Warmth.
That was the first thing Krishna felt—not a blazing warmth, but the kind you never wanted to leave. It blanketed him, quieted the air around his skin, and settled deep into the muscles that no longer ached. For once, he wasn't waking to stress or a buzzing alarm or an angry voice echoing through a crumbling household. No tension. No chaos. Just… softness.
Then came the water.
He could hear it, gentle and rhythmic. A stream? A river? It lapped against the sides of something… wooden?
Weird dream.
His fingers twitched. They felt strange—stubbier than usual. Awkward.
Krishna blinked slowly, then tried to rub his eyes—and froze.
They weren't his hands.
They were tiny.
Pudgy, soft, utterly useless baby hands.
"What the hell—"
Or at least, that's what he tried to say. But what came out was somewhere between a hiccup and a dolphin squeal.
Silence.
Then a familiar, far-too-pleased voice echoed in his head.
"Well, well. Look who finally woke up, snack-sized edition."
"Medha?" he tried to shout—but again, it came out as an angry bubble of unintelligible babble.
"Language filter activated," she replied instantly. "Try again, tiny thundercloud."
A scream of frustration bubbled up from his tiny chest. Krishna flailed. His body felt like it had been vacuum-packed into a soft marshmallow casing. He rolled to the side and hit something warm, smooth, and coiled.
Sheshika, of course. The celestial snake, coiled into a protective nest around him like a living cradle.
She didn't say anything. Just released a slow, calming breath—humming in a way only serpents could hum—her scales pulsing faintly with celestial light.
Medha's voice was gleeful.
"From 6'4 gym beast to the most adorable grumpy dumpling I've ever seen. Honestly, your transformation arc is way more entertaining than I expected."
Krishna would've punched something, if he could lift his own arm properly.
Instead, he babbled louder.
"Oh my stars, are you trying to curse right now?" Medha gasped. "That's hilarious. You're literally trying to yell 'what the f—' and all I'm getting is 'bwuah gah fhrr'."
Sheshika let out what sounded suspiciously like a sigh.
"Focus," she said softly, curling her tail around his little feet. "You're panicking. Your new body can't handle that much stress."
Krishna breathed.
In.
Out.
He tried again. Slow breaths, eyes shut, feeling the rhythm of his new body. Calmer. Just a little. Enough to let the initial panic fade.
But as he settled into stillness, another thought bubbled up—unbidden, like a half-buried memory.
Romance.
Oh no. Don't go there, brain.
Too late.
Even in his panic, Krishna could remember clearly: being told countless times that he was "handsome," "tall," "like a hero." Girls at college had complimented him before—about his hair, his posture, his build. He'd always just shrugged, unsure of how to respond. Most people assumed his cold stares meant arrogance.
In reality?
He was just socially paralyzed.
Especially around women.
Growing up, he'd only ever talked to his mother and sister. Female classmates? Ghosts. Crushes? Spectators in a distant stadium he didn't know how to reach. He wasn't shy—he was terrified. Of saying something wrong. Of offending someone. Of being the reason someone cried.
His mother had once told him:
"Where a woman isn't happy, no house can ever be truly peaceful. Even the gods turn away."
That line never left him. It wasn't just a saying—it was a law.
He internalized it so deeply that he avoided emotional conversations altogether. The fear of hurting someone, especially someone he cared for, eclipsed every instinct.
So he kept quiet.
He trained. Studied. Lifted. Watched from afar.
He had no idea how to flirt. None. Zip.
Medha would probably say:
"Bold strategy, micro menace. Let's see how that plays out in a pirate world full of god-tier women."
He groaned internally.
And now I'm a baby being babysat by a snake goddess and bullied by a digital AI.
Great. Just great.
"Are you done spiraling yet?" Medha asked, far too cheerfully. "Because you've got about five minutes before we need to figure out what reality we just landed in."
Sheshika raised her head slightly, her sapphire eyes glowing faintly.
"We are floating," she said. "In a basket. On a river. This is not a normal entry."
Krishna squinted.
Water.
Wood.
Sky.
Basket.
A snake cradling a divine child floating down a river?
"…Wait a minute. Am I Karna-ing right now?"
"Oh wow," Medha whispered. "He gets it."
Sheshika chuckled.
"Dharma's sense of humor remains undefeated."
Krishna slumped slightly into her coils, cheeks puffed.
"You're not even denying it," he muttered.
"You're a shrieking cinnamon roll with divine status," Medha said. "I wouldn't change a thing."
Krishna glared—or tried to. With baby eyes, it came off more like a pouty fish.
