The pirate's cutlass whistled toward Sora's head. In the split second before impact, time seemed to stretch like warm taffy, giving Sora a curious moment of clarity. His body reacted before his mind could process what was happening.
He bent backward, the blade passing so close that he felt the rush of air against his face. His spine arched at an angle that should have been impossible, yet his body moved with an ease that felt almost comical.
"What the—" the pirate grunted, over-committed to his swing and stumbling forward.
Sora's feet danced across the floor as he regained his balance, putting the wooden crate between them. The movement felt wrong—too smooth, too fast. His body wasn't obeying the limitations he'd lived with for twenty-two years.
This isn't my body, Sora thought, flexing his fingers as a strange tingle raced through them. It's like I'm on fast-forward while everyone else is at normal speed.
The pirate recovered and circled the crate, his face a thundercloud of rage. "You're dead meat, boy. Lady Alvida will have my guts for garters if I let you get away. That fruit was our ticket to the Grand Line!"
"Grand Line?" Sora muttered. Another reference he didn't understand.
His gaze darted around the cabin, hunting for an advantage. The door stood open behind the pirate—his only escape route. The man was between him and freedom, armed with a blade that could split him open in a heartbeat.
I need a distraction. Something to make him hesitate.
The pirate raised his cutlass again. "I'll just tell the captain you were already digesting the damn thing when I found you. She won't know the difference once you're chopped up."
Sora's mind raced, analyzing his opponent. The way the man's eyes kept flicking to Sora's hands, to the half-eaten fruit still clutched in his fingers... The pirate wasn't just angry. He was afraid.
He's scared of the power I might have. A power I have no clue about.
A plan crystalized in his mind. Sora straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and locked eyes with the pirate. He held up one hand, palm forward, and forced his face into a cold, confident smirk.
"You want to see what this fruit does?" Sora asked. "Take another step. Let's find out together."
The transformation in his demeanor was immediate and complete. Gone was the confused, scrambling victim. In his place stood someone dangerous—someone who knew things.
The pirate froze mid-step, his eyes widening. The cutlass wavered in his grip. "What... what kind of power did you get?"
Sora's strange golden eyes narrowed, the red rings seeming to pulse with an inner light. "Why don't you come closer and find out?"
The pirate swallowed hard, hesitation plain on his face. In that sliver of indecision, Sora saw his chance.
He lunged forward, not toward the blade but toward the man himself, shocking him with the unexpected movement. He slammed his shoulder into the pirate's chest, knocking him off balance, and shoved past into the corridor beyond.
"He's getting away!" the pirate howled behind him. "The fruit-eater's escaping!"
Sora sprinted down the narrow hallway, marveling at how his body responded. Each stride covered more ground than should have been possible. His lungs didn't burn; his muscles didn't ache. Whatever had happened to him in this bizarre transmigration had upgraded more than just his hair color.
From above deck came the sounds of shouting and combat. Boots stomped overhead, and through the wooden planks, a woman's voice boomed—imperious, cutting, and absolutely furious.
"ATTACK!" The voice cracked like a whip. "I want ALL THE TREASURE FROM THAT SHIP!"
Sora skidded to a halt at a T-junction. Stairs led upward toward the voice—presumably this "Lady Alvida" the pirate had mentioned. Another set descended into the gloom of the lower decks.
Up is a mob and a very angry woman who sounds like she'd happily use my intestines as jewelry. Down is... who knows? I'll take my chances with whatever lurks below rather than face the lioness with her pride.
He took the downward stairs two at a time, the wood creaking beneath his feet. The air grew thicker, heavy with the smell of mildew and seawater. The sounds of fighting faded slightly, replaced by the rhythmic groaning of the ship's hull.
Behind him, the pirate's voice rang out from the top of the stairs: "He went down below! Cut him off at the hold!"
Sora cursed under his breath. The lower deck was a maze of cargo—barrels, crates, and sacks of supplies stacked haphazardly. Lanterns swung from hooks in the ceiling, casting wild, dancing shadows that made every corner seem alive with movement.
His eyes landed on a door set into the bulkhead—small, unassuming, and most importantly, lockable. A storage pantry, maybe. Without hesitation, he darted toward it, yanked it open, and slipped inside, pulling it shut with a soft click.
Darkness enveloped him. He pressed his back against the door, breathing hard despite his new body's enhanced stamina. Adrenaline and fear did that to a person, no matter how physically fit.
"Eep!"
Sora wasn't alone.
His mind didn't register "innocent bystander" or "fellow victim." It registered "witness" and "threat." If whoever was in here with him screamed, the entire pirate crew would be down on his head in seconds.
Sora lunged toward the sound, guided more by instinct than sight. His hands found shoulders and he pushed forward, pinning the person against what felt like a stack of crates. One hand clamped firmly over a mouth, the other pressed against a collarbone, holding them in place.
"Don't scream," he whispered, his lips nearly brushing against an ear. "Don't even breathe loud. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you get me caught. Nod if you understand."
He felt a slight, jerky nod against his palm.
Heavy footsteps thundered down the corridor outside. A gruff voice called out: "Check every room!"
Sora's priorities shifted instantly. Silencing this person wasn't enough; now he needed to hide them both. His eyes, adjusting to the darkness, spotted a narrow space behind several large barrels in the corner.
"We need to hide," he murmured, loosening his grip just enough to guide rather than restrain. "Over there. Now."
