After leaning against a wooden wall for a while, letting my thoughts slowly untangle. The fear subsides a lot, I mean, it was still there, but it had eased just enough for me to think straight.
I glanced toward the girl, still not knowing her name, and decided it was time to push my luck.
"Uh… hey, can I ask you something else? I don't remember much—most of it's a blur—but I figure introductions come first. I'm Vincent Vector… at least, I think I am." I hesitated again. The last thing I wanted was to annoy her and shut down the only source of information I had. But I needed answers. And right now, my safety came before her patience.
She gave a small shrug. "Sure. It's not like I have much else to do besides keeping my sisters calm." Her voice softened slightly as she gestured to the girls clinging to her sides. "I'm Boa Hancock. The orange-haired one is Boa Marigold, and the green-haired one is Boa Sandersonia."
The name hit me like a bolt of lightning, short-circuiting my brain for a solid second. Boa Hancock. I knew that name. And not in the "Oh, I think I went to school with her" kind of way. No—this was the kind of name that could completely derail my life.
Because Boa-fucking-Hancock wasn't just a name. It was fictional. A name from a goddamn anime. And not just any anime—the kind where "fun" meant getting punched through a mountain, the kind where the world map is basically "places to die horribly" with a bit of ocean in between. Throwing along her sister's name solidifies my thought.
One Piece.
A world where pirates ruled the seas, the government was about as trustworthy as a starving hyena, and the word justice on your back was basically a license to commit mass murder—as long as you wrote the paperwork afterward.
And now I was here.
In that world.
As a slave too.
Oh, fantastic.
How the hell did I end up here? I'm not even a die-hard One Piece fan. I'm just a casual enjoyer—the kind of guy who catches an episode after work, maybe laughs a little, maybe feels a bit hyped, then moves on with life. I'm not one of those fanatics who spend every waking moment piecing together crackpot theories about the Void Century or the Will of D. If some god—or whatever cosmic lunatic is responsible for this—wanted to pluck a human soul from Earth and toss it into the One Piece world, why not pick one of those nerds who've practically built a shrine to Oda, bowing at his feet like it's a holy pilgrimage?
I was about to unleash my well-earned rant toward whatever big guy put me here… but before I could even wind up my mental haymaker, Boa Hancock cut me off.
"So, what do you want to know?"
But now that I really look at her—at them—something feels off.
There's… text. Floating above their heads.
Not speech. Not titles. Stats.
Actual stat sheets—like something ripped straight out of a video game or RPG.
[Boa Hancock – Age: 12 | Female]
Strength: 92
Speed: 95
Stamina: 90
Devil Fruit: N/A
Armament Haki: 90
Observation Haki: 85
Conqueror's Haki: N/A
Intelligence: 88
Charisma: 100
Leadership: 80
Combat Skill: 96
[Boa Sandersonia – Age: 11 | Female]
Strength: 85
Speed: 80
Stamina: 88
Devil Fruit: N/A
Armament Haki: 82
Observation Haki: 80
Conqueror's Haki: N/A
Intelligence: 90
Charisma: 70
Leadership: 78
Combat Skill: 87
[Boa Marigold – Age: 9 | Female]
Strength: 90
Speed: 70
Stamina: 92
Devil Fruit: N/A
Armament Haki: 85
Observation Haki: 70
Conqueror's Haki: N/A
Intelligence: 67
Charisma: 65
Leadership: 58
Combat Skill: 80
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Is that a stat sheet? Are they NPCs?
Am I hallucinating? Or did I just unlock some kind of cheat?
No seriously—is this my cheat?
That would explain a lot. And if this is real, then the game just changed. Massively.
I glance around. Still there. Floating like it's glued to reality.
Okay okay okay, maybe I just need to activate it properly.
"System? Log-in? Status?" I whisper, then say it a little louder.
"System? Log-in? Status?"
...
Nothing.
No beeping, no menu, no digital chime. Just silence.
Oh great, now I look like a total lunatic whispering nonsense while staring at Boa Hancock.
She's side-eying me.
Yup. Definitely thinks I'm nuts.
Alright. So I might not have full access—yet. But the fact that I can see these stats at all? That's huge.
