EAST BLUE • 1513 ~~~~~~~~~~

The waves rolled in, washing gently over the white sand beach under a sky full of stars.

Whoosh… whoosh…

The steady sound of water filled the quiet night as the ocean seemed to breathe with each wave.

On the shore, a figure lay motionless—a boy, no older than twelve, his clothes torn and soaked.

Whoosh… Another wave came, rolling over him, then slowly pulled back, leaving him half-buried in wet sand.

When dawn broke over the horizon, soft shades of pink and orange lit up the beach. Soon after, the village fishermen arrived, nets slung over their shoulders, ready for the morning's work.

One of them, a middle-aged man with a keen eye, stopped suddenly, noticing the boy in the sand.

"Who's that?" he asked, waving for the others to come closer. As they gathered around the boy, murmurs passed through the group, their voices filled with surprise and concern.

"Who is he? Why would a young boy be out here in this condition?" one of them whispered.

The middle-aged fisherman knelt beside the boy, pressing his fingers to the boy's neck. "He's alive… barely." His voice was low and serious.

The fishermen exchanged uneasy glances before lifting the boy carefully. Casting one last glance at the sea, they wondered if he'd been caught in the previous night's storm.

They carried the boy along the dirt road back to the village, their faces set with worry.

Upon arriving, they hurried him to the village doctor, hoping he could help.

The doctor, an elderly man with a calm, sharp gaze, listened as the fishermen explained how they had found the boy. He nodded and got to work, examining the boy thoroughly.

With experienced hands, he prepared a mixture of crushed herbs and other ingredients into a thick paste. The air filled with the comforting scent of the herbs as he applied the mixture to the boy's wounds and bandaged him up.

"This should help him heal" the doctor murmured. After setting a cup of brewed herbs on a table nearby, he left the room to let the boy rest.

For two days, the boy lay unconscious, his breathing steady but shallow. The villagers would stop by now and then, peeking into the doctor's small home with some curiosity, wondering who this mysterious boy was and what had brought him to their shores.

On the third day, the boy's eyes fluttered open. At first, his vision was blurry, but gradually, the room came into focus—the dim light, the scent of herbs. Panic crept into his gaze as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

He tried to sit up, thrashing as he pushed himself up on unsteady arms, but his body felt weak and unsteady. In his struggle, he knocked over a water jug on the table beside him, which crashed to the floor with a loud clang!

The doctor rushed in, alerted by the noise, and quickly saw the boy's frightened, confused expression. He raised his hands in a calming gesture, his voice gentle and steady. "Easy now… you're safe here. No one will hurt you."

The boy's breathing slowed, though he kept his wary gaze on the doctor.

"I am the doctor who treated your wounds. My name is Saburo."

The doctor continued, explaining in a calm tone how the fishermen had found him on the beach, unconscious and wounded. He described the care he had given him and his efforts to bring him back to health.

As the boy listened, he started to calm down, though his body remained tense. His eyes stayed sharp and vigilant, scanning the room as if expecting something to happen. He then looked at the doctor with a mix of uncertainty and relief. As the boy's breathing steadied, pieces of memory began to drift back to him.

He recalled being on a ship—a cramped, filthy corner of a pirate ship. Around him, rough voices laughed and argued, the smell of alcohol heavy in the air. He could feel the dull ache of bruises and cuts all over his body. His clothes were torn, and his skin bore fresh scars from the struggle he'd barely survived.

Fear had kept him silent as he watched the crew, a ragtag group of pirates who were rough but didn't seem like the infamous names he'd heard of in these seas. He stayed in that corner, hoping they'd forget about him, terrified of another beating.

Then, he remembered someone shouting from the top of the mast, "Captain, a storm is coming!" Dark clouds had gathered on the horizon, and the wind howled, shaking the ship.

"Furl the sails! We're the Black Horse Pirates; a little storm won't stop us!" the captain had declared arrogantly.

As the first waves hit, towering high and crashing down on them, the crew's confidence shattered, and all their bravado turned into panic.

Crash!

The ship splintered and the mast was torn apart by a powerful wave, and the ship started sinking. The boy held onto the broken mast, his only lifeline as the sea raged around him and the storm engulfed the ship, scattering the remains.

Waves battered him from all sides, salt stinging his eyes as he clung to a piece of broken mast with what strength he had left. He drifted, struggling to stay afloat as his injuries and exhaustion took over, and eventually, lost consciousness.

And now, here he was, waking in a quiet room, safe but sore, with the faint scent of herbs lingering in the air. The boy let out a slow breath, realizing how close he had come to being lost forever at sea.

"Well, it seems you've finally calmed down," the doctor said, a faint smile on his face. The doctor pulled a stool over and sat beside him, giving him a moment before continuing. "You had quite the journey, didn't you? Washed ashore, covered in cuts and bruises… We don't see many travelers here, especially young ones like you."

The doctor continued, sensing the boy's hesitation. "This village is small and quiet. We don't often see strangers, but when we do, we look after them. For now, you just need to rest." He paused, then added, "Do you remember anything—your name, or where you came from?"

The boy hesitated, his thoughts tangled. His name... that much he remembered, even if the rest of his memories felt foggy. "My name is…" he started, his voice a little rough, "…Cain."

The doctor nodded, a gentle smile on his face. "It's good to meet you, Cain." He stood, leaving a cup of fresh water on the small table beside the bed. "Rest now. There's plenty of time for stories later. If you need anything, just call for me."

With that, the doctor turned and stepped quietly out of the room, leaving the boy to the stillness and the soft sounds of the village waking up outside.

Cain lay back on the bed, letting his body relax for the first time since he'd arrived. But as he closed his eyes, a sudden, sharp pain sliced through his head, intense enough to make him gasp.

His mind was suddenly flooded with memories of a different world, pieces of a life he had lived before coming to this world.

Finally came the memory of the deal he made before coming to this world.

His heart raced, and his breathing quickened. He sat up, his eyes wide, realization dawned on him.

"Is this for real?!" he exclaimed, his voice shaking with excitement and anticipation with a bit of fear mixed in.

Flashes of strange, vast seas, towering islands, and powerful, legendary figures filled his mind. He saw ships with flags bearing the mark of the infamous Jolly Roger, felt the thrill of battles on the open sea, and sensed the pulse of a world filled with wonder and danger.

He wasn't just in any ordinary place—he was in the world of pirates, adventure, and dreams. And somehow, he knew what this meant.

He was in that world.

The world of One Piece.