FOOSHA VILLAGE — EAST BLUE
Year: The birth year of Monkey D. Luffy
Name: Jake
Age: 1
Status: Orphan
Windmill Village was quiet that morning.
The sea rolled gently against the docks, carrying the smell of salt and wet wood. Seagulls cried overhead, circling lazily as villagers went about their routines. To them, it was just another peaceful day at the edge of the world.
None of them noticed the old man sitting near the shoreline, wrapped in a worn cloak,
staring down at the infant in his arms with something close to fear.
Jake didn't cry.
That was the first thing that unsettled him.
Most babies screamed. They flailed. They demanded.
This one simply watched.
Too many small fingers curled around the old man's sleeve—not clumsily, but with purpose. The man swallowed as he adjusted his grip, careful not to look too closely at the child's forearms, where faint marks rested beneath the skin. Not scars. Not patterns.
Something waiting.
"weird," the old man muttered, voice rough with age. "Found you near the
shore… no shipwreck, no tracks. Just you."
Jake's dark eyes followed the movement of the windmill blades above the village.
They turned slowly.
Steadily.
Predictably.
His mind—fully formed, painfully aware—cataloged everything. The distance. The height. The sound of wood creaking under strain. The weight of this body. Small, yes,
but dense. Stronger than it should be.
He remembered death.
He remembered blood.
He remembered the void.
And now—
Life.
The old man carried him up the dirt path toward a small, weather-beaten house on the outskirts of the village. It wasn't much. One room. A stove. A bed that creaked louder than it should. But it was warm.
"You'll stay with me," the old man said quietly, as if afraid the world might overhear. "
No name, no parents… village won't ask questions. They never do."
He paused, then sighed.
"Jake," he said suddenly. "I'll call you Jake."
The name settled into place.
Jake didn't react.
But something deep inside him acknowledged it.
THE OLD MAN
His name was Eldon.
A retired dockworker. No family. No ambition left. He'd seen pirates pass through—red-haired ones, loud ones, dangerous ones—but he had never left this island.
He fed Jake goat's milk. Wrapped him in old blankets. Spoke to him when the nights got too quiet.
And sometimes… sometimes he woke up gasping, heart racing, convinced something had been watching him from the crib.
Jake never slept like a normal child.
He rested.
Listened.
Learned.
SIGNS OF A MONSTER (AGE 1)
Jake's body grew fast.
Not visibly unnatural—but dense. Eldon noticed it when lifting him. This child
weighed more than he should. Muscles firm beneath smooth skin.
Once, when Eldon slipped on the dock, Jake's tiny hand clamped down on his collar—
And stopped the fall.
Eldon froze, dangling halfway over the water.
Jake stared at him, expression calm.
Slowly, deliberately, he loosened his grip.
Eldon laughed nervously afterward, convincing himself it was adrenaline. Luck. Anything but the truth.
At night, when pirates drank in Makino's bar and laughter echoed across the village, Jake sometimes felt it—
A pressure.
A familiar tightening in his chest.
The instinct to dominate.
Wood creaked. Dogs whimpered. A few villagers complained of headaches, of unease they couldn't explain.
It passed quickly.
Uncontrolled.
Unnoticed.
For now.
ELSEWHERE IN THE VILLAGE
Another child cried loudly somewhere uphill.
A newborn with black hair and a scream strong enough to shake windows.
Monkey D. Luffy had entered the world.
Jake didn't know his name yet.
But something in him stirred all the same.
Not fate.
Not destiny.
Recognition.
Windmill Village believed children learned by falling.
By scraped knees. By bruised elbows. By crying until someone picked them up and told them it would be fine.
Jake learned differently.
The old man, Eldon, noticed it first in the mornings.
Jake would be awake before sunrise, sitting in the crib without a sound. Not staring into nothing—watching. The way the light slid through the cracks in the wooden walls. The way dust floated and settled. The rhythm of Eldon's breathing as he slept in the other room.
The child's eyes followed patterns.
Cause and effect.
When Eldon rose, Jake's gaze snapped to him instantly, as if he had been waiting.
