The final bell's shrill ring was Jovi's starting pistol. He barely waited for his professor to dismiss the class before he was out the door, his backpack slung hastily over one shoulder. The afternoon sun beat down on the campus sidewalks, but Jovi paid no mind to the heat. His entire world had narrowed to a single, all-consuming mission: getting to the bookstore before they sold out. Today was the release day for *One Piece* Volume 112. For a hardcore fan like Jovi, this wasn't just a purchase; it was a pilgrimage.
He weaved through the dawdling crowds of students, his heart hammering a rhythm of pure anticipation. In his mind, he was already on the Thousand Sunny, feeling the salt spray as Luffy and his crew embarked on their next impossible adventure. To Jovi, Eiichiro Oda's world was more than just ink on paper. It was a masterclass in storytelling—a sprawling epic of friendship, freedom, and unwavering dreams that was more interesting and fun than any other series he'd ever encountered. He had spent countless hours theorizing with online communities, debating the secrets of the Void Century, and marveling at the sheer creativity of each new island. The thought of holding the latest volume, of diving back into that world, was a physical ache.
He burst into the cool, air-conditioned haven of the bookstore and made a beeline for the manga section. There it was, a splash of vibrant color on the display rack. The cover featured Jinbe, officially and proudly part of the Straw Hat crew. A grin spread across Jovi's face as he snatched the last copy, the crisp new spine feeling like a promise in his hands. He paid in a flurry of rushed movements, barely hearing the cashier's "Thank you," and stuffed the precious volume into his backpack.
The walk home was a blur of happiness. He decided to take a shortcut through a quieter, residential street, already planning his evening. He would make a huge bowl of popcorn, lock his door, and not move until he had devoured every last page. The weight of his backpack, containing his newest treasure, was a comfort.
It was on this quiet street that his world shattered.
A high-pitched giggle cut through the air, followed by the frantic shout of a woman. Jovi's head snapped up. His blood ran cold. A little girl, no more than four or five, had toddled into the middle of the road after a brightly colored ball. She was completely oblivious, a picture of innocent joy.
Time seemed to warp, slowing to a horrifying crawl. Jovi's eyes, wide with terror, darted from the girl to the source of a deep, guttural rumble. A massive delivery truck, far larger than any car, was barreling down the street. The driver was leaning on the horn, a long, desperate blare that screamed of inevitability. The driver was braking, but physics was a cruel master; the truck's momentum was too great, its stopping distance far too long. It wasn't going to stop in time.
There was no time to think, no time for a cost-benefit analysis. There was only instinct. A primal, human instinct to protect. Jovi's body moved before his mind could catch up. He dropped his backpack, the new manga forgotten, and launched himself forward in a desperate sprint. His legs burned with an adrenaline-fueled power he never knew he possessed. He reached the little girl, his arms wrapping around her small frame in a protective cocoon. With a final, powerful lunge, he shoved them both toward the safety of the curb.
He felt the whoosh of displaced air, the heat of the engine, and the overwhelming, metallic scent of the truck's grille. Then, an impact.
It wasn't like in the movies. It was a deafening, wet thud of metal against flesh and bone. A symphony of breaking. The world spun in a nauseating carousel of sky, pavement, and blurring trees. An immense, all-consuming pain erupted through his entire body, so profound it was almost a color—a blinding, white-hot agony that erased every other sensation. He heard a sickening crack, which he distantly realized was his own spine.
He lay splayed on the rough asphalt, his vision swimming. The first thing he saw was the little girl, safe and sobbing in her mother's arms on the sidewalk. A strange, detached sense of peace washed over him. *She's okay.*
Then, the reality of his own condition crashed down. He tried to breathe, but his lungs felt crushed. A warm, coppery taste filled his mouth. He could feel a wet heat spreading beneath him, a dark, sticky pool growing from his body—his blood, so much of it, flowing freely onto the street. His vision began to tunnel, the edges fading into a fuzzy gray static. The sounds of screaming and the distant wail of an ambulance siren seemed to come from the end of a long, dark hallway.
As the darkness crept in, one thought, clear and sharp as glass, pierced through the fog of pain and fading consciousness. It wasn't a fear of death, nor a longing for his family or friends. It was a geyser of pure, unadulterated regret.
*I'm never going to know how it ends. I'm never going to see Luffy become the King of the Pirates.*
The thought was a final, bitter pill. His vision flickered, the world dissolving into shades of gray, then into nothing. The last sliver of light vanished, and Jovi's world went completely, utterly dark