Without waiting for agreement, he pulled his unexpected companion toward the hiding spot. It was tight—barely large enough for one person, let alone two—but it would have to do. He wedged himself into the space, tugging the other person in after him.
And suddenly, Sora was very, very aware that his companion was female.
In the cramped space, their bodies pressed together from chest to knee. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breathing, the hammering of her heart matching his own frantic rhythm. She was shorter than him by nearly a head, forcing him to curl around her, one arm braced against the wall behind her, the other still hovering near her face in case he needed to silence her again.
A sliver of light from the crack beneath the door illuminated just enough of her face for Sora to make out wide, expressive eyes glaring up at him with a mixture of fear and defiance. Her hair fell in a short, straight curtain around her face, and even in the dim light, he could tell it was a vibrant orange, though darker than his own bizarre coral color.
The scent of tangerines wafted from her skin, incongruously sweet and fresh in the musty closet.
Footsteps stopped right outside the door. The handle rattled.
"Locked," a voice grunted from the other side. "He wouldn't have had time. Keep moving!"
The footsteps receded, continuing down the corridor. Sora exhaled slowly, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders. The immediate danger had passed.
He became acutely aware of just how inappropriate their position was. His chest pressed against the softness of her breasts. His thigh wedged between hers from the awkward angle of their hiding spot. Her breath, warm and quick, fanning against his neck.
Sora shifted his weight, trying to give her some space without making noise.
Her hand shot up with startling speed.
SLAP!
The sound cracked through the small room like a gunshot. His cheek burned where her palm had connected with remarkable force for someone her size.
"Get. Your. Hands. OFF ME," she hissed, golden-brown eyes blazing with righteous fury.
Sora jerked back as much as the cramped space allowed, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry, sorry! I was just trying not to get us both killed!"
"Us? There is no 'us'." She shoved at his chest. "You're the idiot they're hunting, and I was doing fine until you barged in!"
Sora rubbed his cheek, frowning. "Look, I said I'm sorry for grabbing you. But in my defense, you were about to scream and get us both caught."
"I wouldn't have screamed," she snapped, chin lifting defiantly. "I'm not an amateur."
Now that his eyes had fully adjusted to the gloom, Sora could see her more clearly. She was young—maybe eighteen or nineteen—and undeniably pretty, with a face that managed to be both cute and sharp at the same time. Her outfit was simple but practical: a blue and white striped shirt, dark shorts, and sturdy boots. A small satchel was slung across her body.
"Not an amateur at what, exactly?" Sora asked, his mind finally catching up to the strange circumstances. "What are you doing hiding in a pirate ship's pantry?"
Her expression shifted, the anger making way for calculation. She studied his face for a long moment before answering. "I could ask you the same question. You're clearly not part of Alvida's crew."
"I'm—" Sora hesitated. What was he? A stowaway? A victim of cosmic incompetence? "I'm someone who woke up on the wrong ship at the wrong time."
A commotion from above deck interrupted whatever response she might have offered. There was a tremendous crash, followed by screams and the splintering of wood.
The girl's eyes widened. "That's my cue to leave."
"Your cue? What are you—"
She slipped past him with the agility of a cat, moving toward the door. From her satchel, she produced a slender metal tool that she inserted into the lock.
"You're a thief," Sora said, the realization dawning. "You're robbing the ship while they're distracted by whatever's happening on deck."
"Not a thief," she corrected without looking back at him. The lock clicked open under her skilled fingers. "A specialized treasure hunter who exclusively targets pirates. There's a difference."
Sora snorted. "Sure. A semantic difference, maybe."
She shot him a glare over her shoulder. "Pirates are scum who take what they want through violence and fear. I'm just returning the favor." She cracked the door open slightly, peering into the corridor. "The coast is clear. If you're smart, you'll find somewhere else to hide."
"And if I'm not smart?"
A small, slightly wicked smile curved her lips. "Then you'll get caught, and I'll hear your screams as Lady Alvida introduces you to her iron mace."
With that cheerful prediction, she slipped out the door and was gone, leaving Sora alone in the pantry.
Great. Just great. Sora ran a hand through his new coral-orange hair. I'm trapped on a pirate ship with a captain who wants to disembowel me, I've eaten a fruit that might turn me into a frog for all I know, and the only person who isn't actively trying to kill me is a pirate-robbing kleptomaniac with anger issues.
Another crash rocked the ship, this one closer than before. The floor beneath Sora's feet shuddered. Whatever battle was happening above was intensifying.
Sora weighed his options quickly. Stay and hide, hoping the pirates forgot about him during whatever attack they were facing? Or use the chaos as cover to escape?
Only one of those options doesn't end with me spending the rest of my very short life in this pantry.
He peered out into the corridor. Empty. The thief girl was nowhere in sight, having vanished as completely as if she'd never existed. In the distance, he could hear shouting and the clash of metal on metal.
Staying low, Sora crept out of the pantry and back into the maze of cargo. He needed to find a way off this ship, and he needed to do it before Lady Alvida or her crew remembered the stowaway who'd eaten their precious fruit.
As he navigated through the dim hold, a bizarre thought struck him. For someone who'd just been yanked from his normal life, thrust into a strange world, and threatened with disembowelment, he was adapting remarkably well.
Maybe it's the adrenaline, he thought. Or maybe it's that this new body comes with more than just weird eyes and cartoon-character hair.