Rain fell relentlessly against the window.
Not the soft, peaceful kind.
This rain sounded aggressive… like the sky itself was angry.
Water streaked down the cracked glass of a tiny apartment window in long crooked lines, blurring the neon lights from the street below.
Inside, the apartment looked like a battlefield after a long war.
Empty bottles rolled across the floor whenever the wind slipped through the loose window frame.
Pizza boxes were stacked beside a trash bag that had long since overflowed.
Bills were scattered across the coffee table like fallen leaves.
Some were folded.
Most were crumpled.
All of them had the same red stamp across the top:
OVERDUE
On the couch sat a man who hadn't shaved in days.
His name was Vik.
His elbows rested on his knees as he leaned forward, staring at the table as if it had personally betrayed him.
A dim laptop screen illuminated his tired face.
Another email had arrived.
He already knew what it said before opening it.
Still… he clicked.
The message loaded.
We regret to inform you that we have decided to move forward with other candidates.
Vik stared at the screen for a long moment.
His expression didn't change.
His eyes were hollow in a way that only comes after disappointment stops surprising you.
Then he laughed.
A small, quiet laugh.
Not amused.
Just… empty.
Vik (muttering under his breath):
"Of course you did."
He closed the email slowly.
His hand moved to the table.
He picked up one of the bills.
Electricity.
Then another.
Rent.
Then another.
Credit card.
He flipped through them.
Each number bigger than the last.
His jaw tightened.
Vik (thinking):
How did it get this bad…
Six months ago he still believed things would turn around.
Three months ago he believed he could manage it.
Now?
Now he couldn't even imagine how to climb out of the hole.
He leaned back against the couch.
The springs groaned under his weight.
His eyes drifted toward the television.
An old episode of One Piece was playing.
He didn't even remember turning it on.
But the familiar soundtrack filled the room.
On the screen stood a giant man with a massive crescent-shaped mustache.
A towering presence.
A legend.
Edward Newgate.
Whitebeard stood proudly on the battlefield of Marineford, surrounded by enemies yet smiling like a king.
Vik stared at the screen quietly.
His tired expression softened slightly.
Vik (thinking):
The strongest man in the world…
Whitebeard raised his naginata on the screen.
Behind him stood hundreds of pirates shouting his name.
"OYAJI!!!"
Vik leaned forward slightly.
His fingers tightened around the bottle in his hand.
Vik (murmuring softly):
"…that's the kind of life I wanted."
The words slipped out before he realized it.
He took a long drink.
The cheap alcohol burned his throat.
He barely reacted.
His eyes stayed on the television.
Whitebeard laughed.
That deep, powerful laugh.
The kind that filled the entire battlefield.
Vik smiled faintly.
Vik (thinking):
He didn't want money…
He didn't want fame…
He just wanted a family.
The episode continued.
Whitebeard stood in front of the Marines like a mountain.
Unbreakable.
Fearless.
Legendary.
Vik leaned his head back against the couch and stared at the ceiling.
Vik (thinking):
Imagine living like that…
Being strong.
Being respected.
Having people who would fight beside you.
He exhaled slowly.
The kind of breath someone releases when they've been holding in frustration for years.
Vik (thinking):
Instead I'm here…
He looked around the apartment.
The dirty dishes.
The unpaid bills.
The silence.
No phone calls.
No friends.
No family.
Just the rain and the television.
Vik (whispering):
"…pathetic."
He hated the word the moment it left his mouth.
But it felt accurate.
He picked up another bottle from the floor.
Shook it.
Still some left.
He drank.
The alcohol dulled the tight pressure in his chest.
On the television, Whitebeard stood proudly even as cannon fire rained around him.
The Marines attacked from every side.
Yet he never stepped back.
Vik stared at the screen with an intensity that bordered on obsession.
Vik (thinking):
That's what a real life looks like…
Adventure.
Danger.
Stories people tell for generations.
His fingers slowly clenched into a fist.
Vik (thinking):
Not this.
His voice grew louder, though there was no one there to hear it.
Vik (frustrated):
"I didn't want this life!"
The words echoed weakly through the small apartment.
He rubbed his face roughly with both hands.
His eyes were red now.
From alcohol.
From exhaustion.
From everything.
Vik (thinking):
I wanted to be strong.
To be someone people remember.
To live a legendary life.
He looked back at the television again.
Whitebeard stood tall despite the wounds covering his body.
Still smiling.
Still proud.
Vik's voice softened.
Vik (whispering to the screen):
"You died standing…"
His throat tightened.
Vik (thinking):
Even your death was legendary.
He took another drink.
Then another.
Minutes passed.
Maybe hours.
The rain continued outside.
The room grew quieter as the alcohol dragged him deeper into exhaustion.
His eyelids grew heavy.
His head slowly tilted back.
But before sleep finally took him, Vik whispered something into the empty room.
A final drunken confession.
Vik (barely conscious):
"…if I could start over…"
His breathing slowed.
His eyes closed.
The bottle slipped from his hand and rolled across the floor.
Vik (murmuring in his sleep):
"I'd live a life like yours… old man…"
On the television, Whitebeard laughed one last time.
The screen flickered.
The rain kept falling.
And somewhere far beyond that broken apartment…
the sea was waiting.
If you guys want more follow me on patr eon.com / Pennymaster