After a long, grueling stretch of fire biting into flesh, it was finally done. My body was drenched in sweat, my throat raw from swallowing down every scream that tried to claw its way out. But I did it—I got them all.
My mother's M scorched into the back of my right hand.
My father's S etched into the back of my left.
My sister's R branded into the right palm, where I could close it tight like I was holding her hand.
And finally, my cat's J, burned deep into the left palm—John-cat, forever a part of me, right where I could never forget him.
It hurt like hell. But looking down at the letters seared into my skin, I felt… anchored. A piece of my world, carved into me so it couldn't be stolen.
"Thank you, uh… what's your name again?" I finally asked, realizing I'd never bothered. The man had done more for me than most ever would—set the coals, prepared the irons, even gave me water when I thought I'd collapse. Cold on the outside, sure, but not cruel. Never cruel.
"Jamie," he said, short and plain. Then he smirked, almost amused at my surprise. "And by the way, we'll be seeing each other often from now on."
The name settled in my head like a mark just as permanent as the burns on my skin. Jamie—the guard who didn't treat me like an animal.
"Really? Why is that?"
"The captain promised you less labor and better food, right? I'm the one who makes sure that happens. Every afternoon, I'll fetch you and bring your ration for the day."
Wait… so I got a personal butler? Even as a slave? That's new.
"Actually, I want to ask something personal, is that okay?" My curiosity was poking at me too hard to ignore. Jamie was an odd person.
"Sure, go ahead." He nodded calmly, like he'd expected it.
"Is being the one who grants the captain's 'gifts'… your captain's order, or your own wish?" I knew it was blunt, maybe even rude, but I had his permission. Might as well dig.
"Why do you ask that?" he shot the question back at me. Yeah, I knew I was being rude, but come on—just answer already.
"Actually… it's my wish, you know." His gaze drifted past me, out the open door toward the distance. "It was my dream to work here, but reality sucks."
"You mean…" My brain spun its own theories. A guard who chooses to be here? There had to be a catch.
"Yeah, you can guess." He let out a bitter chuckle. "My dream was to serve a World Noble. But what they call 'noble'… isn't so noble after all. And I never knew their faces before I worked here."
"Before I worked here, I thought I'd be serving them—an apostle of justice or something noble like that." His voice carried a tired bitterness. "But the reality? I just got stuck guarding slaves, watching people suffer right in front of me. Not exactly great for my mental health, I suppose."
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That's why, when the captain got this side job and offered me the chance to basically be a butler for a slave, I took it. At this point, I'll take anything—so long as it's not torturing people."
"I'm sorry." The words slipped out before I could stop them. And I meant it.
"Don't be," he said, shaking his head again. "Your situation is infinitely worse than mine." The truth of it landed heavy, but it didn't erase the guilt knotting in my chest.
"Now you know my name, and even a piece of my story…" He tilted his head toward me, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "What about yours?"
Now that he mentioned it, I'd never told him.
"Vincent. Vincent Vector, Son of Martha and Silas, brother of Rosa, and best friend to John-cat." For the first time in this world, I spoke my full introduction, not just a name but the threads of a life I once lived. Maybe because he'd already learned those names, or maybe because he'd shown me a fragment of humanity in this place. But whatever the reason might be, I said it without hesitation.
He studied me for a moment in silence. "You must've been close with your family." His voice softened, carrying something beneath it. For just a heartbeat, envy flickered in his eyes, sharp and undeniable. Then it faded, replaced by something heavier, warmer—empathy. A connection between two people who didn't belong here, yet were forced to stay.
"Hope you can meet them again someday."
The words fell from his mouth with a quiet weight, and before I realized it, my cheek felt wet. I reached up, fingertips brushing the rough line of stitches etched into my skin, the scar that never truly stopped aching. A phantom pain lingered there, but this time something else was flowing down.
My first thought was stupidly practical—a leak? Instinctively, I tilted my head back, scanning the ceiling for dripping water. Nothing. Just silence.
When I lowered my gaze, Jamie was already holding out a folded handkerchief, his expression unreadable but steady. That's when it hit me.
I am crying.
"Wha—why… why am I… crying?" The words broke apart between shaky breaths, a sob tearing loose before I could stop it.
