If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch in Dc / The Witcher: Heir of Fire
&
If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/FrenzyAren"
You can Get Access Up to 7 More Chapters if you want !
/-\
Darkness took Adam.
Not the vast, cosmic kind. Just… darkness.
Adam floated in it, awareness flickering like a weak signal.
"What…" he muttered weakly. "Where am I…"
His thoughts felt sluggish. Like they were moving through mud.
A distant echo lingered in his mind.
Violet eyes.
'A broken power… bound by the rules of the world…'
He frowned internally.
"Was that…" His consciousness wavered. "Was that a dream…?"
Then came a sound.
Low and muffled, Indistinct.
The sound of laughter, the scrape of wood and the clink of glass.
His senses rushed back all at once.
His vision exploded into blurry amber light.
He jerked slightly, and nearly fell sideways.
He was sitting.
On something hard.
A wooden stool.
The smell hit him next. Alcohol, salt and sweat.
Old wood soaked with years of spilled cheap liquor.
He blinked rapidly, shapes swam into focus.
Lantern light hanging from wooden beams.
Round tables.
Barrels stacked in corners.
Men with rough hands and sunburned faces laughing loudly over mugs of beer and rum.
A woman in a sailor's coat arm-wrestling someone twice her size.
The room tilted slightly.
Adam grabbed onto something instinctively.
A glass.
Half-full, liquid sloshed inside.
He stared at it.
"…Was that a dream?"
His voice came out hoarse.
He lifted his head slowly.
"When did I get to a bar…"
The place was old-fashioned.
Not modern or trendy, No neon signs. No TVs.
Just thick wooden walls, rope decor, fishing nets hanging from rafters. A giant ship's wheel mounted above the bar counter like a trophy.
The people inside weren't dressed normally either.
Loose shirts. Boots. Bandanas. Swords at hips.
Swords.
Adam blinked harder.
"…What the.."
A voice cut through his confusion.
"Hey, uh… officer?"
Adam turned sluggishly toward the counter.
Behind it stood a broad-shouldered bartender with a thick mustache and rolled-up sleeves. He held a rag in one hand, polishing a mug.
The man squinted at him with mild concern.
"You sure you want to keep drinking like this?" the bartender asked carefully. "You don't look too good. You already blanked out once."
Adam stared at him.
"…Officer?"
The bartender gestured vaguely at him.
"Yeah. You. Are you really this drunk?"
Adam looked down.
And now he really focused.
White coat, blue trim, structured shoulders.
A neatly pressed uniform.
And draped over the back of his stool
A coat with bold black letters stitched across it.
MARINE.
Adam's eyes widened so fast it physically hurt.
The alcohol haze evaporated instantly.
"No way.."
His heart started pounding.
He looked at his hands.
Not his hoodie sleeves.
Not jeans.
Marine uniform gloves.
He shot to his feet so abruptly the stool scraped loudly across the wooden floor.
Several men glanced over.
The bartender blinked.
"Whoa.. easy there."
Adam's breathing quickened.
He remembered.
The palace.
The god.
'You will find out, mortal.'
The clap and the fall.
His grip loosened.
The glass slipped from his fingers.
It shattered against the wooden floor.
CRASH.
The tavern fell quiet for a split second.
Beer spread across the planks.
The bartender jumped back slightly.
"Hey! Watch it!"
A burly sailor at a nearby table laughed.
"Lightweight Marine can't handle his rum!"
Another laughed as well.
Adam wasn't listening.
He brought both hands to his head.
"I can't believe this…"
The bartender leaned forward over the counter, lowering his voice.
"You alright, officer? You went stiff for a good minute earlier. Thought you were gonna fall off the stool."
Adam's breathing was uneven.
He looked around again.
This time, really looked.
Cutlasses.
Old flintlock pistols tucked into belts.
Posters nailed to the wall near the entrance.
WANTED posters.
His stomach dropped.
He could just make out one from where he stood.
A grinning pirate with a straw hat.
The bounty number below it made his brain freeze.
His voice came out as a whisper.
"Oh boy…"
A group of sailors resumed their chatter, though quieter now, occasionally glancing at him.
One leaned toward another.
"Marines usually don't drink here," he muttered.
