One Piece: Emperor of Knowledge

The sun burned brightly above as I stepped out from the shadow of the abandoned building, the sea breeze carrying the scent of salt and fish.

The town before me was alive, bustling with people shouting over each other, vendors calling out prices, and sailors exchanging crude jokes as they hauled crates onto their ships. But my focus wasn't on the noise; it was on understanding the language and piecing together where, exactly, I had ended up.

I kept my stride measured, my expression neutral. If I looked too lost or curious, I'd attract unwanted attention, and that was the last thing I needed. I passed a group of dockworkers arguing about cargo weights, their voices gruff and animated. Each word they spoke was another clue, another thread in the growing web of understanding that was forming in my mind.

I spotted a dark speck in the sky growing larger as it approached. A bird, but not just any bird, a news delivery bird, a feature I'd only heard about in passing back in my old life. It swooped down, squawking as it dropped bundles of newspapers onto the street.

Coins were tossed up by eager hands in exchange, clinking into the bird's pouch. The scene was so familiar yet surreal. The newspapers were snatched up quickly, and I watched as the crowd shifted from idle banter to shock.

Gasps and shouts filled the air. Faces turned pale, expressions wide with disbelief.

"Γουαιτμπεαρντ... νεκρος..."

I caught the word "Whitebeard" and my heart skipped a beat. He was dead? The shock that rippled through the crowd was palpable, like an electric current charging the air. The war they were talking about could only mean Marineford, the cataclysmic event that shook the entire One Piece world.

'So it's right after Marineford,' I thought, a knot tightening in my chest. The implications were immense. The power balance was broken, and chaos would spread like wildfire across the seas.

But as the people murmured, eyes wide and mouths agape, I felt nothing. Whitebeard's death meant little to me beyond a useful data point. I didn't owe this world anything, and it owed me even less. If the shock of a war could distract these people, then it was an opportunity I wasn't going to waste.

I moved through the throng, feigning interest, occasionally letting out a muttered "Απιστευτο," to blend in. Hands dipped into coin pouches and pockets with practiced ease. It was as if my senses had sharpened overnight; my fingers were quicker, my movements fluid.

The chaos around me made people careless. A merchant to my left clutched a newspaper so tightly that he didn't notice when I lifted a few coins from the purse tied at his waist. A sailor leaning against a crate stared at the headlines, oblivious to my hand brushing past his belt.

The first time, I felt a rush, a thrill mixed with apprehension, but as the minutes ticked by and no one shouted or turned my way, the act became mechanical, efficient. By the time the sun began to dip toward the horizon, my pockets were heavy with stolen coins.

'Enough to start,' I told myself, turning down a narrow, quieter alley. My footsteps echoed against the stone walls as I walked back to the abandoned building that had become my temporary refuge. The thrill of thievery cooled, leaving only a cold sense of satisfaction.

Inside, the shadows were long, casting dark shapes across the cracked floor. I dropped the coins onto a dusty wooden table, the metal clinking in a satisfying pile. With a deep breath, I caught my reflection in a shard of an old, broken mirror propped against the wall.

The man staring back at me was familiar but different. My brown eyes were the same, but my frame had filled out. Muscles stood defined beneath my plain white tunic, and my posture exuded strength I'd never possessed before. I clenched my fists, feeling the power in the simple motion.

'This world's humans are built differently,' I realized, a small smile pulling at my lips. I wasn't just smarter; I was stronger, faster. I would need to push these advantages if I was to survive and thrive in a place as ruthless as this.

The exhaustion from the day settled in my bones, a reminder that no amount of newfound strength would erase the need for rest. I lay down on a pile of cloth I'd arranged into a makeshift bed and let sleep take me.

....

The morning sun pried my eyes open, the beams slipping through the cracks in the roof. I sat up, stretching muscles that felt more solid than ever. Today, I needed to act smarter. The stolen money wouldn't last forever, and relying on theft alone was a poor long-term plan. I had to blend in, understand the world around me, and find a way to gain useful knowledge.

With a pouch of coins hidden inside my tunic, I made my way back to the market. The streets were quieter than they'd been during the news rush, but the tension lingered. People whispered as they passed, their voices carrying fragments like "Γουαιτμπεαρντ" and "πολεμος," words I was starting to piece together.

I approached a stall owner, a middle-aged man with a grizzled beard and eyes like polished stones. He glanced up from arranging a stack of books, and I offered him a slight nod, the beginnings of a smile curving my lips.

"Καλημερα," I said, the greeting still awkward on my tongue but passable.

"Καλημερα," he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. He wasn't unfriendly, just wary.

I pointed at one of the books, an old leather-bound volume with the image of an open quill on the cover. "Ποσο;" I asked, already counting the coins in my head.

The stall owner's eyes softened, sensing a sale. "Δεκα νομισματα," he said.

Ten coins. I reached into my pouch and counted out the exact amount, dropping them into his outstretched hand. His expression turned satisfied, and he handed me the book.

As I tucked it under my arm, I gestured toward a pile of newspapers. "Αυτα... νεα;" I asked.

He nodded, understanding. "Ναι, το τελευταιο," he said, passing me a couple of the most recent editions.

"Ευχαριστω," I said, turning away before he could ask any questions. I didn't need anyone digging into who I was or why I needed those items. The market resumed its steady pulse as I walked back to the abandoned building, the book and newspapers pressed tightly against me.

Inside, I settled on the floor, the morning light illuminating the pages as I flipped through them. The book was a basic guide to the language, meant for young students or travelers. I studied it, matching the printed words to the sounds I'd been hearing. The newspapers, meanwhile, were a window into the world's current chaos.

Whitebeard's death and the Marineford War were splashed across the front page in dramatic headlines. Sketches of his towering figure and the Marines' Admirals stood out against descriptions of the epic battle. It confirmed what I already suspected: the world was on edge. Pirates would become more aggressive, the Marines would tighten their hold, and power would shift unpredictably.

But amidst the upheaval, I saw opportunities.

I set the book down, the language starting to piece itself together in my mind. I wasn't fluent yet, but the gaps were closing fast. With each word and phrase I learned, my place in this world grew a little stronger.

'This is only the beginning,' I thought, catching myself and smirking. No, beginnings weren't important. It was how you moved forward that mattered.