The first thing Ban felt was the sensation of water.
Cold, salty, unforgiving water that filled his mouth and lungs with the kind of relentless determination that only the ocean possessed. His eyes snapped open to a world of murky blue-green, sunlight filtering down in fractured beams through the surface above. For a moment, panic should have set in. Drowning was an unpleasant experience, even for someone who couldn't die.
Wait.
Ban's crimson eyes narrowed as his body drifted in the current. This isn't Baste Prison.
The last thing he remembered was the cold stone floor of his cell, the phantom taste of ale on his tongue from a dream about better days, and the endless counting of cracks in the ceiling. Seven thousand, four hundred and thirty-two cracks. He'd memorized every single one over the decade of isolation.
This definitely wasn't that ceiling.
His body moved on instinct, powerful legs kicking upward as his arms cut through the water. Breaking the surface, he took in his surroundings, the ocean. Endless, sparkling ocean in every direction, with the sun beating down from a cloudless sky. The water was warmer than it had any right to be, and the air tasted different. Salt, yes, but something else. Something... freer.
"Well, shit," Ban muttered, his voice rough from disuse. How long had it been since he'd actually spoken to another person? Years? Decades? "This is new."
A wooden plank bobbed nearby, part of what looked like a shattered ship. Ban grabbed it with casual strength, using it to stay afloat while he processed his situation. His body felt the same, the lean, powerful muscle of someone in their prime, the familiar sensation of immortality humming beneath his skin like a second heartbeat. His clothes were different, though. Gone was the red leather of his old outfit. Instead, he wore simple prisoner's garb, tattered and soaked through.
"Transmigration? Reincarnation?" Ban mused aloud, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "Or did someone finally figure out how to get rid of me and just toss me into the middle of nowhere?"
The grin widened. Either way, this was the most interesting thing to happen in decades.
On the horizon, he spotted something that made his heart, if it still truly beat the way normal hearts did, quicken with anticipation. Land. A small island, lush and green, with what looked like a town nestled against the coastline. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, and Ban could just make out the shapes of buildings, maybe even people.
"Guess I'm going that way," he said to no one in particular, then started swimming with powerful, steady strokes. The distance was considerable, but Ban had time. He always had time.
It took the better part of an hour, but Ban's feet finally touched sand. He dragged himself onto the beach, water streaming from his hair and clothes, and stretched like a cat in the sun. The warmth felt good against his skin. How long had it been since he'd felt sunlight? Really felt it, not filtered through prison bars?
"Freedom," he breathed, tasting the word like fine wine. "Forgot what this felt like."
The beach was empty, but he could hear sounds from the town beyond the tree line, voices, laughter, the general bustle of civilization. Ban wrung out his shirt and started walking, leaving wet footprints in the sand that dried almost instantly under the intense sun.
The town was small but vibrant. Wooden buildings with colorful shutters lined narrow streets, and the smell of cooking food made Ban's stomach growl despite not having eaten in who knew how long. People went about their business—merchants hawking wares, children running between adults' legs, sailors stumbling out of what was clearly a tavern.
But something was off.
Ban's eyes narrowed as he took in the details. The architecture was wrong. The clothes people wore were strange, a mix of styles he didn't recognize. And there, fluttering from a flagpole in the town square, was a symbol he'd never seen before, a stylized seagull over a set of scales.
"Where the hell am I?" he muttered, drawing a few curious glances from passersby.
He must have looked a sight, a tall, well-built man with stark white hair and red eyes, wearing tattered prisoner's clothes and dripping seawater everywhere. A few people gave him a wide berth, which was probably smart of them.
Ban's attention was immediately drawn to a bulletin board covered in papers. He approached, scanning the notices with growing interest. Most were mundane, wanted posters for local thieves, notices about ship departures, warnings about sea beasts.
But then he saw them.
Wanted posters. Proper wanted posters with faces, names, and numbers that made his eyebrows rise. "Bounties," he read aloud. "Pirates." The word felt right on his tongue. "30,000,000 Berries for 'Iron Mace' Alvida... 15,000,000 for Buggy the Clown..."
He studied the posters more carefully. The art style was old and the crimes listed were varied: theft, murder, and destruction of Marine property. That word again: Marine. Must be some kind of law enforcement.
"Pirates and Marines," Ban mused, that predatory grin returning to his face. "Bounties and treasures. Now this is starting to sound interesting."
"You looking to become a bounty hunter?" a gruff voice asked from behind him.