"Yeah," his friend replied. "He must be new."
Adam's pulse thundered in his ears.
He stepped away from the stool slowly.
The wooden floor creaked under his boots.
Boots.
He looked down again.
Marine-issued footwear.
His reflection in a small mirror behind the bar caught his eye.
Adam stared.
The man staring back at him was both familiar and not at the same time.
Red hair, bright crimson, slightly messy, layered just enough to fall naturally across his forehead without looking careless. It framed his face sharply, giving him a faintly dangerous edge even while he stood frozen in shock.
His eyes, Adam leaned closer.
Red. A clear, striking scarlet, almost gemstone-like under the warm tavern light. Sharp. Focused.
They weren't soft and they weren't cruel either.
Just… intense.
"That's me?!" he whispered.
The reflection tilted its head exactly as he did.
He wasn't tall, maybe average height by normal standards, but among these broad-shouldered sailors and looming pirates, he looked compact.
Lean. not scrawny or bulky.
Just built like someone who relied more on speed than brute strength. His shoulders were structured but not massive. His frame suggested that he relies on agility.
His jawline was clean and sharp.
There were faint calluses on his hands.
Sword calluses.
He lifted one slowly, flexing his fingers.
The movement felt natural.
Trained.
His gaze dropped lower.
At his hip hung a sword.
Not decorative.
Not flashy.
A well-crafted Marine blade, sheath worn slightly from use. The handle wrapped tightly in dark material for grip. It looked balanced and practical.
On his back
He shifted slightly and caught the reflection of a long rifle strapped across his coat.
Polished wood stock. Clean barrel. Maintained carefully.
His stomach flipped.
He reached up and lightly touched the rifle strap over his shoulder.
"I wield a sword and a rifle?" he muttered under his breath.
The reflection blinked back at him.
He turned slightly sideways, inspecting himself like he was trying to confirm he wasn't hallucinating.
The Marine coat fit him well. He didn't look like a background soldier.
He looked like someone who could actually be important or high ranking.
That realization made his pulse spike again.
Behind him, one of the sailors whistled.
"Oi, officer," the man called out with a crooked grin. "You admirin' yourself or plannin' to fight your reflection?"
A few chuckles rippled through the bar.
Adam barely heard them.
He leaned closer to the mirror again.
Those red eyes stared back.
Sharp and alive.
He exhaled slowly.
"What am I supposed to do now…"
He swallowed.
"I actually look…" He hesitated, then muttered, "…cool, I guess?"
A sailor barked out a laugh from behind him.
"Did he just compliment himself?"
The bartender shook his head, still sweeping up glass shards.
"Leave the lad alone," he said casually. "He is quite drunk as you can see.."
The bartender crouched down, picking up shards of glass with a sigh.
"Don't worry about it," he muttered. "Happens. But seriously, officer.. you look like you saw the Devil himself, you need to go rest."
Adam let out a hollow laugh.
"If only you knew…"
He turned slowly in place, taking in every detail.
The lantern light.
The salt in the air.
The faint rocking sensation beneath his feet.
'Rocking..'
His eyes widened.
He rushed to a nearby window, Outside there was a harbor.
Ships docked along wooden piers.
Massive ships.
With sails.
And Jolly Rogers.
His mouth went dry.
"I'm…" His voice cracked slightly.
He swallowed, he pressed a trembling hand against the window frame.
The bartender straightened up.
"You're what?"
Adam's reflection in the glass stared back at him, pale and stunned.
He whispered to himself.
"That's it, I was ready to ignore everything but... I'm truly in the One Piece world."
The words felt unreal leaving his mouth.
Behind him, the tavern resumed its noise fully now, sailors laughing, mugs clanking, someone starting a loud sea shanty.
The bartender shook his head and muttered to a nearby patron, "Told you he shouldn't have had that last drink."
But Adam wasn't drunk anymore.
Not even close.
His mind raced.
Marine uniform, harbor town, sailors, wanted posters.
The god's voice echoed faintly in his memory.
/-\
If you Like this story! Check out my other stories! Shadow Monarch in Dc / The Witcher: Heir of Fire
&
If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/FrenzyAren"
You can Get Access Up to 7 More Chapters if you want !