The journey back to Syrup Village was, unsurprisingly, much easier than the actual treasure hunting had been. Which, when I thought about it, made perfect sense in that twisted way life always seemed to work.
The hard part was finding the damn thing; the easy part was dragging it back to civilization so other people could benefit from my suffering.
'A classic work philosophy.'
All I needed to do was reach the closest point near the sea and conjure a raft with my Stand's ability.
The real reason I chose the sea route was practical, bordering on the obvious.
I didn't want to carry three large chests full of gold back to Syrup Village through that rocky, treacherous path we'd taken to get here.
Even with Hamon, my back was already protesting from the treasure hunt itself, and I wasn't about to compound my misery by playing pack mule through terrain that seemed designed to break ankles and spirits in equal measure.
'So the sea it was. Take the water route around the island back to the shore. Simple, efficient, and requiring minimal physical exertion on my part.'
Sometimes the best solutions were the most straightforward ones, even if they required a bit of supernatural assistance.
When Usopp and his three subordinates—Piiman, Tamanegi, and Ninjin, whose names are not that hard to forget given their hairstyle—saw the raft appear out of nowhere, they were, of course, amazed.
Their eyes went wide with that particular brand of wonder that only children could manage, thinking this was another one of my magical feats.
"Incredible!" Ninjin shouted because apparently, inside voices were a foreign concept to him. "Wizard-san, your magic is really wonderful!"
"It's just practical," I said, because that's what it was. No point in making it sound more mystical than necessary. These people already thought I was some kind of wizard; no need to feed into their delusions more than I already had.
The three chests sat in the center of the raft like golden elephants in the room.
I could practically see the gears turning behind Usopp's eyes, that particular kind of mental arithmetic that happens when someone starts calculating their share of something they haven't earned yet.
Not malicious, necessarily—greed rarely starts out malicious. It just starts out as a little voice asking, "What's in it for me?" and grows from there.
The sea around the island was calm, which was either a good sign or the universe setting me up for some spectacular irony later.
In my experience, when things go too smoothly, it's usually because you're walking into a much bigger mess somewhere down the line. But sometimes you get lucky, and sometimes smooth sailing is just smooth sailing.
As we drifted along the coastline, I found myself thinking about treasure again. In stories, finding treasure is supposed to be the climax, the moment where all the heroes' struggles pay off and they get to live happily ever after.
But real treasure—actual piles of gold sitting in front of you—comes with its own set of problems that stories conveniently ignore.
Like the fact that large amounts of money make people stupid. Not just greedy, though that's part of it, but actually, genuinely stupid. Rational thought gets replaced by fantasies of what they could buy, who they could impress, and how their lives could change.
'It's like watching someone get drunk, except instead of alcohol, they're intoxicated by possibility.'
"So," Usopp said, and I could hear him trying to make his voice sound casual. The trying was the problem—when you have to try to sound casual, you've already failed.
"What exactly are we planning to do with all this gold?"
And there it was. The question I'd been dreading since the moment we'd found the treasure.
The question that was going to turn this from a simple case of "found some gold" into a complex social situation involving hurt feelings, disappointed expectations, and probably at least one person questioning my moral character.
"The gold goes to the villagers and the survivors in the camp," I said, keeping my voice as flat and matter-of-fact as possible. No room for negotiation, no invitation for debate, no acknowledgment that this might not be what they wanted to hear.
The change was immediate. It was like watching someone deflate a balloon—all that excitement and anticipation just... gone. Replaced by confusion, disappointment, and the dawning realization that their dreams of wealth were about to be crushed by reality.
"What?" Piiman squeaked, his voice doing that thing teenage voices do when they're under stress. "But we are the ones who found it!"
Actually, no. They didn't find it, and their help was minimal at best. But pointing that out would probably sound petty, even if it was technically accurate.
"Actually," I said, and I could hear that familiar edge creeping into my voice, the one that appeared whenever I had to explain something that should have been obvious to anyone with functioning brain cells, "'I' found it. You were local guides. There's a difference."
Harsh? Maybe. True? Definitely. Sometimes the truth is harsh, and pretending otherwise doesn't help anyone in the long run.
