'Okay… this isn't right.'
Darkness. That was all he saw at first. A slow, creeping nothingness that wrapped around his senses like a heavy fog. He wasn't dreaming, and yet, it didn't feel like he was fully awake either. Time didn't exist in this strange space. No pain. No sound. No light.
And then, suddenly, it came rushing back.
The memory.
'Right… I… died.'
His heart—or what remained of it—tightened at the thought.
He remembered the sound first. That blaring, brutal shout through the speaker system of the dorm. Then the pounding of boots. Dozens of them. Then—
Gunfire. A sharp, final crack. No time to think. No time to breathe.
'That was it. That's how I died? Seriously?'
He winced internally at the absurdity of it all. He hadn't even finished making the device. It wasn't a bomb—not really. He'd found one of those "educational" step-by-step videos on social media, claiming to show how fireworks or pressure devices worked. He'd thought it was fascinating, maybe even something that could impress a few friends. Harmless curiosity.
He didn't expect someone to report it.
He didn't expect SWAT to raid his dorm.
He certainly didn't expect a bullet to the head before he could even explain.
'Now my parents are going to think I was some kind of… extremist.'
The thought sent a shiver through what now felt like a soul more than a body.
'Was I? No—no, I wasn't! I wasn't trying to hurt anyone! I just wanted to know how it worked! It was just curiosity—stupid curiosity, yeah, but not malice. I wasn't planning anything. I'm not a criminal. I wasn't… I wasn't...'
His mind spiraled. A whirlpool of guilt, denial, and confusion.
But then—something changed.
Warmth.
The sensation of warmth returned first. Soft, strangely pleasant warmth that came from beneath and around him. Something cushioned. Gentle. The scent of salt filled his nose. A damp, briny breeze rolled across his face.
'Smells like… the sea?'
He felt his breath catch. Not in panic, but in confusion. In wonder. He tried to open his eyes—but they barely moved. Heavy. Fuzzy. The world looked distorted, huge, and alien. Like everything was out of proportion.
The ceiling above him was curved wood. Not plaster. Not paint. Not concrete. Just aged, polished timber swaying gently from side to side.
He was being rocked.
'What…?'
Then, a sound—a soft, hiccuping coo.
He turned—rather, tilted his head slightly. And he saw the baby.
A chubby little thing, maybe just a few weeks old, with bright red hair and round eyes that blinked slowly up at the ceiling. The baby squirmed a little, kicked its tiny legs, and let out a giggle that had no business sounding that calm.
But it wasn't the sound that hit him.
It was the hair.
The unmistakable bright red hair.
'You… you look like Shanks.'
The realization settled in his mind like a pebble into a pond—and then the ripples hit.
'Wait… hang on. Red hair. Baby. Sea air. Wooden ceiling. Constant rocking. No machine sounds. No electricity. There's music and laughter outside. A crew? A ship?'
His breath hitched again.
'A baby that looks like Shanks. A ship that feels like the Oro Jackson. The sea air. The noise. The era. That means…'
'That baby IS Shanks.'
His eyes widened, or tried to.
'Shanks as a baby? What? No—no way. I can't be—this has to be a dream, right? This isn't real. It can't be real.'
But it felt real. So painfully real.
The ship rocked gently with the rhythm of the ocean, the creaking of ropes and wood unmistakable. Somewhere nearby, someone was playing music—drums, laughter, the clatter of tankards. A familiar energy, one he'd seen a thousand times in manga panels and anime episodes.
'Wait, wait, wait… let's go through this step by step.'
'Died? Check. Confirmed. I got shot. That's still terrifying.'
'Reborn? Also... check? I guess? Because I'm clearly not in a hospital.'
'Reborn into a fantasy world? Oh-hoh… big check.'
His mind raced now, clicking into high gear.
'That all means one thing—every single novel, manga, and fanfic I've ever read about this starts with the same thing…'
'SYSTEM!'
Nothing.
'Open System!'
Silence.
'Inventory? Status screen? Quest log? Menu!'
Still nothing.
No screens. No text boxes. Not even a tiny notification ding.
'Come on. Come on. Don't do this to me. I'm in the freaking One Piece world! I need something—anything!'
He paused.
'Scan world? Appraise? Activate system? God-tier awakening?'
Nothing. Not even a blip.
A dull, resigned sigh escaped him—well, as much as a baby could sigh.
'So no system. Great. Absolutely fantastic. Not even a cheat code. No overpowered abilities. No skill trees. Guess I'm cannon fodder now. Maybe I'll end up like Buggy… at least he's still alive.'
He stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly as the baby next to him squealed.
'Three hours. That's how long I've been lying here. Three hours doing absolutely nothing. Not because I don't want to—but because I can't. My arms don't work. My legs don't work. My neck barely works. I've drooled on myself at least twice and my only company is a red-haired infant who's apparently my future roommate.'
He grumbled internally.
'Of all the people to share a cot with… it had to be you. You, little red-haired menace. The man who will one day make a career out of dramatic entrances and losing sword fights.'
The baby gurgled.
'You'll grow up, Shanks. You'll get strong. You'll get a crew. A Yonko title. You'll inspire Luffy and protect the peace… but you'll also be the guy who never wins a single on-screen duel.'
He blinked again.
'You will grow up in this world knowing that you—yes, you—will always come second place to someone else.'
