The first thing I noticed was the sound. Not silence — no, that would have been comforting. What I heard was a low, rhythmic creaking, the groaning protest of wood under pressure, coupled with the constant lapping of waves against… something. My back was damp. My legs felt folded into themselves, stiff and aching. My mouth was dry, my eyes were sticky with sleep, and a beam of golden sunlight stabbed straight into my pupils when I opened them.
And that's when I realized I was floating. Not swimming. Not on a boat. Just… floating.
I twisted slightly, my limbs limited by the cramped space. Around me, curved wooden walls. The smell of salt, brine, and old liquor. I was in a barrel.
A literal barrel.
It bobbed gently on the ocean's surface, the endless blue stretching out in every direction. Not a single island or boat in sight. Just water, sky, and me — a guy who distinctly remembered dying in the real world not too long ago.
"No way," I croaked. My voice sounded strange in the open air, like I hadn't used it in days. I lifted my hands to my face. Younger. Thinner. Tanned. Definitely not the middle-aged, slightly pudgy office worker I used to be.
I tried to move, and the barrel tilted dangerously. Water sloshed in through the gaps in the slats, and I froze.
"What the hell is going on?" I muttered. Panic started to rise — but with it came memories. Not just mine. New ones. Fuzzy and disjointed, like dreams, but sharper the more I focused.
I remembered slipping on the supermarket floor, clutching a cereal box. The crack of my skull on the linoleum. The blinding lights of the ceiling flickering.
Then darkness.
And now… here. With these memories — of pirates, Marines, bounty posters, Devil Fruits — rushing into my head like tidal waves.
I was in the world of One Piece.
"How?" I asked aloud, because hearing my own voice helped anchor me. "Why here? And why me?"
My fingers brushed something beside me — a small bundle. Carefully, I reached in and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. It was damp and smudged, but the bold letters were still readable: "WELCOME TO THE GRAND LINE." Below that, a blank wanted poster. No face. No bounty. Just an invitation… or a warning.
I let out a shaky laugh. "You gotta be kidding me."
There wasn't time to reflect. The barrel lurched violently. Something knocked into it. I scrambled to look over the edge — and saw a massive shadow beneath me. Then a flash of white as a wave crested.
A ship.
I'd bumped into a ship.
Voices shouted overhead. I looked up just in time to see ropes tossed down. A few figures leaned over the railing, peering at me.
"Oi, what's that in the water?" one called.
"Looks like a person… in a barrel?"
"Grab him!"
Strong hands yanked me up. My barrel tipped and spilled me onto a rough, sun-warmed deck. I coughed and gasped, the smell of fish, salt, and sweat surrounding me. My rescuers — a crew of Fishmen pirates, judging by their gills and scales — stared at me like I was some odd catch.
"What are you doing out here, human?" one asked, squinting. His blowfish cheeks puffed out as he spoke.
I blinked up at them, soaked and dazed. "Long story."
They didn't throw me overboard, which I took as a good sign. Instead, they gave me dry clothes — a patched shirt, worn trousers, and sandals — and a bowl of something warm that tasted like stew and seawater.
I sat on the deck, trying to wrap my head around it. I had actually reincarnated into One Piece. A world where people stretched like rubber, froze oceans, and fought with swords the size of trees.
I was out of my depth. But also… thrilled.
Somehow, impossibly, this was my new life.
And the adventure was just beginning.