One Piece: Reborn as Satoru Gojo

Who am I?

Fantastic question. Unfortunately, one I didn't have a solid answer for.

I needed a background story—something believable, something that made sense for a guy who just washed up half-dead. I couldn't exactly say, "Oh, I got isekai'd by a sadistic demon and dropped into the ocean for a fun little death game." That was a one-way ticket to getting thrown back into the water.

Okay, think. Most people don't just leave their home with all their belongings unless they have a damn good reason. Am I a runaway? A trader? A really, really bad sailor?

"Did the fish bite your tongue off? Answer me," Hana snapped.

I blinked at her. She was still standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes filled with suspicion. Yeah, okay, fair. If some random dude suddenly ended up in my house, I'd also have questions. Island folk weren't the most trusting of outsiders—especially ones who looked like they'd been through a blender.

I sighed, straightened up as much as my bruised body would allow, and put on my best inspiring young dreamer face.

"I have not yet become someone," I said, channeling every ounce of theatrical energy I had left. "And that is why I left my home. I gathered the few possessions dear to me and set off on a long journey—to see the world!"

Hana raised an eyebrow.

"Since childhood," I continued, voice dripping with dramatic enthusiasm, "I have dreamed of becoming a great writer! But how can one write about the world without first seeing it? How can one capture adventure without living it? That is why I ventured into the great unknown! To witness the wonders I have only read about in Brag Men!"

Honestly? I thought it was a pretty solid performance. Passionate. Poetic.

Hana did not look impressed.

"So you decided to swim across the ocean by hand?" she deadpanned. "For... better inspiration?"

I gave her a long, slow look. The kind that clearly said?

She had the audacity to smirk.

"I bought passage on a merchant ship," I grumbled.

"And?"

"They chopped me up and tossed me overboard."

Hana blinked. "That's rough."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"Where were you headed?"

"The Grand Line."

That made her pause.

She stared at me like I'd just announced I planned to tame a Sea King with my bare hands.

"The Grand Line?"

Uh-oh.

Had I messed up? I'd assumed—based on what little I'd seen—that this wasn't the Grand Line. But what if I was wrong? What if I just said the equivalent of "I was on my way to America" while standing in the middle of New York?

"I mean…" I hesitated. "I—"

"No way!" She cut me off, shaking her head. "Some traders beat you up, threw you into the sea, and you wanted to go to the Grand Line?"

I exhaled, relieved she wasn't calling me an idiot for not knowing where I was. At least my hunch had been right.

"I'm not a fighter," I admitted.

"No, you're just out of your mind," she muttered.

Then, without another word, she shut the door and left.

I didn't get her reaction, but at least it looks like she accepted me to live with her for some time.

And NOW I finally can rest. No way that something will appear that will prevent my well-deserved blood and sweat vacation.

Yeah, lying on the carpet and the old smelly pillow is not the best, but right now I am safe and can just sleep. For me, that is enough.

I closed my eyes and ignoring the annoyances, fell fast asleep.

---

The Coast of Koko Island

A small, battered fishing ship rocked gently at the pier, its single sail drooping like it, too, was tired of life. The ship looked like it had been through more than its fair share of storms, misadventures, and questionable repairs. Its patched-up hull gave off the impression that it had been cobbled together by sheer determination and duct tape, even if no one knew what duct tape was on Koko Island.

Three men busied themselves hauling baskets of fish onto the dock. Nearby, an older man stood ankle-deep in nets, his fingers moving with the precision of someone who had been doing this job during decades. Beside him, a young boy stood, wide-eyed and attentive, soaking up every twist and turn of the old man's hands like a sponge.

Two figures approached from the village.

"Hey, Joe! You about done?" called one of them. His voice carried an air of impatience, like he had somewhere better to be, though everyone knew he didn't. His name was En, and he always spoke as if he was late to an appointment he didn't have.

Joe didn't look up, but one of the men on the boat hollered back. "Long time comin', En! We've already unloaded half the haul without you!"

En's companion didn't bother with introductions. He climbed aboard the creaky ship and disappeared below deck, leaving En to approach Joe, who was still fiddling with the net.

"Net trouble?" En asked, eyeing the tangle of rope with an expression somewhere between sympathy and boredom.

Joe let out a snort that might've been a laugh. "Torn. Figured I'd fix it before it gets worse."

Joe was the kind of man who looked like he had been carved from driftwood—tough, weathered, and unyielding. His skin was a patchwork of sunburns, scars, and fine lines. His red hair, now streaked with gray, clung stubbornly to his temples, the last holdouts in a losing battle.

En ruffled the young boy's hair, earning a sharp laugh. "Learning, are we?"

"Yes, sir!" the boy answered, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.

"Good lad. This knowledge will be useful to you," En said, winking at the boy before his tone turned quieter.

He hesitated, then lowered his voice. "Joe, about the boy…"

Joe's fingers paused for just a moment, then resumed their work. "What about him?"

En glanced at the boy—Drake, they'd been calling him—and then back at Joe. "I mean, are you sure about this? Bringing a stranger here, and in his condition, with the way things are now… You know those freaks won't like it."

Joe didn't flinch. "You think I'm gonna let the kid die out there?"

"No, no. It's just…" En scratched the back of his head, searching for the right words. "Aren't you worried? They won't turn a blind eye to this."

Joe sighed and finally looked up, his green eyes sharp enough to cut through the ocean mist. 

"Later," he said firmly. "If it comes to that, then we'll just get together with the elder and sort everything out. Until then, I'm not leaving the kid to fend for himself."

En didn't argue. He gave Joe a resigned pat on the shoulder before heading off to help the others with the baskets, leaving Joe and Drake by the nets.