The last thing he remembered was the glow of his laptop screen, the swelling strings of We Are! playing from his earbuds, and the vague, sharp taste of copper on his tongue.
He had been laughing, he was sure of it. Laughing at the sheer absurdity of crying over One Piece again. For the third time.
But when he opened his eyes, the ceiling above him wasn't his cracked plaster apartment roof. It was straw.
Straw, thatched together with twine, uneven and breathing slightly with the breeze.
The smell hit him next—salt and woodsmoke, sweat and sea. His nose wrinkled. He sat up too quickly and a wave of dizziness nearly threw him back down.
"Woah, woah," he mumbled, blinking furiously. "What the hell?"
His hands were thinner. Not weak—there was a lean muscle to his arms, but they weren't his. The skin was slightly tanned, the nails rough, a faint scar ran across his left palm.
He stood slowly, expecting to wobble, but his body moved like it had known this room forever. Worn wooden floor. Rough wool blanket. A cracked mirror resting against a wall made of sun-bleached planks.
Then his eyes caught his reflection.
That wasn't him.
Messy black hair fell in uncombed waves across his brow, eyes sharp and gray like storm clouds. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. A stranger's face. Except... not quite.
A spark. A memory. A flash of Mihawk slicing a ship in half. Luffy punching a Celestial Dragon. Ace in the flames, saying "Thank you... for loving me."
"No," he whispered.
He stumbled back. "No way. This can't—"
A voice from outside interrupted him.
"Oi, Kairo! You up? Don't make me send Granny!"
Kairo?
His lips moved unconsciously. "Kairo," he echoed. "That's... me?"
Another knock—fist against wood.
"Come on, fish market's early today, you lazy weirdo!"
His legs moved on instinct. He grabbed the loose tan shirt hanging on a nail, pulled it over his head, slipped into worn boots near the door. His heart pounded.
He needed to see.
The door creaked open and sunlight blasted his vision. He squinted, stepping into the light.
And there it was.
The sea. Endless and gleaming. Gulls screamed overhead. Nets hung drying on long wooden poles. Fishing boats bobbed lazily near the pier. Children raced down the hill, kicking a battered old ball. A palm tree swayed behind the house.
But none of it mattered.
Because down the slope, past the dusty road, just before the docks—
There was a small, round bar with a red roof.
His breath caught. The Partys Bar.
"Foosha Village," he said aloud.
His knees buckled slightly.
It was real. This was real. He was in the One Piece world. He was Kairo. And he was standing in the very same village where it all began.
A head poked up from behind a stack of crates. A boy his age with thick arms and a sharp jaw grinned at him. "You gonna stand there gaping all day, or help me carry this crap to the tavern?"
Kairo blinked, trying to focus. "Right. Sorry."
"Dreaming about pirates again?" the guy teased. "One day you're gonna get yourself punched talking like that."
Pirates.
The word sent a cold ripple down his back. He already knew what was coming. The bandits. The spilled sake. The punch that made Shanks a legend.
He was here before Luffy set sail.
He kept his voice casual. "Just had a weird dream. Felt... real."
The guy tossed him a bundle of fish wrapped in cloth. "Well, welcome back to reality, 'Kairo the Dreamer'. Let's go. The old lady'll chew your ear off if we're late."
As they walked toward the bar, Kairo's mind spun.
This wasn't like those "isekai" novels where the protagonist immediately gets powers, or a system menu, or some nonsense cheat skill. No. He was just... here. In a body that belonged to "Kairo." With no special abilities.
Just knowledge.
Painful, vivid, encyclopedic knowledge of One Piece.
And if he was right about the timeline... Luffy was around seven or eight now. Still training. Still waiting.
That meant he had years before the story truly began. Years to prepare.
But also years to decide:
Would he interfere?
Should he?
"Hey," his companion said, snapping him out of it. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. Just... lots on my mind."
The guy scoffed. "Always is with you. Bet you'll leave this dump someday, join some pirate crew and become King of the Weirdos."
Kairo smiled faintly. Not king, he thought. Just a crewmate. Just someone who'll keep the real king alive.
As they reached the bar, the door swung open and a short, sharp-eyed woman barked, "You're late!"
Kairo gave a sheepish grin. "Blame the sea. It's got a loud voice."
She tossed a towel at him. "Put those hands to work, dreamer."
Inside, the smell of sake and stew wafted warm from the kitchen. He could hear the clink of dishes, the laughter of dockworkers.
And above it all—a voice.
High, eager, excited.
"Shanks! You're back!"
Kairo froze.
He turned slowly, just as a red-haired man ducked into the room, straw hat swinging from his neck, a grin like firelight on his face.
And clinging to his side, eyes sparkling—
Was a tiny, rubber-bodied boy.
Luffy.
Eight years old. Grinning like the sun.
