The room was not merely dark; it was steeped in a thick, absolute pitch-blackness—the kind that swallowed all ambient light and pressed against the back of the eyes. The only relief, a pale, sterile blue, emanated from a laptop screen placed on a cluttered desk. In the silence of the late hour, the air was a symphony of minute, mechanical sounds: the sharp, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of keys being hammered and the low, constant whir of the laptop's cooling fan.
Behind this meager beacon of light sat Tanaka. His jet-black hair, usually slicked back for the office, was now disheveled and fell across his symmetrical, oval face. The exhaustion of years was etched permanently beneath his eyes in the form of deep, purplish dark circles—telltale signs of countless nights sacrificed to ambition.
For years, Tanaka had been a cog in the behemoth machinery of a major cosmetic company, his life a relentless cycle of quarterly reports and budget cuts. But recently, a dizzying ascent had materialized before him: a chance to leapfrog his peers and solidify his career. His mandate was simple yet all-consuming: conceptualize and develop a revolutionary new cosmetic, complete with compelling laboratory test data—fabricated or otherwise—and deliver a presentation so impressive it would instantly win the board's approval and secure the CEO's personal endorsement.
He had dedicated his soul to the task. His once-disciplined life had devolved into a mess of takeout food, energy drinks, and total sleep deprivation. His body, a machine he had once carefully maintained with diet and exercise, was now fueled solely by adrenaline and professional desperation. He knew the cost, but the prize was too great to ignore.
Finally, the last slide was perfected, the final graph tweaked to show "impossible" efficacy. A wave of profound, bone-deep weariness washed over him. He closed the laptop, the screen going black and plunging the room into darkness once more. Tanaka stumbled towards his narrow, unmade bed. He didn't bother to change. He simply collapsed onto the mattress, and as the last vestiges of his conscious mind slipped away, his overworked heart gave its final, quiet protest. Tanaka took his last breath while sleeping, passing away in the solitude of his desperate ambition.
Location: Somewhere in the Grand Line
Year: 1462
A child in a narrow, lumpy cot suddenly snapped his eyes open. The environment was the complete opposite of Tanaka's previous room: the darkness here was softer, gentler, punctured by the faint, silvery glow of a distant moon filtering through a grimy windowpane. The air was cool and carried the stale, dusty smell of an old orphanage building. Around him, the rhythmic, low-level breathing and occasional rustling attested to the fact that the other occupants—dozens of children—were deep in slumber.
The confusion that seized the child—who was, in mind, the former Tanaka—was absolute. He couldn't recognize his surroundings, nor could he fathom how he had teleported from his meticulously organized apartment to here.
He scrambled off the bed, his movements clumsy and unfamiliar. A gasp caught in his throat. His legs, usually long and strong, were tiny, spindle-like appendages that barely reached the floor. His hands, which had just hours ago typed out his career-defining presentation, were now plump, babyish fists.
Driven by a sudden, chilling dread, he tiptoed across the cold wooden floor, making his way to a window at the far end of the common room. The moonlight was just strong enough to cast a pale illumination on the dusty, reflective glass. He pressed his face close and saw his reflection: a child no older than seven, with the same jet-black hair and large, bewildered eyes. He had been transmigrated, body and soul, into a child.
Tanaka was utterly flabbergasted, his corporate composure shattered. In a desperate bid to anchor himself to reality, he reared back and delivered a sharp, stinging slap across his own cheek. The pain was immediate, sharp, and very real. When the walls didn't dissolve into a dream, when the small hands didn't morph back into an adult's, the truth hit him with the force of a tidal wave.
A hysterical, high-pitched laugh bubbled up from his chest—a sound that was distinctly not his own. "A transmigrated fan fiction," he whispered, his voice thin and childish. "I used to read that absolute shitty trope, and now... it's me."
With the dawning realization came a sudden, paralyzing exhaustion, a mental shutdown far more complete than the one that had killed him. There was nothing to be done in the middle of the night. He would have to investigate in the light of day. With a weary sigh that sounded comical coming from such a small body, he crawled back into the cot. The investigation could wait; for now, he needed to sleep.
The morning arrived with a clamor of youthful energy. Sunlight streamed through the windows, revealing the faded curtains, chipped paint, and the general state of disrepair of the orphanage.
"Luke! You finally decided to wake up, sleepyhead!"
The call came from a boy standing over him. The former Tanaka, now Luke, sat up abruptly, his mind already running through the checklist for his "investigation." He looked at the boy—brown hair, a spray of freckles across his nose, and a wide, excited grin.
"You startled me," Luke replied, trying to sound natural. He instantly latched onto the name. Luke. That must be who he was now. The past—Tanaka, the cosmetic company, the presentation—it was all a former life, a closed chapter. He would embrace this new name and this new, baffling reality.
The boy, whose name was Adam, bounced on the balls of his feet. "Are you excited, Luke? We finally get to go home!" Adam's voice was full of breathless anticipation. "They're coming soon! Our new parents! Mother Camel said they will arrive shortly after breakfast."
The name hit Luke like a physical blow, snapping his mind into a sharp, terrifying clarity. "Mother... Camel?" he sweatdropped, the corporate polish of his mind suddenly finding a context for the absurd name. He knew that name. He knew that world.
Adam, oblivious to the internal earthquake rocking his friend, launched into a cheerful explanation. "Yeah! Mother Camel arranged for a whole group of us to be adopted today. Isn't that great? She said it's a long journey, but we'll have a proper family!"
Mother Camel. The infamous moniker of a cruel, manipulative orphanage head, usually tied to events that occurred in the East Blue or a similar forgotten sea. Luke's blood ran cold. This wasn't some generic transmigrated world. He was in the world of One Piece.
Trying to keep the panic out of his voice, Luke leaned closer, feigning intense curiosity. "Adam, listen. I must have hit my head last night. I can't remember... what year is it?"
Adam stared at Luke as if the sunlight had addled his brains. "Huh? You really hit your head, Luke. It's the year 1462." He pronounced the number with the certainty of a child who had memorized it from a chalkboard.
Luke's mind began to spin, furiously calculating, connecting historical dots in the timeline of the notorious pirate era.
Year 1462. That was thirty-six years before the beginning of the Great Pirate Era, thirty-six years before the execution of the Pirate King, Gold Roger. More significantly, it was a full eighteen years before the God Valley Incident—the cataclysmic battle that wiped out the Rocks Pirates and sealed the fates of Roger, Garp, and countless others.
"Eighteen years," Luke muttered, his small hands clenching into fists beneath the thin blanket. He had not just transmigrated; he had arrived at the dawn of the legends, an unimaginable length of time before the main story, before the rise of the Supernovas and the current Yonko. He had a massive, unbelievable head start.
The overwhelming dread slowly morphed into something else: a cold, focused ambition, disturbingly familiar from his past life. He had been given a second chance, a life in a world of incredible, impossible power. He was a nobody, a Luke, an orphan under the thumb of a likely villain in a backwater corner of the Grand Line.
He looked at Adam, who was still chattering excitedly about his new parents. Luke offered a strained smile, a chilling resolve setting in his eyes.
Tanaka died seeking power in a world of cosmetics and corporate ladder-climbing. Luke, the orphan, would seek true power in a world of Devil Fruits, Haki, and World Government conspiracies.
"Yeah, Adam," Luke said, his voice surprisingly steady. "I'm excited. A new start. A long journey."
But first, he had to survive Mother Camel's adoption racket.