Ban turned to find a middle-aged man with a weather-beaten face and the look of someone who spent their life on the water. A sailor, most likely. The man eyed Ban's prisoner garb with suspicion but not outright hostility.
"Maybe," Ban replied casually. "Or maybe I'm just curious about the local entertainment. Tell me, old-timer, where exactly am I?"
The sailor's suspicion deepened. "You don't know? This is Mirrorball Island, East Blue. Did you hit your head or something?"
"Something like that," Ban agreed. "East Blue, huh? And these pirates... they're common around here?"
"Common enough to be a pain in the ass," the sailor spat. "Ever since Gold Roger started the Great Pirate Era, the seas have been crawling with wannabe treasure hunters. Most of them are just thugs with boats, but some..." He gestured to the higher bounty posters. "Some are the real deal."
"Gold Roger?" Ban was intrigued. A king's name if he'd ever heard one.
"You really did hit your head hard," the sailor muttered. "The Pirate King? Guy who conquered the Grand Line and found the One Piece before the Marines executed him twenty-two years ago? His last words started this whole mess, told the world his treasure was out there for the taking."
Ban's grin threatened to split his face in half. "The One Piece. A legendary treasure that everyone's after." He laughed, a sound that made the sailor take a step back. "Oh, I like the sound of that. Tell me more about this Grand Line."
The sailor looked at Ban like he was insane, which was fair. "It's the most dangerous stretch of ocean in the world. Pirates, sea beasts, crazy weather... only the strongest crews make it through. And even fewer make it to the New World beyond that."
"Dangerous," Ban repeated, rolling the word around like candy. "Strong crews. Ultimate treasures." He stretched his arms above his head, feeling muscles that hadn't been properly used in years protest and then settle. "Perfect."
"You planning to become a pirate?" the sailor asked, now definitely backing away.
"Maybe," Ban said again. "Haven't decided yet. But that One Piece sounds like one hell of a challenge." He glanced at the man. "Where's the nearest place I can get food, drink, and maybe some new clothes? I don't suppose prisoners' fashion is in style around here."
"The Rusty Anchor," the sailor said, pointing down the street. "Tavern. They'll serve anyone with coin, though..." He eyed Ban's lack of visible money. "You got any?"
Ban's grin turned sly. "I'll figure something out. I always do."
The Rusty Anchor was exactly what Ban expected—dim, smoky, smelling of alcohol and unwashed sailors. Perfect. He pushed through the door and immediately felt dozens of eyes turn his way. The conversations didn't stop, but they quieted, the kind of cautious awareness that came when something new and potentially dangerous entered a predator's den.
Ban sauntered to the bar with the confidence of someone who'd walked into far worse situations and walked out grinning. The bartender, a burly man with a scar across his nose, looked him up and down with obvious distrust.
"We don't serve prisoners," the bartender growled.
"Good thing I'm not a prisoner anymore," Ban replied cheerfully. "Now, about that drink—"
"He said we don't serve your kind," another voice cut in. Ban turned to find three men standing from a corner table, rough-looking types with the bearing of small-time thugs. The leader, a man with a patchy beard and more bravado than sense, stepped forward. "Why don't you crawl back to whatever hole you escaped from?"
Ban's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes did. A coldness from watching everyone he loved grow old and die, from a decade of isolation in a cell. These men had no idea what they were talking to.
"Now that's not very hospitable," Ban said mildly. "I just got to this island. Haven't even had a chance to cause trouble yet."
"Yet," one of the thugs muttered.
"Yet," Ban agreed. "But here's the thing..." He moved, and it was faster than anyone in the room could track. One moment he was at the bar, the next he was in front of the leader, his hand clamped around the man's wrist with inhuman strength. "I'm really, really thirsty."
The leader tried to pull away and couldn't. His face paled as he realized the lean prisoner in front of him was far stronger than he looked. "What the-"
"Snatch," Ban said casually.
It was instinctive, the use of his power. He felt it flow through him, that familiar sensation of taking what wasn't his. The thug's strength, what little he had, flowed into Ban like water, leaving the man weak and gasping. Ban released him, and the thug collapsed to the floor, his companions rushing to help him up.
"What did you do to him?!" one of them shouted.
Ban flexed his hand experimentally. The power still worked. Good to know. "Just borrowed a little something. Don't worry, he'll get it back... eventually." He turned back to the bartender, who now looked significantly more cooperative. "About that drink?"
The bartender nodded slowly, reaching for a bottle. "On the house."
