The sea didn't give answers. It never had.
It only gave directions.
Three of them, to be exact. I felt them the moment the island faded behind me—three distinct tugs from that silent instinct inside me, the sixth sense.
Each direction pulsed like a thread gently tugged at the edge of my awareness. One of them was stronger than the others, insistent and demanding. The other two kept quiet.
My thoughts were already elsewhere. Cocoyashi Village. Nami. The look on Kaya's face when she realized her friend had vanished without a proper goodbye. The weight of unspoken things.
I didn't know how far I was from it. I didn't even know if I was headed in the right direction. I had no map, no compass that worked, no Log Pose that pointed true. But still, that steady tug inside me whispered.
Go that way.
It pointed me toward one of the three directions.
So I did.
Not like I had any other options.
The sky above was a churning mess of gray clouds and muted lightning. The ocean swelled beneath me, waves lifting and dropping the boat like a cradle. I had no sail. No rudder. The lightning rod had been split in half during the storm. One half lost to the sea, the other dangling like a broken antenna.
The boat should have drifted aimlessly. And yet… it didn't.
The wind blew in my favor. The waves carried me forward, not violently, but deliberately—as if guided by something unseen. The boat moved with a sense of purpose that I didn't understand.
It moved me towards the direction my sixth sense gave me.
I should've questioned it more. I didn't.
I lay back on the boat, letting the wind ruffle my hair, letting the brine sting my nose, letting the gentle rock of the hull set the rhythm of my breath. My hand reached into the crate beside me and pulled free a banana. It was soft, slightly bruised, but still good. I peeled it and bit in. Sweet. The sugar lifted my spirit a little.
Then I uncorked the gourd.
The wine inside was thick, warmer than it should've been. Its scent was deeper than any alcohol I'd smelled—earthy, floral, almost electric. I took a swig. The liquid slid down my throat and settled in my stomach.
I smiled lazily, chewing on the banana as the wine chased it down.
If the sea wanted to take me to my destination, who was I to resist? Let it do the work. Let the sky worry. I'd sit back and enjoy the ride.
That was when the sky struck.
Lightning, searing and sudden, ripped through the air. It slammed down into the boat, right where the lightning rod should've been. The impact was blinding—so bright my eyes screamed in pain. My vision went white. My hair stood on end, each strand sizzling like wire. I felt my body stiffen, felt the heat crawl through my spine.
But it didn't kill me.
The broken lightning rod caught just enough of the charge to disperse it. The rest bled off into the water, scattering in harmless tendrils. The boat groaned under the strike, but it didn't shatter.
My eyes burned. The pain was sharp and total, but even as I blinked, the blood in my body surged forward, healing the damage as fast as it came. My vision returned slowly—blurry at first, then clear.
The spot where the lightning had struck was scorched. Charred black, the wood cracked and smoked.
I reached for the gourd.
Poured.
The wine trickled down onto the damaged planks. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the wine soaked in, and the crack began to knit itself closed. The blackened wood faded, returning to its normal hue. The burn disappeared like it had never happened.
I stared, silent.
It still worked.
Unnatural. But who was I to question that? It might as well be my middle name now.
Though a question gnawed at the back of my mind.
Would the wine from the first two gourds—the one I got during my first trip to the island—do the same thing? Would it repair the boat too? I hadn't thought to check. I mean who would waste such fine wine on ships to check if they would repair on some spillage? I certainly wouldn't.
And now those two earlier gourds were gone, claimed by the sea when the storm flipped my boat. Gone—like the answers they might've held.
It felt like a mystery I could never go back and solve.
I sighed and took another drink, letting the warmth fill me.
The wine slid down to my chest, past the first wine ball resting near my heart, and settled into my stomach. There, it met the half-chewed remains of the banana. And just like before, the same stuff happened.
The banana and the wine swirled together around that second core—the one in my abdomen. They spun in tight circles, faster and faster, until the energy peaked and the mixture was siphoned directly into the core. A pulse followed, warm and slow, and then stillness.
The first wine ball only took wine. The second? It seemed to feed on both wine and food. Banana, specifically. Would it take anything? Or only fruit? Was there a reason?
I leaned back and let the questions drift.
Not the strangest thing that had happened to me, not by a long shot.
A gorge made of bone and darkness. A beast that pulled me beneath the water. A bone that was wanted by all. A forest that gave trials instead of answers. Sentient blood. Two cores inside my body. A wine that healed and burned and whispered without words.
And through all of it, Monkey Island had watched. Silent. Patient. Giving just enough to pull me forward. Never enough to explain.
The boat rocked gently beneath me. The wind kept pushing. The sixth sense inside me still tugged, faint but true. I was getting closer. Not because of skill. Not because of maps or logic. But because something had decided I should.
Maybe the waters.
Maybe my fate.
Maybe the world plot.
Maybe something deeper.
