Sora woke to a splintering headache and a wave of nausea that rolled through his stomach. His body shifted involuntarily with a slow, rhythmic movement he couldn't place. The surface beneath him wasn't his mattress—it was hard and unyielding, rough wood that scraped against his palms as he pushed himself up.
"What the hell?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep and confusion.
His ears registered the constant groan of stressed timber, punctuated by distant shouts and calls. Underneath it all ran a continuous slosh of water against... something solid. The cacophony disoriented him further, nothing matching the familiar sounds of his apartment.
A foul cocktail of smells invaded his nostrils—briny seawater, moldy wood, sticky tar, and the unmistakable sour tang of alcohol that had been spilled and left to ferment. The air hung heavy and stale, like no one had bothered to circulate it in years.
Sora cracked open his eyes against the pain in his skull. Dim light filtered through what appeared to be a small, grimy circular window. As his vision adjusted, the shadowy outlines of a cramped cabin materialized around him. Dust motes swirled lazily in the thin shaft of sunlight slanting across the room.
His gaze landed on two objects atop a wooden crate beside him: a bizarre coral-orange fruit covered in swirling golden patterns and what looked like a piece of shimmering parchment.
"What fresh hell is this?" Sora muttered, dragging himself upright. The movement sent another wave of dizziness crashing through him. He steadied himself against the wall, his fingertips catching on the rough wooden planks.
The parchment seemed to pulse with an ethereal light. Somehow, despite the dimness of the cabin, the golden text remained perfectly legible. Sora reached for it, surprised by how impossibly smooth it felt, almost like touching liquid silk.
As he held it up, the golden script appeared to writhe and shift under his gaze:
"Wealth. Fame. Power."
Sound familiar, my child? You've heard it a thousand times, witnessing the final moments of the Pirate King and the dawn of the Great Pirate Era. You have yearned for that world, for a grand adventure on the high seas. Well, congratulations!
Your death was... ah, let's call it an unforeseen clerical error. Entirely not your time. My sincerest apologies for the whole 'truck' incident. A bit cliché, I know, but effective.
But look on the bright side! Seeing what a devoted, passionate, die-hard fan you were of this particular saga, I have pulled a few strings and granted your deepest desire. Welcome to the world you know better than your own!
Now, will you follow the Straw Hat on his fated journey, or will you use your foreknowledge to forge your own path and claim the throne for yourself? The choice is yours, a king in the making!
To get you started, I've left you a little gift. One of those delightful Devil Fruits you're so fond of. I've also made sure you have the bloodline of a true conqueror, a name that will make the world tremble once more!
Good luck on this grand odyssey of yours Rocks Delahaye D. Sora!
Sora blinked slowly, then again more rapidly. He read the message three times, his head tilting further sideways with each pass.
"What the actual fuck?" He looked around the cabin for hidden cameras. "Is this some kind of elaborate prank? Did Kenji put you up to this?" He shouted at the empty room, his voice bouncing off the wooden walls.
He patted down his clothes—clothes that definitely weren't his. Instead of his familiar jeans and hoodie, he wore loose-fitting trousers and a simple white shirt that smelled of salt and someone else's sweat.
"Okay, very funny. Who drugged me and put me on a pirate-themed cruise ship?" He chuckled, but the sound died quickly in his throat as the constant motion of the floor beneath him registered on a deeper level. This wasn't a stationary attraction. The movement was too natural, too inconsistent to be mechanical.
Sora turned back to the parchment, his analytical mind catching on keywords that seemed completely out of place: "Transmigration," "Devil Fruit," "Pirate King," "Straw Hat." These weren't just random prank words. They were specific to something.
A cold dread pooled in his stomach as his gaze darted to the grotesque fruit sitting innocuously on the crate. It looked unappetizingly real, with its coral-orange skin and bizarre golden swirls that seemed to form eye-like patterns. Six strange stem-like protrusions emerged from its top.
"No. No fucking way." He shook his head. "This isn't happening."
He forced himself to read the letter one final time, his eyes locking onto the signature. Delahaye D. Sora. And above it, crossed out but still legible: Rocks.
