One Piece : Thomas Andre

He is not gonna leave this place.

But first, he needed answers. Where was he? What was this place? The scene before him looked like something ripped straight out of the Middle Ages—bandits, swords, old-fashioned clothing. But was it real? Or was this some kind of elaborate reenactment? Had he just stormed in and ruined someone's historical roleplay?

He glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. The village, the people, the ship in the distance. If this was a recreation, it was flawless. But where? England? Scotland? Canada? Australia? He listened closely, but the voices around him were pure, unaccented English. That didn't narrow it down. And then there were the tears.

The tears were too real.

Even the most talented actors couldn't fake that kind of raw emotion. The mother's face, streaked with tears, her hands trembling as she clutched her daughter—that wasn't acting. That was real, unfiltered fear. And the man Thomas had just slammed into the ground? He wasn't an actor either. Thomas allowed himself a moment to examine the unconscious bandit.

The man was a brute, his face marked by stubble and scars—one near his cheek, another dangerously close to his eye. His nose was large, his eyes small and beady even in unconsciousness. He wore a dark green shirt, loose and worn, paired with old-fashioned trousers that looked like they'd seen better days. His sword—a real, sharp, deadly sword—lay discarded nearby, glinting in the sunlight.

Thomas's gaze shifted to the woman and her daughter. Their clothes were similar—plain, gray, lacking in color, and distinctly old-fashioned. It was all too consistent, too detailed to be a coincidence. But none of that mattered right now. He couldn't afford to get sidetracked, even though the questions were piling up in his mind.

The woman's plea echoed in his head: "Please save our village."

Thomas straightened, his jaw tightening with resolve. He didn't know where he was or how he'd gotten here, but one thing was clear: these people needed help. And he was going to give it to them.

"I will do it,"he said, his voice low but firm. "Hide somewhere."

When he heard the footsteps and murmured words of thanks behind him, Thomas didn't look back. He stepped forward, his boots crunching against the dirt path as he moved toward the heart of the village. If he wanted to draw attention to himself, he'd need to be seen. And to be seen, he'd need to be in the center of it all.

The village was a patchwork of wooden houses, ramshackle and old-fashioned, with crooked roofs and weathered walls. Was this some kind of time travel? Had he woken up in the past? The place where he'd first found himself—the forest, the clearing—hadn't given him any clues. But this? This was different. This was… strange.

But now wasn't the time for speculation. Now was the time for action. These bandits weren't going to kick themselves out of the village.

He took a deep breath, his chest swelling, and then he shouted, his voice booming through the village like a thunderclap.

"HEY! COME OUT, ALL OF YOU!"

He didn't stop yelling as he walked, his pace steady, his eyes locked on the pier in the distance. That's where these freaks had come from, he was sure of it. And it was also the most open area, the perfect place for a confrontation. The bandits would see him. They'd hear him. And they'd come running.

As he passed the houses, something caught his eye. A bar. A literal bar, with a sign that read "Happy Bar" in big, bold red letters. Thomas almost laughed. A bar? In the middle of what looked like a medieval village? What was next, a convenience store?

Apparently, yes. Further down the street, he spotted what looked like a general store, its windows cluttered with goods. And then, just beyond it, a blacksmith's shop, its sign adorned with a crude drawing of an anvil and hammer. Interesting. This place was a weird mix of old and… well, not exactly new, but definitely out of place.

Thomas stood in the clearing by the dock, his back to the water, his fists clenched and ready.

It was only after that outburst of raw, terrible anger in the forest-and the subsequent sprint through the woods-that Thomas had begun to truly understand what he was capable of. He didn't know the full extent of his powers, but the surface was clear enough. Strength. Defense. Speed. Reaction. It was all on an impossible level, something beyond human, beyond even animal. Cartoonish, almost. He didn't know what to compare it to, because no living creature should be able to do what he could do.

Could an animal create a crater several meters deep with a single blow and topple trees in the process? Could an animal, running at full speed, accidentally smash through a boulder and reduce it to rubble? No. Of course not.

But he could. For some reason, he could.

