Chapter 1
The last thing Aryan remembered was the smell of ozone and the flickering blue light of his monitor. He had been deep in a marathon of the Wano arc, his hand reaching for a lukewarm energy drink, when a sudden, violent jolt of electricity tore through his body. The world had gone white, then black, then—nothing. No pearly gates, no fiery pits. Just a heavy, warm silence that felt like being submerged in a sun-drenched pool.
Then, the silence was shattered by a voice. It wasn't a human voice; it was a crystalline chime, a melody of pure logic that echoed within the very core of his soul.
Aryan felt a strange tugging sensation, as if his entire being was being pulled through a straw. Suddenly, the warmth was gone, replaced by a sharp, biting cold and the sensation of lungs expanding for the first time. He tried to cry out, to ask what was happening, but all that came out was a high-pitched, fragile wail. He opened his eyes, but the world was a blur of muted colors and towering shadows.
A baby? I'm a baby? The thought was frantic, but surprisingly clear. Despite his tiny, uncoordinated limbs, his mind felt sharper than it ever had in his previous life as a gamer.
Yes! Aryan screamed in his mind. Whatever this is, give me everything!
As the notifications faded, a surge of information flooded Aryan's brain. It should have been agonizing, a tidal wave of data enough to fry a mortal mind, but a new presence intervened. It was a cold, soothing sensation that organized the chaos, filing away every bit of information into neat, accessible partitions.
Raphael? Aryan thought, stunned. As an anime fan, he knew exactly what that skill represented. It wasn't just a power; it was a god-tier processing engine. And I have Haki? Already?
Aryan felt a sudden wave of exhaustion. The process of being born, coupled with the integration of a system and an Ultimate Skill, was draining his tiny reserve of energy. He felt himself being lifted by large, calloused hands.
"Look at him," a voice boomed—deep, rough, and full of a strange sort of pride. "He's not crying anymore. He's just... staring. He's got fire in those eyes already."
"He looks just like his brother," a softer, tired voice replied.
Aryan caught a glimpse of a tuft of moss-green hair nearby. A small, chubby face was leaning over him, scowling with intense curiosity. It was a very young Zoro. The future "Pirate Hunter" looked down at his new sibling and poked Aryan's cheek with a pudgy finger.
"He's small," the young Zoro grunted. "I'll call him Bran. Since he's the 'branch' of our family tree or whatever."
The adults laughed, but Aryan just blinked. Bran? Really, Zoro? Well, I guess I've had worse nicknames in my gaming days.
Three years passed in the blink of an eye.
For the villagers of Shimotsuki, Aryan—or Bran, as Zoro insistently called him—was a prodigy of nature. While other toddlers were still struggling with their ABCs, Aryan was often found sitting under the shade of a great oak tree, eyes closed in what looked like deep meditation.
In reality, he was working harder than anyone knew.
Raphael, status report on the Silver Swordsman template, Aryan thought, his three-year-old body sitting perfectly still.
And the sign-ins?
Aryan smirked. In his previous life, he was a "hoarder" in every RPG he played. He knew that the longer he waited, and the more significant the location, the better the rewards would be. He was waiting for the perfect moment.
"Bran! Get up! Master Koshiro is starting the morning drills!"
Zoro came charging toward him, already wielding a wooden stick as if it were a legendary Meito. At five years old, Zoro was already a ball of pure, unadulterated competitive energy. He swung the stick at Aryan's head without hesitation.
Without opening his eyes, Aryan tilted his head a fraction of an inch to the right. The stick whistled past his ear, missing by a hair's breadth.
"Stop dodging and fight me!" Zoro yelled, frustrated. "You're always like this! You act like a little old man!"
Aryan opened his eyes. They were a piercing, clear grey, possessing a depth that often made the adults in the village feel uncomfortable. He stood up, dusting off his small gi.
"I'm not acting, Ren," Aryan said, his voice calm and melodic. "I'm just observing. You're too stiff. You're swinging with your arms, not your core."
"Shut up! I'll show you core!" Zoro lunged again.
Aryan stepped forward, entering Zoro's guard. With a gentle tap of his palm against Zoro's chest—a movement calculated by Raphael to use the minimum amount of force for the maximum displacement—he sent his older brother tumbling backward into the grass.
Zoro sat up, rubbing his chest, his eyes wide. "How... how do you keep doing that? You haven't even started formal training yet!"
"I watch you," Aryan lied smoothly. "And I watch Kuina. I learn from your mistakes."
The mention of Kuina made Zoro's face turn red with a mix of rivalry and respect. The two brothers walked toward the Isshin Dojo, where the sound of bamboo hitting bamboo already echoed through the air.
As they entered, the tall, bespectacled figure of Koshiro looked up. He smiled his usual gentle, mysterious smile, but his eyes lingered on Aryan for a second longer than anyone else.
"Ah, the Roronoa brothers," Koshiro said. "Zoro, join the others in the basics. Aryan... come here for a moment."
Aryan walked over to the master. He felt a slight pressure in the air—Koshiro wasn't just a simple dojo teacher; the man had a history, and he clearly sensed something "other" about his youngest student.
"Aryan," Koshiro said softly, "you have a very quiet spirit. But yesterday, I saw you pick up a real blade in the shed. You didn't swing it. You just... listened to it. Tell me, what did the sword say?"
Aryan looked the master in the eye. He didn't want to sound arrogant, but he wasn't going to hide his nature either. "It told me it was lonely, Master. It said it was tired of being a tool and wanted to be a part of someone's will."
Koshiro's smile didn't falter, but his brow twitched. "A profound answer for a child of three. Most see a sword as a way to win. You see it as a destination."
Aryan nodded inwardly. Understood, Raphael. Let's give them a show.
"Master," Aryan said aloud, "Zoro wants to be the strongest in the world. I just want to see everything the world has to offer. But to do that... I need to be strong enough that no one can stop me from looking."
Koshiro laughed—a warm, genuine sound. "A traveler's heart and a conqueror's words. Very well. Starting tomorrow, you will train with the senior students. And once a week, you will sit with me to discuss the 'Breath of All Things'."
Aryan bowed, a small, knowing smile on his face. He could feel the Haki seeds within him pulsing, reacting to his resolve.
That night, Aryan sat on the roof of the dojo, looking up at the moon. The world of One Piece was vast, dangerous, and filled with injustices. But he wasn't the same person who had died in a dark room in another world. He was Aryan, the younger brother of the future Greatest Swordsman, and the host of the Wisdom King.
Raphael, he whispered into the night.
Tomorrow, we start the first bulk sign-in. It's time to see what a thousand days of patience can buy me.
Aryan laid back, his hands behind his head. He could hear Zoro snoring loudly below him, dreaming of swords and glory. Aryan closed his eyes, a charismatic, confident smirk playing on his lips.
The Great Pirate Era was in full swing, and soon, the name Aryan would be whispered with the same reverence as the legends.
Status Check:
* Name: Aryan (Bran)
* Age: 3
* Template: The Silver Swordsman (5%)
* Skills: Wisdom King Raphael, Haki Seeds (Unbound)
* Stored Sign-ins: 1,095