"Now that's more like it," Ban said, accepting the glass of amber liquid. He downed it in one go, savoring the burn. "Ale. Decent stuff. Haven't had a drink in... a while."
The tavern was silent now, everyone staring at the white-haired stranger who'd just casually taken down one of the local troublemakers with a touch. Ban could practically feel their fear and curiosity mixing in the air.
"So," he said, addressing the room at large. "Anyone want to tell me how someone goes about becoming a pirate around here? I'm new to the area, and I'm looking for some excitement. Maybe a ship. Definitely more treasure than I can carry."
A laugh came from the corner, rough and amused. An older man with gray in his beard and an eyepatch over one eye stood up. Unlike the others, he didn't look afraid, just interested. "You don't just become a pirate, boy. You need a ship, a crew, and a dream worth dying for."
"Don't need a crew," Ban said immediately. "Ships can be acquired. And as for dreams..." His grin returned, wild and hungry. "I just heard about the One Piece. Sounds like the kind of treasure worth stealing."
The old man's laugh was genuine now. "You've got spirit, I'll give you that. But the One Piece? That's the dream of every pirate from here to the New World. What makes you think you've got what it takes?"
Ban set his empty glass down on the bar with a decisive click. "Because I've got something none of them have."
"And what's that?"
"Time." Ban's red eyes gleamed in the tavern's dim light. "All the time in the world."
Ban spent the rest of the day learning about his new reality. The old man, who introduced himself as Captain Reeves, a retired pirate who'd given up the life after losing his crew to a storm in the Grand Line, was surprisingly forthcoming with information. Maybe it was Ban's obvious strength, or maybe the old captain was just bored and looking for someone to talk to.
Either way, Ban learned.
He learned about Devil Fruits, mysterious fruits that granted incredible powers at the cost of being able to swim. "Well, that explains the weird abilities," Ban had muttered. He learned about the World Government, the Marines who enforced their will across the seas, and the Four Emperors who ruled the New World like untouchable gods.
"You've got the look of someone dangerous," Reeves said, studying Ban over his drink. "That white hair, those red eyes, and whatever the hell you did to Scurvy back there... You ain't normal, are you?"
"Define normal," Ban replied.
"Fair point." Reeves chuckled. "If you're serious about being a pirate, you'll need to understand the seas. East Blue is the weakest of the four seas; they call it the peaceful sea, though that's a damn lie. Most pirates here have bounties under 10 million. The really dangerous ones either die young or make it to the Grand Line."
"What about the strong ones? The ones who make it?" Ban asked, genuinely curious.
"They either die in Paradise, that's what they call the first half of the Grand Line, or they get strong enough to survive. The New World beyond that? That's where the real monsters live. The Four Emperors, the Warlords, Marine Admirals... people with power that could sink islands."
Ban's grin widened. "Sounds fun."
"You're crazy."
"Been told that."
Reeves shook his head but smiled. "There's a Marine base on the other side of this island. Captain Nezumi runs it, corrupt bastard, but he's got connections. If you're looking to make a name for yourself, that's one way to do it. Raid the base, steal their supplies, maybe their ship. You'll get a bounty for sure."
"A bounty as a greeting card to the world," Ban mused. "I like it. What else should I know?"
"The Grand Line has a specific entry point, Reverse Mountain. The currents from all four Blues converge there and carry ships up and over the mountain into Paradise. It's the only reliable way in, unless you want to try crossing the Calm Belt, which would be suicide."
"Calm Belt?"
"Strips of ocean on either side of the Grand Line with no wind and no currents. Also happens to be the breeding ground for Sea Kings, massive sea monsters that can swallow ships whole. The Marines can cross them with special ships, but for everyone else? Death sentence."
Ban absorbed this information like a sponge. His immortality was still an advantage, probably his biggest one, but he'd need more than that to survive against opponents who could sink islands, apparently.
He'd need to get stronger. Much stronger.
"One more question," Ban said. "This Grand Line, what makes it so dangerous besides the people?"
"Everything," Reeves answered seriously. "The weather changes without warning. Islands with their own magnetic fields that mess with normal compasses, you need a Log Pose to navigate. Sea Kings, whirlpools, entire oceans that burn with fire or freeze solid. And that's just the environmental hazards. The people are worse."
"Sounds like my kind of place," Ban said, standing and stretching. "Thanks for the information, old man. You've been helpful."
"Where are you going?" Reeves asked.
"To get a ship," Ban replied simply. "Maybe pay that Marine base a visit. I haven't had a good fight in decades, and I'm curious to see what these 'Marines' are made of."
