The One Piece

Peter sat on one of the high rocks overlooking the beach in Dressrosa, as the waves gently crashed below his feet. Night had begun to spread its cloak over the island, the sky glittering with stars, but inside his mind, there was a battle much greater than the tranquility of nature around him.

The words the system had thrown into his mind over the past hours kept spinning in his head nonstop. "Ninety-nine people... some have corrupted this world more than anyone else... some joined the Navy... and others turned into tyrant pirates...!"

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to grasp the extent of chaos this system had sown in the One Piece world.

What did this mean for all those people? And what impact had they left on this world, which was once just pages from the manga he had read with enthusiasm?

"Am I ready to bear this responsibility?"

He questioned himself internally. It wasn't simple; every decision he made now could alter the course of this entire world. Worse still, how would he act when he meets one of these people? Would he find friends like the crew he had just left, or enemies more fierce than he could ever imagine?

The system had informed him that some had arrived here many years ago, adapted, and became part of this world.

Some joined the Navy, becoming soldiers under the command of Garp or other admirals, while others joined pirate crews and caused unparalleled chaos.

The worst were those who didn't abide by the rules of the story that had made them choose this world in the first place. They disrupted the balance, manipulated events, and ruined worlds that were crafted like a masterpiece.

Peter opened his eyes and gazed at the vast sea before him, a look of concern and confusion etched on his face. Should he begin his journey now and search for one of them? Perhaps someone was nearby, here in Dressrosa itself. But how should he start his search? Where should he even begin?

And then came the biggest question: how would he move from his current position? He had left Roger's crew behind, and now his only means of travel were his feet. No boat, no ship, not even a clear plan.

Peter stood up from the rock and took a deep breath, then muttered to himself in a low voice, "If I managed to stay with the greatest pirate crew in the world all this time, surely I can find my way now." But he knew it was far more complicated than it seemed.

Peter had no choice but to move forward. No time for hesitation, no room for regret over his decision to leave. Yet, the big question relentlessly pursued him:

How would he start this journey? And what if he found no clue leading him to his target?

Peter headed towards the heart of Dressrosa, the vibrant pulse of this world. The city was bustling with activity and life, like a living painting. Tall buildings adorned with cheerful colors, their facades painted in white, pink, and other bright hues, with windows decorated with flowers hanging as if to greet passersby.

Its cobblestone streets were filled with the sounds of footsteps, the laughter of children running around, and vendors calling out their goods.

**"Fresh! Fresh!

The sweetest fruits in the world are here!"**

shouted one vendor, displaying a pile of exotic fruits that resembled sculptures from other worlds. In another corner, a musical band played cheerful tunes, drawing lovers and strangers alike to dance in the square. The city's atmosphere was a blend of joy and liveliness, as if nothing could break this peace.

But for Peter, there was no time to explore these details. There was no room to enjoy the joy that filled the place. All that mattered to him was finding a thread that would lead him to his destination.

He made his way through the crowds, trying to stay focused despite the temptations surrounding him. He passed by a candy shop emitting the scent of caramelized sugar, which made him pause for a moment, but he quickly returned to reality.

"No time for this now," he muttered to himself as he quickened his pace.

As he moved, he searched with his eyes for anything that might raise suspicion or seem out of the ordinary. Was there a strange visitor? Someone with a different demeanor? Or perhaps a faint whisper among the passersby? All of that could be his only clue.

A strange feeling inside him suggested that the solution might be here, in this seemingly ordinary place hiding something great beneath its surface.

With every step he took, his questions increased. "What if one of them is here? What if one of those outsiders is living on this island?"

All these thoughts swirled in his mind as he navigated between the alleys, trying not to draw attention to himself, alert for any sign that might lead him to the clue he was searching for.

The evening passed quickly, with Peter moving from one place to another, scanning with his eyes for any thread, any sign that would lead him to his target. The streets that were bustling with life and laughter in the morning began to quiet down gradually. The residents left the squares, the vendors closed their stalls, and the musicians packed their instruments.

Peter was exhausted by now, his steps growing heavier as time went by. His strength was fading bit by bit, yet he did not stop. He found nothing throughout the evening, not even a single sign indicating the presence of any of those outsiders in this place. However, he was not ready to give up.

When he finally looked up, he realized that the time was nearing midnight. The city, despite its perpetual hustle and bustle, seemed to finally wrap itself in a cloak of calm.

But Dressrosa, under the rule of King Riku Doldo III, was entirely different from any other place. Even at this late hour, there was still some life, some faint noise in the distant corners.

Peter remembered that this island now lived in relative peace, under the just king. Perhaps its fate would change someday, perhaps not. The pirate Doflamingo might occupy it in the future, and perhaps this world would change due to the outsiders who came to alter its original stories.

"Who knows what will happen next?"

Peter thought, realizing that his presence here, along with the others, had tilted the scales in an unpredictable way.

He finally sat down on a small stone step overlooking the city's main square, wiping the sweat from his brow and taking a deep breath.

The fatigue was evident on his face, but it wasn't just physical exhaustion; it was mental as well. The thoughts were crowding in his head: was he searching in the wrong place? Should he change his strategy? Or maybe there was no one here to begin with?

He looked around, at the streets beginning to empty of people, at the hanging lamps casting a faint light on the alleys, and at the city that seemed to whisper its ancient secrets.

He never expected Dressrosa to be like this. A place that only rests in the late hours of the night, only sleeps after its inhabitants finish their daily little celebrations.

