The first thing he noticed was the smell.
Thick. Smoky. It reminded him of burning cigars. He wasn't sure he'd ever smelled that before, but it didn't strike him as odd. Somehow, it felt normal. Like something he'd lived with for years.
That, in itself, was strange.
The second thing he noticed was his body.
It felt heavier than normal—His arms were solid and muscular. His chest was wide and toned, like it belonged to someone used to training.
He didn't feel tired. He felt refreshed and strong.
And none of that made sense.
Still lying down, he slowly flexed his arm. His mind was clear, but everything else felt different.
Like wearing someone else's skin.
He opened his eyes.
Soft morning light came through an open window. The room around him was clean and quiet. No hum of traffic. No creaking pipes. Just the distant sound of waves.
That wasn't the city.
And this wasn't his apartment.
The fan above spun in slow circles. The bed beneath him was neatly made, the kind of bed only found in hospitals or barracks. The furniture was minimal, everything chosen for function rather than comfort.
His eyes focused on the far wall.
A white coat hung from a wooden stand. Just above it, a poster clung to the wall. A single word in thick, block letters was written on it:
JUSTICE.
Something shifted in his chest. A cold realization.
This wasn't his room.
And when he looked down at his arms again—broad, and strong—he understood.
This wasn't his body either.
He stood slowly. There was no wobble in his legs, no issues with movement. His muscles worked smoothly. His body knew what it was doing, even if he didn't.
The mirror waited just off to the side.
He stepped in front of it.
And stopped.
The man looking back at him was tall, had white hair stuck up in short spikes. A sharp jaw and cold eyes. It was a face that didn't belong to him—but one he knew.
Smoker.
A character from One Piece.
He didn't need to say it out loud. The name fit the face. The coat. The smell. The world outside the window.
It was Smoker.
There hadn't been a warning. No bright light. No voice from above. No accident, no ritual, no logic.
Just sleep—and now this.
His fingers brushed his chest, then his arms again. Skin. Muscle. All real.
This wasn't a dream.
There was a knock at the door.
"Captain Smoker?" said a soft voice. "It's me, Tashigi."
He blinked at the sound of the name.
Tashigi.
A character from One Piece. She was a Marine officer—smart, a bit nervous, obsessed with swords. Loyal to Smoker, even when things got messy.
He turned back toward the coat hanging by the door and the poster above it. For a moment, he just stared at it. The word Justice still loomed over him like a reminder.
He didn't feel like someone who followed justice. That had never been his thing.
But without thinking much, he picked up the coat. It smelled like smoke and the sea. He wore it over his bare chest, just like Smoker used to. It felt strange—but right.
He opened the door.
Tashigi stood there with a clipboard in her hands. Her glasses were slightly crooked, and her short hair was a bit wind-blown.
"Good morning, sir," she said quickly. "I brought the dock reports. Also… there's been trouble again in the civilian quarter. Some of the tax officers are collecting extra fees without orders."
He took the clipboard, scanning the papers without really reading them.
Tashigi was watching him carefully. Her grip on the board was a little too tight.
"Are you okay, sir?" she asked. "You seem… a little different today."
He met her eyes and gave a small smile.
"Do I usually yell this early in the morning?"
She blinked. "No! I mean… not really. You're just usually more serious."
He gave a small shrug. "Didn't sleep well."
Tashigi nodded quickly. "Right. Okay. I'll come back later, sir."
She turned and walked off down the hallway, muttering to herself.
He closed the door behind her, then looked back down at the clipboard. The reports were filled with complaints—about officials using power for their own gain.
Smoker had been doing more than chasing pirates. He had been watching the cracks in the system too.
But that didn't mean he had to continue Smoker's mission.
He sat back on the bed, letting out a slow breath.
A quiet question crept into his mind:
"Am I still me?"
His thoughts still felt like his own, but his movements—his posture, his instincts—felt like someone else's. Smoker's.
He didn't want to lose himself.
He didn't want to turn into a character. He just wanted to live.
In his old world, he'd been nobody. Boring job. Boring life. Days that blended together. He'd dreamed of something more. Something bigger.
Now, he had it.
He could fight pirates. Travel strange lands. Live free.
Not for justice.
Not to protect the weak.
Just because he wanted to.
Maybe he'd help someone along the way. Maybe not. But he wasn't here to fix the world. Just to stay out of its way—and enjoy this chaotic world.
He smiled for the first time since waking up.
This wasn't fiction anymore.
This world was real.
And it was his.
The door cracked open again.
"Sorry, sir," Tashigi said, peeking in. "One more thing. About the inspection at the west docks. That new guy—Lieutenant Horu—he's… loud. Kind of rude. Do you want to cancel it?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Is he corrupt or just annoying?"
Tashigi paused. "Just annoying, I think."
He chuckled. "Let him talk himself into trouble."
She gave a small smile. "Alright. I'll check back in later."
As the door closed, he walked to the window.
The sea sparkled under the sun. The wind was soft. Somewhere out there were pirates, monsters, kingdoms at war.
And for the first time in his life… he had the power to explore it all.
No rules. Just the open sea—and whatever waited for him beyond it.
Smoker clenched his fist in anticipation—Thick and violent smoke erupted from his body.
Advanced chapters ahead on patréon
www.patréon.com/ImagineMaker