Morning light entered the room at an angle that made further sleep unlikely, which was acceptable.
Liam lay still for a moment, listening to the village sounds outside: boats, water, and two men speaking loudly enough for the docks but not the early hour. The bed was simple—narrow, with a worn mattress and a flattened pillow. Despite this, he had slept well. Having a defined place to stay, even a temporary one, was reassuring. After the uncertainty of the ocean and his recent experiences, a small bed above a bar felt like progress.
He got up, washed his face in the basin, and went downstairs.
---
The bar felt entirely different in the morning. The furniture and low ceiling remained, as did the scent of old wood beneath the fresh air from the open windows, but the atmosphere was calm. Chairs were still on tables, and pale light entered at an angle. The space was quiet, as places often are before the day begins.
Makino sat at the far end of the counter, reviewing a ledger. A hot drink rested by her elbow, and she did not look up when he came downstairs.
"There's rice in the pot." A tilt of her chin toward the kitchen. "And fish from this morning if you want it. Betto leaves early."
Liam served himself and sat at the end of the counter, close enough to converse but not intrude. The rice was well-prepared, and the salted fish was even better—simple, unpretentious cooking.
They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. Makino continued her work, while Liam ate and watched the village begin its day. A cat crossed the main path unhurriedly, and a bird moved above the rooftops.
"How long have you run this place?"
Makino turned a page in the ledger. "Eight years this summer. Took it over from the man who had it before — he wanted to retire, I wanted work, and it seemed like the kind of trade that suited everyone."
"Did it?"
"More or less." She made a small notation. "The first two years were the instructive ones. After that, it was mostly rhythm."
Liam recognized this pattern from his own experience. Some jobs teach their lessons early and then require only consistency. Bar work was often like that. He chose not to share this, as it would have meant discussing more of his past than he was ready to reveal.
He glanced out the window again. The cat had crossed the path and now seemed to reconsider its next move.
"What's the village called?"
Makino looked up from the ledger and answered in a similarly casual tone.
"Foosha." She returned to the figures. "Not much to it, as names go, but it's been Foosha as long as anyone can remember."
Foosha.
He maintained a neutral expression, a skill refined over the years. The name carried real significance for him. While Makino could have been a coincidence, Foosha Village was unmistakable. It was a place from a story, now made real, and he was here three months before that story began.
He ate another bite of rice.
"It seems like a good name," he said. "Names that fit do not draw attention to themselves."
Makino glanced at him, briefly considering something, then returned to her ledger.
---
The conversation was relaxed. Makino described the village from the perspective of someone deeply familiar with it—not the official or tourist version, but its true character. She mentioned the fishing families and their longstanding disputes over boat moorings, how storms arrived from the north and were predicted by the color of the sky, and the single inn that rarely hosted travelers because most ships bypassed the quieter islands.
She mentioned the mayor, Woop Slap, with a tone suggesting a long, somewhat tiring relationship. She added that he had recently complained about the dock repair budget, which the higher administration did not consider their responsibility.
Liam listened and allowed the village to become real in his mind, focusing on its distinct atmosphere and daily rhythms.
"Do you have any family here?" he asked. It was a natural question for a newcomer, but depending on her answer, it could lead to further conversation.
Makino paused, considering the word 'family' as it did not fully reflect her circumstances.
"Not by blood." She closed the ledger and picked up her cup. "But there's a boy — Luffy. He's sixteen now, though some days he acts closer to eight." A pause, and in the pause, something that was not quite sadness and not quite pride, but occupied the space between them. "I helped raise him, more or less. His grandfather brought him here when he was young and asked me to keep an eye out. Half the village kept an eye out, truthfully. He's that kind of kid — you either look out for him or you spend the morning finding out what he's gotten into."
Liam maintained his expression.
Luffy, sixteen, was here. According to the story, he lived in the mountains with Dadan and the bandits, training in his own unstructured and persistent way.
"Where is he now?"
"The mountains, mostly. He comes through sometimes — usually when he wants something to eat, which Betto pretends to be annoyed about and then feeds him anyway." She smiled at something she was remembering. "He'll head to sea before long. He's been talking about it since he was small enough that the talking was mostly noise. The talking has gotten more serious lately."
"You seem at peace with that."
Makino set her cup down. Her posture reflected the acceptance that comes from long consideration.
"I've known it was coming since he was about seven. You can't spend years watching a person and not understand what they're going to do." Her eyes moved to the window. "The sea's where he belongs. I wouldn't take that from him even if I could."
Liam paused before speaking, choosing his next words carefully.
"I'd like to meet him when the chance comes."
Makino looked at him briefly, assessing his statement as she often did.
"You probably will," she said. "He tends to find people."
---
She told him the bar would not need him for another seven hours when he offered to start early. She encouraged him to explore the town, her tone both instructive and permissive.
And so he went.
Foosha Village was modest, with no reason to be otherwise. The main path connected the docks to the center, and all important locations were within a short walk. There were a few shops supplying goods and fishing equipment to families, a community building with a faded notice board, and docks that were reasonably well maintained despite limited administrative support.
