The evening sun hung low, casting a golden hue over the small, familiar coastal village. Usopp's steps faltered as he stumbled forward, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes widened as his childhood home came into view. The tattered shack where he had spent years spinning tall tales stood proud, as though untouched by time, its weathered walls defying logic and reason.
"No way," he whispered, taking a shaky step back. "This... this is Syrup Village?"
A wave of disbelief swept over him, his chest tightening as panic simmered just below the surface. That very morning, he had been aboard the Sunny, laughing with the crew about the calm sea. The warm breeze and the comforting creak of the ship's timbers had felt so tangible, so real. But now? Now, he stood on the same dirt paths he'd once believed he'd left behind forever. Had the tornado done this?
Instinctively, Usopp closed his eyes, willing his Observation Haki to give him clarity. The effort was met with frustration. The faint flickers of life around him were blurry, indistinct—his haki lacked the strength he had worked so hard to refine. Still, a single presence cut through the haze: Kaya.
Her image flashed in his mind—frail and pale, just as she had been when he first left. A pang of fear struck him. Was she sick again? Had she never gotten better? He shook his head as if to banish the thought, but the sensation lingered like a thorn in his side.
"This doesn't make any sense!" he said aloud, his voice tinged with rising desperation. His hand tightened around his slingshot. It wasn't the advanced Kabuto he had crafted with such care, just the simple weapon from his youth. His bag felt oddly light, too—devoid of the dials and ammunition he'd come to rely on.
Scanning his surroundings, his gaze fell on a small, familiar bag resting near the base of a tree. Hesitating, he walked over and knelt down, lifting it gingerly. The rough fabric and faded stitching told him all he needed to know. Opening it, he found pebbles and small rocks—just like the ones he used to carry when he was younger, back when his slingshot was his only defense.
The sight made his heart sink further. He tightened the bag's drawstrings and slung it over his shoulder, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Looks like it's back to basics, huh?" he muttered, the weight of the bag feeling heavier than it should have.
"Was it all a dream?" he whispered, his heart sinking at the thought. The adventures with Luffy and the crew, the battles they'd fought, the strength he had gained—could it all have been an illusion?
His voice grew louder, sharper, as if trying to fight against the creeping doubt. "No. It wasn't a dream! I'm a real pirate now! Luffy, Zoro, Sanji—where are you guys?!"
The mocking voice of his younger self echoed in his mind like a specter: "I am Usopp, the Brave Warrior of the Sea!" His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at the memory of his bluster and insecurities. He wasn't that person anymore—or at least, he didn't want to be.
"Fine," he muttered to himself, the words an anchor for his fraying nerves. "This might look like my past, but I've got power now." He straightened his back, his grip firm on the slingshot. "I'm not just some liar anymore. If something's messing with me… it's going to regret it."
His gaze turned toward Kaya's mansion in the distance, the familiar path to it etched into his memory. The thought of seeing her again sent a jolt of determination through him. Whatever was going on, he needed answers—and he wouldn't let fear or uncertainty hold him back.