It struck me then. Until now, every thought, every breath, had been consumed by survival—the next blow, the next brand, the next day. I never allowed myself the luxury of feeling. Even when I dreamed of my family the night before, it was only a faint echo, a whisper that I might never see them again. But when I woke, survival reclaimed me, relentless as ever. Even carving their names into my flesh was less about sentiment and more about necessity—a desperate anchor to remind me of who I am, not a reflection on what I had lost.
But now, with Jamie's words lingering in the air, and for the first time since my capture the room around me free of immediate threats, my mind had space to wander. To think beyond survival.
And the truth hit me with merciless clarity.
I would never see them again.
My mother's cooking. My father's strange little collections. Playing games with my sister, or laughing at the ridiculous things John-cat would do. I would never see them again. Never hear their voices. Never share those moments. They were infinitely distant from me now, a whole world away.
What would they think of me if they knew where I was? Were they searching? Were they grieving? Did they miss me… even half as much as I missed them?
Tears streamed down my cheeks without pause, sobs breaking loose from my chest, sometimes twisting into muffled screams. Memories struck like knives—hugging my mother before I left, the too-few times I ever came home. Each one burned, each one reminding me of everything I could never return to.
After a while, the sobs finally died down, leaving only the dull ache in my chest. I stared at my hands—at the four initials carved into my skin, the only proof I still carried them with me. My fingers curled into fists, and I wondered what they would say if they saw me now.
"Whatever you do, be happy, my boy." Mom would definitely say that—no, she will say that. To her, happiness was always the most important thing, no matter the circumstances.
"Live without regret. Do what you need to do. Take the steps you need to take." Dad's words were always steady, always firm. He told me to be brave enough to take every step, even the dangerous ones, so that when I looked back, I wouldn't regret a thing.
And Rosa… she'd probably grin and say, Lucky you, getting reincarnated into the One Piece world! I want to be isekaied too. She was always the weeb, the one who pulled me into anime, the reason I even watched One Piece in the first place. Always cheerful. Always bright. Even when everything else wasn't.
And then there was John-cat. That lazy bastard would still be sprawled across the sofa, glaring at me with half-lidded eyes, his fat body refusing to leave the cushion, only bothering to let out a demanding meow when he wanted food.
A small chuckle slipped out at the thought, but behind it came something steadier—resolve. For the first time, I had more than just the fear of dying or the instinct to survive. I had a reason. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to live without regret, to take every step I could, and someday, I wanted to sail the unknown seas and meet the people I once only knew from a distance.
"You seem better now," a voice rang out.
I looked up and saw Jamie perched on one of the barrels, watching me.
"Yeah," I said softly. "Thanks, Jamie."
"For what? I didn't do anything. Just watched you cry."
"Your presence was enough," I replied. "You waited for me."
"Heh, it's nothing. Come on, let's get you back to your cell. I'll let you off work for today."
"You know… you really don't fit in this place," I muttered.
Jamie smirked. "Of course I don't. That's why I'm stuck babysitting you, isn't it?"
I gave a weak laugh. "Yeah… right."
We walked in silence toward my cell, but before we got there, Jamie stopped by a small building leaking a peculiar aroma—rich, warm, unmistakably food. A moment later, he came out holding a large leather bag and handed it to me. It was heavier than I expected.
"What's this?" I asked, eyeing it suspiciously.
"Food, obviously," Jamie said with a grin. "Didn't the captain say you'd be eating the same stuff as the guards from now on?"
I frowned, hefting the bag. "But… this feels like too much."
He shrugged. "Then share it. Nobody said you can't."
The idea struck me harder than I expected. Share? My thoughts immediately drifted to the three sisters in the cell beside mine—their thin frames, hollow eyes. I didn't know their current state, but my imagination painted them in the worst possible light… and I doubted it was far from the truth.
Darius crossed my mind too, but I dismissed it just as quickly. That old man could probably survive the end of the world on scraps and still laugh about it. Not that I wanted to get back at him for all his endless jokes, of course. Definitely not.
"Thank you, Jamie," I said quietly. With his help, maybe—just maybe—life from here wouldn't be as unbearable as I thought.
"Don't thank me," he replied. "Just follow the captain's orders, whatever they are."
"Right," I muttered, my hand unconsciously brushing my pants to feel the small pouch of powder still hidden there. Just a few grams—easy enough to conceal.
"Yeah… I will."