Aria's Pov
I staggered out of the exam hall like a war veteran crawling out of the trenches. My legs weren't mine anymore—they were noodles. My brain? Mashed potatoes. My soul? Already halfway to the afterlife.
Three hours of scribbling formulas that might as well have been written in ancient Sumerian had drained the very marrow out of me. I slammed my calculator into my bag with the energy of a person signing divorce papers. Goodbye, higher education. Goodbye, GPA. Goodbye, "bright future." At least I'd gone down swinging.
The hallway buzzed with students cheering their freedom. Some threw papers into the air like confetti. One girl was already crying into her phone, no doubt reporting her academic death to her mother. Me? I shuffled down the corridor like a zombie, gripping the strap of my bag and whispering to myself, "I deserve snacks. I deserve anime. I deserve Luffy's dumb smile in HD."
The air outside hit me in the face like liberation. The sun was shining. Birds were chirping. Some guy on a skateboard was nearly running into a trash can. But all I saw was my sweet reward: the little convenience store across the street. A haven of potato chips, Pocky, and sugary drinks waiting to embrace me.
"Snacks first," I muttered. "One Piece second. Sleep never."
My sneakers squeaked against the pavement as I crossed over, brain replaying the episodes I'd binged before finals started. Zoro swinging his swords with that stupid but incredibly hot stoic face. Sanji with his kicks and tragic backstory and cooking I would sell my left boob for. Luffy just… existing like the idiot sunshine he was.
I pushed through the store doors and let the artificial coolness wash over me. The scent of instant ramen and fried chicken wings was better than perfume. I prowled the aisles like a lioness hunting prey, eyes locked on bags of spicy chips.
"Oooh, hello there," I whispered, grabbing three. "You're mine."
Next came a box of Pocky, a liter of soda, and a pack of strawberry gummies I didn't need but wanted with all the ferocity of a starving pirate. The cashier gave me a dead-eyed stare as I dumped everything on the counter, but I didn't care. I had earned this.
Plastic bag in hand, I strutted out of the store like I'd just won the lottery. My feet carried me automatically toward my dorm, but my mind was elsewhere—on the ultimate, most important debate of my existence.
"Zoro or Sanji," I said out loud.
A passing old lady gave me a weird look, but whatever.
"Okay, listen," I argued with myself. "Zoro's hot. Like, painfully hot. Muscles, scars, the whole grumpy bastard aesthetic. But then there's Sanji. He cooks. He's sweet. He's flirty. He'd make me breakfast after—"
I stopped mid-step, heat crawling up my cheeks. "Okay, focus. Point is—Zoro would probably ignore me 80% of the time, but the 20% he paid attention? I would die. Sanji would worship me like a goddess, but he'd also flirt with every other woman in the room. Pros and cons, Aria, pros and cons."
I tilted my head at the sky dramatically. "Why must Oda torture me like this?"
The universe didn't answer. Instead, it sent a sudden gust of wind that nearly blew the receipt out of my bag. I lunged after it, juggling chips like a circus clown. The bag smacked against my thigh, my soda bottle clinked dangerously, and for a glorious two seconds, I looked like a tragic hero saving fallen comrades on the battlefield.
When I straightened, triumphant receipt in hand, I laughed to myself. "Not even fate can keep me from my snacks!"
Oh, if only I'd known.
Because fate had been plotting, watching me from above with the smug grin of a mangaka pulling the cruelest cliffhanger.
It happened fast. One moment I was rambling to myself about whether Sanji's eyebrows were sexy or ridiculous, and the next—headlights.
Truck.
Honking.
TRUCK.
I froze like a deer in the anime headlights.
The bag slipped from my hands, chips and Pocky scattering across the asphalt in glorious slow motion. My heart jackhammered against my ribs as the looming shape of Truck-kun bore down on me.
"This isn't real," I gasped. "No way—no way I'm about to get isekai'd. That's a meme! That's—"
The sound of tires screeching cut me off.
And in those precious final seconds, my entire life reeled across my brain like a badly edited PowerPoint. Childhood. Embarrassing middle school crushes. The time I dropped a slice of pizza face-down on the carpet and still ate it. All the anime I had ever watched.
And, of course, One Piece.
"No," I whispered hoarsely as the grill of the truck filled my vision. "Not like this. I was going to get to episode 1000 today! I don't even know what the One Piece is yet! I can't die—"
Impact.
Darkness.