Bastian woke with a jolt, drenched in cold sweat. His eyes flickered open, darting around in confusion as he took in the unfamiliar air. The ground beneath him was hard and unwelcoming, and chaotic noise surrounded him shouting, arguments, cruel laughter. Nothing made sense.
'When did I get here?' he thought, dazed. The last thing he remembered, he had been on his couch, reading One Piece fanfiction, longing for a life of freedom and adventure. But this… this wasn't the fantasy he imagined.
He scanned his surroundings. Dirty streets caked with dust and filth. No towering cities or breathtaking views like the ones he admired in the anime. This place Mad Hat Island, if the signs were to be believed was far more brutal than he had ever dreamed.
In a dark corner, two men cursed and fought viciously, while others bartered not for goods, but for human lives.
Bastian swallowed hard, bile rising in his throat. He tried to steady his breath. "This has to be a dream," he whispered, but the harshness of the world around him said otherwise. This wasn't a dream. It was all too real.
He rose to his feet, cautiously moving away from the crowd that seemed too busy with their own shady dealings to notice him. The streets narrowed, filled with more ominous figures. Men leered at helpless women, and Bastian felt a chill crawl down his spine. This was madness incarnate. This was evil without a mask.
Then, he felt it something brushing against his pocket.
Reflex kicked in. In one swift motion, he grabbed the hand and twisted it, locking it with a grip stronger and faster than he ever thought possible. A man with a scarred face and a filthy grin stared back at him, stunned.
"Hey! My hand, you little..!" the man cried out, struggling in Bastian's grip.
But Bastian barely thought. His instincts moved on their own. With a simple turn of his body, he sent the man crashing to the ground. It wasn't elegant—it was effective.
The man looked up, rattled. "W-What the hell are you, kid?" he growled, trying to stand.
"I..I just didn't want to be pickpocketed," Bastian replied, unsure of himself, voice trembling.
A few people nearby stopped to watch, some amused, others indifferent. One man a large, muscular figure who looked like he belonged here stepped forward. His eyes were sharp, and his voice heavy.
"Well, the brat's not stupid," he muttered. "Might be useful after all."
Bastian's stomach twisted. What was he supposed to do? He was just a boy eleven years old, dropped into a world he didn't understand.
Before panic could fully take over, a firm hand touched his shoulder.
"Easy, kid."
The voice was calm. Deep. Reassuring.
Bastian turned to find a man standing behind him. He looked different from the others cleaner, calmer. There was discipline in his stance, and wisdom in his eyes.
"Who... are you?" Bastian asked, wary.
"Name's Gerald Lazhar," the man said, a faint smile on his face. "Looks like you could use some help."
Bastian hesitated. "Help? You're… not one of them, are you?"
Lazhar chuckled softly. "Don't worry. I'm not like them. I'm just a man trying to survive in a world gone mad."
Bastian studied him carefully. There was something in Lazhar's gaze something heavy. The kind of weight only people who'd seen too much could carry.
"Come on. Let's get you somewhere safer," Lazhar said, already turning to walk.
Bastian didn't know why, but his feet moved after the man. Down narrow alleys they went, until the noise of the city dulled behind them.
Lazhar finally stopped and looked at him. "Mad HatIsland isn't a place for kids. People here live for one thing: power. If you want to survive, you're going to have to learn how."
Bastian nodded slowly. His mind was still spinning, but there was a flicker of clarity.
One thing was certain.
His life had changed forever.
And the world he now walked in… was far darker than he ever imagined.