'And you know what? I think your middle name is Rat. Shanks D. Rat. Yeah. That fits. Red-haired baby rat.'
He lay there for a while, letting the sounds of the sea fill the silence that stretched between his thoughts. The rhythmic creaking of wood, the distant cry of gulls, the muted thud of boots above deck—all of it should have been foreign, but to him, it was unmistakably familiar. Comforting, even.
But familiarity didn't bring peace.
No, now that the adrenaline was fading, a new emotion took its place.
Fear.
Not the fear of death. He'd already passed that threshold. This was something different. Deeper.
'Hold on... this isn't just the One Piece world. This is Roger's ship. The Oro Jackson.'
He turned his eyes, slowly, to the side again. The red-haired baby—still Shanks—was chewing on his blanket like nothing mattered. Content. Innocent.
'That means this is the golden age of piracy. The beginning of it all. The most dangerous time in the world's history.'
He inhaled—at least, tried to.
'The World Government doesn't just go after pirates during this era… they eradicate them. Entire islands get wiped out. Marine admirals are younger, angrier, less restrained. The Celestial Dragons are at their most arrogant. And the Navy? Brutal. Unforgiving. Cold-blooded.'
His heart thumped, slow and heavy, like thunder in deep water.
'And this ship… this isn't just any ship. It's the epicenter of the storm. Every island we visit is watched. Every whisper is recorded. Every man aboard this ship is a wanted name. Legends in the making, sure… but targets, too.'
He blinked slowly, trying to calm the rising storm inside him.
'This crew has people like Rayleigh, Scopper Gaban, Buggy, Shanks… and Roger himself. The Pirate King. He's still alive right now. Still smiling. Still laughing.'
The enormity of it all threatened to crush him.
'He hasn't turned himself in yet. Hasn't started the age of dreams. Hasn't whispered about the Will of D. Hasn't made that final voyage to Laugh Tale. I'm on this ship before all of that. Before the world truly changes.'
The weight of those facts pulled at his mind like anchors.
'This is the most dangerous crew in the world. These men topple kingdoms and laugh in the face of gods. They aren't just pirates—they're revolutionaries. Visionaries. Monsters. Heroes. And I'm here as a baby.'
His vision blurred at the edges as the rocking of the ship continued. He could hear a voice from above—cheerful, bold, almost too loud.
He knew that voice.
'That's… that's Roger.'
A chill ran through him.
'Gol D. Roger. The man who conquered the Grand Line. The one who learned the world's True History. The one who smiled at death. He's right above me. He's laughing right now. Probably drinking something strong. He doesn't know what's waiting for him. The sickness. The execution. The betrayal of the world.'
His mind reeled.
'And then there's me. Drooling. Useless. Weak. On a ship full of monsters with bounties bigger than nations. How do I even survive this?'
He turned inward, clinging to his knowledge.
'I know what's coming. I know what happens. Where they go. What they learn. I know about Ohara. About Rocks. About Joy Boy. The Void Century. I know about the Poneglyphs, Laugh Tale, and the treasure that started it all.'
His heart pounded harder.
'I know too much. That's dangerous. Too dangerous.'
Another sobering thought followed.
'If anyone finds out I know even a fraction of that… the World Government would hunt me across the seas. Imprison me. Execute me. I'd be labeled a threat to their entire fabricated world order.'
He swallowed, hard.
'I need to be careful. I can't speak. Can't slip up when I can talk. Can't reveal anything too soon. Not until I know what my position on this ship actually is. Why I'm here. Who my parents are. Why I was born here, now, of all places.'
He turned his eyes back to Shanks.
'You don't get it yet, do you? You're just a baby, but one day, you'll become a pillar of the new age. You'll inherit Roger's will. You'll give your arm for the boy who will reshape the world. And I…'
He hesitated.
'I'm just a random reborn guy from Earth. No powers. No system. No chosen destiny. Just information, context, and a head full of manga panels.'
The self-awareness burned.
'I'm not Joy Boy. I'm not Luffy. I'm not even Usopp. I don't know why I'm here. And worse—I don't know how long I have before this crew reaches Laugh Tale. Before Roger disbands the crew. Before they all scatter to the winds like ghosts.'
He closed his eyes again, trying to calm himself.
'If I can just figure out my timeline… maybe I can prepare. Maybe I can survive. Because if I'm still a baby, then that means there's time. A few years, maybe, before everything kicks off. I just need to make it that far. Stay unnoticed. Learn. Train. Observe.'
His mind kept spiraling, trying to make sense of the cosmic joke he'd been caught in.
'I always dreamed of being in One Piece. But I wanted to be something. A pirate. A marine. A rogue swordsman. I didn't expect this. To be a literal infant with no roadmap, dropped into the heart of history.'
His eyes flickered open.
'But maybe that's the point. Maybe this is a test. Or a second chance. A trial.'
He exhaled through his nose.
'I may not have powers. I may not have a system. But I have something just as valuable. Knowledge. Context. Foresight.'
His thoughts narrowed into a determined spark.
'I know what kind of world this is. I know how to survive it. And if I play this right—if I stay sharp, stay hidden, and adapt—I might not just survive. I might change things. Shape history. Maybe even protect the people I couldn't before.'
His vision drifted back to the wooden ceiling, now golden in the afternoon sun leaking through the cracks.
'I was just another college student. Another name. Another mistake in a dorm room. But now? Now I'm a child of the sea.'
His lips twitched, barely a smile.