One Piece: Reborn as Satoru Gojo

I was unconscious, but that didn't stop them from talking about me.

"Hmph. Do you really think we should have fished him out?" one of the young men muttered. His voice was low and skeptical. "Maybe a pirate, one of that crew."

"He's too beat up to be a real threat."

"A kid like that? If he is, he's the worst pirate I've ever seen."

"But if his crew threw him overboard," a third one added. "Maybe they had a good reason."

A few of them grumbled in agreement. Tough crowd.

"Enough." That was the old man's voice—the one who had patched me up. He had the kind of tone that made people shut up and listen. "We ain't tossin' a wounded man back into the sea. First, we put him to bed. Then we figure out what to do with him."

Nobody argued after that. At least loudly.

**

I finally snapped back to reality. Wow, what a horrible dream.

Reluctantly, I cracked open my eyes, expecting to see the familiar, comfy interior of the car. Heated leather seats, maybe even a snack waiting for me. Instead, I got… a dimly lit wooden room that smelled like a public toilet that hadn't been cleaned for months, and they dumped a ton of fish on it.

Instead of a plush seat, I was sprawled on a hammock—basically a glorified pile of moldy rags. Lovely.

As the cold, hard truth hit me—this wasn't a dream—I seriously considered crying. Okay, maybe not full-on sobbing, but at the very least, I was ready to throw a pity party.

Damn it. Why did I even agree to that stupid concert?

Also, why does my entire body feel like it got steamrolled? I looked down and—yep—wrapped head to toe in random scraps of cloth. No proper bandages. Either they ran out or decided I wasn't worth the expense.

Suddenly something nudged my shoulder. I groaned, peeling my eyes open. A kid—couldn't be older than ten—was staring down at me with a grin like I was some kind of rare catch.

"Oi," he said. "You alive?"

He was just an average kid with blond hair, a bit on the skinny side, and wearing clothes that had clearly seen better days.

"The elders said you might not wake up."

"Yeah, well…" My voice came out hoarse like I'd swallowed a bucket of sand. "I've got a bad habit of not dying."

The kid laughed. "That's a good habit to have."

I pushed myself up on my elbows and immediately regretted it. My ribs screamed in protest, and my head felt like it had been used as an anchor. The kid noticed and quickly grabbed a wooden cup from beside him.

"Here, drink this."

I eyed the cup warily. "It's not… that stuff from earlier, is it?"

He snickered. "No, just water. I think you had enough of the Dad's drink."

I took the cup and sipped cautiously. Cool, fresh, and definitely not alcohol. My throat thanked me immediately.

I remembered something, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't the strength of that drink that knocked me out, although it's now high on my list of drinks to avoid.

I'm pretty sure I didn't get Satoru's strength. He saw the world differently, though maybe I just don't know how to turn on his powers—and can his power be turned off? Okay, I'll figure it out later, maybe I didn't get his eyes and techniques, but I'm pretty sure I inherited his debuffs.

"So are we still on the ship?" I rasped.

"Yeah. We'll be docking soon," he said. "They told me to wake you up so you could get ready."

I frowned. "Get ready for what?"

The kid shrugged. "Dunno. But the old man said we'll figure out what to do with you once we're on land."

I glanced around. The room—or rather, the cramped storage space they'd dumped me in—was small, lined with fishing nets and crates that smelled like old bait. Through a gap in the wooden planks, I could see the fading light of the evening sky. Night was creeping in, and with it, a cold breeze that seeped through the cracks in the ship's hull.

"Is it true the merchants beat you up like that?"

"Uh, yeah," I said.

Right. My new story.

"And how was that?"

"Tough. And painful."

"Why would they do that to you?"

I froze. Yeah. The details. The tiny little facts I absolutely had not thought through because I had no clue where I was.

"That," I said, stalling, "is a long story."

"I have time."

Of course, he did. I eyed him again—same innocent expression. Too innocent. But he will definitely tell the fishermen about our dialogue, or those men themselves asked him to get me to talk. Either way, anything I told him would probably get repeated.

"I'm tired," I tried.

"But you can still talk."

Okay, officially the most irritating child in existence. But fine. Stalling had bought me a little time, and I had something now. It wasn't perfect, but considering I had zero idea which ocean I was floating in—please, not the Grand Line, please—it would have to do.

"I needed to get somewhere," I started. "Met some peddlers with an empty seat. Paid them to take me since their route was nearby. On the trip, we played some games—high stakes, you know, valuables on the line. Turns out, I was too good. Won a little too much. The guys in charge didn't like that. Told me to hand over my winnings. We, uh, disagreed on that point. Next thing I knew, they were beating me up, tossing me overboard, and sailing off with my fortune."

The kid blinked. "Wow, you're dumb."

"What? I was smart. I just... forgot to bring guns. If I had them, I would leave that ship with a hill of stuff."

"In conclusion: you're stupid and broke."

Deep breaths. He's just a kid.

"I want to sleep," I muttered and flopped back on the makeshift bunk, wincing as pain shot through every inch of my body.

These wounds sucked. This ship sucked. This whole day sucked. But someday—someday—I'd have a big, soft bed, 50 maids helping with everything, and I'd sleep for weeks.

For now? I'd settle for not dying.