I might not have a menu. But I do have information.
And in this world? Information is power.
So… what do I want to know?
She just asked a simple question, yet it made me question myself—question what kind of question I even wanted to throw at her. Because suddenly, the mountain of questions I'd prepared beforehand became useless, the questions I'd prepared vanished, and in their place came a flood of new questions, piling over more questions, until I was buried under nothing but questions. So now the real question was… which question should I question her with first?
Ugh.. fuck, too many questions.
"Can I get out of here?" I asked.
It was a genuine question, even though I already knew the answer. Still… maybe, just maybe, there was a sliver of hope hiding somewhere in her reply.
"Impossible," she said flatly.
Yep. Called it.
"But what if I'm, I don't know… the son of someone important?" I tried, clinging to whatever scraps of optimism I had left.
She didn't even blink. "Unless your father's a Celestial Dragon, it's still impossible. We're heading to the 'Land of the Gods'—Mary Geoise. And there… even if you were a prince before, it wouldn't matter. You'd still end up a slave."
Yeah. I still remember the Reverie incident—vaguely, but enough. Princess Shirahoshi, fresh from Fishman Island's long absence at the world meeting, almost got snatched right there in the middle of an official diplomatic event. All it took was one Celestial Dragon deciding she'd make a nice addition to their sick little collection.
That's how rotten those so-called "gods" are. Doesn't matter if you're a ruler, a diplomat, or a walking national treasure—if they want you, you're theirs. Even a princess in an official event where many kings gather wasn't safe, so what chance does anyone else have? Out in the vast world, once you're branded a slave, you're gone. Not even your king can save you.
But it also dragged up another memory—one that made me stare a little longer at the girl in front of me. One day, she'd become the Snake Princess of Amazon Lily, right? I couldn't remember if that was some birthright or something she claimed later, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that she would eventually escape slavery.
If my memory was right, it happened because of… what was his name? Fisher… Tiger? Yeah, that sounded close enough. Some fishman who went on a rampage inside Mary Geoise, tore the place apart and freed every slave he could find. The problem was, I couldn't remember when it happened. Did it happen two years after Boa Hancock became a slave? Or three years?
Damn it. Why didn't I watch more One Piece? Or better yet, why didn't I memorize every single arc, date, and detail? Hell, if I'd known I was going to end up here, I would've binge-read the entire manga in Japanese just to avoid getting screwed over by bad translations.
"Then… how long ago was Gold Roger executed?"
Yeah, I know—it's not exactly the kind of question that's gonna open the cell door and hand me a map to freedom. But it matters. In One Piece, Luffy's story kicks off exactly twenty-two years after Roger's execution in Loguetown. If I can figure out how long it's been since then, I can at least place myself on the timeline… and maybe get a clue about when all hell is supposed to start breaking loose.
"Five years ago," she said without hesitation.
…Oh, shit.
That's way too far back. We're talking sixteen, maybe seventeen years before Luffy even thinks about setting sail. And the worst part? I don't even remember half the events from Luffy's era—so what the hell am I supposed to do with the prehistoric version of this world? The only thing I'm sure about from this time period is that Brook's probably still wandering around the Florian Triangle playing sad violin music to himself.
Now that I think about it, Boa Hancock was in her late twenties when she met Luffy—who was only seventeen at the time.
…Wait. Does that technically make her a pedo?
…Eh. Whatever. Not my problem right now.
In this time period, Luffy's probably still sucking his mom's tits—not that I even know who his mom is. But the question I've been shoving to the back of my mind keeps forcing its way forward: **How the hell do I get out of here?** I've got nothing. No plan, no clue. Even Boa Hancock only escaped because of that one fishman guy causing chaos in Mary Geoise.
Before I could ask her anything else, a loud BANG echoed down the corridor—each strike closer than the last, like a predator closing in. Then it stopped—right at our cell.
A shadow loomed beyond the bars. The guard slammed his fist against them one more time, the clang ringing like a death knell, before hurling a few scraps inside with the casual cruelty of someone tossing feed to caged dogs.
Food—if you could call it that.
A chunk of bread gone half-black with mold, a biscuit that hit the floor with a sound that screamed "dentist's nightmare," and a small leather bag that probably held water.