And then there were his heightened senses. He could hear the faintest footsteps, the grunts of men, the rustle of clothing. He could see the bandits emerging from the houses, their weapons glinting in their hands. Their grins were twisted, cruel, and unmistakably evil. These weren't villagers. These were the attackers.

A part of Thomas still hoped this was some kind of act, that the villagers weren't really in danger. But another part of him-a deeper, somehow believed it was real. And he prayed, with every fiber of his being, that he'd got here in time.

The bandits were a motley crew, a dozen

strong, led by a man who looked like he'd stepped straight out of a pirate movie. He wore a long coat slung over his shoulders, a wide-brimmed hat with a skull and crossed swords emblem, and a smirk that made Thomas's fists itch. This guy was their captain, no doubt about it. The way the others followed him, the way they hung on his every word-it was obvious.

Thomas was almost glad they'd reacted to his shout. Almost.

"Oi, so there's someone brave in this lousy village, " the captain sneered, his voice high-pitched and grating. It was the kind of voice that made you want to punch someone on principle. Thomas's frown deepened, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the man. He cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the clearing. For some reason, he liked it.

"Hm? You want to fight? With all of us?" The captain taunted, spreading his arms wide. "You're brave. And dumb, apparently." His minions erupted into laughter, their voices harsh and mocking. "But you'll serve as great training for my boys, since we'll be the first to take on One Piece!"He struck a dramatic pose, his underlings roaring in approval.

"YES!"

"You're right, Captain!"**

"Only a year has passed since the beginning of the era, but the Captain will be the new Pirate King!"

Thomas froze. His movements stopped. Even his breathing seemed to halt. He stood like a statue, his mind racing. "One Piece? King of Pirates? " he muttered under his breath, not wanting to believe it. Slowly, he raised his head to the heavens, his expression a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "Here? Why here?"

"Out of all places where I can be send... I'm in Anime World... About whom I barely know anything All those theories about alternative realities and Asians with their dreams about all of this... Weaboos are shitting their pants right now... God, why me... "

Thomas's raised head seemed to amuse the pirate captain. The man's grin widened, his teeth glinting in the sunlight.

"What, praying to your god already? " the captain sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "Don't worry, my boys will only beat you to death. Nothing to worry about!"

His minions laughed, again. Thomas lowered his head slowly, his eyes locking onto the gathering of freaks with a glare that could've melted steel.

"Alright, boys, let's go!" the captain barked, waving a hand dismissively.

Several of the bandits sprang into action, charging forward with weapons raised and shouts tearing from their throats. The captain crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back with a smug grin, as if he were already enjoying the spectacle of Thomas's inevitable defeat.

Thomas took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. The two bandits in the lead were closing in, their faces twisted with a mix of excitement and bloodlust. Thomas didn't wait for them to reach him. He moved.

Like a locomotive.

***

"Mommy, look!"a child's voice piped up, filled with awe.

"Whoa!" another villager gasped, their eyes wide as they watched the scene unfold.

"Oh, that's going to hurt, "someone muttered, wincing as one of the bandits crumpled to the ground.

"Take that, you filthy pirates!" a man shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

"Keep going, young man! Give them no mercy!" an elderly woman urged, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and hope.

The villagers, once cowering in fear, now stood together, their voices rising in a chorus of cheers for their unexpected savior. He was a young man-tall, broad-shouldered, with a mop of blond hair and a face set in a permanent scowl. His white shirt was smudged with dirt, but it did nothing to diminish the aura of raw power that surrounded him. He moved like a force of nature, unstoppable and unrelenting.

The Marines' base was far from this remote island, and the villagers had long known they were on their own. Until now, they'd been lucky-unbelievably so. Their island was rarely touched by pirates, and when sailors did dock, they were the kind of "pirates" who came to rest, resupply, and maybe cause a little mischief. Real danger was a rarity, something they'd heard about in stories but never experienced firsthand.

But times had changed. The so-called "Great Pirate era " had turned the seas into a lawless battleground, and even their quiet little island wasn't safe anymore.

