I materialize suddenly below deck, the world spinning for a moment as I steady myself against a wooden beam. The tangy, briny scent of the ocean floods my nose, cutting through a lingering sense of vertigo. Instinctively, my hands fly to my stomach as a wave of nausea threatens to overtake me, then I freeze. Wait. I have hands? I have a body again. The realization jolts through me, vivid and electric. I flex my fingers, feeling the roughness of calluses, the solidity of muscle, the unmistakable weight of existence. For a split second, I breathe, letting the sensation of being alive wash through me.
As my senses sharpen, I take in my surroundings. I'm on a ship. A real, honest-to-god pirate ship, judging by the ragtag crew sleeping around me. The sailors look exactly like storybook pirates: patched clothes in every faded color imaginable, battered hats, belts festooned with odd trinkets, and mismatched boots.
And the walls, are they really pink? The sight is so incongruous it almost snaps me out of my daze. A pirate ship with pink walls. Only in a world like this. I glance down and realise I'm dressed to match: a half-buttoned, tan shirt with laces at the sides, loose enough to move but tight enough to stay put in a fight, and dark brown trousers, laced at the ankles, sturdy and practical. My feet are in boots, weathered and torn in spots, but overall comfortable.
A glint catches my eye. I spot a shard of glass near a barrel and reach for it, curiosity prickling. The face that stares back at me is unfamiliar, with black hair, messy with a few strands falling stubbornly across my forehead, and eyes so dark a blue they're almost black. I touch my chin, tracing the line of my jaw. I look so young, almost like Jinwoo Sung from Solo Leveling in the first parts of the series. There's a strange feeling in seeing a face not my own. Its overall weak features contrast with the determined gaze in my eyes.
I move to stand, and something in my posture feels different. Lighter, more graceful. I realize, with a start, that I instinctively know how to move quietly. My steps barely make a sound on the planks. It's as if experience is woven into my muscles, memories of stealth and survival lurking beneath the surface. I glide toward the door, heart pounding with nervous excitement.
The moment I step outside, the world explodes into brilliance. The night sky stretches above, impossibly vast, awash in moonlight and a scatter of stars so bright and numerous it feels like I could drown in them. I've never seen the sky so clear. Not in my old world, not anywhere. I close the door gently behind me and stand there, breathless, drinking in the beauty. For a long moment, the noise and danger of the ship fade away, and there's only me, the stars, and the certainty that I'm here. I'm alive. I clench my fist, feeling purpose surge through me. A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Maybe, just maybe, this new world is the start of something incredible.
Curiosity gnaws at me as I begin to explore the ship's dim corridors, the wooden planks creaking softly beneath my careful steps. The air is thick with the mingled scents of salt, tar, and old wood, a living, breathing tapestry of sea life. I pass sleeping pirates sprawled in hammocks or curled up on barrels, their snores and muttered dreams filling the gloom. My heart pounds with each step, nerves tingling with the thrill of being somewhere so impossibly strange and familiar all at once.
I pause outside a heavy, iron-banded door set apart from the rest; it's secluded, important. There's a small knot of dread in my stomach as I crouch down, peering through a knothole worn smooth by years of idle curiosity. On the other side sits the most imposing figure I have ever seen: broad, mountain-like, draped in gaudy silks and cheap jewelry. The light glints off her iron club, which rests casually at her side. My breath catches. Alvida, before her fateful encounter with Luffy. The realization sends a chill up my spine. So it's true. I really am in the world of One Piece. And, I'm part of her crew, at least for now.
A thousand thoughts tumble through my mind. If I want to survive, I can't just drift along. Maybe I can slip away and find Luffy after he defeats her, but I'll need to be strong enough to prove myself—strong enough to make him want me on his crew, or at least not to be dead weight. The angel said I had chakra, like from Naruto. My heart races with the possibilities. If I can unlock that power, maybe I can shape my own fate.
I slip up to the main deck, the wood cool beneath my feet, and rummage through a barrel, fingers closing around a scrap of paper. It's rough, stained by sea spray and sun, but it'll do. I remember what I was told. Knowledge and experience of a recent academy graduate are mine, but I feel unchanged, ordinary. Maybe using chakra for the first time will change that.
I hold the paper to my forehead, closing my eyes and steadying my breath. The world contracts to the slow, rhythmic pounding of my heart. I reach inward, searching for something—anything—beneath the surface of my consciousness. At first, there's only silence, but then, faint as the whisper of the tide, I sense a flicker. Not a surge or a torrent, but a well, deep and shimmering. I draw on it, guiding the energy up, focusing with all the intent I can muster. My skin tingles, and the paper clings to my forehead, impossibly light. My eyes snap open, and a wild laugh bubbles up before I can stop it. I did it. Chakra. Real, tangible chakra. The thrill is overwhelming. A giddy, childlike joy, the dream of magic made real.
A grin spreads across my face as the implications hit me. There's so much to learn, so much to practice. First things first: chakra control. Tree walking, or I suppose, on a ship, wall walking. Just like Naruto and his classmates. I need to master the basics before I can even think about anything more advanced. I approach the nearest wall, heart hammering, resolve hardening. I focus chakra into my feet, gentle at first, then a touch more, feeling for the balance point where energy and gravity meet. The sensation is bizarre, like static clinging to my skin, but it's exhilarating. Slowly, step by step, I test the grip, adjusting, learning, repeating the process until it starts to feel natural.
Hours slip by in a blur of silent practice, broken only by the distant calls of seabirds and the creak of the ship. The sky outside grows paler, hints of dawn painting the horizon pink and gold. By my estimate, it's close to six in the morning when I finally release my breath and step back from the wall. I can do it now. Walk up walls, cling to vertical surfaces like a true shinobi. The elation is tempered by a nagging worry: mastering it so quickly might mean my chakra reserves are small. Sakura was able to master the exercise quickly because her control was excellent, but having less to control made it easier. She had less chakra overall than Naruto or Sasuke. If I want to keep up with the monsters of this world, I'll have to find a way to expand my reserves.
I take stock of my meagre possessions: a pouch I hadn't noticed before, containing a couple of kunai, some shuriken, and a plain storage scroll. I roll the scroll open, frowning at the empty space inside. Potential, waiting to be filled. As I idly toss a kunai, muscle memory guides my hand, the motion feeling natural, right. The knowledge of the shinobi academy is filtering into my mind, little by little. I test my aim, not perfect but competent, and a sense of satisfaction settles in my chest. Each small success is a step closer to survival, a step closer to shaping my own path in this bewildering, exciting, and dangerous new world.