Chapter 3: Days of Peace and Lessons at Sea
When Boris first opened his eyes on the sandy shores of Foosha Village, he thought this world would be nothing but a dangerous storm waiting to swallow him whole. Pirates, marines, monsters of the sea, warlords, devil fruits—he knew enough from the stories to expect chaos. Yet what he found instead, in the quiet rhythm of the days that followed, was a kind of peace he never knew existed.
Foosha was not a grand city. It was a humble little fishing village tucked against rolling hills and a calm stretch of sea. But what it lacked in splendor, it made up for in warmth. The villagers woke early with the sunrise, working with hands hardened by nets, ropes, and saltwater. They lived simple lives, but they lived them honestly.
At first, Boris was a stranger among them. A newcomer washed up with no family, no history, and no clear purpose. The suspicious glances were natural. Children whispered behind their mothers' skirts. The old men at the docks puffed their pipes and muttered, "Never trust a drifter."
Boris did not blame them. In his old world, he was used to being invisible—just another face in the crowd. But here, invisibility was impossible. In a village this small, everyone was family. And so, he worked to earn their trust.
He offered his hands wherever they were needed. He carried crates for the fishermen returning at dawn. He mended fences when goats got loose from the hills. He chopped wood for the irritable mayor who barked orders even when no one asked him to. Slowly, the mistrust began to fade.
Makino, the tavern keeper, was the first to treat him with open kindness. She fed him when his stomach growled too loudly for him to hide it, scolded him gently when he worked until his clothes were soaked with sweat, and always had a warm smile ready when he walked through her door.
"You don't need to overwork yourself," she told him one evening, placing a steaming plate of food on the table. "Foosha isn't the kind of place where you have to prove yourself."
But Boris only smiled faintly, picking at the fish with his chopsticks. "Maybe not. But… it feels good to be useful."
Then there was Luffy.
The boy was chaos embodied, a whirlwind of energy who latched onto Boris from the moment they met. One day he was begging Boris to race him across the hills. The next, he was dragging him into the forest to find birds' nests or dangling dangerously off the pier to catch crabs.
"You're strong!" Luffy declared one afternoon, watching Boris haul two heavy barrels across the tavern without breaking a sweat.
Boris blinked. "Am I?"
"Yeah! Normal people get tired, but you don't! I saw you working all day, and you still look fine. You've gotta be super strong!"
Boris chuckled nervously. "Maybe I just… don't know when to stop."
"Then you should be a pirate with me!" Luffy grinned, flashing his teeth. "We'll sail the seas and go on adventures together!"
The words hit Boris harder than they should have. He already knew the boy's destiny. To hear the invitation so innocently, before the world shaped him into the man he would become, made Boris's chest ache.
"Maybe one day," he said quietly, and ruffled Luffy's messy hair.
It was during one of his odd jobs that Boris first met Daigo.
The old man was a fixture of the docks, sitting on a weathered crate with his pipe between his lips, staring out at the horizon as if he were waiting for something that would never return. His hair was white, his skin darkened by years of sun, and his hands were thick and scarred—the hands of a man who had fought the sea and survived.
"Boy," Daigo said, his voice like gravel rolling in a barrel.
Boris looked up from the heavy crate he was lifting. "Yes?"
"You've got strong arms," Daigo observed. His sharp eyes flicked over Boris like he was sizing him up. "Not the strength of a farmer. Not the strength of a fisherman either. You move like someone who's hiding something."
Boris stiffened. "I… just try to help out."
The old man smirked, exhaling smoke. "Hmph. Whatever it is, if you plan to stay in this village, you'll need more than strength. The sea's never kind for long. You should learn how to use that body properly."
That evening, Daigo tossed him a coil of rope. "Show me a knot."
Boris fumbled, his fingers working clumsily. Daigo sighed and shook his head. "A sloppy knot sinks a ship. Try again."
And so, what began as a small test became routine. Day after day, Daigo taught him the basics of seamanship. Ropework, swimming drills, balancing on rocking boats, knife handling. At first, Boris struggled. His body was strong, yes, but strength meant nothing without technique.
But then his second wish began to shine. With his accelerated learning, every lesson sunk in quicker than Daigo expected.
"Not bad," the old man muttered after only a week, watching Boris tie a perfect bowline knot. "You learn faster than any fool I've trained."
Boris grinned. "Guess I'm just motivated."
"Hmph. Don't get cocky," Daigo said, but his eyes softened. He started pushing Boris harder after that, testing his endurance, his reflexes, even his nerve.
Of course, Luffy always tried to join in. The boy would copy Boris's stances, punch the air wildly, or jump into the sea with no plan on how to swim. More often than not, Boris had to fish him out before he drowned, but Luffy never stopped laughing.
"You're gonna be strong too, Luffy," Boris told him one evening, both of them dripping wet on the dock.
"Of course! I'm gonna be Pirate King!" Luffy shouted, pumping his fists.
Boris laughed, though deep inside, he felt something stir. Here, in this small village by the sea, surrounded by people who had accepted him, he was beginning to feel something he hadn't felt in his entire life back on Earth.
Belonging.
Yet Daigo's words echoed in his mind: The sea is never kind for long.
And as peaceful as Foosha seemed, Boris knew the story was only just beginning.