In the world of One Piece, the seas are divided into four great quadrants. This story begins in the most peaceful, yet deceptive of them all: the East Blue.
The wind howled across the open water, rain pouring down in relentless sheets while the waves surged like angry beasts. A small boat rocked violently amidst the chaos, threatening to capsize at any moment. On deck, a girl with short, bright orange hair was engaged in a desperate tug-of-war with the ocean, trying to drag a drowning, unconscious boy out of the deep.
With a final heave of effort, the girl managed to haul him over the gunwale and onto the wet floorboards.
The moment he was safe, the waves grew even larger. There was no time to check on him. The girl snapped her head up, glancing around at the encroaching storm. She scrambled to the mast and hoisted the sail. Under her skillful control, the small boat didn't fight the wind; it rode it. She used the chaotic storm to her advantage, steering the fragile craft away from the heart of the tempest.
Despite her youth, her seamanship was superb. In just a few minutes, the small boat had successfully detached itself from a raging sea large enough to swallow a galleon.
The ocean is unpredictable, especially in a world dominated by water. Storms arrive without warning; one moment the sky is clear and blue, and the next, it turns into a raging torrent.
Having escaped the worst of it, the girl finally caught her breath. But her relief was short-lived. She looked down at the "purse" she had painstakingly retrieved—the boy she planned to extort a large sum of money from—and realized he looked lifeless.
"No, no, no," she muttered. She had to provide emergency treatment, for the sake of her adorable Berry reward.
The young woman had been sailing alone for years. She not only possessed navigation skills but also emergency rescue knowledge. She immediately flipped the boy, who was a head taller than her, onto his stomach. Straddling his hips, she lifted him by the waist, angling his head down to drain the water.
She bounced him a few times, and the boy's body convulsed, spitting out a mouthful of seawater.
After confirming his lungs were clear, she flipped him onto his back. He still wasn't breathing. She began chest compressions, pressing down rhythmically. When that failed, she tried pinching his philtrum.
Nothing.
"Damn it!"
She stared at his chest, which refused to rise. He had regular features, though his skin looked rough, likely from exposure. Currently, he was deathly pale. Dead pale.
Looking at that fairly handsome face, the orange-haired girl bit her lower lip with pearly white teeth. She hesitated. Artificial respiration was intimate.
It's for the money, she told herself. Just for the reward. But deep down, she knew she wouldn't have risked her life in a storm just for cash.
He hadn't been under for long. There was still a glimmer of hope. She gritted her teeth and cursed him. "If you don't provide enough compensation for this, I'll kill you myself!"
She took a handkerchief from her pocket, wiped his mouth clean, and pinched his nose. Taking a deep breath, she sealed her lips over his and exhaled.
Chest compression. Rescue breath. Chest compression. Rescue breath.
Slowly, color began to return to the boy's pale face. His heart gave a stuttering beat, then another. As she worked to save him, a faint blush crept onto her cheeks—whether from exhaustion or the intimacy of the act, it was hard to say.
She leaned down for another breath. Just as she was about to exhale, something slippery suddenly slid into her mouth.
Instantly, the girl's eyes widened.
"Asshole!"
It was one thing to give him CPR, but for him to stick his tongue in her mouth while dying? That was incredibly lewd. Enraged, she pulled back and slapped him across the face with all her might.
SNAP!
The slap was so powerful it knocked the boy's head to the side, leaving a conspicuous red handprint on his pale cheek.
But the slap seemed to act as a resurrection button. The boy, who had been teetering on the brink of death, suddenly convulsed and began to cough violently.
Cough! Cough! Cough!
Feeling a burning pain on his face, Darian woke up from the darkness. His head was spinning. He didn't know if it was from the blunt force trauma to his cheek or the lack of oxygen.
He opened his eyes. The sky above was gloomy, the clouds hanging low and heavy. But his attention was instantly drawn away from the weather to the beautiful girl glaring down at him. His drowsy mind cleared in a second.
She had an angelic, delicate face with large, jewel-like brown eyes. Her playful, short orange hair added to her youthful energy. She wore a simple striped t-shirt and a slightly faded skirt that stopped high on her thighs, paired with sensible, thick-heeled shoes. It was a common outfit, yet it did nothing to diminish her beauty.
Even though she was young, her figure was impressive; the wet shirt clung to her, and her long, slender legs were breathtakingly white against the dark wood of the boat.
Darian felt as if he were dreaming. None of the celebrities or school beauties he had seen on his phone could compare to the girl in front of him.
Seeing that he was awake but staring blankly, the girl—who was used to that look from men—remembered the assault on her mouth. "You bastard," she hissed. "Have you thought about how you're going to make this up to me?"
She was angry, but she wasn't about to admit to this idiot that he had French-kissed her during CPR.
"Make... up?" Darian croaked, his voice hoarse.
He stared at her with a bewildered expression, completely unaware of his transgression. Seeing his innocent look, the girl almost exploded.
"I pulled you out of the sea!" she shouted, beautiful and furious. "Shouldn't I receive a reward?"
Greedy, Darian thought. Even angry, she wants money.
But as her words sank in, Darian finally realized something was wrong. He looked down at himself. His arms seemed thinner, his skin smoother. He felt... younger. Yet, the small scars on his hands confirmed this was his own body, just reverted to a prime state.
He looked around. A vast expanse of blue ocean surrounded him.
And most importantly, the girl wasn't speaking his language. She was speaking Japanese. And somehow, he understood her perfectly.
What is going on?
A bad feeling welled up in his gut. He clutched his head, his mind a mess. Why was he here? The last thing he remembered was... nothing. It was blank.
"Excuse me," Darian asked, his voice trembling as he looked at her pleadingly. "What is your name?"
He looked so helpless that the girl's anger faltered. She sighed, crossing her arms.
"My name is Nami. I'm the one who saved you. Do you have amnesia or something?"
Nami.
The name hit him like a physical blow. Short orange hair. Striped shirt. Money-obsessed.
Bang!
Like a thunderclap, the pieces fell into place. Darian felt a cold sweat break out. He refused to believe it.
"This is... the East Blue?" he asked nervously. "The Pirate King is... Roger?"
Nami looked at him like he was an idiot. "Yes! This is the East Blue. And obviously, Roger was the Pirate King. Even a child knows that."
Upon receiving her confirmation, Darian's heart began to pound violently. His blood pressure soared, rushing to his head. The reality was too much.
His eyes rolled back, and he slumped onto the deck.
Nami panicked as her walking ATM fainted again.
"Hey! Hey! What's wrong with you now?!" she screamed, shaking him by the collar. "Don't you die on me before you pay up!"
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