"Can we please focus?" he said—well, mentally said, because his vocal cords were still locked in goo-goo-ga-ga mode.
Sheshika stretched slightly beneath him, her body adjusting as the basket floated along with calm purpose.
"Focus is difficult," the serpent murmured, "when one is trapped in a body that panics over sunlight and hiccups."
Krishna sighed. He was trying. Really. He'd been here—alive as a baby—for less than half an hour and had already gone through existential dread, an emotional spiral, and a snake-cushioned breakdown.
But it was time.
He closed his eyes.
Deep breath in.
Slow exhale out.
Again.
Again.
And slowly… something shifted.
His pulse eased. His baby limbs stopped twitching. The chaos in his mind faded into a low hum—still present, but no longer controlling him.
"Okay," Medha said after a beat. "That was impressive. You just out-meditated your baby body. Do you realize how hard that is?"
He allowed himself a quiet, internal smirk.
"Still feel like a mochi with anxiety," he muttered.
"You're adapting. That's what counts. Now, let's deal with the elephant in the river."
"The… what?"
"You don't know what world we're in. You didn't ask Vishnu."
Krishna's eyes shot open.
"OH, COME ON—"
"You had ONE job," Medha said, mock-stern. "One. Tiny. Job."
Sheshika chuckled again, which in snake language was somewhere between a soft rattle and a cosmic breeze.
"I knew it," she said. "I knew he would forget."
Krishna flailed his arms slightly in protest. "I was DEAD! Forgive me for not whipping out a checklist during divine enlightenment!"
"I could've written it into your HUD protocol," Medha said, "if someone hadn't screamed 'Nano Machine!' the moment he was given a wish."
"…You were literally installed mid-wish."
"And still expected better performance."
Sheshika raised her hood slightly. "So. Strategy?"
"Let's figure it out," Krishna muttered. "How many fictional worlds can we eliminate immediately?"
"Oooh, deduction game! Okay, let's begin."
Medha projected a faint glowing interface only visible to Krishna's mind's eye. A shimmering list of names began populating:
Naruto.
Bleach.
Attack on Titan.
My Hero Academia.
Dragon Ball.
One Piece.
Black Clover.
Chainsaw Man.
Solo Leveling.
And about fifteen thousand isekai trash worlds.
"Bleach?" Krishna suggested.
"Nope. Too peaceful. And there's no hollow pressure."
"Dragon Ball?"
"You'd have been vaporized during descent."
"Attack on Titan?"
"You'd have been eaten during descent."
Sheshika hissed. "Too much screaming in that one."
"Agreed," Krishna said. "My Hero Academia?"
"Too colorful. You'd be surrounded by capes and character arcs."
Krishna tilted his head. "Solo Leveling?"
"Honestly, I'd be into it. But this isn't Korea, and we're not shadow summoning."
The list kept narrowing. Eventually, only a few remained.
Then Medha blinked.
"Okay. I hate to say it, but this place reeks of One Piece."
Krishna's heartbeat stumbled.
"…Really?"
"Think about it," she said. "Your basket floated. A river. You're in a lush, open island terrain. There's absurd weather, no immediate tech, and a woman's voice appeared out of nowhere like some wholesome NPC. It's either One Piece or some fusion of folklore and chaos."
Sheshika added, "Also, I sense… adharma here. Deep-rooted."
Krishna stiffened.
"Marine corruption?" he asked slowly.
"Possibly."
"Celestial dragons?"
"Would explain the adharma."
"…Do we know what part of the story we're in?"
"Nope!" Medha said brightly.
Krishna slumped.
"Great. We're playing Guess the Timeline in a pirate world with fruit-based superpowers and no idea if Luffy's even born yet."
Sheshika uncoiled slightly and nudged the edge of the basket, adjusting their course.
"We'll know soon," she said softly. "One way or another."
Krishna stared up at the clouds. Soft, drifting. Peaceful for now.
It was strange. He had watched One Piece growing up, but never fully. Life had gotten in the way—he followed summaries, forums, some episodes here and there, and more fanfics than he could count. But most of the second half? The New World? Still a blur.
He only really knew Paradise. The rest was fog.
So now… in a world he barely understood, in a body he couldn't control, with powers he hadn't unlocked and enemies he hadn't even met—
Krishna smiled faintly.
"Yeah," he whispered. "Let's play."
The breeze shifted.
Gentle as a lullaby, it rustled through the leaves of towering trees and skimmed across the surface of the water—soft, clean, and fragrant with something warm and wild. Krishna blinked up at the sky, only half-trusting the peace of the moment.
Then he heard it.
A voice.
Feminine. Soft, but carrying over the river with perfect clarity.