"But—" Usopp started, then stopped. I could see him trying to find some angle, some argument that would let him claim a piece of the treasure without sounding completely selfish.
'Well, good luck with that.'
"I'm giving up my right to the treasure," I continued, cutting off whatever rationalization he was constructing. "It's going to the villagers of Syrup Village, which includes you four. It's also going to the survivors of the fishmen attack, which includes me."
The logic was sound, even if it wasn't what they wanted to hear. Sometimes doing the right thing means disappointing people, and this was definitely one of those times.
"The survivors and villagers need this money," I added, watching their faces process this information. "Real need, not want. You can't be greedy when people are struggling with their lives."
"Besides," I added, because I could see they were still struggling with the concept, "you're kids. What were you planning to do with a chest full of gold? Buy candy? Buy weapons? A ship? Houses? Getting married?
Your parents would take it anyway, and then we'd have every adult in the village fighting over who deserved what. Is that really what you want?"
The four of them exchanged glances, and I could practically see the wheels turning in their heads. They were smart kids, I'd give them that. They could see the logic in what I was saying, even if they didn't like it.
Usopp was the first to cave, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I... I guess you're right," he admitted reluctantly. "It would just cause problems, wouldn't it?"
The other three nodded, their earlier enthusiasm completely deflated. They looked like kids who'd been told Christmas was canceled, which I suppose wasn't entirely inaccurate.
I felt a pang of something that might have been guilt, but I pushed it down. Sometimes being right meant being the bad guy.
It was a lesson I'd learned over and over again throughout my life, and apparently, it applied even in magical pirate worlds.
When they saw the reason—really saw it, not just heard the words—they gave up their protests. We returned to the survivors' camp near the village beach soon after, the journey marked by a silence that was heavy with disappointment and reluctant acceptance.
When we finally reached the survivors' camp, and after securing the raft and retrieving the treasure chests, I gathered six people—three from the village, three from the survivors.
The selection wasn't random. I needed people who were level-headed, who had some kind of authority within their communities, and who might be able to handle what I was about to show them without completely losing their minds.
From the village: the village chief, whose weathered face suggested years of making difficult decisions; Merry, the Kouda family butler whose ridiculous lamb-like hairstyle was even more absurd in person than in the manga, but who clearly had the organizational skills to get things done; and one of the local merchants who'd been helping coordinate supplies.
From the survivors: I got the first mate of the ship, and Delgado, the sailor who always followed me around, and lastly Gilbert, whom I could trust to some extent.
When I opened the first chest, the reaction was exactly what I'd expected and exactly what I'd dreaded
Six pairs of eyes went wide simultaneously, and I could practically see their pupils dilate as their brains tried to process what they were seeing.
'Yeah, gold has this effect on people—it short-circuits rational thought and replaces it with something more primitive.'
Greed isn't subtle. It doesn't sneak up on you or hide behind other emotions. It hits like a physical force, transforming faces and voices and postures in ways that are both fascinating and terrifying to observe.
I watched it happen to all six of them, saw the exact moment when they stopped seeing me as the person who'd found the treasure and started seeing me as the obstacle between them and unimaginable wealth.
"This is..." the village chief started, then stopped, his voice hoarse with something that might have been awe or hunger. Hard to tell the difference sometimes.
"A lot of gold," I finished for him, keeping my voice carefully neutral. "A treasure I found on the island."
I opened the other two chests, revealing even more gold, and watched the greed intensify. It was like watching a fire spread—starting as a tiny spark and growing into something that could consume everything in its path.
But here's the thing about greed: it's predictable.
People think they're being clever when they're consumed by it, but they're actually following patterns that have been established for millennia.
First come the rationalizations—elaborate justifications for why they deserve more than the others.
Then come the alliances—temporary partnerships formed to maximize individual gain.
Finally comes the betrayals, as each alliance crumbles under competing interests.
The paranoid part of my brain—which was most of my brain at this point—refused to let that scenario play out. I'd seen enough human ugliness for one lifetime.
'Let the show start.'
"I'm giving this treasure to the villagers and survivors," I announced, cutting through their stunned silence before their thoughts could crystallize into plans. "Part goes to helping survivors get home, the rest goes to village improvements."