The mayor, a shrewd and practical man, had seen the writing on the wall. He'd tried to negotiate with the Marines, pleading for a naval base to be established on their island.

But his requests had been ignored, brushed aside with bureaucratic indifference. There were reasons, of course-budgets, politics, priorities-but none of that mattered now. The first real attack had come, and it would have ended in bloodshed and despair if not for the blond stranger who'd appeared out of nowhere.

And started blasting.

The blows were earth-shattering, their force reverberating through the ground even at a distance. Each strike was a thunderclap, each punch a seismic event. The pirates didn't just fall—they were obliterated, their bodies crumpling to the ground in pools of their own blood. Their savior didn't dodge, didn't need to. The pirates didn't even have time to swing their weapons before they were taken down.

The two pirates the captain had sent forward fell instantly, their bodies hitting the dirt with a finality that left the onlookers stunned. Pirate Captain looks like he ready to faint.

Why? Because the first two pirates hadn't just been knocked down—they'd been *hammered* into the ground like nails.

The pirates' morale shattered faster than the ground beneath their feet.

The captain's reaction was a pathetic, high-pitched shriek that brought the villagers immense satisfaction. "WHAT?! A MARINE!!!!" he screamed, his voice cracking with panic. "What are you standing there for, you idiots? Kill him!!!!"

It was his last command. What followed was a spectacle—a brutal, chaotic, and oddly hilarious display of power that the villagers would talk about for years.

Their savior moved like a lightning, his fists delivering justice with surgical precision. The moment he grabbed two pirates by their heads and slammed their foreheads together was particularly memorable. The sound was like a coconut cracking, and the pirates dropped like sacks of flour. The children in the crowd burst into laughter, pointing and giggling as if they were watching a comedy show.

Then came the martial arts. His movements were fluid, practiced, and devastating. Every punch, every kick, every twist of his body was a masterclass in combat. The village boys watched in awe, their eyes wide with admiration. They'd just found their new hero—and a new hobby.

But the pièce de résistance was when their savior decided to get creative. He grabbed one of the pirates by the throat, flipped him upside down with terrifying ease, and then—using the man like a club—began swinging him at the others. The pirate-turned-weapon flailed helplessly as his body collided with his comrades, sending them flying in every direction. It was absurd, brutal, and utterly hilarious.

The villagers couldn't help themselves. They erupted into laughter, their voices ringing out across the clearing.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAH!

"Bwahahahahah!"

"Heh... "

Even the most stoic among them cracked a smile. And it was over in less than two minutes.

When the dust settled, the pirates were either unconscious, groaning in pain, or fleeing for their lives. Their savior stood in the center of the clearing, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths, his scowl still firmly in place.

"Yahoo! "

"Hooray! "

"Yes! "

The villagers cheered.

Pure, unbridled joy.

The frown that had been etched on the young man's face since he arrived was gone, replaced by a small, almost imperceptible smile. It wasn't much, but it was enough. The villagers' cheers, their laughter, their words of encouragement-they'd done their job. They'd reminded him why he was here.

Under their watchful eyes and roaring support, Thomas strode toward the pirate captain. The man, who had been so arrogant and commanding just moments ago, was now a trembling wreck. His weapon-a cutlass that had probably seen more intimidation than actual combat-lay discarded on the ground. He was on his knees, his hands raised in surrender, his face pale with fear. There was a brain in that head, sure, but it was about the size of a walnut, and it was currently screaming at him to do whatever it took to survive.

"Wait, please WAIT! SPARE ME!" the captain babbled, he is desperate "I can give you money! Treasure! My ship! Please, just-"

He didn't get to finish. Thomas's fist shot out like a piston, connecting with the man's face with a satisfying *crack*.

The captain's eyes rolled back, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he hit the dirt. It was over. Just like that.

The villagers, emboldened by the sight of their savior's victory, rushed forward. But Thomas's voice stopped them in their tracks. It was low, velvety, and carried an authority that made everyone pause.

"Please, help tie them up, " he said, gesturing to the unconscious pirates scattered across the clearing. "And take away their weapons."