The hum of the sea was familiar now. Comforting, even. Not because I'd grown used to it, but because it was the only thing that hadn't changed since I woke up in this body.
I leaned against the railing, my axe slung across my back, watching the clouds scatter overhead like memories I didn't own.
I wasn't from this world.
And yet, I was now Xavier—Captain Xavier of the 107th North Blue Marine patrol squad. Not the strongest, not the smartest, and definitely not the most respected. But alive. And tasked with protecting lives.
The Marines hadn't changed much from the stories. Corruption, hierarchy, noble favoritism. But they weren't all bad. Some of them tried. Some of them cared. And now I was one of them.
The problem? They remembered me.
Or rather, they remembered the previous Xavier. The one whose body I now walked in. Arrogant. Lazy. Borderline incompetent. He only made captain because his father had been a decorated Marine.
"Captain."
I turned. A short, sharp-eyed girl with a bandaged cheek saluted stiffly.
"Ensign Lotte," I nodded. "Something to report?"
She hesitated. "We're three hours out from the base. The crew wanted to know if you'd be doing inspection drills or, uh…" she trailed off.
"Or sleep in your cabin and pretending we don't exist?"
She winced. I forced a smile.
"Drills. Form everyone on deck in twenty. Bring wooden staves."
Her expression froze—like someone just told her Garp refused to eat rice crackers.
"You're serious."
"Very. And while you're at it, grab me a training vest."
She still looked at me shellshocked
The crew gathered on the main deck, shifting uncomfortably. Some were raw recruits. Others veterans stuck in purgatory under an unworthy captain. I saw the doubt in their eyes, and it wasn't unfounded.
The old Xavier had been a joke. If I wasn't careful, I'd become a one myself.
I raised my voice. "I know what yall are thinking."
That got their attention.
"I'm not the man I was months ago. You don't have to pretend to respect me but you will train with me. Every day. Because one day, when pirates come and lives are at stake—we'll be the first and only line of defense and I'd rather have sore muscles than fresh graves."
Silence.
Then someone—Petty Officer Burke, I think—gave a short nod. Another followed. Then another.
Small steps.
"Captain!"
I flinched. Toma—our youngest recruit—ran toward me across the dock, his shirt half-buttoned, one boot missing, and a salute that could've passed for swatting a fly.
"You're late again," I muttered, more amused than angry.
He skidded to a stop, panting. "I couldn't find my left boot. Burke was using it to prop up the training dummy!"
Burke, standing nearby, just grunted. "Damn thing's got better posture now."
Morning drills were chaos.
Lotte barked orders. Burke handled sparring. I tried not to trip over Toma.
The kid swung a wooden axe with all the grace of a drunk crab, missing the practice dummy by a solid foot and nearly braining himself in the follow-through. I caught the handle just before it clocked his nose.
"Keep your stance wide. Use your core and legs, not your shoulders," I said, steadying him.
I wasn't strong—not in the way the world admired. No flashy Devil Fruit. No Haki. Just an axe, worn boots, and a work ethic forged in a quiet, mundane life back home.
I was thinking about how I should train. Since the previous Xavier was a wastrel his memories didn't have any valuable input. So I decided to start swinging my axe again and again to train.
' Let's set today's goal to 5000 swings.'
Unfortunately my arms gave out after 3,500 swings so I decided to train another aspect.
Breathing styles
Another favourite anime of mine was the demon slayer manga. Since the incorporation of the breathing styles was next to impossible in real life I decided to try it out in this world.
I started by training my lung capacity.... Diving into the sea and trying to hold my breath for as long as possible and using gourds like in demon slayer anime. I continued this routine for the next week while we travelled back to base ,swinging my axe for as long as possible and then training my lung capacity.
The crew began to notice.
Burke stopped calling me "Lazy drunkard" behind my back atleast it reduced in frequency. Lotte began showing up early to drills. And Juno—the quartermaster who once wouldn't hand me the good rations—now served me the same rations as others.
