...
After wiping the remains of the stupid mosquito on the bark of the tree, I looked down at my hand.
It'd looked the same, aside from a few scratches from climbing the tree. And that obvious clink sound- it was exactly like the wheel, and no, it wasn't hovering over my head or anything; that'd been fucking awesome.
I turned back to the smear on the tree bark and snorted.
"So I was right," I said to the dead insect. "That stupid coloured pear actually was something."
Which, to be fair, felt amazing to say after the amount of suffering I'd put myself through over the years.
I had eaten so many suspicious fruits since I was old enough to walk unsupervised that, in hindsight, it was a miracle my parents hadn't just locked me inside. Weird spotted bananas. A lumpy orange thing I found floating near the rocks. Three separate melons that looked "mystical" and turned out to be normal, deeply disappointing melons. One ugly purple fruit that had me throwing up so hard intensently
I suffered through more food poisoning than I'd hoped. Still, this time was clearly different. It had to be different. The mosquito didn't just stop piercing skin because I wanted it to.
I slid down from the branch, landing with a soft thud, and immediately tried to calm myself. I tended to have this really massive grin that turned people, or so the village people say.
My mouth kept trying to grin anyway.
"Act normal," I muttered.
Then I glanced around the orchard to make sure nobody had seen me talking to myself.
I cleared my throat and nodded once. I was a serious person doing serious orchard business, then started walking back toward the village.
…
Goat Island came into view as the path curved around the hill. The village wasn't large at all. It was one of those places that probably didn't matter in the grand scheme of the story. No marine base, no famous port, no legendary name that made people sit up and take notice. Just a cluster of homes near the coast, a few dirt roads, fenced patches of farmland, and some boats.
Goat Island. I didn't remember it from the series at all, to be honest; maybe it had appeared in some SBS? Maybe Oda had named it once and moved on with his beautiful life. Maybe it genuinely was just that irrelevant.
Which, honestly, tracked.
If you were going to be born into the One Piece world and not get dumped somewhere famous, this was exactly the kind of place you'd end up. The kind of island people left from, not headed toward, you know?
But it was small, and I loved it.
At first, when I'd realised where I was, everything had felt temporary. Like I was just waiting for the real story to start when I got old and strong enough and then I'd just leave.
Don't get me wrong, I still badly wanted that. The sea was right there. The world was right there. Somewhere beyond the horizon were adventures I'd been dreaming about since before I died.
But this place had grown on me anyway.
It was hard not to care when the people here knew your name. When old ladies pinched your cheek for getting taller. When neighbours handed over food because they'd "made too much." When your parents waited for you to come home every day, it mattered.
A few people called out greetings; I responded with a simple wave. I picked up the pace, though, given how late it was getting.
I barely made it through the front gate before the front door flew open.
"Kai!"
My mother suddenly hugged me. The suddenness almost took me off my feet.
"There you are," she said, squeezing me. "You were gone longer than usual. I told your father you were fine, but did he listen? No. He started pacing, and when he started pacing, I started pacing…"
She continued to rant
"I was picking apples," I interrupted, my face buried into her shoulder.
"For this long?" She pushed away, looking sceptical.
"There were a lot of apples", I shrugged.
She leaned back just enough to look at my face, then narrowed her eyes before smirking.
"You're smiling."
"No I'm not." I scoffed
"You are." She giggled
"I'm literally not." I blushed
"Hah! Why are you blushing then?" She leered obnoxiously.
"That's just my face," I exclaimed, getting out of her grip.
From inside the house, my father's voice called out, "So he's alive then!?"
"Yes, I'm alive!" I shouted back.
A second later, he appeared in the doorway, took one look at me, and visibly relaxed; then, because my family believed in overcorrecting emotionally at all times, he opened his arms too.
"...No," I said immediately.
"Yes," he said.
"Dad."
"You made your mother worry."
"You made me worry," my mother repeated.
"That sounds like a you problem."
I got bear hugged anyway. I was trapped between them both like the filling in the world's most embarrassing sandwich. I was fortunate to have been given this family. They were good people. Kind, hardworking, the sort of parents plenty of kids would kill to have.
But they loved insanely aggressively, and loudly. Sometimes the house felt less like a home and more like I was being held hostage by affection; he's part of why I like the town overall.
"Okay," I said, trying to wriggle free. "Alright. That's enough."
