The campus was emptying out as dinner time approached. Most students had already retreated to their dorms or apartments, leaving the pathways quiet except for distant music drifting from open windows.
Aria pulled her denim jacket tighter against the evening chill and swiped to the next panel.
The manga had just reached a part she had been waiting weeks for — the kind of chapter that made her forget she was walking, forget she was cold, forget that her roommate had texted her twice asking if she wanted takeout. Her thumb hovered over the screen, savoring the panel before she scrolled.
She had been reading the manga since middle school. What started as something to kill time during summer break had turned into an obsession that followed her through high school and into college. She owned every volume, had three different fan wiki accounts, and could name most fact from memory. Her roommate called it a problem. Aria called it dedication.
The evening air carried the faint smell of food from the dining hall something fried, probably the chicken tenders that were the only consistently decent thing they served. Normally she would have stopped in, grabbed a tray, and eaten while reading at one of the corner tables where nobody bothered her. But tonight, the chapter was too good to interrupt, and her apartment was only fifteen minutes away if she took the direct route.
She had walked this path so many times she could probably do it blindfolded. Left past the science building, through the parking lot, across the intersection at Fifth Street, then straight down Maple until her building appeared on the right. Her feet followed the route on autopilot while her eyes stayed locked on the screen.
The sky had turned a deep orange along the horizon, the kind of sunset that would have been worth photographing if she had been paying attention to anything above eye level. Street lights were beginning to flicker on, casting long shadows across the sidewalk.
She reached the crosswalk at Fifth Street and stopped at the curb out of habit, her eyes still on the manga. The traffic light cycled through its colors somewhere in her peripheral vision.
The light turned green. She stepped off the curb without looking up.
A car horn blared somewhere to her left. She kept reading, used to the constant noise of campus traffic. Drivers honked at everything around here — at pedestrians, at each other, at nothing in particular. It was background noise, the same as the music and the distant laughter from dorm windows.
Squealing brakes cut through everything else, close and wrong and getting louder by the second.
She looked up.
Bright headlights filled her vision, so close that she could feel the heat from the engine. A delivery truck barreled toward her from the left it had run the red light, and it wasn't stopping.
"Wait wait wait, you gotta be kidding me—"
Her phone flew from her hands, the screen cracking as it hit the asphalt. Something massive slammed into her side, and the world spun.
"Call an ambulance!"
"Is she breathing?"
"Someone get help!"
Voices swirled above her, muffled and overlapping. Pain radiated from her side in waves, sharp at first, then duller, then fading into something distant.
'I can't move. Why can't I move?'
She tried to turn her head, tried to lift her hand, but her body refused every command.
'Am I dying?'
The voices grew quieter. The pain dulled and the cold of the asphalt against her back softened until she couldn't feel it anymore.
'Is this it?'
She was still thinking, which meant she was still something, but she couldn't feel her body or tell if she still had one. The absence of pain should have been a relief, but it felt more like a warning.
She tried to move her fingers, open her eyes, do anything that would prove she was still attached to something physical. Her body refused, and she had no way of knowing whether seconds were passing or hours.
Then, distantly a birdsong.
More sounds layered in one after another: wind moving through leaves, branches creaking, insects humming somewhere nearby.
Smell came next. Earth and damp wood and something green, the kind of scent that belonged to a forest floor after rain.
Then sensation returned all at once, and her lungs burned.
She gasped, sucking in air so hard that her chest ached. Her fingers dug into soil, cool and slightly wet, crumbling between her hands as she gripped it.
'I'm alive?'
Sunlight pressed against her eyelids. She squeezed them shut tighter and pressed her palm against her temple where her head was pounding.
For a long moment she just lay there, breathing. Her ribs hurt and her shoulder throbbed where the truck had hit her. She could feel her heartbeat in her teeth, which was a sensation she had never experienced before and never wanted to experience again.
She opened her eyes slowly, squinting against the light.
Trees stretched in every direction, their canopy letting sunlight through in shifting patches that moved with the wind. The trunks were thick and old, covered in moss and lichen, the kind of trees that took decades to grow this size. Birds called from branches she couldn't see. A squirrel chattered at her from somewhere high up, flicking its tail like she had personally offended it by being there.
This wasn't campus.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows, then held still as her vision swam and her stomach lurched. She breathed through her nose until the nausea passed.
She looked down at herself. Her denim jacket was intact, though smudged with dirt. Her jeans were torn at the knees, but that could have been from the accident or from whatever had happened between then and now. Her boots were caked with fresh mud.
She pressed her fingers carefully along her arms and legs. Her ribs ached when she breathed deeply, but nothing shifted or ground together beneath her touch. A delivery truck had hit her going full speed, and somehow there was nothing broken.
She grabbed a nearby tree trunk and pulled herself upright. The bark was rough and real beneath her palms.