The transformation was immediate. The naked greed didn't disappear—greed doesn't work that way—but it became restrained, controlled, channeled into something socially acceptable.
They were still thinking about the money, but now they were thinking about it in terms of responsibility rather than opportunity.
'But people can only suppress their base instincts for so long. The key was not giving them time to organize their thoughts into something actionable.'
I immediately started dividing the treasure, working quickly while maintaining a steady stream of explanation that didn't leave room for interruption or debate.
"First, we need to reimburse the money the villagers had paid to support the survivors' camp." Symbolic as much as practical—acknowledging the debt and clearing the slate for future cooperation.
The largest portion of that reimbursement went to the Kouda family, who'd contributed the most to setting up and maintaining the camp. They'd shown genuine generosity when it would have been easier to look the other way, and that deserved recognition.
"Next, this part here…should be enough for the survivors. It should be enough to support this camp for a while and fund the journey back home." This way, we wouldn't need to worry about the resources or at least the costs, as some of the survivors could just take a ship from anywhere else in the archipelago.
"And this will be for the village."
The largest portion—roughly half the total—I placed in front of the village chief. But I didn't just hand it over and walk away. That would have been irresponsible.
"Before you take this," I said, making sure my voice carried weight, "I want to ask something. Are there facilities or parts of the village that need improvement or maintenance? Things that have been needed for a while but haven't been done because of funding?"
The village chief's eyes sharpened with understanding. He was older, more experienced, and he caught on immediately to what I was trying to accomplish without forcing me to spell it out.
'Good. Sometimes the best way to prevent corruption is to make corruption more difficult than cooperation.'
Then it was like opening floodgates.
"We desperately need more wells," he began, his voice gaining enthusiasm with each word.
"The current ones can barely supply the village during dry seasons, and with the survivors staying here temporarily, we're already straining our water resources."
Suddenly he was animated, energetic, listing off project after project that the village had needed for years but couldn't afford to tackle.
He gestured broadly, as if he could show me the invisible infrastructure that needed improvement.
"The roads are terrible—barely wide enough for a cart, full of potholes that make travel uncomfortable and borderline dangerous, especially during storms. And some of the bridges to the other islands in the Gecko archipelago are in such poor condition that we've been afraid to use them for anything heavier than foot traffic."
The list continued: an actual functional port instead of the informal beach landing they currently used, which would improve trade and make travel safer.
Better and larger grain storage facilities to protect against crop failures.
Improved drainage systems to prevent flooding during the rainy season.
Reinforcement of the village's defensive walls.
An actual school with an actual building.
Renovation of the medical clinic.
'Oh my God, I hope there is just enough gold.'
Each item he mentioned was clearly something the village had been wanting for years.
I could see in his eyes the excitement of someone who had spent countless nights worrying about these problems, knowing they were necessary but believing they were impossible to address.
Merry, the butler of the Kouda family, caught on to what I was trying to accomplish just as quickly as the village chief had. His lamb-like hair bounced as he nodded enthusiastically, immediately offering the resources and connections that his employer's family could provide.
"The Kouda family has connections throughout the archipelago," he said, his voice taking on the efficient tone of someone making business arrangements.
"We can contact the craftsmen, architects, and laborers needed for these projects. With the funding now available, we can begin sending people with the gold immediately to start purchasing materials and hiring workers."
'This was perfect.'
By immediately converting the abstract wealth into concrete projects with specific timelines and personnel assignments, we were eliminating the opportunity for the gold to sit around generating greed and resentment.
'People would see the money being spent on things they could all benefit from, rather than wondering why their neighbor might have gotten a larger individual share.'
Within an hour, we'd transformed a potentially explosive situation into something resembling organized civic planning.
All the gold had been allocated to specific purposes, with clear chains of responsibility and accountability. More importantly, we'd done it in a way that made each person feel part of something larger than personal enrichment.
It wasn't perfect—perfect solutions don't exist—but it was workable. Sometimes workable is the best you can hope for.
The next morning brought Merry to my tent entrance, his lamb-like hair somehow even more ridiculous in the early light.
There's something surreal about being woken up by someone whose hairstyle defies both gravity and common sense, but I'd learned to roll with this world's absurdities.
