It's been a month.
A whole month since I crash-landed on this fluffy nightmare of an island.
At first, I thought the soft sand and candy-colored plants were kind of nice—like living inside a dessert commercial. But after thirty days of eating questionable fruit, sleeping under palm leaves, and fighting off what I swear was a crab with anger issues, I'd had enough.
"Alright," I muttered, squinting at the half-finished raft I'd been working on for a week. "You may not be pretty, but you're my ticket outta here."
Building it had been… educational. I didn't have tools, rope, or any survival experience beyond binge-watching a show called Naked and Afraid. Let's just say the "afraid" part was 100% accurate.
I tied the final vine holding the logs together and stepped back to admire my craftsmanship. It looked sturdy enough. Maybe. Probably not.
"Well," I said to no one, "if this works, I'm a genius. If not… at least I'll be shark food with dignity."
With that encouraging thought, I dragged the raft into the shallow water, pushed off, and climbed aboard. The wind was nice, the sea was calm—honestly, for about ten seconds, I thought I might actually pull it off.
Then the raft started sinking.
"Wait—wait, wait, WAIT!" I yelled, slapping the water as the logs came apart like soggy cereal.
And that's when I learned something new about myself.
I can't swim.
I flailed, gasping and sputtering as the ocean swallowed me whole. My arms and legs thrashed uselessly, and I could already feel myself sinking deeper.
"Help! Somebody! I don't wanna die in a kiddie pool!" I choked out before the saltwater got in my mouth.
Just when I was about to give up, a shadow passed over me. Then—splash!—a rope hit the water beside me.
"Grab it, kid!" a voice shouted.
Without thinking, I reached out and held on for dear life as strong arms hauled me up onto the deck of a ship. I collapsed, coughing seawater onto the wooden planks, my lungs burning but my heart racing with relief.
When I finally looked up, a handful of rough-looking sailors were staring down at me.
"You alright there?" one asked, scratching his beard.
I gave him a weak thumbs-up. "Define 'alright.'"
The man chuckled. "Well, you're alive. That's a start."
After a few minutes, I managed to sit up. "Thanks for the rescue. Uh… where are we headed?"
"Whiskey Peak," the bearded man said with a grin. "We're merchants heading for a supply run. You're lucky we passed by, or the sea kings would've had you for dinner."
"Whiskey Peak…" I muttered, not realizing that name would soon change my entire life.
As the ship sailed off, the island I'd called home for a month faded into the distance—my marshmallow prison finally behind me.
The merchant ship wasn't exactly fancy, but after a month on a diet of mystery fruit and coconut water, it felt like a five-star cruise. The crew was surprisingly friendly, loud, and always laughing about something. They even gave me dry clothes — a white shirt, brown pants, and a belt that didn't fit quite right but at least wasn't soaked in seawater.
As I sat on the deck, watching the sun dip into the sea, a girl about my age plopped down beside me. Her short blonde hair was tied back messily, and she had that kind of grin that said she'd probably been in trouble more than once.
"You're the guy we fished outta the ocean, huh?" she said, handing me a tin cup of something that smelled suspiciously like rum. "Name's Emma. You?"
"Noah," I said, taking the cup and then pretending to drink it so I wouldn't die of alcohol poisoning. "Thanks for the save, by the way. I owe you one."
Emma smirked. "Don't thank me — thank the captain. He's the one who spotted you and told us to haul your soggy butt aboard."
I blinked. "Oh. Then I guess I owe him my life."
"Pretty much," she said with a shrug. "He acts like a grump, but he's got a soft spot for idiots who try to cross the sea on glorified firewood."
I groaned. "That's… fair. Yeah, I earned that one."
She laughed. "You can repay us by telling me how you ended up out there. Not every day someone builds a raft out of vines and driftwood."
I rubbed my face. "Long story short, I got stranded on that fluffy island for a month. It was like living inside a bakery."
"Ah, Marshmallow Isle." She nodded knowingly. "That place is a nightmare. My captain says it's one of those weird Grand Line islands — the kind that changes seasons every few days."
I froze mid-blink. "Grand… Line?"
She didn't notice my confusion, just kept talking, swinging her legs off the edge of the deck.
"Y'know, this sea's full of surprises. My dream's to travel all over — from the East Blue to the West, then across the North and South Seas, maybe even see the Red Line up close someday! I heard it stretches across the whole world like a wall."
"Wait—" I said, my brain short-circuiting. "East Blue? North? Red Line? Did you say Grand Line?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah? Where else would we be? You seriously didn't know that?"
I stared at her, my mouth hanging open. "You're kidding me… right?"
Emma tilted her head. "No? What, you hit your head or something?"
I didn't answer. My heart was pounding.
The Red Line.
The Four Seas.
The Grand Line.
Everything she said lined up perfectly — not with geography class, but with One Piece.
I leaned back against the rail, trying not to panic. "Okay… okay, Noah. Deep breaths. This isn't a dream. You're not hallucinating. You're actually in the One Piece world. Oh my God."
Emma blinked. "You, uh… good there, buddy?"
"Totally fine!" I said, forcing a smile that probably looked like I was being electrocuted. "Just—uh—realizing a few things about my life choices."
She laughed. "You're weird, but I like you. Stick with us till Whiskey Peak. Maybe you'll figure out where you belong after that."
I exhaled, staring after her as she walked off. "Yeah… thanks, Emma. And… guess I'll go thank the captain too."
The sea breeze ruffled my hair as I leaned against the railing, watching the waves roll by. Somewhere far ahead, thunder rumbled in the distance. I didn't know what waited for me at Whiskey Peak — but something told me it was going to be the start of something crazy.