My mother laughed and finally let go. "Wash up before dinner."
My father ruffled my hair as he passed. "You're getting bigger."
"I know," I smirked
"That's the spirit," he said while slapping my back.
I stepped inside, shaking my head, trying very hard not to smile too much.
…
Inside, the house smelt of cooked vegetables and sea salt. The table was already set, and the candle on the far side had been lit early because the room always got a little dim before sunset. My room was down the short hall to the left, it was small and plain.
I made it through dinner mostly intact, which was impressive considering how difficult it was to act normal while the most important thing to ever happen to me so far in this lifetime was sitting in the back of my mind.
The conversation was lacklustre; my mother talked about a neighbour's fence, and father complained about one of the fishing lines needing repair. I just answered when spoken to and ate what was on my plate.
When dinner was over, and the sky had darkened properly, I finally escaped to my room under the excuse of being tired.
That part, at least, wasn't a lie.
Once the door shut behind me, I stood there in silence for a moment. Then I turned and looked at the candle on the table. Its little flame flickered lazily. I stared at it.
My hand twitched.
This was stupid. This was also the only way I was going to sleep tonight.
I walked over, pulled the chair back, and sat down. For a second, I just watched the flame and listened to my own breathing. My heart was beating too fast.
Maybe the mosquito had been a fluke, and its mouthpart broke, and I was losing my mind.
Or I'd finally eaten one too many suspicious fruits, and this was the beginning of the end.
Only one way to find out.
I held my palm over the candle, its heat licked at my skin.
I lowered it further, then further. The pain hit sharply, and I hissed through my teeth before yanking my hand back.
"Right," I muttered, flexing my fingers. "Still burns, cool"
The skin reddened almost immediately.
I waited.
Nothing happened.
No click. No shift. No miracle.
I stared at my hand, then at the candle.
"Again?"
The candle had no opinion.
I went again.
I held it there longer this time, my jaw tightening as it really started to sting. The instinct to pull away kicked in hard, but I forced myself to wait a second more before jerking back.
Now the burn looked worse.
I swore under my breath.
This was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. If anyone saw me doing this, I would never recover. I'd die from shame before the burns got me.
Still, I kept going.
Each time, I grew a little more frustrated. My room stayed quiet except for my breathing, the tiny crackle of the flame, and the occasional sharp inhale when I pushed too far. My palm was red now, angry and tender, and I could feel doubt creeping in around the edges.
I hovered my hand over the flame once more and almost laughed.
"I'm really doing this," I whispered.
Then I lowered my palm again.
A pulse pain this time, deep enough that my eyes squeezed shut.
And then it happened.
CLINK!
I froze.
There it was, that same internal shift.
Slowly, I pulled my hand away and stared at it.
The burn marks were fading.
The angry red softened. The swelling receded. The skin settled as if the last several minutes had been undone in reverse right in front of me.
My breath caught.
"No way," I said, voice barely there.
I looked back at the candle so fast I nearly knocked the chair over.
My heart was hammering now.
I swallowed, then pushed my palm over the flame again.
I braced for the pain.
It never came.
There was heat, yes. Pressure, maybe. Awareness. My body understood what should have been happening. It just… wasn't. The fire touched my skin and did nothing. No new burn. No sting. No damage.
I stared.
Then I did it again, a little lower, a little longer.
Nothing.
A laugh burst out of me before I could stop it.
Not a cool laugh, either. Not the composed chuckle of a future legend. It came out half-hysterical, half-disbelieving, as I'd finally cracked after years of bad decisions and one good one.
"It works," I said.
I looked at my hand.
Then at the candle.
Then back in my hand.
"It actually works."
I stood up so fast the chair scraped the floor. I started pacing the tiny room, then had to stop because there wasn't enough room to pace dramatically in a space this small. So I settled for standing there, grinning like an idiot, one hand pressed to my forehead.
This was it, this was how it starts.
All those awful fruits have led me here
I looked down at my palm one last time.
It looked completely untouched, and for the first time since waking up in this world, my goal stopped feeling like the desperate fantasy of a boy born too far from the story.
It felt possible.
I stared at the candle flame dancing in front of me, and this time when I smiled, I didn't bother trying to hide it.
My goal was starting to be realised.
…
End of Chapter!
Word Count - 1839