"Jie jie jie, I am a Brain Brain Fruit user. Hand over your brain obediently!"
His consciousness finally fixated on the cold front of the hundred-ton truck before him.
Boom!
Who understands, my family?
He seemed to hear the unique electronic music of a Cybertronian, and it was a loli voice!
"I thought it was a speed bump."
"Go tell my insurance."
"We are all living with effort."
Damn it, I'm so unwilling! My 512GB of learning materials on my USB drive haven't...
Then, there was boundless darkness and a bone-deep tearing sensation.
When he opened his eyes again, it was a completely unfamiliar world.
The salty sea breeze, carrying the wild scent of a primeval jungle, roughly filled his nostrils.
Huge, never-before-seen trees covered the sky, and strange bird calls and beast roars echoed one after another.
Beneath him was rough gravel, digging painfully into his skin.
"What the hell, where did you take me? Is this still my country?"
A tender and weak child's voice came out. Kyle sat up in a panic, feeling himself all over.
Good, good, his tiny arms and legs, kidneys, and little brother were all intact...
What good, you idiot! A three-year-old kid stranded on a deserted island—how could that be good?
Memories from his previous life were like broken glass, unable to form a complete picture, and the original body's memories were also chaotic, only vaguely remembering that he had been in a shipwreck.
Amidst the chaotic thoughts, hunger was the first to sound the alarm.
Then came the cold. The sea breeze blew through his thin, tattered clothes of unknown material.
And those sounds from the forest, sending shivers down his spine.
Kyle shivered. The instinct for survival overcame all the chaos and unwillingness.
He scrambled and crawled, finding a low, shallow cave half-hollowed out by the waves, barely able to shelter him from the wind and rain.
The cave emitted a pungent, damp smell, but Kyle couldn't care less.
He huddled in the deepest part of the cave, listening to the roar of the waves crashing against the rocks outside, and the faint chewing sounds from the jungle.
"System?"
"Ring Grandpa?"
"..."
Tentative inquiries were drowned out by the sound of the waves. Kyle completely calmed down.
Good news: He transmigrated!
Bad news: A hellish start!
"I am Kyle Grylls (not really), and I'm going to show you how to survive in some of the most extreme and dangerous places!"
Deng ~ deng ~ deng deng ~
As a couch potato in an era of peace, Kyle would at most keyboard warrior "I can do it too!" under wilderness survival videos, but now, only Kyle's mouth was tough.
Using a puddle in the cave, Kyle examined himself: black hair, golden eyes, a small face that, though thin and tender, vaguely showed a handsome appearance that would rival the readers in the future.
To avoid an early demise, there was only one goal now—to survive!
...
Three years.
Do you know how I spent these three whole years?
His body grew at an incredible rate, becoming stronger and more agile.
He even far surpassed the physical qualities a child should have according to his previous life's memories, which made Kyle realize that this world was not ordinary.
Years of running, climbing, and fighting had made his muscles smooth and firm, full of explosive power.
"Hi, guys, I got food again, brothers!"
Kyle skillfully processed the wild rabbit in his hand while muttering to himself, occasionally letting out strange cackles.
"Today's lunch is roasted rabbit, unfamiliar small fruits, Q-piled, let's eat, brothers!"
"Ah, sugoi, burp~" After devouring the cute rabbit, Kyle sat on a rock, preparing to enjoy an unknown fruit he had picked from the island.
This fruit was entirely white, its surface covered in layers of concentric circular patterns.
"Hiss~ I feel like I've seen this somewhere? What was this again? Forget it, delicious or not, your Brother Kyle will know once he tastes it!"
The moment the first bite of the fruit entered his stomach, Kyle's face turned green then white, his stomach churning as if ten thousand goblins were having an impact party.
"Ugh~"
Even with Kyle's extensive culinary experience, he had never eaten anything so disgusting. He "Pooh Pooh Pooh" spat out a few more times, trying to dispel that despair-inducing taste.
"The taste is like fermented stinky socks that haven't been washed for a month in summer, mixed with a three-month-dead stinky rat, stewed for forty-nine days over a high fire. It barely registers as a quantum of stench."
Kyle grimaced, feeling as if his taste buds had been brutally violated.
He shook his head vigorously, trying to shake that Devil-like taste, along with the fruit's bizarre appearance, out of his mind.
There were more important things waiting for him—the sun was still high, and the daily "required course" had not yet begun.
For three whole years, this was how he had lived. Now six years old, Kyle's small body contained strength and agility far disproportionate to his age.
A beautiful day begins with a nude run on the beach.
Kyle's bare feet stepped on the slightly wet sand, each step sinking deep then springing out powerfully, at an astonishing speed, leaving a trail of small footprints behind him, which were quickly smoothed by the incoming tide.
Next came strength training. He had long since explored this jungle and found an ideal "gym"—scattered there were rocks of various sizes and shapes that were fairly easy to handle.
Lifting, carrying, throwing, tossing—these monotonous movements were repeated day after day. His muscles, far more developed than those of his peers, were firm and well-defined, long accustomed to this aching, burning sensation.
During training, he would occasionally curse using some national essences from his previous life, and sometimes, when the mood struck, he would hum a few popular songs dug out from some forgotten corner of his memory.