The ship. The letter. The fruit. The god's premise. Every element pointed to one ridiculous conclusion that hinged entirely on a single, catastrophically flawed assumption.
Sora crumpled the divine parchment in his fist. For several seconds, the only sounds were the creaking timbers and faint music filtering from above. Then, a raw, guttural sound tore from his throat—not a scream of fear but of pure, unadulterated frustration.
"I'VE NEVER EVEN READ ONE PIECE!"
He hurled the crumpled parchment across the tiny cabin where it bounced harmlessly off the wall. "You stupid, cosmic IDIOT! You transmigrated the wrong guy!"
Sora paced the tiny cabin, arms flailing. "What kind of half-assed god doesn't double-check these things? I bought those manga volumes FOR A FRIEND! I was being NICE!"
He kicked the crate, then immediately regretted it as pain shot through his toe. "Shit! Shit! SHIT!"
Hopping on one foot, he grabbed the strange fruit and held it up to the dim light from the porthole.
"So this is a... what did you call it? A Devil Fruit?" He turned it over in his hands, examining the bizarre patterns. "And I'm supposed to know what this does? I don't even know what a Devil Fruit IS!"
He ran his fingers through his hair, only to freeze when his hands encountered unfamiliar texture and length. Frantic, he searched the cabin until he found a small, tarnished mirror hanging crookedly on one wall.
The face staring back at him was still his—but transformed. His once short brown hair was now a brilliant coral-orange, cut in a stylishly untamed fashion that framed his face. But what truly stopped him cold were his eyes. They were a piercing gold with multiple concentric red rings within the pupils, like ripples in a pond.
"What the hell happened to my face?" He touched his cheek cautiously, watching his reflection mimic the movement. "Did I get possessed by an anime character?"
A sudden commotion above deck snapped him back to reality—boots stomping, shouts growing louder, and the unmistakable sound of combat.
"Perfect timing," he muttered darkly. "Just when I'm having an existential crisis."
The fruit weighed heavy in his palm. If this ridiculous situation were real—and every sensory input suggested it was—then eating this thing would grant him some kind of power. Problem was, he had no idea what power.
"I'm supposed to be a 'die-hard fan' who knows all about this world, but I don't know a damn thing." He glared at the fruit. "I don't know what this does, where I am, or who any of these people are. I don't know what a 'Straw Hat' is except literally a hat made of straw. I have zero 'foreknowledge' to 'forge my own path' with."
The sounds of fighting grew louder. Something crashed against the door to his cabin.
Sora weighed his options quickly. Unknown situation. Unknown assailants. Unknown world with unknown rules. And one possibly magical fruit that might grant him unknown powers—or might just be a weird-looking piece of produce.
"Well," he said to himself, his voice dropping to a resigned whisper, "when in doubt, eat the magical plot device."
Before he could reconsider, Sora took a large bite of the fruit. His face immediately contorted in disgust.
"BLECH! This tastes like rotten ass and battery acid had a baby!" He gagged but forced himself to keep chewing.
He managed to swallow the bite just as the door to his cabin burst open. A burly man with wild eyes and a cutlass filled the doorframe, backlit by the brighter light from the corridor.
"Gotcha, ya little stowaway! Captain's been lookin' for—" The man stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening as he stared at Sora.
Sora realized he was still holding the half-eaten fruit. "Uh... want some? It's terrible."
The pirate's face contorted with shock and fury. "YOU ATE IT? YOU STUPID BASTARD! THAT WAS WORTH MORE THAN THIS ENTIRE SHIP!"
"Really? Because it tastes like moldy gym socks soaked in vinegar." Sora rubbed the back of his head. "So... I'm guessing I wasn't supposed to do that?"
The pirate lunged forward with his cutlass. "I'LL GUT YOU FOR THIS!"
Sora barely managed to dodge, the blade slicing through the air where he'd just been standing. He scrambled across the small cabin, putting the crate between them.
"Hey! Let's talk about this like reasonable people! I didn't know it was valuable!"
"That was a Devil Fruit, you ignorant rat! Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"Honestly? Not a clue." Sora ducked another wild swing. "But I'm starting to think this might be the one time reading manga could've actually been useful!"