Erwin's first sensation was pain. His chest felt like it had been crushed, and each breath sent sharp pangs through his lungs. He lay on hard ground, unable to make sense of where he was or what had happened. Fragments of memory flashed through his mind: the roar of machinery, dust swirling through the air, and the agonizing sound of metal beams collapsing around him. Then, darkness.

As he blinked his eyes open, the brightness of his surroundings forced him to squint. Towering trees stretched above, their leaves casting patterns of light and shadow that danced in the breeze. Birds chirped somewhere nearby, the air was filled with a strange mix of salt and earth, and he could hear the faint, steady sound of waves crashing against a shore in the distance.

Disoriented, he struggled to sit up, every movement feeling foreign. His hands scraped against the rough ground, and as he looked down, confusion flooded his mind. His hands were different. Larger, stronger, with calloused knuckles and scars he didn't remember getting. He raised a trembling hand to his face, feeling the unfamiliar angles of a jaw sharper than he remembered, a nose that felt slightly off, and a face that was definitely not his.

"What… what happened to me?" His voice sounded young and strong, nothing like the voice he remembered.

He turned his gaze toward a small puddle nearby. The water was clear enough for him to see his reflection, and he froze, staring. Looking back at him was the face of a young man—fifteen, maybe sixteen years old—with red hair, sharp green eyes, and a fierce, almost defiant expression. It was a face he didn't recognize, yet there was something faintly familiar in the way it looked back at him.

The memories of his old life resurfaced, jumbled and surreal. He had been an electrician, working long shifts in the mines, not knowing that each day would be his last. He remembered the mine collapse, the chaos, and the final, crushing pain as the walls caved in on him. He remembered the acceptance, the surrender to the darkness. But this? Waking up in a strange place, in an unfamiliar body?

It felt like a dream. Or perhaps… something else.

Shifting his gaze, Erwin noticed a small leather pouch lying next to him, along with a neatly folded piece of parchment. Heart pounding, he reached for the note, his fingers brushing against the rough texture of the paper. He unfolded it, reading the words written in an elegant, flowing script:

"Welcome to your new life in the world of One Piece. You have been chosen. Your name now is Fitzgerald D. Erwin. Make the most of it."

The name One Piece struck him like a hammer. He'd read about this world and knew its story well enough. But the words on the paper were too bizarre, too precise. This was impossible. He was supposed to be dead. Yet here he was, in a world he only knew from stories.

"No way…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Beside the note lay an odd-looking fruit, crimson red with swirling patterns on its skin that seemed almost alive, twisting and curling like tiny red currents. He picked it up, holding it carefully in his hand. The fruit radiated an energy he couldn't quite place, a sense of raw, pulsing power.

He'd read enough to recognize what it was: a Devil Fruit. The mysterious fruits of the One Piece world, are capable of granting extraordinary powers. He'd known about them as fantasy, but here one was, sitting right in his hand. His stomach twisted with hunger, and though he felt hesitation, aware of the curses, curiosity and the sharp edge of hunger pushed him to take a bite.

The taste was vile. Bitterness overwhelmed his senses, and he gagged as he forced the piece down, resisting the urge to spit it out. He forced himself to chew, swallowing with difficulty. For a moment, he felt nothing but the unpleasant taste lingering on his tongue.

Then, warmth spread through his chest, a strange, tingling heat that intensified with each passing second. It was as though fire had been injected into his veins, rushing through his body with an intensity that was both exhilarating and painful. His hands began to shake, his vision blurred, and he clutched his chest as his heart pounded wildly.

With a sudden gasp, he doubled over, feeling as though his blood was trying to escape his veins. His skin tingled, pulsing with energy. As he tried to control his breathing, something strange caught his attention. A thin stream of blood had seeped from a small cut on his finger, and it was… floating, suspended in the air just above his skin.

Erwin stared at the blood, half-mesmerized, half-terrified. The blood moved, responding to his unspoken commands, forming small droplets that hovered, twisting and turning in the air. With a thought, he concentrated, willing the blood to move. The droplets spun, coalescing into a single, thin blade that held its form for a few seconds before splattering to the ground.

He fell back, staring at his hands, mind racing. His pulse quickened with the realization that he'd eaten a Devil Fruit that granted control over blood. His blood, and from the looks of it, it's not a Logia, but a Paramecia because he cannot command his body to transform into blood.

This was real. As much as his mind tried to reject it, everything around him told him otherwise. This wasn't a dream, nor some delusion. He was here, in the One Piece world, with powers he could barely understand. And if the stories were true, this power came with a price.

"Seawater…" he muttered, recalling the Devil Fruit users' weakness. If he were to be submerged in the ocean, he'd lose his ability to swim and be completely vulnerable. That was a risk he'd have to remember—especially if he were really in a world surrounded by nothing but oceans and islands.

But more immediate than that was the toll this ability took on him. He was already feeling lightheaded, and a dull ache was spreading through his head, the lingering effect of using his powers. He could barely control them, and just using that little bit of blood manipulation had drained his energy.

He leaned back, trying to calm his breathing and collect his thoughts. A Devil Fruit, a new body, a second chance at life in a world of pirates and Marines. His old life felt distant now, a shadow that belonged to someone else. Here, he wasn't just Erwin the miner. Here, he had a new face, a new body, and a new potential.

Still, the question of "why" gnawed at him. Why was he here? Why him? And what did it mean to be "chosen"? The note had given no answers, only that vague statement: Make the most of it.

With a sigh, he tucked the note into his pocket, rising to his feet and surveying his surroundings. There was no point in lingering on unanswerable questions. If he was going to survive in this world, he had to adapt—and fast.

Erwin took a step forward, testing the weight of his new body. His limbs felt strong, but the unfamiliarity of his form made him cautious. He practiced walking, flexing his fingers, adjusting to this body that didn't quite feel like his own. There was a stiffness in his movements, an awkwardness that reminded him of the early days on the job in the mines. Back then, it had been the weight of equipment and the muscle strain from long hours. Now, it was simply the weight of a new reality.

He walked in the direction of the waves, hoping to find the shore and get a better sense of where he was. If he was lucky, he might come across fresh water or food. As he moved, he noticed a few faint, broken trails through the brush, leading him toward the coast.

Finally, he emerged from the forest onto a rocky shoreline. The ocean stretched out before him, endless and vast, the horizon a sharp line where the water met the sky. He inhaled deeply, savoring the salt in the air, feeling the cool breeze on his face. It was strange, surreal, yet undeniably real.

Standing there, he felt a spark of determination ignite within him. He had been given a second chance—a chance to carve out a new life, to find a purpose in this chaotic world of adventure and danger. And if that meant fighting, surviving, and mastering this strange power coursing through his veins, then so be it.

This world was his now, and he would make the most of it.