"You're really going to raid a Marine base by yourself?"
Ban's grin was all teeth. "Why not? What's the worst that can happen? They kill me?" He laughed at his own joke, though Reeves didn't get it. "I've got nothing to lose and everything to gain. Besides, I need supplies, and stealing them sounds more fun than buying them."
Reeves studied him for a long moment, then reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "If you survive, and that's a big if, take this. It's a map of the East Blue with notes on the major islands and towns. Consider it a gift from one pirate to another."
Ban took the map, genuinely surprised. "Why help me?"
"Because you remind me of myself, forty years ago," Reeves said quietly. "Full of fire and dreams, thinking the world was yours for the taking. I failed, lost everything I cared about. But maybe you won't." He raised his glass. "To dreams and the fools who chase them."
Ban clinked his stolen glass against Reeves's. "To freedom and all the treasures I'm going to steal."
Night had fallen by the time Ban left the Rusty Anchor. The town was quieter now, most people in their homes for the evening. A few lanterns flickered in windows, and the sound of the ocean was a constant backdrop to everything.
Ban made his way through the streets with purpose, following the directions Reeves had given him. The Marine base was on the eastern side of the island, about an hour's walk through some forested areas. Perfect. He'd scout it out tonight, maybe cause some chaos, and be gone before dawn with a ship and whatever supplies he could carry.
The forest was dark but not threatening. Ban's enhanced senses, honed from centuries of life and combat, picked up every sound—nocturnal animals in the underbrush, the distant crash of waves, the whisper of wind through leaves. It was peaceful in a way that prison had never been.
After about forty minutes of walking, Ban saw lights through the trees. He slowed his approach, moving silently despite his size, until he had a clear view of the Marine base.
It was smaller than he expected. A wooden fort with stone reinforcements, surrounded by a basic wall maybe ten feet high. Guard towers at each corner with bored-looking Marines keeping watch. The main building was two stories, with what looked like barracks attached to one side and a dock with two small warships on the other.
"Not exactly impressive," Ban muttered, counting the visible guards. Maybe fifteen total? Twenty at most? And from the way they carried themselves, these weren't elite soldiers. These were bottom-rung Marines stationed in the weakest sea, probably more used to dealing with drunk sailors than actual pirates.
This was going to be easy.
Ban watched for another ten minutes, mapping out patrol patterns and identifying the most valuable targets. The ships were the priority, he needed one to leave the island. After that, the armory for weapons and supplies, and maybe the captain's office for money and maps.
"Alright," he said to himself, that familiar excitement building in his chest. "Let's see if these Marines can give me a decent warmup."
He stood, rolled his shoulders, and walked directly toward the main gate.
The guards spotted him immediately. "Halt! This is a Marine base! State your—" The guard's voice cut off as Ban came into the light of the gate torches and he saw the prisoner's garb. "Sound the alarm! We have an escaped—"
He crossed the distance in a blur, his hand shooting out to grab the guard by the throat. "Snatch." The guard's strength flooded into Ban, and the Marine collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. The second guard barely had time to reach for his rifle before Ban was there, delivering a precise strike to the solar plexus that left the man gasping and unconscious.
"Two down," Ban counted cheerfully. "How many more?"
Bells started ringing throughout the base. Lights came on in the barracks, and Ban heard shouting as Marines scrambled to respond to the intrusion. Within seconds, the courtyard was filled with armed men in white uniforms with "MARINE" emblazoned on the back.
"There! The prisoner!" someone shouted.
"Shoot him!"
Gunfire erupted, muzzle flashes lighting up the night. Ban dodged and weaved through the barrage with inhuman speed and reflexes, closing the distance to the nearest group of Marines. His fist caught one in the jaw, sending the man spinning. A knee to another's gut doubled him over. Ban grabbed a third by the arm and used Snatch again, stealing the man's strength before tossing him into his companions like a bowling ball into pins.
"What the hell is he?!" someone yelled.
"He's too fast!"
"Forget shooting, charge him!"
A group of Marines rushed forward with swords and clubs. Ban grinned, catching a sword strike on his forearm. The blade bit into his flesh, drawing blood, but Ban didn't even flinch. Instead, he grabbed the sword with his bare hand and yanked it away from the shocked Marine.
"Nice try," Ban said, then drove his fist into the man's face.
The wound on his arm was already healing, the flesh knitting back together in seconds. One of the Marines saw it happen and his face went pale. "He's... he's regenerating! What kind of Devil Fruit is that?!"
