As the late Hilbert said, my na’s John Morgan, a bounty hunter. In the East Blue, they call the top bounty hunter, thanks to my swordsmanship. What they don’t know is I’m also a transmigrator from the modern world.
Back in my old life, I was raging online about how watered-down the recent One Piece ani had gotten. Then, after a nap, I woke up in this world—trapped in the body of an abandoned infant, unable to even speak. Panic hit hard when I realized I was lying in the wilderness, and it got worse when I spotted a starving brown bear lumbering toward . I closed my eyes, thinking my transmigration was just a cruel, short-lived joke.
But at that critical mont, just as I braced for the end, a towering figure in a long robe appeared, wielding a bamboo sword. He took down the bear with ease, scooped up, and brought to his ho. There, he raised alongside his two-year-old daughter.
Over ti, through the man’s daily conversations with others, I pieced it together: I’d landed in the world of One Piece, specifically in Shimotsuki Village in the East Blue, at the renowned Isshin Dojo.
My savior was none other than Koushirou, the man who’d later beco the first ntor of the Straw Hat’s poetic swordsman.
As a transmigrator, I got cocky, expecting so cheat-like ability, like every other isekai protagonist. But after a year… then two… reality slapped hard. No golden finger, no system, nothing. So, I gave up on handouts and threw myself into training under Koushirou alongside his disciples, honing my swordsmanship.
For over a decade, I poured everything into it. This world’s a brutal place—I knew that from my old life. If I wanted to survive, I needed strength. No shortcuts, no cheat codes, just sweat. Turns out, I’ve got a knack for the blade. Combined with relentless effort, I claid the top spot among the dojo’s disciples and held it without challenge. The second-place spot was a battlefield, though. For the first eleven or twelve years, Kuina dominated it. In the last few, that green-haired punk Zoro edged her out. But neither could touch . Hell, because I was around, Kuina never t her tragic end—she grew up strong, chasing her dreams.
Life went on quietly like that, day after day, until my seventeenth birthday. That’s when it happened—a strange interface popped into my mind, called the “Hunter’s Shop.” No voice prompts, no cute elf guide, just a blank screen with a ssage: Complete 300 bounty hunting missions to fully unlock the Hunter’s Shop and receive a beginner’s gift package!
Life’s funny that way. The mont you stop chasing sothing, it flutters right into your hands like a mischievous butterfly. When I learned I needed 300 bounty missions to unlock this shop—where I could buy skills, gear, even Devil Fruits—I didn’t hesitate. I said goodbye to Koushirou, who’d raised all those years, and to my friends Kuina and Zoro. Then I set sail alone, becoming a bounty hunter in the East Blue.
Now, nearly three years later, I’m on my 300th mission. Taking down Hilbert and his Scarface Pirates was it—the final step to unlocking the Hunter’s Shop.
“Captain!” one of the surviving pirates yelps as Hilbert’s lifeless body hits the deck, blood still pooling beneath him. The guy takes a step forward but freezes when he sees standing over the corpse. He swallows hard, not daring to move an inch.
I squint at him, holstering my revolver with a click. A mocking smirk tugs at my lips as I glance at Hilbert’s body. “Look at that. Your captain’s dead, and not one of you has the guts to step up. So crew you’ve got.”
My eyes sweep over the ten or so survivors, landing on a man in his thirties at the front, clutching a long-barreled rifle. “You’re the vice-captain, right? Long-Gun Izo?”
The guy, Izo, flinches under my gaze, a bad feeling creeping up his spine. But with no way out, he nods stiffly. “Y-Yeah… that’s .”
The mont he answers, a glint of killing intent flashes in my eyes. Izo catches it—he’s a sniper, sharp enough to sense that kind of thing.
His muscles tense, sweat beads at his temples, and his body reacts like a cornered animal, braced for death.
But then I just shrug, lips curling. “Tch. Lucky day for you. I’m in a good mood, so I’ll let one slide.”
Izo exhales, his body slumping in relief.
I nudge Hilbert’s corpse with my boot, frowning as I think. Then I look back at Izo. “You got a smaller boat on this thing?”
“Huh?” Izo blinks, caught off guard, but quickly puts on a groveling smile. “Y-Yeah, we do! We do!” He turns to a pirate beside him. “Lad! Go prep a boat!”
“Uh… yes, sir…” Lad, clearly just as spineless, nods and scurries off.
“Oh, one more thing,” I say, kicking Hilbert’s body again, blood saring my boot. “Clean the blood off him, bag him up, and tie it so I can carry it.”
“I got it, I got it!” Izo jumps to it, grabbing a rag, rope, and a sack, scrambling to work. The other pirates watch him, their eyes dripping with contempt, like he’s the scum of the earth. But Izo doesn’t care.
Survival’s all that matters to him—pride and honor can wait.In no ti, Lad has a small sailboat ready, and Izo’s bagged Hilbert’s corpse, tying it neatly. “I’ll put it on the boat for you,” Izo says, still wearing that bootlicker grin, hauling the sack onto the smaller vessel.
“Not bad. You’ve got a good eye,” I say, patting his shoulder. I glance at the remaining pirates, and they all drop their gazes, not one daring to et my eyes.
I smirk, no disdain in my expression, just indifference. I climb into the small boat and sail off, the ship fading into the storm behind .
About a minute later, when I’m maybe a hundred ters out, I catch a glint of movent. Izo, that slimy bastard, thinks he’s clever. His face twists with a mix of cunning and malice as he raises his rifle, aiming at my back. At this range, a sniper like him could nail without breaking a sweat. I can almost see the fantasies playing in his head—killing the East Blue’s top bounty hunter, earning fa, and leading his own crew.
But before he can pull the trigger, a low hum vibrates from the ship. Then—BOOM! A massive explosion tears through the vessel, fire and splinters erupting into the sky. The blast is so close, so violent, that every pirate on board is obliterated, their screams drowned in the inferno.
From the start, I never planned to let them live. They’re just not worth the effort of killing myself. The explosives I rigged earlier did the job just fine.
I glance back at the fiery wreckage, my expression calm, a faint smile creeping across my face. “Nice fireworks,” I mutter.
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