"It's beautiful," he muttered to himself, but quickly refocused. Beauty wouldn't help him now.

He looked up at the starry sky, as if it reminded him of the vast world around him and the many secrets he still didn't know. "I won't give up," Peter said to himself softly before standing up again, ready to continue his search.

Under the dim lamps swaying with the night breeze, Peter stood before a lively tavern, despite it being past midnight.

From inside, the rough music and loud laughter rose, mingled with the strong smell of drinks and the smoke filling the atmosphere. "Maybe I need a break," he told himself, tired from hours of searching.

He pushed the wooden door of the tavern open and paused for a moment on the threshold, scanning the place with his eyes. The room was crowded with full tables, men and women exchanging conversations and laughter, many of them casting cold, even suspicious glances in his direction.

He felt the weight of those eyes staring at him as if he were an unwelcome stranger. One of them whispered to his companion: "A sailor? No, maybe a Navy officer."

Peter ignored the comments swirling around him and confidently walked toward the bar, trying not to attract any more attention. He sat on one of the tall wooden stools and signaled to the bartender.

"A cold drink, anything you have." He said it calmly, and the bartender nodded, beginning to prepare his order.

While Peter waited, a man sat next to him, looking like he'd had a rough day—perhaps even a series of rough days. He was so drunk he could barely sit upright.

The man was wearing a tattered coat, his harsh features hiding many untold stories. He started rambling loudly, speaking of things that everyone around him dismissed as nonsense, either mocking him or ignoring him altogether.

"Not from here… not from this world… I've seen them, I know them… I'm not alone,"

he said in a trembling voice, pointing his finger towards nothing in particular. Some of the patrons around him laughed and mocked him, with one saying: "This fool thinks he's a hero from some story."

But Peter, who had just begun to fill his glass, suddenly paused. The man's words slipped into his ears like an arrow. "Not from this world?"

He repeated it in his mind. He turned his head slightly toward the man, his eyes observing his movements and behavior.

Peter leaned in closer, deciding to approach the conversation indirectly: "What do you mean, friend?" he asked calmly, taking a sip from his drink.

The man slowly lifted his head, his glassy eyes struggling to focus on Peter.

"You… you understand, don't you? You're not like them. You know they're here too, right?" he said in a hoarse voice, leaning in even closer to Peter.

Peter felt a strange rush in his chest, as if the man before him had just revealed a great secret. He knew he had to tread carefully, so he smiled and said:

"Perhaps I do, perhaps I don't. Why don't you tell me more?"

The man sighed and took a deep breath, then began to whisper as if afraid someone might overhear:

"I've seen them, the outsiders. They're not from this world. They came from faraway places, like me. But they're not kind. They want control, chaos. They changed everything, made me… made me one of them."

Peter's expression froze for a moment, questions pouring into his mind like rain.

"Is this man really like me? Or is he just another drunk?"

But something in his eyes, in his shaken voice, made Peter believe, if only for a moment, that this man knew something others did not.

As dawn approached, the activity in the tavern gradually died down, and the remaining patrons began to yawn or doze off at their tables. Peter sat in a corner of the tavern, watching the drunken man still babbling words that made no sense. "Not from here… not from this world…" he repeated the phrase many times, but it was not enough to reveal any real truth.

At that moment, the tavern owner arrived, holding a bucket and rag to clean the tables. He looked tired, but his voice held a tone of command:

"Time's up, gentlemen. I need to close up. The fun's over."

Peter looked around and found the tavern nearly empty, with only the drunken man and two others who were beginning to leave.

"I won't lose sight of him,"

Peter thought as he stood up and helped the man to his feet, though he could barely stand on his own.

"Hahaha! Did I tell you I could fly? Maybe, but only if I eat two chicken wings first!" the man said, swaying, and let out a loud laugh that broke the dawn's silence outside.

Peter gave a final glance at the tavern owner, who nodded at him as if thanking him for taking the man out. Then Peter walked the man outside.

The streets of Dressrosa were incredibly quiet now, with only a cold breeze brushing his face and a few dim lamps flickering here and there. The man leaned heavily on Peter's shoulder, muttering disjointed words and rambling nonstop.

Peter reached the outskirts of the city, where the forest stretched out like a dark sea before them. The cold was intensifying, and Peter began to feel truly exhausted. On his right, he spotted a dilapidated shack, looking like it had been abandoned for ages. "This will do for now," he told himself, and walked towards it.

Peter pushed the wooden door, which creaked annoyingly as if protesting the intrusion. He gently laid the drunken man on the ground, who continued his ramblings as if performing a theatrical monologue. "The forest isn't scary; it tells you stories if you know how to listen!"

"For God's sake, shut up for a moment," Peter muttered as he stepped out of the shack, closing the rickety door behind him. Outside, the cold was even sharper. He gathered some dry branches and lit a small fire beside a large tree.

Peter sat by the fire he had started, holding his hands close to the flames to feel some warmth on this cold night. The shack behind him was relatively quiet, except for the occasional mumbling from the drunken man.

He glanced up at the sky, where the stars were gradually fading with the approaching dawn. Despite all the noise in his mind about the man and his strange words, Peter felt his body utterly exhausted.

Leaning against the thick tree trunk, he let his body relax, the flickering fire casting faint shadows on his face as the sounds of the night diminished around him.

He didn't know how long it would be before he woke up again, but he allowed himself a moment of rest, if only for a few hours.