Not the most appetizing meal I've ever seen, but it was… sustenance. Barely. I tried to push myself up to grab it, but before I could even reach, Boa Hancock had already moved, snatching some for herself—and, to my surprise, picking up a portion for me too.
"Here," she said flatly, handing it over.
Her tone was still cold, but… maybe, just maybe, there was the tiniest crack in that ice.
"Thanks," I muttered.
The food was an absolute war crime.
The biscuit was so hard, I'm pretty sure if I threw it hard enough, it could kill a man. The bread looked like it had lost a fight with time and mold—green and black patches everywhere, the kind of thing that made my stomach lurch just looking at it. And the water? Smelled and tasted… wrong. The kind of wrong that made me seriously wonder if someone had decided to spice things up by adding a splash of piss, just for fun.
Every bite was a battle. My body wanted to gag, and a few times I almost did—only to remember there was nothing in my stomach to actually throw up. Still, I forced it down, bite after bite. Not because it was edible, but because you need food to survive. And right now, survival was the only thing on my menu.
Man, I'd take natto—the disgusting, slimy abomination my colleague once used as a punishment—over this crap any day. And that stuff was basically a biological weapon disguised as breakfast.
After my little war with the moldy bread and brick-hard biscuit, I actually felt… a bit better. Disgusting or not, my stomach was finally full, and that alone seemed to take some weight off my shoulders. My body loosened, the tension easing just enough for exhaustion to slip in.
God, it had been a long day.
My eyelids grew heavier with every passing second, my vision blurring as my head started to bob lazily from side to side. Apparently, Boa Hancock noticed, because her voice cut through the haze.
"Just sleep." Still that same flat tone, but… I don't know. Maybe there was a trace of actual concern buried in there somewhere.
"Yeah, I will… it's been a long day. Thank you."
And I meant it. That 'thank you' wasn't just for telling me to sleep. It was for answering my questions when she didn't have to. For not prying into my past. For sitting here with me—me, a complete stranger—and making this hellhole feel just a little less cold. It was for the quiet promise that she'd still be here when I woke up.
For now… that was enough.
As I lowered my head onto the cold, unyielding wooden plank, the hardness bit into my skull, making it impossible to forget where I was. Still, I clung to the fragile hope that this was nothing more than a bad dream—some twisted nightmare born from too much alcohol and too little sleep. I wanted to open my eyes and find myself back in my dingy little apartment, sunlight sneaking through the blinds, soju bottles littered across the floor like trophies of poor life choices. I wanted to hear the distant sound of traffic outside, to feel the comfort of knowing the world beyond my door was normal—boring, predictable, safe.
But… somewhere deep in my chest, beneath the layers of fear, exhaustion, and confusion, there was something else. A spark. Small, faint, but stubborn. The kind of spark you don't want to acknowledge because doing so makes it real.
A part of me actually wanted to wake up here again tomorrow. To open my eyes to the creak of this cursed ship, to see Boa Hancock still there, sitting in the corner with her sisters. To know that, in some strange way, I wasn't alone in this hell.
It was insane. Completely insane. This was a world where power ruled over morality, where the strong decided who lived and who died, where freedom was a luxury few could afford. A place where one wrong step could end with your head on a pike, your body at the bottom of the sea, or worse—collared like an animal for the rest of your life.
And yet… that tiny ember in my chest refused to die.
Because this wasn't Earth. This wasn't a life of cubicles, endless bills, and waiting for weekends to feel alive. This was a world of uncharted islands, seas that defied logic, and cultures so strange they'd sound like drunken fairy tales back home. A world where the impossible was real, where the line between myth and reality was so thin you could trip over it.
But I would never admit it. Not to Hancock. Not to anyone. Not even to myself. Because the trade-off was cruel. For every dream of adventure, there was a nightmare lurking in its shadow.
So I buried the thought deep, locked it away, and pretended it didn't exist.
And as my eyelids grew heavier, my mind blurred between fear and reluctant anticipation. The ship's creak became a lullaby I didn't want, the faint breathing of the others a reminder that I was still alive.
Then, without even realizing it, I slipped into unconsciousness, carrying that forbidden spark with me into the dark.