I woke up with a gorilla's face.
The realization hit me the moment I rolled out of my futon and tried to wash my face. Actually, it wasn't just my face; my entire body had shrunk. And despite having gone to sleep in my own room, I had woken up in a place I didn't recognize at all.
I stared at the reflection in the water bucket, lost in thought.
"Hmm. This feels strangely familiar."
I looked to be barely ten years old. I had wild, unruly hair—was it pale purple?—and a face that practically screamed 'future thug,' complete with thick lips and a heavy, rugged bone structure.
To put it bluntly, I looked like a villain. There wasn't a hint of "handsome protagonist" potential anywhere.
My last memory was coming home from work and crawling into bed. I was supposed to be a man with black hair, black eyes, and a perfectly average face. I certainly didn't have hair that defied genetic logic or a face this menacing.
"What do you think of the situation, old man?" I asked.
"Huh?! What the hell are you babbling about? If you're awake, get your ass out there and start earning!"
The middle-aged man standing next to me barked his reply, punctuated by a bag being hurled at my head.
I'm not a fan of being yelled at, so I slung the bag over my shoulder and made a quick exit. As I pulled the door shut behind me, a section of the wall crumbled.
Calling it a "house" was generous; it was a hovel. Outside, the scenery was a chaotic mess. The bright, clear weather only served to highlight the squalor. I'd never been to one, but I imagined this is exactly what a slum looked like. There were plenty of rough-looking characters loitering about.
The salty tang in the air suggested the sea was nearby, but one thing was certain: this wasn't his hometown. Furthermore, given that everyone seemed to have naturally neon-colored hair, I was fairly sure I wasn't even on Earth.
"Isekai reincarnation... or maybe possession?" I mused as I walked.
Searching through my hazy memories, I realized my "job" was "item scavenging"—provided you define scavenging as taking things that don't belong to you.
The old man back there seemed to be a fence who traded the loot for cash and provided a place to sleep. He was almost certainly skimming ninety percent off the top.
Lost in these thoughts, I eventually reached the shore. It wasn't just a beach; it was a harbor. Several sailing ships were lined up—the first time I'd ever seen them in person—and I stood there like an idiot, mouth agape. Then, my eyes landed on a very familiar vessel.
The sails, gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight, bore the word MARINE in proud letters above a seagull emblem.
"Oh, shit. This is the world of One Piece."
A Marine battleship was anchored right there.
I recalled this being a fairly brutal world, though my memory of the details was a bit fuzzy. As I saw it, I had three choices:
Continue this life of misery while being beaten by that old man.
Join the Marines and be beaten by a superior officer (my own bias, probably).
Set out to sea and make a name for myself.
Since I have a strong aversion to pain, option three was the most tempting. However, heading out to sea without a single useful skill was a recipe for disaster. So, I settled on a compromise: join the Marines, learn everything I could, then quit and become a pirate.
I approached a Marine who looked like he had some downtime.
"Um... I don't have any parents," I began, looking down and rubbing my eyes to feign distress. "There's a man who lets me sleep at his place, but he forces me to steal for him. He just drinks and hits me... It's so hard, I can't take it anymore..."
I gave it the full "woe is me" performance, emphasizing that I was a tragic youth with zero social ties.
"I see. Stay right there. I'll go talk to my superior."
The Marine placed a hand on my head. "It must have been hard after losing your parents, but you've done well to survive this long."
He headed toward the ship. Oh wow, what a gentleman, I thought, suppressing a twinge of guilt. After a short wait, the kind-hearted Marine returned.
"Alright, I'm going to introduce you to my commanding officer. But first... a bath. And we need to do something about that rat's nest of hair."
Before I knew it, I was tossed into a tub, shorn of my wild locks, and dressed in a Marine uniform. When I finally looked in a mirror...
"I'm Don Krieg!"
A pint-sized version of Don Krieg in a sailor suit stared back at me.
For those who don't know, Don Krieg—"Foul Play" Krieg, Admiral of the Pirate Fleet—was a man who commanded an armada of fifty ships and five thousand men. His bounty was 17 million Berries.
His crew was top-tier, too: "Demon Man" Gin, the cold-blooded combat commander loyal to a fault, and "Iron Wall" Pearl, the second-unit commander whose defense was so absolute he'd supposedly never bled in battle.
Krieg himself lived by the mantra that "might makes right," utilizing a massive arsenal of weapons and armor to crush his enemies with calculated tactics.
In the original story, he used every trick in the book to overwhelm the protagonist, but his "might"—the armor he took so much pride in—was eventually shattered. He fell into a frenzy and was knocked out by Gin before they retreated.
Basically, he was strong, but he just had the worst luck with his opponent (at least, that's my biased take on it).
If I recalled correctly, he was a former Marine—wait, no, he escaped a military prison by posing as a Marine and then stole a battleship. That was how he started his rise through deception.
Even without the weapons, his raw physical strength was monstrous; the man could swing a "Battle Spear" that weighed a ton like it was a toothpick.
The most important thing, though...
"I think he was around forty? (He was 42 at the start of the series. If I'm ten now, then we're thirty years before the main story... Did anything even happen back then?"
"Hey, rookie! Quit daydreaming and finish scrubbing that deck!"
I was snapped out of my thoughts by a shout. I got to work, rhythmically scrubbing the wood with a brush.
Let's see... Franky and Robin were in their late twenties/early thirties, right? (Franky was 34, Robin 28). That means they'll be born in a few years. And Roger's execution was about twenty years ago? (Actually 22).
My memory of the timeline was spotty, so I figured I should just keep a low profile until the story starts. Though I wouldn't mind saving Kuina or stopping Shanks from losing an arm.
"Well, no point overthinking it."
"If you're done there, move! Weapon maintenance is next. Follow me!"
"Yes, sir," I muttered, following along like a good little apprentice. As I began polishing a rifle, I started planning.
Since I clearly had the genetic potential for that "one-ton-swinging" strength, I needed to train my body. Learning Rokushiki—the superhuman martial arts of the Marines—was a must.
I also needed to master Haki. I'd probably skip the Devil Fruits; they're cool, but the risk-to-reward ratio is a bit steep, and I hate the idea of being a hammer in the water.
Though that "Kachikachi Fruit" (the one that makes you hard as rock) sounded alright.
Okay. Priority one: survival. Stay quiet until the plot kicks off, and only intervene when I can actually help. I'll definitely start my own pirate crew eventually... but I really need to do something about Sanji's situation, or things are going to get messy.