The sea, I had come to understand, didn't care for direction. But it loved stories. And I was caught in one now, carried by invisible threads and unknowable rules.
The sky darkened again. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The sea stirred, but the boat held steady.
The boat carved a silent path through the sea. In the stillness between waves, I almost thought I heard laughter.
Not mocking.
Not cruel.
Just amused.
The kind of laughter that belongs to someone who knows the punchline before the story has even begun.
I closed my eyes.
And let the sea carry me.
-------------
I had seven thermite grenades. Seventeen bullets.
Had.
Three of the grenades were gone now—used in the gorge at a creature unknown. I had used eight bullets on animals in the forest. Animals even my powered body couldn't deal with. One more grenade had slipped from my pack lost in the waters. Forever to be lost in the waters.
Now I had three grenades. Eight bullets.
I didn't have enough to deal with Arlong and his crew but I didn't regret using them.
So what if I ran out of thermite bullets and grenade, I still had my hands. They'd never failed me.
Besides, it wasn't like I was out of options. The animals I'd killed in the forest had risen up my blood count by a lot. A record high 178.
Three grenades. Eight bullets. Still not enough.
But when is it ever?
The storm carried me like it knew I was lying to myself. About Nami. About Kaya. About why I was going to Cocoyashi.
Truth is, I wasn't just rewriting the script.
I was writing something new.
But even I wasn't buying it anymore.
I slapped my own cheek—lightly, enough to sting. I needed to feel something. No use lying to myself out here, where the only company was the water and the storm. The truth was simple: the second I reached Cocoyashi, I'd get involved. I knew it. Didn't matter what I told myself.
It was just who I was.
Maybe it would be for Nami. Maybe it would be for the help that Nojiko gave me. Maybe it would be for those villagers who had suffered long enough. Maybe it would be for no one in particular. Just the idea of it—the fact that monsters still walked like kings in places like this.
Or maybe it would be for me. Trying to change the narrative of the story just because I could.
I paused and let the wind fill my lungs.
"Let's go big." I muttered.
There was no turning back. I'd already started rewriting the script in Syrup Village. I hadn't just stopped Kuro—I'd planned to kill him. And would have done it if it weren't for Kaya's teary eyes. Was it the world following the script that made me go far away or was it just me?
Who knows? Who cares?
So what if I tried to kill Arlong? What difference would it make now?
This wasn't the manga. This wasn't the anime.
This was real, and reality had teeth.
My hands curled around the edge of the boat, knuckles whitening. I had no plan. But plans had a way of falling apart anyway. In this world, the only things that mattered were conviction and movement. You moved forward. You smiled through blood. You made the world bend around you.
That was the secret of One Piece, wasn't it?
Even now, even in this twisted version of that world, the source hadn't changed.
The will to stand. The will to push back. The will to change the script. Not Devil Fruits. Not bloodlines.
Just will.
Haki.
I shook the rain from my face and looked ahead.
Through the downpour, I could see the faint silhouette of land. A tall, jagged structure pierced the horizon like a blade. Even with the storm between us, I recognized it instantly.
Arlong Park.
The sixth sense was right again. That silent nudge in my chest that always pointed the way. I'd stopped questioning it. It didn't lie. It had brought me through islands, kept me hidden from patrols, and now it had brought me here.
The boat slowed.
Not by my doing. The storm wind still howled, the engine still growled with all it had left, but something resisted. Waves grew taller, pulling at the hull, trying to drag me back.
But the boat pressed forward.
The storm cloaked me perfectly. Arlong and his crew were probably resting in their fortress, dry and drunk and full of their own legends. They wouldn't expect anyone to be this insane, to approach the island in this weather.
That had been the plan.
Let the rain mask me. Let the wind erase my wake. Slip in, quiet and unseen.
But fate doesn't like quiet.
The boat jerked—once, violently. A sharp crack echoed through the hull.
I stumbled forward. My knee slammed against the deck. Wood splintered behind me, the sound sharp as a gunshot.
A crack rang out. Then a shudder. I turned—
A horn. Rising through the hull like the sea had decided to grow teeth.
And rising behind it—massive, glistening, monstrous—a Sea King.
It emerged from the depths like a god denied tribute. Its body coiled, eyes the size of plates, teeth shaped like broken swords. Water cascaded off its scales in sheets. The sea foamed and hissed as it thrashed forward.
Of course. Of course it wouldn't be that easy.
"You really don't make it easy for me, do you, fate?" I said under my breath, heart thudding like a war drum.
The boat groaned, splitting further. The Sea King screamed—a sound made of pressure and old hunger. The kind of sound that made your bones think about running.
It didn't roar. It spoke in thunder and hunger.
The Sea King had already announced my arrival. Might as well add some fireworks.
My hand reached to my thermite grenade.
"Go big or go home, huh?"
I pulled the pin.
"Guess I already burned that bridge."