"Good morning, Hikigaya-san," he said with a polite bow that somehow managed to convey both formality and warmth. "I hope I'm not disturbing your rest."
"Ah, no…What can I do for you?" I asked, already mentally preparing for whatever request or complication he was about to present.
"The head of the Kouda family would like to invite you to breakfast as a gesture of thanks," he explained, his tone suggesting this was both an honor and an inevitability. "He wishes to express his gratitude personally for your generous actions yesterday."
My first instinct was to decline. I'd done what needed to be done with the treasure, and extending social obligations beyond necessity seemed pointless.
Gratitude was nice, but it tended to come with strings attached, and I preferred avoiding situations where people felt they owed me something.
"That's... that's really not necessary," I said, already working on excuses. "I mean, it was nothing special, just common sense, really..."
But Merry had that polite, unshakeable persistence that professional servants master over years of dealing with difficult people. Every deflection I tried, he had a ready response that was both respectful and inflexible.
"It's just a normal breakfast," he assured me, "from a family man who wants to thank someone who helped his community. Nothing more complicated than that."
The cynic in me—which was most of me—didn't believe it was that simple. Nothing was ever "just" anything, especially when wealthy families were involved.
But Merry's persistence, combined with my own curiosity about the Kouda family, eventually wore down my resistance.
"I... fine," I said, with all the enthusiasm of someone agreeing to attend their own execution. "But just breakfast. I'm not interested in... you know, lengthy social... things."
'Smooth, Hachiman. Really nailed that social interaction.'
The walk to the Kouda mansion gave me time to observe the village from a different perspective.
It was larger than I'd initially realized, with a proper main street lined with shops and businesses, side streets leading to residential areas, and even buildings that might house simple industry.
The mansion was impossible to miss. The only building that could legitimately be called impressive, rising three stories, with a design suggesting both wealth and taste.
Well-maintained grounds with gardens speak of careful attention and sufficient resources for professional landscaping.
'Exactly the kind of place that would make most people feel inadequate or intimidated.'
Fortunately, I'd had enough experience with wealthy people to know that impressive architecture was often compensation for unimpressive character.
'We can partly thank the Yukinoshitas for that.'
The interior lived up to the exterior's promise. Everything tasteful, expensive, arranged with casual perfection that only comes from having more money than you know what to do with.
High-quality furniture, museum-worthy artwork, even the way light fell through windows seemed calculated for maximum aesthetic impact.
The head of the Kouda family was exactly what I'd expected: a refined, polite businessman who wore his wealth like a well-tailored suit. Probably in his forties, with a bearing that came from a lifetime of being important and having people defer to his opinions.
Not arrogant, exactly, but comfortable with authority in a way suggesting he'd never seriously questioned his right to it.
"Hikigaya-san," he said, extending his hand with what seemed like a genuine smile, "thank you for joining us. I hope you'll forgive the early hour, but I wanted to speak with you before the day became too busy."
"Uh, no, it's... it's fine," I managed, shaking his hand and immediately regretting how awkward I sounded. "Thank you for... inviting me. I guess."
He introduced me to his wife, a gracious woman who smiled warmly but remained somewhat in the background, and to his daughter Kaya.
The moment I saw her, I felt that familiar jolt of recognition that came from encountering a character I knew from the manga. She was exactly as I remembered—pale, fragile-looking, with long blonde hair and kind eyes that seemed slightly distant.
More interesting was Kuro's presence—or Klahadore, as he was calling himself.
The man who would eventually try to murder this entire family stood quietly in the corner, playing perfect butler with genuinely impressive skill.
'If I hadn't known his true identity, I would have dismissed him as just another servant.'
But I did know, which created an interesting dilemma. I couldn't exactly shout "pirate!" without evidence or explanation. No one would believe me, and it would probably result in me being ejected and dismissed as a lunatic.
But knowing what I knew about his plans for this family made every polite word of conversation feel like a betrayal.
'Don't go down this path, you know what happened when you tried to act like a hero.'
'You can't save everyone. If you have a plan, then do it. If you don't, then shut up. They are actual grown-up people, who are capable of living their lives themselves.'
'They are responsible for their own lives, don't interfere needlessly, and make everything worse for everyone.'
The family asked about my sea adventures, which was a good distraction.