"…Hello?"
Krishna's body jolted.
Emotion flared before logic could stop it. His baby lungs drew in a full breath—and he wailed.
Not a dignified wail. Not a divine cry echoing with the weight of fate.
A full-body, baby-level screech of existential horror.
"Oh no," Medha whispered with glee. "Here comes the siren scream."
Sheshika moved instantly. Her coils rose slightly around Krishna, forming a protective cradle as her hood expanded. She didn't look aggressive—more like a guardian goddess shielding her infant charge from the world's gaze.
"Calm, little one," she murmured. "Your wails do not suit one chosen by Vishnu."
Krishna tried. He really did.
But panic, confusion, and embarrassment all came surging back as his mind tried to process the sound of human presence. It was one thing to be reborn. It was another to meet someone—someone alive. Someone who might pick him up, or try to feed him, or, God forbid, wipe him down with some soggy fruit-scented towel.
"Krishna," Medha said through stifled giggles. "Breathe. You're not in danger. Unless she's a world boss in disguise."
"HELP ME THEN!"
"I'm helping," she said sweetly. "I'm collecting data on your 'scream-to-calm' ratio."
Krishna wailed again.
And that's when the basket hit something.
A gentle thud, like a cart easing into dock.
It was a rock—a broad, flat one that jutted from the riverbank just enough to catch the basket's drift. Water swirled gently around it, forming ripples that shimmered beneath the filtered sunlight.
The voice came again. Closer this time.
"Hello? Is… is that a baby?"
Footsteps. Light ones, cautious on the grassy slope.
Krishna sucked in a breath, trying to cut off his own crying.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Dignity. Dignity!
His eyes blurred from tears. Everything was shapes and motion. The basket swayed slightly as someone approached, the rhythm of footsteps slowing—hesitating.
Then stopping.
"Oh my god... Is that a—" A sharp inhale. "—is that a snake?!"
Krishna peeked through blurry lashes, barely making out a silhouette—a woman, frozen a few feet from the basket.
She saw Sheshika.
And she panicked.
Understandably.
A giant white-gold serpent with cosmic markings cradling a crying baby like it was an egg of destiny? That wasn't a normal sight. Not in any universe.
"I… is the baby okay?" the woman asked aloud—half to herself, half to the snake.
Sheshika didn't move. She kept her coils loose but secure, her head slowly rising to observe the stranger. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the air. No threat. Just curiosity. Concern.
The woman stepped closer, still cautious.
"Are you… guarding him?" she whispered.
Sheshika blinked slowly, then brushed her snout gently against Krishna's head.
The baby stopped crying.
Krishna exhaled shakily, his tiny body deflating like a balloon with a pinhole leak.
The woman watched. And slowly, the fear left her shoulders.
She took another hesitant step. Then another. The basket was right at her feet now. Her green eyes glanced between the baby and the serpent, as if still unsure which one was more terrifying.
Sheshika tilted her head.
A silent signal: Approach. It's safe.
The woman knelt.
She was young. Maybe early twenties. Pale skin with a light sun-kissed flush, green hair tied in a soft ponytail, and eyes full of that strange, quiet strength reserved for people who'd seen too much too early and still chose to be kind.
She looked into the basket—and gasped.
The baby lying inside, wrapped in divine silk and shadowed by an ethereal snake, was… breathtaking.
His eyes—still glassy with tears—were deep, dark, and startlingly expressive. Like twin pieces of midnight holding too much awareness for someone so small. His features were delicate, almost celestial, with a gentle brow, long lashes, and lips curled ever so slightly in confusion.
And then there was the snake.
She'd never seen anything so beautiful.
Sheshika's scales shimmered white-gold in the sun, her body etched with delicate, swirling lines that pulsed like starlight. Her eyes were deep sapphire, not reptilian—but calm, ancient, knowing.
The woman knelt closer, lips parted in wonder.
"…You're both…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Instead, she reached out slowly, her hand hovering near Krishna's tiny chest. Sheshika watched her like a god surveying a priestess. Then, with slow grace, the serpent uncoiled just enough to allow the woman access.
She gently slipped her arms under the baby's body and lifted him.
Krishna panicked for exactly 1.3 seconds—then froze.
Her warmth was… familiar.
Not like his mother. But something echoing that comfort. A resonance of care.
Her heartbeat was calm.
Her hands steady.
Her smile—genuine.
She looked down at him and whispered, "Hey, little one…"
Krishna blinked up at her. The tears were drying. Vision clearing.
Still blurred, but she looked—
Beautiful.
