The Grand Line — an unnamed island.
The sky was a clear, endless blue. Sunlight poured down in generous sheets as the vast ocean stretched beyond the horizon, waves rolling up the shore in a rhythmic symphony.
A gentle sea breeze drifted by, the heavens washed clean as though freshly painted.
On a small hillside beneath a great tree, a teenage boy — fourteen, maybe fifteen — sat cross-legged on a boulder the size of a water jar, staring blankly at the endless sea.
Above him, a few seagulls flapped past, calling into the distance.
"Sigh… I really need to find a way to fix my face."
With a melancholic look, the boy finally snapped out of his daze, one hand pinching the pointed tip of his chin with utter despair.
Wang Yu had been transmigrated into this world for three days. From initial excitement, to unease, to hot-blooded passion, then to creeping dread — he had cycled through all emotions so violently that he couldn't eat or sleep properly.
He'd eventually reached a single firm conclusion:
Before anything else, he needed a doctor to fix his face.
Otherwise, he genuinely couldn't accept the mug he currently wore.
As for whether cosmetic surgery would give him some kind of psychological trauma?
If it made him handsome, then who cared?
Wang Yu had been an ordinary blue-collar guy of the new century, already twenty-one, his birthday only a few days past. He closed his eyes for one moment—
—and transmigrated the next.
Becoming a transmigrator was, after all, a divine, noble profession.
Becoming the chosen one.
Becoming a CEO, marrying a rich beauty, and standing at the peak of life — all that was supposed to be the minimum standard package.
Every night before bed, Wang Yu fantasized about it. Winning a few million in the lottery, or maybe, like in the novels, transmigrating into another world with a golden cheat. Now that was living.
Imagination was imagination. Reality was reality. Fantasies existed to help broke guys like him get through the day.
But he didn't expect the fantasy to actually come true.
Unfortunately… when he learned who he'd become, his emotions were a chaotic mess. He'd almost had a mental breakdown.
Because this world was One Piece.
And Wang Yu's current identity was Foxxy the Silver Fox.
Yes—
That Foxxy.
The one with the ridiculous parted pompadour, red clown nose, drooping eyebrows, triangular eyes…
A face so sleazy and pathetic, he used one of the strongest Devil Fruits purely as a joke.
Just imagining that pompadour, that red nose, those slanted brows, those tiny short legs, that potbelly…
If this were ancient times, he'd get jumped and stuffed into a sack for looking cursed.
Wang Yu had watched One Piece, though he'd forgotten most of the plot thanks to how slow and long-winded the updates were. Still, certain characters stuck in his memory — Foxxy included — mostly because the forums roasted him nonstop.
Foxxy might've been a minor character, but thanks to his Devil Fruit, he was undeniably "famous."
All infamy, of course.
The Slow-Slow Fruit — officially a Paramecia, known for firing Slow-Slow beams that drastically reduce the target's reaction speed before the effect bursts all at once.
To use it, Foxxy had to make that iconic orchid-finger hand sign: tuck in thumb, middle, and ring fingers, leaving the index and pinky raised.
Used well, the fruit was absurdly powerful.
Used poorly… well, Foxxy was living proof of that.
Over the last three days, Wang Yu had tested it. At first, he was thrilled. Now? He felt only emptiness.
Because the fruit wasn't nearly as powerful as he imagined.
The very hand gesture alone made him want to die. He was a broke, average modern guy, yes, but he still had some manly pride. How could he go around posing like a dainty maiden?
Even if that "manliness" was mostly theoretical, it was still manliness!
But fine. He accepted it.
What bothered him more was that after firing off just five or six beams, his body felt completely drained — like someone had scooped out all his insides. Weak, trembling, totally spent.
Devil Fruit abilities clearly required stamina.
And Foxxy, with his noodle arms and stubby legs, had none.
The beams themselves were also slower than he expected. A powerful ability meant nothing if it couldn't hit anything.
The Slow-Slow Fruit was incredible — but its flaws were painfully obvious.
He'd spent three days thinking nonstop, yet had no real clue how to develop the fruit.
And while thinking was one thing, actually using the abilities in battle was another. His mind went completely blank whenever he tried.
Still, he'd accepted everything he needed to accept.
He really had no choice.
In this world, resistance was futile — better to lie back and adapt. Whether he felt excited or terrified didn't matter; he was already here. Jumping into the sea was not an option.
And despite the danger, this world had its charms.
Beautiful women with incredible figures.
Exotic races — mermaids, fish-folk, giants…
How could he not go explore?
Even a broke guy should have dreams. Otherwise, he was no different from a dead fish.
But compared to the world's beauty, its darkness was far greater — oppression, slavery, bloodshed, cruelty.
This was a world ruled by strength alone.
The anime sugarcoated a lot, but Wang Yu wasn't stupid.
He'd read enough novels and seen enough discussions online to know how brutal the sea really was.
So he thought long and hard.
If he wanted to explore, he first needed to survive.
And to survive while also gaining authority and safety, one option stood out:
Join the Navy.
He hadn't liked the Marines while watching the show, but now?
Now they were clearly the safest starting zone.
Four Emperors, Warlords, Revolutionary Army, pirates of every kind…
Compared to all of them, the Navy was absolutely the best beginner village.
Corruption existed, sure, but strength and legitimacy came with the uniform.
If he were to become someone like Garp someday, what "rules" could restrain him?
So he made his first small goal:
Join the Marines.
Luckily, Foxxy hadn't yet gone to sea in this timeline. Everything could be rewritten.
He had no idea how he transmigrated, nor how the original Foxxy died, but he knew a few things:
Foxxy had already eaten the Slow-Slow Fruit.
He was around fourteen or fifteen — still growing.
BUT…
Why the hell did the pompadour, clown nose, potbelly, and overall pathetic physique already exist?!
Wasn't he supposed to improve during puberty?!
Apparently, Foxxy had been doomed from childhood.
This life had no "glow-up."
Only despair.
Foxxy sighed, looking at his short, stubby limbs.
In the end…
Cosmetic surgery comes first!!