They were clearly fascinated by someone at this age—though I was probably older than they thought—traveling alone and encountering dangers most people only heard about in stories.
"So you really fought pirates?" Kaya asked, her eyes wide with the kind of excitement that came from a sheltered life where violence was abstract rather than visceral.
"I... well, yes, but it wasn't really..." I stumbled over the words, unsure how to explain that fighting pirates was less a romantic adventure and more a desperate struggle for survival.
"It's not like in stories. It's mostly just... scary and messy and you spend a lot of time hoping you don't die."
Probably not the answer she was hoping for, but it was honest.
When they asked how I'd found the treasure, I fell back on the Devil Fruit explanation.
The Kari-Kari no Mi(Hunt-Hunt Fruit), I told them, gave me the ability to locate precious objects. It was a plausible lie with the advantage of being something they could understand within their world's context.
Their reaction to learning Devil Fruits are real was everything I'd expected—excitement, disbelief, a barrage of questions about abilities and limitations.
"Can you really not swim?" Kaya's mother asked, leaning forward with interest.
"That's... that's what happens when you eat a Devil Fruit," I replied, which was technically true even though it didn't apply to me.
"When your body is almost submerged… you find yourself unable to float no matter what... and when you are completely under water, your body becomes weak and paralyzed."
"How peculiar," the family patriarch mused. "To gain such power at such a cost..."
After breakfast, as we moved to a more comfortable sitting room, he brought up the subject I'd been expecting.
"Hikigaya-san," he said, voice taking on a more serious tone, "I want to thank you again for what you did with the treasure. Your wisdom in handling the distribution... it showed remarkable maturity and consideration for others."
The praise made me uncomfortable. I didn't like being the center of attention, and I wasn't sure I deserved it. I'd done what seemed logical and necessary, not what was particularly noble.
"It was... it was just the sensible thing," I said, deflecting as smoothly as I could manage, which wasn't very smoothly at all. "Keeping all that gold would have created more problems than it solved, you know? Just... practical."
"Perhaps," he said, "but many people would have kept it anyway. In my line of work, I have seen greed destroy more lives than I can remember. The fact that you gave it all away, and that you were clever enough to prevent greed from destroying our small and peaceful community, but instead, made it a great blessing... that's not something I take lightly."
There was a pause, and I could sense him working up to something. In my experience, when wealthy people start praising your character, it's usually because they want something from you.
But what he said next shattered all of that…
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked finally. "Some way I can repay the debt our community owes you?"
It was a surprise actually, for him not to try to pull me into some kind of scheme, but to simply offer help really took me off guard.
I started to give the standard response—that it was nothing, no repayment necessary, just glad I could help. But something made me stop and consider the question more seriously. Was there something I needed? Something actually useful?
"Actually," I said, feeling awkward about asking for anything, "there is... I mean, if you know... do you know anywhere I could learn swordsmanship?"
The question seemed to surprise him. He blinked, clearly not having expected that particular request.
"I... yes, actually, but I'm surprised you're asking. I assumed you were already an accomplished swordsman. The stories about the Dead-Eyed Hikigaya who took down the Gleaming Knives Pirates..."
I held up a hand to stop him. "Those stories are... they're exaggerated. Way exaggerated. I managed to defeat them, but it wasn't because of my sword skills. I'm barely a beginner when it comes to actual swordsmanship. Really."
It was true, even if the details were more complicated than I was willing to explain.
My victory over the Gleaming Knives Pirates had been due to the Barbossa Sword and luck, not martial prowess. If I were going to survive long-term, I needed actual fighting skills that didn't depend entirely on supernatural abilities.
He studied my face with the kind of attention suggesting he was reevaluating his previous assumptions.
"I see," he said finally. "Humility as well as wisdom. Yes, I know of a place. There's an island not far from here, home to a famous swordsmanship dojo. The master there is said to be one of the finest instructors in this part of the East Blue."
My interest was immediately piqued.
'A genuine dojo meant structured training, proper instruction, a disciplined environment that would let me develop real skills rather than flailing around with a blade hoping for the best.'
"I could arrange passage," he continued. "In fact, I was already planning to send our family ship, the Going Merry Go, to help transport some survivors to their destinations. Adding one more passenger wouldn't be a problem."