The forest stretched on in every direction with no sign of a road, a building, or anything man-made.
"Hello?"
Her voice echoed through the trees and faded.
"If this is some kind of prank, it's not funny!"
Only silence answered.
She leaned against the tree and balled her shaking hands into fists. Maybe she was unconscious in a hospital somewhere and this was a coma dream. That would make more sense than whatever this was. But the bark under her hands felt too real, and the smell of the forest was too specific. Dreams weren't supposed to be this detailed.
That was when she felt it.
She turned her head slowly, and the pull shifted with her. Stronger to the left, weaker to the right.
Following mysterious feelings in strange forests seemed like the start of a horror movie. But standing here wasn't going to solve anything, and whatever was pulling at her felt more like an invitation than a threat.
She picked her way through the undergrowth. Low branches forced her to duck and weave, and the pull grew stronger as she walked, tugging her forward like a thread attached somewhere behind her ribs.
After ten minutes, her shirt stuck to her back with sweat despite the cool air.
The forest opened up into a small clearing.
She stopped at the edge.
A depression in the ground sat at the center. Ferns grew around its rim, their leaves unrolling in tight spirals, and something purple caught her eye between the fronds.
She pushed the plants aside.
In the center of the depression sat a fruit about the size of her fist. Its skin was deep purple black, covered in spiral patterns that twisted across the surface.
She crouched at the edge, her boots sliding on the loose dirt. The air around the fruit felt noticeably colder than the rest of the clearing, and her fingertips tingled even before she touched it.
She picked it up with both hands. It was heavier than it should have been, smooth like polished stone but still somehow organic beneath her fingers.
The pulling stopped the instant she closed her hands around it.
SNAP.
A twig broke behind her.
She spun around, pressing the fruit against her chest.
A kid stood between two trees, staring at her with huge eyes. Maybe ten years old. He held a basket full of mushrooms, his knuckles white around the handle and one foot already angled back, ready to bolt.
His clothes looked like something from a Renaissance fair, rough shirt with leather ties, loose pants that ended at his calves, worn leather sandals. Dark hair tied back with string, face tanned with dirt smudged on his chin.
They stared at each other across the clearing.
His eyes darted between her face and the fruit pressed against her chest.
"Are you a pirate?"
She couldn't help but laugh.
"No. Just lost. Very, very lost."
He relaxed a little, though he didn't loosen his grip on the basket.
"You sure? You're dressed really weird."
Aria looked down at her torn jeans and muddy boots, then back at his outfit.
"I could say the same about you, kid."
He puffed out his chest.
"These are normal clothes! Everyone dresses like this."
"Okay, okay."
She held up one hand in surrender and tucked the fruit into her jacket pocket with the other.
"Where exactly is 'here'?"
"The forest. Near Syrup Village."
"Syrup Village?"
He nodded, his dark hair bouncing.
"You really aren't from around here, are you? You look like those foreigners from the Grand Line. All weird clothes and strange accents."
"Grand Line?"
"You don't know about the Grand Line?" His jaw dropped. "Everyone knows about it! It's where all the strongest pirates go! They say there's islands in the sky, and sea monsters bigger than ships, and treasure you can't even count!"
The mushroom basket swayed dangerously as he gestured with his free hand.
"My papa says only crazy people go there, but the stories are amazing."
The sound of waves cut through his talking, close enough to hear clearly over the forest.
Aria tilted her head, listening.
"How far is the coast?"
"Not far! Maybe ten minutes that way." He pointed through the trees. "But the village is closer if we go around the long way. There's a proper path."
Without thinking, she started walking toward the sound of waves.
"Hey, where are you going? The village is this way!"
He pointed in the opposite direction.
"You're right. Lead the way."
He beamed and scrambled over a fallen log with the easy confidence of someone who had done it a thousand times. When she tried to copy him, her foot caught on the bark and she stumbled forward. Only a quick grab at a nearby branch kept her from eating dirt.
Warmth rushed to her cheeks as she steadied herself.
"I'm Taro. My papa runs the restaurant — best food in town! What's your name?"
"Aria."
She paused.
"Aria Stratos."
"Is that really your name? Sounds made up."
She shrugged.
"Probably?"
"You're weird. But Papa says we should always help lost people. Come on, he'll give you food. You look really hungry."
Her stomach growled right on cue, loud enough to make Taro giggle.
The path curved steadily downward. She could hear the ocean getting louder with each turn, along with distant voices calling out, tools clattering, the creak of rope and wood.
Taro chattered as they walked, pointing out landmarks with the enthusiasm of a tour guide who had never once questioned whether his audience was interested.
"See that tree with the white bark? That's where the sweetest fruit grows in summer. And over there — that's where Old Man Jiro caught a fish bigger than me last month! Took three men to haul it in!"
