"Okay, this is definitely not what I expected."
The flame—no, wait, the flame was now James—found himself standing in a strange, skeletal body. He had always imagined being transported into the world of One Piece, maybe joining Luffy on his crazy adventures or even becoming the captain of his own crew. But this? This was a far cry from what he'd dreamed.
James wobbled, trying to stand up. His bones creaked and clicked in a way he was sure wasn't normal, though he had no idea what was normal for a skeleton. His hands were thin and fragile, clinking together like a set of old wind chimes, and his massive afro felt somehow... just right.
How did I end up here? he wondered, trying to recall how he'd gotten to this strange, skeletal form. His mind was a fog—glimpses of his past flashed before him, but nothing concrete. He could see bits of his former life like fragmented images—a desk, a chair, a screen... but they were all slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers.
The more he thought, the more it felt like trying to grab hold of water with his bare hands.
What the hell is happening to me?
James didn't know what to do or expect. He'd always read fanfiction about being reincarnated, but this? This was a far cry from what he'd imagined. He wasn't living his dream adventure. No, he was a bag of bones. Alone.
"I wonder how Brook held on for so long," James muttered, the name slipping out almost involuntarily. His thoughts flashed with blurry memories, fleeting glimpses of Brook's long, lonely existence. Brook had been adrift for decades, trapped on this forsaken ship—fighting to hold onto something, anything.
The thought made James shudder. He couldn't imagine the weight of that kind of despair.
But maybe... maybe it didn't have to be the same.
James took a deep breath, though it wasn't really necessary in his skeletal form. It wasn't about just existing, like Brook had. He could do something. He could make a difference—for Brook… and for himself.
Escaping the Florian Triangle was a game of chance. Not many sailors would see the dark mist of fog and wrecked ships and be excited to explore—unless it was a certain main character or Moria.
"No... I need to escape before Moria," James muttered as fragments of Brook's memories surfaced, showing they had never met.
With a goal in mind, James set to create an escape plan. He didn't care what needed to be done. One thing was certain—he had to escape. For Laboon.
Grabbing the hilt of his sword, he began to practice. The well-balanced blade felt natural in his hands as his body moved with the ease of someone who had trained for years. "Is this... muscle memory?" James chuckled, but his laughter took on a strange, dry tone.
"Yohohoho…"
The sound startled him. It felt familiar—so right, yet so foreign.
---
The days quickly flew by with nothing to do but exercise, and James, ever determined, found a way to make use of what was around him. The ship, as old and decrepit as it was, offered more than enough material. He rummaged through the wreckage, pulling off wooden planks and broken bits of the ship's framework.
"Guess this'll do," James muttered, hauling a large chunk of wood over to where he'd been trying to do push-ups. It was heavy enough to give him some resistance, though his skeletal form made it harder than he expected.
With a clink, he set the wood on the ground and tried lifting it. His bones creaked in protest, but he pushed through, repeating the motion. It wasn't pretty, but it was something.
Who knew being a skeleton would be so inconvenient? I can't even do a proper sit-up. But hey, at least I don't need to worry about gaining weight.
The sound of wood scraping against stone filled the eerie silence of the ship as he continued to lift the makeshift weight. Each repetition was a reminder of how far he'd fallen—but it was also a step forward. Maybe he didn't have muscles anymore, but he could still build something out of what was left.
His laughter echoed in the empty halls, more genuine this time. "Yohohoho… Guess this is my new workout plan."
Being a skeleton had its advantages—James didn't need much sleep, food, or air. He worked out until he collapsed, and when he woke, he found himself filled with energy once more.
At first, he wanted to count the days since his arrival in this ghastly place. But from Brook's memories, he knew that was a rabbit hole he didn't want to go down.
The pain of seeing the days stretch endlessly before him, unable to escape or do anything different, was a torment James couldn't bear. "Maybe this place is getting to me," he muttered, glancing around the dusty ship.
"This may be a wreck, but that doesn't mean it can't be clean," James said, searching for some form of entertainment. Cleaning became his last resort.
He tidied up what was left of the ship, salvaging anything useful. Sadly, the decaying years had made most of it brittle, save for a few exceptions. James swept through cabins, swinging his sword in wide arcs. No sound followed—just the gust of wind from the blade.
Cleaning an entire galleon wasn't easy, but for James, it was the only thing keeping him sane. Yet, the task seemed so familiar—too familiar. Time began to blur, days blending into one another under the unchanging darkness of the Triangle.
"No... I can't do this," James whispered, the realization hitting him hard. "Brook has done this before."
Memories flooded his mind in glimpses. Brook had cleaned the galleon many times before. He'd exercised, created puppets, tried everything to stave off the emptiness.
"No, no," James softly cried out, feeling water drip down his dusty cheekbones. "I'm crying… but I don't have eyes. Yohohoho…"
It was a painful thing—repeating a task to no end. He pulled out a hole-filled handkerchief and wiped his nonexistent tears. "I can't give up. Brook did this for 30 years... but I can't stay here."
Determined, James began grabbing anything he could use—a raft pieced together from broken doors and barrels. It wasn't much, but it was sturdy enough to float.
"I'll make it out of here. For Brook. For Laboon," James said, pushing his raft toward the edge of the ship.
With one last glance at the galleon, James stepped onto his creation, setting out into the unknown.