Kairo's heart thudded once.
He took a step forward, then stopped.
This was it.
The story had begun.
Kairo took a step forward, then stopped.
The red-haired man tilted his head slightly, catching the hesitation.
Shanks.
The real, breathing Shanks.
Not a cel-shaded figure. Not a memory on a screen. He was here, in the wood and warmth of the Partys Bar, his cloak fluttering as he leaned one arm casually on the doorframe. His sword bounced lightly at his hip. His straw hat—that straw hat—hung loose on its string, catching a shaft of sunlight like a crown.
And Luffy—
A tiny version of him, barefoot, scarless, eyes wider than the ocean, tugging at Shanks's coat like a kid trying to move a mountain.
"C'mon, c'mon!" Luffy whined. "Tell me again about that sea king you beat with a spoon!"
Shanks snorted. "I never said spoon, you brat—"
"You totally did!"
Kairo stood frozen, fish bundle still in his hands, breath shallow.
He'd watched this scene before. Not word for word, maybe. But he knew this moment. It was real now, unfolding in front of him like a stage play with no curtain.
"Hey, Kairo!" Makino's voice snapped like a whip. "Don't just stand there drooling. Help set the stew!"
Kairo blinked. "Right! Sorry!"
He moved toward the bar's tiny kitchen alcove, ducking behind the counter just as his knees threatened to give way.
Makino was already ladling thick broth into chipped ceramic bowls. She shot him a side-eye.
"You okay?" she asked, low and quick, while the others bantered.
"Yeah," Kairo said, fumbling for spoons. "Just... surprised to see the pirates back so soon."
Makino smiled. It was the kind of smile you gave to worried mothers and half-drunk sailors. "They're good people. Loud, but harmless. Except maybe that one with the teeth."
Kairo followed her glance to Benn Beckman, who was leaning against the wall puffing a pipe, watching the room with the bored look of a man who'd memorized every exit. Lucky Roux was already elbow-deep in bread, and Yasopp laughed too hard at something Luffy said.
They were all here. The whole Red-Hair crew, in their younger days.
He swallowed hard. His hands shook faintly.
Makino touched his wrist. "Kairo. You're pale. Did something happen?"
He met her eyes. She was young here—early twenties? Kind, yes, but sharp enough to see through lies.
He took a slow breath.
"I just had... a bad dream."
She arched a brow. "Nightmare?"
He nodded, forcing a grin. "About pirates."
She laughed and handed him the last bowl. "Then this must be a horror show for you."
Kairo managed a chuckle.
But inside his skull, thoughts screamed.
Don't interfere. Don't change anything.
But what if he could save him—Ace—
No. It's too soon.
He stepped out of the kitchen and placed a bowl on the table near Luffy. The boy blinked up at him.
"Hey, who're you?"
Kairo froze. This wasn't part of the show. This wasn't a line he could recite. Luffy wasn't supposed to notice him, not yet.
"I'm Kairo," he said carefully.
The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You from here?"
"Sort of."
"Are you strong?"
Kairo hesitated. "Not really."
Luffy leaned in, grinning. "You look strong. You got scars?"
"One."
"Cool!"
Shanks was watching them now, his good eye sharp but amused.
Luffy slapped the table. "Kairo! Wanna be my first crewmate?"
Kairo choked.
"Easy, Luffy," Shanks said, ruffling the boy's hair. "You can't just recruit people like picking apples."
"Why not? I need strong friends!"
Makino handed Luffy a spoon. "You need to eat."
"But—!"
"Eat," she repeated.
Luffy grumbled and slumped over his bowl.
Shanks turned to Kairo. "Sorry about the kid. He thinks he's gonna be Pirate King."
Kairo managed to meet Shanks's eyes. "He will."
The room fell silent.
Shanks studied him for a second too long. "Huh. You sound pretty sure of that."
Kairo shrugged. "He's got the look."
The pirate smiled again, slow and curious. "Maybe you've got the look too."
Kairo looked down. "I don't want to be a pirate."
Shanks tilted his head. "Why not?"
Kairo opened his mouth, then closed it.
He couldn't say what he really meant. That he knew the fate of half the people in this room. That Shanks would one day bet the world on a one-armed boy and win. That Luffy's future was written in fire and blood and freedom.
He just said, "I like watching from the shore."
Shanks laughed. "Then watch closely. The sea's about to change."
From behind the bar, Makino muttered, "Don't fill his head with nonsense."
But Kairo didn't hear her.
Because in that moment, Shanks's words weren't just prophecy—they were proof.
This world was moving forward.
And he was inside it.
"...Then watch closely. The sea's about to change."
Shanks's voice drifted like smoke, light and careless, but it anchored itself in Kairo's spine.
He didn't know if it was the phrasing, the grin, or the unbearable truth behind it. But in that moment, it felt like Shanks saw through him — past skin, past time, straight to the bleeding heart of him.