He kicked a stone down the path.
"You'll like Papa. He feeds everyone who comes to the restaurant, even if they can't pay. Mama says he's too soft, but I think he's just nice."
The forest opened up suddenly, and they came out onto a ridge overlooking a natural harbor.
Aria stopped.
Below them, a dirt path wound down toward a small village sitting against the bay. Traditional buildings with dark wooden walls and sloped roofs lined narrow streets. Fishing boats bobbed in the harbor with their masts swaying against the tide, and nets hung drying on wooden frames along the docks. Men worked below, calling to each other in voices that carried across the water.
Smoke rose from chimneys, carrying the smell of cooking food.
"It's beautiful."
"Best village in the East Blue!"
They started down the winding path. Aria's boots skidded on loose stones, and she had to grab Taro's shoulder for balance.
"Careful. Gets slippery when the sea spray reaches this high."
Villagers stopped what they were doing to watch them pass as they walked. A woman hanging laundry turned to stare. Two men fixing a fishing net paused mid-conversation.
"They're staring."
"We don't get many strangers. Especially not dressed like you."
He was quiet for a moment, which seemed unusual for him.
"Sometimes merchants come through for supplies. They bring silk from the South Blue, spices from the North Blue, sometimes even books with pictures of far-away places."
He glanced up at her.
"I want to see those places someday."
He paused again.
"And sometimes pirates come through. Not recently though. Not since Captain Kuro."
"Kuro?"
Taro moved closer to her, lowering his voice.
"He was really scary. He had these claw things on his hands that could cut through anything, and he moved so fast you couldn't even see him."
He was quiet for a beat.
"But he's gone now. The Straw Hat pirates took care of him. They just showed up one day and fought his whole crew. Saved the whole village."
Aria's step faltered.
"Straw Hat pirates? When did this happen?"
"Maybe six months ago? It was really bad. People were scared to leave their houses, and Papa had to close the restaurant for three days. But then these pirates showed up — good pirates — and they stopped him."
He tugged at a loose thread on his basket handle.
"Usopp left with them afterward. He was my friend. Told the best stories." A small, complicated expression crossed his face. "Kaya misses him a lot, but she's studying to be a doctor now. Says she wants to help people like the Straw Hats helped us."
'No way.'
Taro tugged at her sleeve, pulling her toward a building at the edge of the village.
A wooden sign creaked above them in the sea breeze. The characters looked completely foreign, but somehow she could read them perfectly: "Meshi Restaurant."
She stopped walking and stared at the sign.
"What's wrong?"
"How can I read that?"
"Read what?"
She shook her head.
"Never mind."
Taro pushed open the door, and a cheerful bell rang. Rich cooking smells hit her, and her stomach clenched.
"Papa!"
The inside was warm — wooden tables worn smooth from years of use, a counter with mismatched stools, fishing nets decorating the walls next to faded photographs. Sunlight streamed through salt-stained windows.
An elderly man looked up from behind the counter, where he had been chopping vegetables. His apron bore the stains of serious cooking, grey hair stuck out at odd angles, and flour dusted his arms up to the elbows.
"Welcome! Sit anywhere you like. We're just starting dinner preparations, but there's always something ready for hungry travelers."
He came around the counter, wiping his hands on his apron.
"Taro, where have you been? Your mother's been asking after you."
"Getting mushrooms for dinner! And I found her in the forest. She was just standing there looking lost."
"Ah, a traveler." Hiroshi smiled. "Well, you're in Syrup Village on Gecko Islands now. You look like you could use some water and a hot meal."
"I don't have any money."
He waved his hand.
"Can't let someone go hungry in my restaurant. Food is meant to be shared." He glanced at his son. "Taro, come help in the kitchen. Let's show our guest some proper hospitality."
"But Papa, I want to hear her stories—"
"Now, boy. There'll be time for stories after she's had something to eat."
He disappeared into the kitchen with his protesting son, leaving Aria alone.
She sank into a chair by the window.
She could hear them in the back — Taro's excited voice mixing with his father's patient responses, the clatter of pots and the sizzle of something hitting hot oil.
Through the window, villagers went about their evening. A large bird flew past, its wingspan easily six feet across. More birds followed in formation, and the gust of their passage rattled the window frame and sent papers flying from a nearby notice board.
Wanted posters scattered across the street, criminal faces and enormous bounties briefly visible before the wind carried them tumbling toward the harbor.
One poster slapped flat against the windowsill right next to her, pressed against the glass by the wind.
A boy grinned back at her from the paper, his smile wide under a beat-up straw hat. The photo had caught him mid-laugh.
The text beneath read in bold, official letters:
MONKEY D. LUFFY — WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE — 30,000,000 BERRIES
Her chair scraped against the floor as she lurched backward.
'No way. No freaking way.'
"LUFFY?!"