I'm a bot.
Yes, you heard that right. I'm the guy behind those random comments you see under every social media post—the ones that somehow rack up thousands of likes for saying absolutely nothing. That's me. Or at least, that was my job.
It wasn't glamorous, or even real in the traditional sense. I got paid per comment and per post, churning out engagement bait for sketchy marketing accounts. It was barely enough to survive, and even that didn't last. AI took over my job too—more efficient, less human. Just like everything else.
I'm an orphan. My parents died in a car accident when I was twelve. After that, everything lost its color. I refused guardianship, but being a minor meant I had no say. So I stayed with my uncle—quietly, numbly—until I turned eighteen. The moment I legally could, I left.
With what little remained of the inheritance fund, I rented a small, rundown apartment on the outskirts of the city. I never applied for a real job. I didn't want to. School had ended, but the weight in my chest hadn't lifted. Instead, I drowned myself in anime and web novels—One Piece, especially.
It became the only light in my dark world.
I wasn't just a casual watcher. I devoured fanfics, theory threads, deep dives, Reddit conspiracies. I knew things about One Piece most fans didn't—about the Void Century, Imu, Rocks, the Will of D. It was more than escapism. It was the only thing that ever made me feel something again.
Eventually, the money started to run out. That's when I took the bot job. Some shady freelance gig I found online. Write a hundred dumb comments a day, get paid a few bucks. Enough to keep the lights on and the internet running.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
Until the night everything changed.
[Earth – 02:13 AM | Outskirts of the City]
The world was quiet.
Not because it was silent—far from it.
The low hum of a battered desktop tower filled the narrow bedroom like a pulse. Outside, rain traced uneven lines down cracked windows. Cars hissed through puddles on the highway nearby, and somewhere in the apartment above, a metal pot clanged against the floor for the third time that night.
It was around 2:13 AM when the episode ended.
I didn't even realize how long I'd been sitting there. My legs had gone numb, and the cracked vinyl chair beneath me creaked every time I shifted. Outside, rain was coming down again, tapping against the windows in a steady rhythm that only made the silence inside louder.
My screen faded to black, the credits rolling on the latest episode of One Piece. No spoilers needed—if you're reading this, you probably saw it too.
Kuzan vs. Garp.
The student and the teacher. Ice against iron.
Even for a series that's spanned a thousand episodes, this one hit different. The animation quality had been leveling up like crazy the past few arcs, but tonight's episode felt like a movie. The lighting, the weight behind every punch, the subtle expressions between blows—it was all real. Too real.
And then there was Garp.
The old man, still throwing punches like he was back in his prime. Still smiling like death didn't scare him. Protecting others even as his own body gave way.
The screen faded out on a final still frame—Garp frozen mid-laugh, blood trailing from his mouth, a jagged icicle piercing clean through his torso. His fist was still clenched. All around him, frost had bloomed across the battlefield like a death flower. Kuzan lay nearby—half-encased in bits of ice, unmoving.
"This can't be it."
I remember whispering it, as if saying it aloud would make it less likely to be true.
It hurt. More than I expected.
Garp wasn't just some old man with a big punch. He was Garp. Luffy's grandfather. The Marine who could've been Fleet Admiral, but chose freedom instead. A symbol of everything that made the One Piece world feel alive.
And now? Just another maybe-dead body on a battlefield.
That's when I opened the comment threads. Big mistake.
Some jackass had already started a bait post under a clip of Garp's final scene. I don't even remember the exact username—probably a throwaway account. The kind people use just to piss others off.
"Boomer Garp finally folded. Took him long enough. Mid-tier haki and washed-up ideals. Old men belong in the grave."
It was like a knife to the gut.
I didn't hesitate.
Me: "You clearly didn't watch the damn episode. He didn't even go all out. He smiled in the face of death. And saved everyone. STFU."
Them: "He got bodied. That's the fact. Cope."
Me: "He held back to protect his disciple. He could've killed Kuzan. But he still chose mercy. That's strength."
Them: "LMAO ok sure. Garp fanboys are as delusional as the old man. People die when they're killed."
That line.
"People die when they're killed."
It wasn't even clever. Just a recycled meme. But somehow it made something in my chest clench.
Maybe it was the stupid smugness behind the words. Or maybe it was just that I was so tired of watching people turn something meaningful into a cheap joke.
I fired back fast. My fingers were shaking, but not from fear. From anger.
Me: "You think death is funny? You think mocking people who lay down their lives for others is cool? You're just a bottom-feeding loser with nothing better to do but trash people better than you'll ever be."
I wasn't done.
Me: "You don't deserve to speak Garp's name. You're just another parasite who thinks edgy comments = personality."
Them: "Lmao. Cry more. I hope your grandpa dies next, fanboy."
And that was it.
My chest snapped.
A sharp, sudden pop of pressure, like a balloon tearing inside my ribcage. I dropped the mouse. My hand twitched.
The words on the screen blurred.
Me: "You—"
That's all I typed before the keyboard fell sideways with my body.
I collapsed onto the floor. Couldn't even scream.
Just a hollow thump, like a bag of bones hitting a hardwood stage. My eyes stayed open.
I stared at the screen.
At the thread.
At the last comment.
People die when they're killed.
And then—
Darkness.
Not quiet. Not warm. Just a long, static hum that seemed to stretch forever.
I had so much more to say. So much I wanted to scream.
But I was already gone.