"You're too quiet," Eldon muttered one morning, lifting him with a grunt. "Babies are supposed to make noise."
Jake didn't respond.
He couldn't—not yet. But he listened.
THE FIRST LESSON: GRAVITY
Eldon took Jake down to the docks often. The villagers were used to seeing the old man with the strange child now. Some waved. Some whispered.
Jake watched the sea.
The water fascinated him. Not in a playful way. In a measured way.
When Eldon set him down on the planks, Jake crawled—not clumsy, not panicked. Each movement tested weight and balance. Hands pressed. Knees followed. Spine adjusted.
He crawled to the edge.
"
Oi—careful!" Eldon called, stepping closer.
Jake reached out and dropped a pebble into the water.
It fell.
He waited.
It disappeared.
He dropped another.
Same result.
No magic. No hesitation.
When Eldon finally grabbed him, heart
pounding, Jake didn't cry. He simply looked up at the old man, as if recording the reaction.
People panic when they think something valuable might be lost.
Useful.
THE SECOND LESSON: MUSCLE
Back at the house, Eldon kept a small iron weight—something he used to use for exercise before his joints gave out. He set it down once, not thinking.
Jake crawled to it.
His fingers wrapped around the cold metal.
Eldon turned just in time to see the child lift it.
Not cleanly. Not smoothly. But enough.
The old man's breath caught.
"That's… not possible."
Jake dropped the weight. The sound echoed in the small room.
Pain flared in his arms—but instead of crying, his body adjusted. Muscles tightened. Bones aligned. The sensation registered as data, not fear.
From that day on, Eldon found the weight moved often.
Sometimes closer to the crib.
Sometimes farther.
Jake dragged it. Pushed it. Lifted it for fractions of a second longer each time.
Training without knowing the word for it.
THE THIRD LESSON: ENDURANCE
Jake learned pain early.
When he crawled too long, his knees burned.
When he strained too hard, his arms trembled.
When he fell, the shock rattled his bones.
He didn't avoid it.
He repeated it.
Pain, he knew, was information. A boundary. And boundaries could be pushed.
Eldon would rush over, panic in his voice, only to find Jake already steadying himself, breathing slow—too slow for a child.
"You're going to give me a heart attack," Eldon growled, lifting him. "You hear me?"
Jake met his eyes.
He did hear him.
He just didn't agree.
THE FOURTH LESSON: A WORLD OF MONSTERS
The village spoke.
Jake listened.
Makino's voice drifted from the bar when Eldon passed by. Talk of pirates. Of ships that flew black flags. Of men who laughed at cannon fire and died smiling.
The word pirate lodged itself deep.
Jake remembered another word from his past life—killer.
Different worlds. Same truth.
Power decided everything.
One evening, Shanks' crew passed through the village again. Red hair. Loud laughter. The smell of alcohol and danger.
Jake was in Eldon's arms when it happened.
A crewmember stopped laughing.
"…You feel that?"
A pressure brushed outward from Jake's chest—thin, uncontrolled, barely there. Like a breath exhaled by something far larger.
It vanished instantly.
The pirate shook his head. "Must be the booze."
Shanks, however, glanced around the village, eyes sharp for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
Jake watched him.
And Shanks, unknowingly, looked back.
THE FIFTH LESSON: WILL
That night, Eldon woke screaming.
He had dreamed of drowning—of invisible hands pulling him under.
Jake stood in the crib, gripping the wood hard enough to leave faint cracks.
The air felt heavy.
Eldon froze when he saw him.
"…Jake?"
The pressure faded.
Jake loosened his grip.
He had felt it then—something inside him reacting not to fear, but to emotion.
Frustration. Restraint. The refusal to be small.
Conqueror's Haki—
Not awakened.
Not understood.
But present.
Sleeping.
END OF CHAPTER 1 — PART 2
Jake could not speak.
Could not walk.
Could not fight.
Yet every day, his body learned.
Every night, his will sharpened.
Windmill Village remained peaceful.
But beneath that peace, something unnatural was growing—
Not a hero.
Not a dreamer.
A mind that had already lived once…
And refused to waste a second life.