Kairo swallowed the urge to speak.
Instead, he turned back to his bowl and sat at the far end of the bar. He picked at the stew in silence, steam curling into his face.
The bar resumed its rhythm.
Rouge laughter, clinking mugs, Luffy telling wild lies that no one bothered to correct.
Makino moved behind the counter with practiced grace, sliding cups down the bar. Yasopp polished a rifle in the corner. Benn Beckman occasionally flicked his gaze toward the open window like he was waiting for something to crawl out of the sea.
It was perfect.
It was too perfect.
Kairo had seen it from a distance. On a screen. On a binge-watch at 2 a.m. But here... this world didn't skip scenes. It breathed between frames. He could hear the crack in Shanks's voice when he told a joke. He could see the way Luffy reached for Lucky Roux's food when no one was looking. He could feel the wear in Makino's hands as she poured another drink.
And still, behind his ribs, the weight of everything he knew dragged like an anchor.
Ace. Sabo. Whitebeard. Going Merry. The Thousand Sunny. Enies Lobby. Ohara. Marineford. Dressrosa. Wano. Egghead.
Laugh Tale.
He leaned forward, face in hands. He didn't want to cry. But his body hadn't gotten the memo.
A chair scraped near him.
Shanks sat down beside him with a thud and placed two small sake cups on the bar between them.
"You drink?" he asked, lifting the bottle.
Kairo blinked, caught off guard. "I... shouldn't."
"Right answer." Shanks poured anyway, handing him one cup, taking the other. "Just a sip."
Kairo took it, more out of instinct than decision. The sake smelled sharp and smoky.
They sat in silence for a beat, neither moving to drink.
Then Shanks said, softly, "You've got old eyes, kid."
Kairo's fingers tightened on the cup. "That's a weird thing to say."
"It is. But it's true."
Another pause.
Shanks tilted his head. "Most people look at Luffy and laugh. You looked at him like you'd already seen the end of his story."
Kairo felt the words like a slap.
"I don't know what you mean."
Shanks smiled, not unkindly. "Maybe you don't."
Kairo wanted to leave. To stand. To run outside and scream at the ocean. But something pinned him there.
The cup in his hands. The weight of being seen.
He looked up. "You ever feel like you're living in a dream?"
Shanks chuckled. "Every day."
"I mean one you can't wake up from."
"That's the best kind."
Kairo looked down at the sake, then tilted the cup slightly. The liquid inside shimmered gold in the light.
He raised it, hesitating for only a second, then sipped.
The burn hit slow. Not painful. Just real.
Shanks watched him with that maddening, knowing expression.
"You're not from around here, are you?"
Kairo looked back at him. "Neither are you."
Shanks laughed aloud, clapping the bar.
"I like you, Kairo."
The boy offered a half-smile. "Most people don't."
"They're idiots."
Kairo looked at him. "You already gave Luffy the hat?"
Shanks blinked. "What?"
"The one on your neck," Kairo said quickly, waving it off. "I mean—no, I just heard you planned to give it to him. Someday."
Shanks studied him. Too long. Too quiet.
Then, he stood.
"Well. That would be a hell of a thing to do."
Kairo flinched internally.
Too much.
The pirate reached into his coat, pulled out a small sack of coins, and tossed it toward Makino. "For the damage we're about to cause."
Makino caught it midair. "You're not even drunk yet."
"Luffy's about to try to fight a guy twice his size again. It's only a matter of time."
Right on cue, a loud crash came from the corner.
"Gimme back my meat!!"
"Oi, kid!"
"I earned that drumstick!"
Luffy and Lucky Roux were in a wrestling match that had somehow overturned a chair, a stool, and a tray of plates.
Makino sighed. Benn didn't even blink.
Shanks turned to go, then paused at the doorway. Without looking back, he said, "Come find me one day, Kairo."
The name sounded strange in his voice.
"Why?"
"Because you're not gonna stay on land forever."
Kairo didn't answer.
But Shanks didn't need one.
He stepped out into the sunlight, his crew trailing behind, laughter echoing.
Luffy scrambled to the window and shouted, "Shanks! Wait! You forgot your meat!!"
"No I didn't!" Shanks shouted back. "I stole it!"
More laughter.
Then silence.
Just Kairo, still sitting at the bar, sake cup in hand.
Makino leaned beside him. "You're shaking."
He blinked. "Am I?"
"You look like someone who's been through a storm."
Kairo stared at the cup. "I think I'm in one."
She paused, then said gently, "He's right, you know."
Kairo looked at her.
"You're not staying in this village," she said. "You don't belong on shore."
He didn't argue.
Couldn't.
Outside, the wind shifted.
And far beyond the village, out on the glittering sea, the Red-Hair Pirates were sailing west—toward the future.