Krishna blinked, eyes still wet and stinging from tears. He could barely make out the features, just the soft outlines of a woman smiling down at him—genuine, radiant, kind. The way she cradled him was careful, like she knew he might shatter if she held him too tightly, but trusted he would float away if she let go.
She rocked him gently in her arms.
"Poor baby," she cooed, brushing a strand of damp hair from his forehead. "You must've been so scared…"
Krishna blinked again. His vision sharpened.
Green hair.
Soft green eyes.
A barmaid's gentle hands.
No way…
"Krishna," Medha whispered through the HUD. "Confirming visual match. Identity probable: Makino."
His heart skipped.
MAKINO.
The Makino.
The quiet strength of Foosha Village. The one who raised Luffy with gentle correction and a wooden ladle. The one who could stop a future Emperor of the Sea from chewing on table legs. She wasn't a flashy pirate, a Marine powerhouse, or a mythical beast—but she was warmth incarnate.
And now?
She was holding him.
Krishna went stiff.
"Deep breath, cinnamon roll," Medha advised. "Don't start crying again or she's going to breastfeed you."
DO NOT CRY.
Makino glanced back toward the basket as if double-checking that she wasn't dreaming. And there, still coiled loosely like a loyal sentinel, was Sheshika—watching the whole interaction with cool serenity.
"I'm not sure how you two ended up here," Makino murmured, "but… it's okay now. You're safe."
Her gaze wandered to something in the basket.
A soft glint of gold.
She shifted Krishna into the crook of her arm and reached in, fingers closing around the slim rectangle that had been nestled in the folds of divine cloth. When she brought it into the light, her breath hitched.
It was a card. Smooth. Heavy. Gold-leafed edges that shimmered with a faint inner glow. Simple. Elegant.
One word inscribed in raised, beautiful Devanagari calligraphy.
कृष्ण
Krishna.
She turned the card over. The reverse side showed it again—this time in Roman script, embossed and glowing faintly.
KRISHNA
The name seemed to hum in her fingers.
She looked down at the baby again, expression softening even further. "Krishna… that's your name?"
Krishna blinked up at her.
She smiled, eyes glistening.
"A beautiful name… for a beautiful boy."
His tiny fists curled.
She just called me beautiful.
"You are beautiful," Medha teased. "A round little God-biscuit with pouty cheeks. Who wouldn't swoon?"
Krishna ignored her.
Makino held the card to her chest for a moment, then tucked it gently into a pocket on her apron. "Don't worry, Krishna. I'll take care of you."
Sheshika slithered silently from the basket, coils flowing like silk over the grass. Makino instinctively took a step back—then paused.
The serpent paused with her. Gaze steady. Head tilted.
She was gauging. Testing.
Then, as if passing an invisible threshold of trust, Sheshika lowered her head in acknowledgment.
Makino nodded back, still cautious but no longer afraid.
"You're with him," she murmured. "A guardian… I can tell."
Sheshika flicked her tongue once, then slithered beside Makino as the woman began walking—slow, measured steps through the edge of the forest.
"Okay," Medha whispered into Krishna's HUD. "If this is Makino, then we're in Foosha Village. Which means… we're officially in the world of One Piece."
Krishna felt it now—like a stormcloud waiting to burst.
Excitement. Anxiety. Awe.
He was here. In the world where Emperors clashed, Marines schemed, D's changed history, and Straw Hats built legends. He didn't know what part of the story he had fallen into—but it didn't matter.
He had a name.
A guardian.
An identity.
And now, he had a place to begin.
Makino's footsteps echoed softly against the wooden floor of her bar as she stepped inside, gently cradling Krishna against her shoulder. The village was quiet at this hour—midmorning sun warm, lazy clouds drifting overhead, the sound of distant waves crashing softly against the coast. She shut the door behind her and pulled the curtains partway, keeping the light mellow.
Sheshika followed, silent and regal, curling into a protective spiral beside the doorway like some ancient guardian relic.
Krishna blinked slowly, trying to process everything.
He was inside the bar.
Makino's bar.
It was surreal. The wooden beams, the scent of salt and citrus, the counter worn smooth by years of elbows and laughter and small-town chatter—it all felt… sacred.
She moved around easily, grabbing a cloth and gently wiping the residual tears and river mist from his cheeks. "There we go," she said softly. "Much better."
He gurgled—half to stay in character, half to hide his embarrassment.
"You okay?" Medha asked quietly, for once without teasing.
Krishna nodded. Yeah. Just… taking it in.
"This is a good place," Sheshika murmured. "Peaceful. Safe. You were brought to the right shore."