There was still distance, of course. Trust isn't built overnight. But I began to see moments of something more than tolerance.
One night, after a long training session, I found myself eating stew under the stars with a few of them. It was quiet, peaceful.
Lotte squinted across the deck and muttered, "You ever think about how weird it is, sir? That you're so... different now?"
I stiffened.
She wasn't accusing. Just curious.
I chewed slowly, then replied, "People can change. Especially after the horrors we have seen the past few months"
She nodded, not pressing.
That was the dance I lived now—being the new me while pretending to be the old me changed. Like I'd learned a lesson I never lived.
It was... exhausting.
But also necessary.
The base finally came into view.
Marine Base 107. Small. Rusting. Half-staffed. Perched on a rocky islet surrounded by fishing towns and smuggling routes. The kind of post they sent you to when they wanted you out of the way.
I stepped off the ship, boots crunching on damp stone. A thin man in spectacles rushed up—Commander Bell, the base overseer.
"Captain Xavier, welcome back. We weren't expecting you to patrol that long. I assumed you'd be… ah, traveling light again."
I ignored the dig.
"We encountered a burned village. Did a sweep. Nothing salvageable."
He nodded, flipping through paperwork with the grace of a man who never left his office. "Very good. Try not to attract attention, Captain. We've got nobles on the neighboring island this week. Their security detail requested low visibility."
Right. Can't let justice inconvenience the powerful.
I walked past him.
Back to my quarters.
Back to the place where the old Xavier used to drink himself stupid while his crew suffered.
My cabin was exactly what I expected: dusty, dim, and still carrying the faint scent of rum. I found old journals—some with barely legible notes, others filled with drawings of women in provocative poses. Not something that be considered hentai,just... bad art. Juvenile, lonely, and a little sad.
The more I dug into who he was, the more I saw a broken kid hiding behind the Marine uniform.
That didn't excuse his failures.
But it made me hate him less.
Later that week, I started visiting the infirmary—a cramped room run by a medic named Sora. She stitched wounds with the same scowl she used for paperwork. She was also one of the few people who didn't tiptoe around me.
"You're sweating like a pig," she said one afternoon as I sat down, arm bleeding from a training accident.
"Pigs don't sweat," I grunted. "They roll in mud to cool down."
She blinked. "Huh. Didn't expect trivia from you."
"Expectations so low huh ?" I asked chuckling
She didn't smile, but her scowl faded slightly.
Somehow, this strange life began to feel less alien.
It was in the way Burke argued with Lotte over fishing knots.The way Sora muttered curses in her sleep in the infirmary chair. The way Toma doodled in that little notebook of his. The little things that made this base more than a job site.
It became a crew.
Not a flashy one.
Not heroic.
But real.
And that was enough.
Later that night, I checked the bunks. Most of the crew were asleep or pretending to be. Toma had passed out with a training manual open on his chest, drooling slightly on the cover.
I adjusted the blanket over him.
He didn't stir.
In another life, maybe I would've had a son like him. In this one, I just had a crew.
But that was enough—for now.
The next morning, a message arrived from Command: supply shortages in the region. Port Reliya had what we needed.
A simple trip. Routine.
We'd head out at first light.
Just a lighthearted run to a quirky little town. I let the crew joke, laugh, relax.
But deep down, I felt the unease building.
Because peace in this world was always borrowed—and the debt always came due.
For the first time, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—I could live in this world without needing to conquer it.
Not as a hero.
Not as a monster.
But as someone who stayed, even when thers ran.
Author's Note - I know I have left a lot of crucial information out but I could find a way to introduce that information in the chapter so here it is
MC is transmigrated around 10 years before canon
His current strenght is a bit more than that of kuro from east blue.
Hope y'all like the novel and if yes do keep it in your library and throw a few stones at me.
If not then please tell me where I can improve.