Forced to Become a Pirate
On a nameless stretch of the East Blue, a small assault vessel drifted over the waves. No one stood at the helm; every crewmember huddled on the deck as though awaiting a verdict.
From the raised platform, Yang Ning stared at the sorry collection of misfits below him—bent backs, missing limbs, vacant stares—and felt a complicated swell of emotion.
Of all the ways his escape could've ended, he hadn't expected this outcome.
A ship of his own, yes.
But this crew?
A half-crippled senior sailor, a disabled teenager, two cowardly fighters, and a pair of big-bodied simpletons.
He rubbed his forehead.
"Other transmigrators get Hawkeye, Enel, or Jinbe as subordinates. Why do I get… this?"
Still, he forced himself to accept reality. He had a ship. He had people. In the East Blue, that alone meant survival.
"B-Boss… where are we going?"
The larger of the two "smart ones" asked cautiously.
Yang Ning didn't answer. Instead, he ordered:
"Introduce yourselves. All of you."
They exchanged confused glances—pirates introducing themselves formally? Unheard of.
But the blade at Yang Ning's hip persuaded them to cooperate.
One by one, the truth of his crew emerged.
Old Johnny — once a merchant sailor and a veteran helmsman with over twenty years at sea. Knows navigation, charts, and the basics of weather.
Crippled and weary, but competent.
Little George — 17 years old. Joined Krieg's pirates less than a year ago. Lost a leg during a raid and relegated to chores.
Brownie and Brownon — former fighters of the Sonic Pirates. Weak, cowardly, bottom-tier combatants who ate more food than their worth.
Sealy and Willie — enormous brothers with the strength to lift cargo but the minds of children. Dirty work, heavy labor, nothing more.
Not a single reliable combatant.
Not one skilled professional besides Johnny.
A crew scraped from the bottom of the ocean.
Yang Ning's temples throbbed.
For a fleeting moment he truly considered killing all six and turning them into free experience.
But without them, the ship would run aground in a day.
Before he could think further, Brownie—oblivious to the tension—asked again:
"Boss… where are we going? There's no food left on the ship."
"Eat, eat, eat! All you idiots know is EAT! How about I feed you to the sea kings instead?"
The Brown brothers shrank like frightened turtles.
But the question mattered.
And Yang Ning didn't yet have an answer.
At that moment, Old Johnny took a slow drag from his pipe and spoke.
"Captain… forgive the question, but what exactly do you intend to do now?"
A simple question—but one that forced Yang Ning to confront the truth.
Go ashore and live like a civilian?
Join the Marines?
Raise a flag and become a pirate?
Civilian life was essentially a death sentence. In a world of islands separated by vast waters, a landlocked lifestyle was no life at all.
Joining the Navy had its allure—legal authority, structured training, safe harbors.
But he wore the face of a pirate crew escapee. Turning himself in was a gamble with terrible odds.
As for being a pirate…
His illusions shattered the moment he boarded a real pirate ship.
Where were the bright sails?
Where were the charismatic, clean, glamorous rogues from the anime?
Reality was rotten timber, moldy corridors, foul-smelling men who hadn't bathed in months, and the stench of blood soaked into every plank.
A medieval-era wooden coffin drifting on a sea full of monsters.
"Hah…"
Just remembering it made Yang Ning shiver.
He didn't want to be a pirate.
He wouldn't even be a dog for pirates.
…
But fate had other plans.
He stared at the hastily painted pirate flag fluttering above the mast.
His heart twisted in reluctant resignation.
Heaven and earth could testify—he truly did not want this.
But Johnny's explanation had forced his hand.
"Captain… only three categories of ships can safely sail these waters: Marine warships, merchant vessels under recognized guilds, and pirate ships flying a flag."
"Everything else," Johnny said darkly, "is a pig boat. Meat for anyone hungry enough."
Yang Ning frowned.
"What do you mean? Ordinary people sail too. Why must we choose one of the three?"
Johnny's eyes turned somber.
"Dangers at sea don't always come from ships flying a pirate flag."
In an instant, Yang Ning understood.
He'd lived in society long enough to know exactly what Johnny was implying.
Some predators didn't bother with flags at all.
And so, bitterly, he raised a pirate flag.
And—under the urging of the "clever duo"—he named the ship and the crew.
The ship became the Windbreaker.
They themselves became the Windbreaker Pirates.
The crew cheered.
Yang Ning sat alone at the stern, staring at the endless horizon with a heaviness that wouldn't leave.
But when the Windbreaker caught the wind and surged forward, the speed startled even him.
A lightweight assault boat—built for raiding—sliced through the water like an arrow.
Yang Ning settled at the bow, letting seawater spray across his face, mood slowly easing.
"Fine… fine. I'll be a pirate for now. At least I'm free."
Growing up inland, he'd never seen a 360-degree ocean horizon.
Blue sky. Blue sea.
Clouds drifting at the edge where they met.
Seagulls calling as they passed overhead.
Shadows—massive shadows—shifted beneath the waves. Sea Kings.
Just a glimpse of their size made Yang Ning's skin prickle.
Someday, with enough stats, maybe he could slay one.
But not yet.
For now, survival came first.
Days blurred into each other—sunrise, sunset, the oppressive black of the ocean at night.
Until one ordinary afternoon—
"Captain! LAND AHEAD!"
Yang Ning nearly swallowed his fish whole.
He threw it aside and sprinted up the deck, grabbing his monocular.
A dot.
Faint at first.
Then larger.
An island.
"Full speed! Head straight for it!"
Old Johnny tightened the sails, guiding the Windbreaker toward the silhouette.
But as the landmass grew clearer, Johnny approached with a furrowed brow and an old parchment in hand.
"Captain… this island doesn't appear on the Krieg Pirates' charts."
Yang Ning froze.
An unrecorded island meant one thing in the East Blue:
Unknown territory—and unknown danger.
The excitement in his chest settled into a cautious, heavy calm.