Makino placed him down gently in a woven crib tucked beside the counter, clearly something she kept on hand for the village toddlers. He fit a little awkwardly in it—divine muscle memory still twitching at how small everything felt—but it was warm and cushioned.
Sheshika slithered over and nestled beside the crib, resting her head against the edge with a soft, watchful calm.
Makino sat nearby, resting her chin in one hand, simply… watching him. "You're very alert for a baby," she said, half-laughing. "Almost like you understand everything I'm saying."
"She's catching on," Medha whispered.
Krishna blinked. Slowly. With deliberate timing.
Makino raised an eyebrow. "Ohhh, you're cheeky too, aren't you?"
"Yup," Medha confirmed. "You're doomed. If she gets any maternal attachment, you're never escaping this crib."
Honestly? Not a bad fate.
Makino hummed to herself and stood, heading toward the kitchen. Krishna listened as she lit the stove, water beginning to boil. The soft sounds of a home being lived in.
And for a second… Krishna let himself rest.
His body relaxed.
His mind calmed.
There was peace here. Real, simple peace. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that without guilt gnawing at the edges.
"Don't get too comfy," Medha said gently. "We still need to figure out where in the timeline we are."
He sighed. Yeah, I know.
"Your memory of the One Piece plot ends somewhere around Paradise, right?"
Yeah, he admitted. I followed the first half pretty well. The second half… fuzzy. I read more fanfics than canon summaries after a point.
"Same," Medha chirped. "So we're operating on half-baked wiki knowledge and vibes."
"Which means we need reference points," Sheshika added.
"Like what?" Krishna asked mentally. Ace? Garp? Shanks? Luffy?
"Any of them, really. If we can confirm that Luffy hasn't eaten the fruit yet, we can anchor this early in the timeline."
If I see Garp, Krishna thought, I'm gonna scream.
"You won't. You're a baby. You'll burble."
Krishna turned slightly in the crib, face toward the doorway. The bar was quiet now, but the hum of life beyond the windows told him the village was just waking. People passing by, maybe a few kids running around. Someone would come in eventually. A sailor. A drunk. Or… someone important.
He knew he couldn't do much—not yet.
But soon?
Soon, he'd start his training.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," Medha said. "We still have to adapt your neural pathways to the baby body. No full chakra rage mode just yet."
Chakra?
"Sorry. Wrong anime."
He smiled faintly.
Sheshika rose slightly and looked toward the door. "We'll wait. Observe. Gather what we can."
And when we know enough? Krishna asked.
"Then," Medha said, her tone sharpening just a little, "we plan your ascent. Slowly. Quietly. One step at a time."
"You are not just here to survive," Sheshika added. "You are here to grow."
Krishna stared at the ceiling.
A bar.
A cradle.
A serpent guardian.
A divine AI.
And a name—etched in gold, glowing softly in a borrowed pocket.
Krishna.
No longer just a boy who quit smoking, cried at night, and tried to hold his home together.
Now, a child of dharma. A warrior in waiting.
And for now?
He would wait for a certain rubber boy to burst through the door.
Author's Note:
Yo, divine degenerates and dharmic dreamers!
We're officially in the One Piece world now—and baby Krishna is already having a full-on identity crisis. Teased by an AI. Carried by a snake. Cradled by Makino. The glow-up became a shrink-down.
This chapter was all about setting the tone—humor, emotion, wonder, and the slow realization that this isn't just another isekai power fantasy. This is One Piece with soul. With purpose. With dharma.
No, you don't need to be religious. No, you don't need to worship any god. Because dharma isn't about religion—it's about balance. Righteousness. The line between choice and consequence. Whether you believe in fate or just good storytelling, this journey's about what you fight for, and what you refuse to become.
So thank you for sticking around.
For laughing at Medha's sass.
For feeling Krishna's anxiety and awe.
And for embracing this slow-burn, cosmic, emotionally rich adventure.
Stick around. The waves are just starting to stir.
- Dmon_Kun (The guy who turned a gym bro into a baby god)
*(P.S.) I know, I know—on the surface, it might seem like "just another OP isekai." Tall guy dies, meets god, wakes up in a new world with powers.
But trust me when I say: this story isn't about being powerful. It's about why power matters. About what you choose when no one is watching.
Krishna isn't a wish-fulfillment machine. He's broken. Healing. Growing. This isn't the story of a guy who gets everything—
It's the story of someone who carries everything and still chooses to protect others.
So if you're expecting a guy who one-shots everything and flirts with 20 girls by chapter 3—well... you're in the wrong sea, friend. This one's a slow voyage. A very slow one.
But I hope you stay for the storm. )