barely pushing me forward, but I keep going. My body protests, every muscle screaming at me to stop. I tell them to shut up.

The ship gets closer. Or maybe I get closer to it. Hard to tell. My vision blurs. My breath is ragged. Just a little more.

And then—hands. Rough, calloused hands grabbing me, hauling me up like a particularly pathetic catch of the day. I collapse onto the wooden deck, coughing out seawater, feeling the solid, blessed, non-liquid surface beneath me.

I never in my life thought I'd be so happy to be on something solid. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me if I started crying right now. Damn, I'm so happy to feel the cracked wooden deck that I'd kiss it—if I wasn't too tired to move.

"Kid, you alive?"

I crack open an eye. A bunch of guys in simple clothes, smelling like fish and some other not-so-great scents, are staring down at me. Fishermen. Not pirates. Just regular, confused fishermen.

"Hope so," I croak out, my voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"Where'd you come from?" one of them asks.

"Yeah, what happened to you?" another man chimes in.

"I..."

Crap. I can't tell them the truth. They definitely wouldn't believe me, and I don't want to be marked as crazy or some dangerous weirdo.

"I was on a ship, a-a-and..." I stall, buying time to come up with something believable. "It was transporting goods and people, a-a-and... I had a fight with some guys, and they ended up throwing me overboard."

The fishermen exchange glances. One of them, an older guy with a scruffy beard and eyes that have probably seen too much, sighs. "Damn merchants, always trouble."

I nod weakly. "Yeah. Merchants." Sure, let's go with that.

One of them kneels beside me and starts checking my wounds. "You're lucky you didn't bleed out, kid. These cuts—how the hell did you stay afloat this long?"

I shrug—or at least I try to. "Dunno."

Another fisherman disappears below deck and returns with a rag and a bottle of something that smells strong enough to strip paint. "Hold still."

I don't get a chance to argue before he presses the rag against one of my wounds.

Now, I consider myself a tough guy. I just fought a giant sea serpent, after all. But when that rag touches my skin? I let out a sound that can only be described as a strangled yelp.

The fishermen chuckle. "Hurts, huh?"

"No," I grit out. "Feels great. Like being salted for winter storage."

They laugh again, but at least they keep patching me up. After what feels like forever, they wrap the worst of my wounds in bandages or just some rags, I didn't look closely, but from the look on them, I was sure I wasn't the first for them.

Like I have a choice. If it will help me to survive, I'm not picky.

"You have a chance to live," the old man says. "We're heading to a village. You can rest there."

A village. Civilization. Actual land.

I exhale a shaky breath. "Thanks."

My throat feels like I've swallowed a bucket of sand. Now that I'm not actively drowning, another pressing issue takes center stage—water. Or, well, any kind of liquid that won't kill me.

I lick my cracked lips and manage to croak out, "Got any water?"

One of the fishermen, a burly guy with a thick beard, grins and rummages through a crate.

"Aye, got something better." He pulls out a wooden flask and tosses it to me. I barely catch it with my shaky hands.

I don't question it. I just twist the cap off and take a deep gulp.

Bad idea.

The liquid burns down my throat like liquid fire, searing my insides and making my already exhausted body go into full rebellion. I sputter, coughing violently, eyes watering. "What the hell—"

The old man chuckles. "Good, eh? Warms the bones."

Oh, it warms something. Like setting my entire digestive tract on fire.

My vision wobbles. My head suddenly feels twice as heavy. The exhaustion I'd been holding at bay comes crashing down like a collapsing ship mast.

"Wait," I mumble. "That was... strong..."

And just like that, my body decides it's done.

The last thing I hear before everything fades to black is the sound of the fishermen laughing as I slump over, completely out cold.

❖✿❖

Some of you might not know, but from Gege's interview about Satoru, He never drinks alcohol. Because of his unique brain, when he drinks it, he instantly loses consciousness.