'The Going Merry Go, huh. Of course. I was going to ride the Straw Hats' future ship before they even knew it existed.'
There was something both ironic and unsettling about that prospect.
"That would be... that would be really helpful," I managed, trying to keep the complex mixture of emotions out of my voice. "Thank you."
The next few days passed in organized chaos—I found myself aboard the Going Merry Go on a clear morning, watching Syrup Village shrink in the distance as we sailed toward my next chapter in this strange adventure.
The ship was smaller than I'd expected, but well-built and surprisingly comfortable.
My fellow passengers were mostly survivors from the fishmen attack, people finally getting the chance to return to their homes or start over somewhere new.
There was subdued excitement among them, the kind that comes from seeing light at the end of a very long tunnel.
But during the four days of sailing, I started noticing something strange.
It was subtle at first—just a feeling of being observed, like when you sense someone watching from across a room. But as days went on, the sensation became stronger and more persistent.
I tried using my Compass to identify the source, but it gave me nothing. No direction, no indication of what might be causing the sensation.
That was unusual; the compass had been remarkably reliable in the past.
'Just what is it?'
The feeling followed me throughout the ship. On deck, I felt watched from below. In my cabin, watched from above. Eating with other passengers, watched from somewhere just outside my peripheral vision.
It wasn't threatening, exactly. More like... curious. As if something was studying me, trying to understand what I was or why I was there.
'Let's just hope that I am not finally going crazy…'
On the final day, as the island with the swordsmanship dojo came into view, I stood on deck watching our destination grow larger.
Some passengers were gathering belongings and preparing for disembarkation, and the air filled with nervous energy that comes with major transitions.
After saying goodbye to some survivors I'd gotten to know during the journey, and I had just embarked from the ship, I heard something...
[Let's Sail Again Someday!]
"What the…?"
I spun around, looking for the source, but there was no one who could have spoken those words.
Other passengers were engaged in their own thing, the crew was busy with landing preparations, and no one was paying particular attention to me.
But my eyes were drawn to the ship itself, to the figurehead at the bow and the masts rising toward the sky.
For just a moment, I had the strangest feeling that the Going Merry was looking back at me.
Ships don't have consciousness. I knew that, intellectually. But I also knew that in this world, normal rules didn't always apply.
Devil Fruits gave people impossible abilities, and there were forces and phenomena that defied conventional understanding.
'I knew that it had developed an awareness with the Straw Hats. But could it be that it actually had it from the start?'
'If that's so, then why can I feel it?'
'Could it be?'
My stand, the magical wooden Box, was summoned in front of me.
I looked at it, then looked at the Going Merry for a long moment, taking in its graceful lines and well-maintained appearance.
"Yeah," I said quietly, feeling slightly foolish for talking to a ship but somehow certain that I was being heard. "Maybe we will sail again someday."
The island stretched out before me, promising new challenges and opportunities for growth. Somewhere on this land was a dojo where I could learn the skills I needed to survive, to protect myself and others, and maybe—eventually—to find my way home.
But for now, I was content to simply move forward, one step at a time, carrying with me the lessons I'd learned and the strange, warm feeling that I wasn't quite as alone in this world as I'd thought.
Though knowing my luck, that feeling was probably just setting me up for disappointment later.
'Well, such is life, I guess.'
…
The First Arc.
My Isekai Adventure Was Wrong, As Expected.
…
A/N: I have finally understood intimately why One Piece is so long. XD
In my mind, all of this arc shouldn't take more than 10 chapters, but somehow it has taken 30, and there are still more things I wanted to write. (We passed 100k words lol)
I think this is what happened with Oda-sensei. He had so many ideas in his mind that he wanted to draw, but he had to compromise, or the Manga would be unimaginably long.
For him, it sounded like it would be barely a dozen or so chapters. But when he actually did it, it took him more than a hundred.
So what I wanted to say is I WAS planning two more wandering Arcs like this one, but with how it turned out, I would jump straight to the pre-Grand Line saga.
Anyway, Thank you all for reading!!
Have a good day people!
You also can check my Patre0n for extra Chapters.
https://www.patre0n.com/ColdColt
There are +12 Chapters there.