"No idea," Ban replied cheerfully, wading into the group like a fox in a henhouse. "But I like it!"
The fight was gloriously one-sided. These Marines weren't weak by normal standards; they had training, weapons, and numbers. But Ban had centuries of combat experience, supernatural strength and speed, and absolute confidence that came from knowing he literally couldn't die. Every hit he took healed within seconds. Every Marine he touched with Snatch fell like a house of cards.
Within five minutes, the courtyard was littered with unconscious or groaning Marines. Ban stood in the center of the carnage, not even breathing hard, blood from various cuts already dried on his healing skin.
"Is that all?" he called out. "Come on, there's got to be someone here who can give me a real fight!"
"You want a real fight?" a new voice snarled. "I'll give you one!"
A rat-looking dude emerged from the main building, clearly the officer in charge. He wore a Marine captain's coat and had the build of someone who'd spent their life in combat. In his hands was a wickedly curved sword that gleamed in the torchlight.
"Captain Nezumi," Ban said, recognizing the name Reeves had mentioned. "Nice of you to join us."
"You've made a big mistake attacking a Marine base, scum," Nezumi hissed. His face was rat-like, with a long nose and small eyes. "I'm going to make an example of you!"
He charged, and Ban had to admit the captain was faster than his subordinates. The sword came in at a dangerous angle, forcing Ban to dodge rather than block. Nezumi followed up with a series of strikes that showed real skill.
But it wasn't enough.
Ban caught the rhythm of the attacks, then stepped inside Nezumi's guard and delivered a devastating uppercut. The captain's head snapped back, blood spraying from his mouth. Ban followed with a knee to the gut and a spinning kick that sent Nezumi crashing into the wall of the fort.
"That it?" Ban asked, disappointed. "I thought Marine captains were supposed to be tough."
Nezumi struggled to his feet, clearly hurt but not out. "You... you're going to regret this. When headquarters hears about this attack, they'll send hunters. Real Marines. You'll have nowhere to hide!"
"Good," Ban said, walking toward the downed captain. "I don't want to hide. I want them to come find me. More challenges, more excitement." He stood over Nezumi, looking down at the man. "But first, I need your ship. And anything valuable you've got here. Think of it as... payment for the entertainment."
Nezumi glared up at him with pure hatred. "The Navy will hunt you to the ends of the earth for this."
"Looking forward to it," Ban replied, then delivered one more punch that sent the captain into unconscious darkness.
Ban spent the next hour systematically looting the Marine base. The armory yielded several crates of supplies, food, water, ammunition, and a few decent blades that he took for himself. The captain's office had a safe that Ban simply ripped open, revealing a stash of Berries and navigation equipment, including several maps and a compass.
Most importantly, he found a Log Pose, the special compass Reeves had mentioned, that pointed to the next island. According to the notes in Nezumi's desk, this one was set to point toward an island called Gecko Islands, about a week's sail from Mirrorball.
"Perfect," Ban said, pocketing the Log Pose. "Next stop on my tour of the East Blue."
The two warships docked at the base were small but seaworthy. Ban chose the better-looking one, loaded it with his stolen supplies, and spent a few minutes figuring out the basic controls. Sailing wasn't exactly complicated—raise the sails, point the ship where you want to go, try not to crash into things. He'd figure out the finer points as he went.
As he prepared to cast off, Ban took one last look at the Marine base. Unconscious Marines littered the ground, the gates hung open and broken, and smoke rose from a small fire he'd accidentally started in the armory.
"Not bad for a first day," he said to himself. "Got information, got a ship, got supplies, and had some fun. Plus, I'm about to get my first bounty."
He untied the mooring ropes and the ship drifted away from the dock. Ban raised the sails, feeling the wind catch them, and the ship began to move out into the open ocean. The night air was cool against his face, and the stars overhead were impossibly bright.
Freedom. Real, genuine freedom for the first time in decades.
Ban threw his head back and laughed, the sound carrying across the water. "One Piece! Grand Line! New World! I'm coming for all of it!" He spread his arms wide, embracing the night and the sea and the endless possibilities ahead. "Let's see what kind of treasures this world has to offer!"
The ship sailed on into the darkness, carrying an immortal thief toward his destiny. Behind him, Mirrorball Island slowly disappeared below the horizon. Ahead, the vast ocean stretched endlessly, full of challenges, dangers, and treasures beyond imagination.
Ban's adventure had truly begun, and he couldn't wait to see what came next.
After all, he had all the time in the world.