"That day's squid~ Squid up!"
He let out a low roar, his arms bulging slightly with veins, easily lifting a rock almost twice his height, then he threw it forcefully, slamming it onto the distant sand with a dull thud.
Agility training relied more on the jungle itself; this perilous primeval jungle was his natural obstacle course.
Kyle leaped between fallen giant trees, swung through the forest by thick vines, and nimbly dodged small predators that darted out from the shadows to ambush him.
His senses had long been sharpened like the keenest blade; every rustle of wind, every subtle friction of leaves, could quickly form a judgment in his mind.
As for fighting techniques, there were no exquisite moves to speak of, only life-saving skills honed through life-and-death struggles—simple, direct, and deadly.
He would practice thrusting, chopping, and sweeping with a self-made spear against thick tree trunks, striving for speed, accuracy, and ruthlessness in every movement.
"Eat my Monkey Steals the Peaches...Pooh Pooh Pooh, what am I practicing! Be serious, Kyle, you're going to be the man who punches Bear Grylls and kicks Ed Stafford!"
He would occasionally stop, panting heavily, wiping sweat from his forehead, a glint of cunning unsuited to his age flashing in his eyes, then he would straighten his face and continue with the monotonous training.
The setting sun began to cast a layer of light and shadow over the sky and sea. Kyle sat on his exclusive "viewing platform"—the edge of a towering cliff, overlooking the boundless blue waves.
The fatigue from strenuous exercise arrived as expected, a strange satisfaction mixed with the soreness.
This meant he had survived another day, pushing his limits a little further.
Kyle unconsciously flexed his arm, bulging a solid biceps that was completely out of proportion with his slender frame. These muscles were truly earned through hard training, not something a certain pointy-headed gentleman could claim to have!
"Homelander? No, no, I don't eat beef." Kyle muttered, "Bad news from the fitness world: Six-year-old Superman with the power of nine dragons lifting weights online!"
These slightly mischievous fantasies were his antidote to loneliness; in the day-to-day monotony of survival, one had to find some fun, didn't they?
But beneath these jokes, there was also confusion about his own body. His growth rate, his strength, his recovery ability—none of it seemed like what a normal human child should have.
Even if the food on this island was "unique" and the environment was "survival of the fittest," it shouldn't have catalyzed him into his current state, right?
The last ray of sunset completely sank below the horizon. In the night sky, scattered cold stars began to twinkle.
Kyle stretched, preparing to return to his simple but safe cave.
As night deepened, the waves gently lapped the beach, making rhythmic "whoosh" sounds, occasionally interspersed with the chirping of unknown night insects.
Kyle lay in the depths of the cave, beneath him several layers of dried broad leaves, barely forming a "bed."
Usually, after a full day of high-intensity physical exertion, he would almost fall into a deep sleep the moment his head touched the "pillow." But tonight, it was somewhat unusual.
Chaotic thoughts were like a retreating tide on the beach, with all sorts of jumbled ideas and images surfacing.
The shadows of the jungle, the vastness of the ocean, those strange yet real creatures... and that damned white fruit, whose taste was comparable to dog poop.
That taste... Kyle shivered just thinking about it, his stomach beginning to churn faintly again.
But what tormented him was not just the torturous taste, but also the patterns on the fruit's skin. Circle after circle, like concentric spiral patterns rippling out from water.
Spiral patterns...
He seemed to have seen this unique pattern somewhere?
Like an incomplete puzzle, the most crucial piece remained hidden behind a mist of memory, appearing faintly, making him itch with impatience, and a strange sense of irritation.
Wait!
Spiral patterns? Extremely disgusting taste?
A lightning bolt, without warning, struck his mind, dispelling all the mist!
A long-sealed yet incredibly vivid memory, like a floodgate opening, surged forth.
It was a memory belonging to his previous life, a bizarre and fantastical world, full of passionate adventures, fierce battles, pirates of various personalities, Marines who swore to defend justice, and... a fruit with magical powers.
That kind of fruit usually had unique spiral patterns. They could grant the eater all sorts of incredible superpowers, but as a price, the eater would be hated by the sea, becoming a landlubber, and the most widely known and impressive point—they tasted as if the world's most disgusting things were mixed together and then concentrated eighty-one times!
Devil Fruit!
Kyle, on his deathbed, sat up in shock, his eyes wide in the dark cave.
Spiral patterns... appalling taste... and his own body, which even before eating that suspected "Devil Fruit," had already shown extraordinary strength and recovery speed... All of this, in the light of the "Devil Fruit" concept, seemed so... logical, yet so unbelievable!
Countless clues were strung together like scattered pearls.
The enormous, strangely behaving creatures on this island; this boundless, seemingly endless ocean; and a sense of incongruity he had always vaguely felt—this world seemed to follow a set of physical laws and power systems completely different from what he knew.
He recalled the scene when he had just transmigrated, that sudden shipwreck, the original body's vague memory fragments... a world full of endless oceans and countless islands...
"Damn it... it's a Devil Fruit!" This sentence was practically squeezed from between his teeth, carrying an uncontrollable tremor and a hint of excitement he himself hadn't even noticed.
"Here..." His voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz, yet it carried the absurdity of "fate."
"Here... is the world of One Piece!"