The bustling streets were alive with the scent of fresh spices and the chatter of street vendors calling out their best deals. It was an ordinary evening for Karan Singh, a first-year B.Tech student, who had stepped out to buy some items for his younger sister. Hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, he sighed, mentally checking off his list. The hum of city life surrounded him, a comforting yet chaotic blend of honking cars, distant laughter, and the rhythmic sound of his own footsteps against the pavement.
Then he saw it.
A tiny bicycle, its training wheels rattling, was rolling toward the road. A toddler sat atop, blissfully unaware, lost in his own fantasy world as he pedaled forward—straight into the path of an oncoming truck.
Karan's body moved before his mind could register. Adrenaline surged as he bolted forward, shoving the child out of harm's way with every ounce of strength he had. He barely had time to register the screech of tires, the blaring horn, and then—
Pain.
A searing, all-encompassing pain ripped through his body. His vision blurred as he tumbled onto the asphalt, the deafening chaos fading into the background. The cold, hard ground beneath him felt distant, his heartbeat slowing, the lights above dimming.
'So this is how it ends…?'
His thoughts drifted. Regret seeped into his fading consciousness—not for dying, but for the people he was leaving behind. His family, his little sister. Who would take care of her now? Would she cry for him?
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Gentle warmth enveloped him. A soft breeze rustled through the open window, carrying the faint scent of salt and the chirping of birds. Karan—or whatever remained of him—slowly opened his eyes.
What he saw was not a hospital room. Nor was it the afterlife he had imagined.
A man's face loomed over him, broad-shouldered and rugged, his dark beard neatly trimmed. His deep, kind eyes held warmth as he playfully lifted Karan—no, the infant—into the air.
"My son," the man murmured with pride.
Karan—now a newborn—gurgled involuntarily, his tiny fingers grasping at the air. His mind raced. This… this wasn't Earth. Where was he? Who was this man? Why did everything feel so unfamiliar, yet strangely natural?
A woman's voice joined in, soft yet firm. "Dante, you're going to drop him if you keep tossing him like that."
The man—Dante—laughed, cradling the infant securely in his strong arms. "Don't worry, Marian. He's a tough one. Aren't you, little Navi?"
Navi? That name struck a chord within him.
And then it hit him. Reincarnation.
His mind raced through every book, every anime, every fantasy trope he had consumed in his past life. This was real. He had died and been reborn. But where? His unspoken question was soon answered by the voices of villagers outside the house, their words drifting through the wooden walls.
"Did you hear? Another pirate crew was spotted near the South Blue waters."
"The Marines are keeping watch, but I don't trust them."
"The news bird was selling papers this morning—something about Roger's crew again."
His breath hitched. South Blue. Marines. Pirates. Roger.
This was the world of One Piece.
And he, Atlas D. Navi, had just been born into it.