He walked and looked and let the place be real.
Woop Slap crossed his path at the end of the main street, exiting what served as the administrative office—a room for paperwork and official duties. The mayor matched his reputation: stout, with a prominent mustache, and energetic, as if he took his civic responsibilities seriously, even if they mostly involved mediating disputes and writing unanswered letters. He appeared preoccupied, already considering his next concern.
Liam clocked the face. Matched it. Kept walking.
He mentally confirmed the mayor of Foosha Village, along with the bar owner, the village name, and his location—all within eighteen hours and one breakfast. He was effective at gathering evidence, but less certain about how to proceed. For now, avoiding disruption to established events seemed prudent.
He briefly considered Garp, who was closely connected to the island. Luffy and Dadan's group were here, and Garp's approach to Luffy's upbringing was to leave him in this quiet location and check in periodically. He had not heard Garp's name mentioned, nor had anyone referenced a Marine vice admiral. If Garp were present, the village would likely be aware, as he was not known for subtlety.
Garp's absence was likely intentional or at least convenient. Since Luffy planned to leave soon, his grandfather's presence would complicate matters and potentially delay his departure. If events were to proceed as expected, Garp would not be present when Luffy left.
He filed this and kept walking toward the trees.
---
The woods were old growth, typical of the East Blue's calmer islands—dense, green, and unconcerned with village life. He walked in until the village sounds faded, found a small clearing with filtered light, and sat on a fallen trunk to reflect.
He had spent two days in this world, surviving the ocean, reaching shore, sleeping in a bar, and confirming the reality of the One Piece world. He had not intentionally tested his abilities; the ocean had tested him by necessity. Survival was not the same as understanding his capabilities.
So he needed to understand what he had.
He found a sturdy branch nearby and sharpened one end against a rock, creating a rough stake. Holding it in his right hand, he pressed the tip against the thin skin of his left forearm, where a sharp object would normally leave a mark.
He pushed.
The sensation was unexpected. Instead of sharp pain, he felt pressure spreading from the contact point, followed by a deeper sensation beneath the skin. He sensed his body responding, as if a reflex was occurring in slow motion. The skin at the contact point became denser—not visibly, but he could feel the change. The stake did not penetrate.
Then he applied more pressure, but the stake broke before his skin yielded.
After he removed the stake and examined his forearm, there was no mark or indentation. Pressing his thumbnail into the same spot, he found the nail bent instead.
He sat with this for a long moment.
The hardening effect faded over several minutes, though not completely. Testing the area again, he found some resistance remained. His baseline durability had increased, though he was far from impervious. His body had adapted to the recent threat.
He considered that every threat leaves a permanent mark. Each confrontation and survival accumulates, gradually increasing resilience. With Doomsday's abilities, even fatal injuries would result in further adaptation. The process could be slowed, but not stopped.
While not invincible yet. He was on a path of continuous improvement, with each challenge accelerating his progress.
He stood, discarded the stake, stretched, and began to run.
Running at a challenging pace, following animal paths through the trees until he felt real exertion. He then performed pull-ups on a low branch, followed by push-ups and planks, pushing his body beyond its comfort zone until it adjusted.
He continued for nearly forty minutes before stopping.
As his breathing steadied, he noticed measurable improvement. While there was no visible change, his body's internal baseline and recovery had improved.
He looked at his hands. They still looked like his own 2 hands.
"Right," he said quietly, acknowledging the realization that his body was steadily becoming more resilient.
He went back toward the village.
---
The evening shift followed a similar pattern as the previous night, with the bar full by seven as the village relaxed. Old Fels arrived alone and told the sea king story in one sitting, which proved more efficient. Liam noted that, in this version, the sea king briefly spoke, but he did not question it.
Makino allowed him to manage the bar, intervening only once for a bill dispute that required her authority. He handled the rest, finding satisfaction in work that matched his skills.
A few regulars learned his name. When a fisherman asked where he was from, he replied, 'North,' a vague but acceptable answer. The question was asked out of curiosity, and his response was sufficient.
The night progressed, the room emptied, and closing tasks were completed. He and Makino exchanged goodnights, the gesture now tinged with familiarity.
---
The room was dark. The window framed the same square of sky — clearer tonight, the stars out after two days of storm weather, the sea visible and still below.
He sat on the bed and reflected.
Approximately three months remained before a sixteen-year-old from the mountains would come to the coast, begin his journey, and set in motion events Liam had previously only observed. He knew the general outline, but not the individual.
This was the real gap: he knew the idealized version, but not the actual person. He did not know what Monkey D. Luffy was like in person at sixteen. Makino said Luffy found people; perhaps the reverse was true as well.
Should he go look?
Not as a plan — not as an attempt to insert himself into the narrative before it was moving, which would be both presumptuous and probably counterproductive. But the mountains were not far. Luffy was up there. And Liam was, for the moment, a person with free mornings and no particular reason to stay in the village until his shift started.
The question lingered in the darkness—unresolved, not urgent, but present as he prepared for sleep.
He lay back and allowed the night to hold the question.