Being reborn as Monkey D. Luffy was the greatest miracle Ali could have hoped for…
And the most confusing thing he'd ever experienced.
At first, everything felt like a dream — the baby body, the blurred vision, the loud adults who cooed at him like he was made of sugar. But once the fog of rebirth faded, the truth hit hard:
He was actually in One Piece.
He was Monkey D. Luffy.
And he had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do.
Foosha Village was quiet, slow, and warm. Makino's tavern smelled like fresh bread and citrus. The mayor grumbled about pirates every time someone mentioned the sea. Children ran barefoot through fields, and fishermen shouted greetings to anyone passing by.
To the villagers, Luffy was just a spirited boy. Curious, reckless, always smiling.
He was a favorite among the elders, even if he constantly climbed things he shouldn't or broke furniture while "pretending to be a cannonball."
But behind those bright eyes, something twisted.
Ali remembered what the world outside held:
Arlong's tyranny.
Crocodile's drought.
Enies Lobby's fire.
The Celestial Dragons' cruelty.
The World Government's silence.
One Piece wasn't just fun anymore.
It was real. And real meant danger. Pain. Loss.
At night, Luffy would lie awake and think about his future crew.
Zoro, still alone, honor bound, tied to a post with no food. Nami, forced to smile while her freedom was sold over and over. Usopp, hiding grief behind lies because it's the only way he knows how to cope. Sanji, starving for approval and starving for food, feeding others before himself. Robin, running. Always running. Franky, building walls so no one sees how much he blames himself. Brook, playing music for ghosts. .Jinbe, burdened by history.
All of them were out there, fighting to survive. And he wasn't sure if he had the right — or the strength — to lead them.
He used to know what Luffy stood for. But now that he was Luffy?
He wasn't sure who he was supposed to be anymore.
Then there was Garp.
The Hero of the Marines. The fist that shattered mountains and crushed pirate dreams.
He visited every few months like a storm — loud, terrifying, and affectionate in a very Marine Grandpa kind of way.
"Luffy!!" he roared once, kicking the door open while Makino shrieked in the background. "Time for toughening up!"
Luffy, four years old, had promptly been thrown into the sky and landed in a pile of cabbages.
To any outsider, it looked like abuse.
But to Luffy… it was love. Chaotic. Stupid. Loud. But real.
Underneath the shouting, the discipline, the threats about becoming a Marine, Garp believed in him.
"Luffy!" he roared one morning while bursting through Makino's front door. "You're gonna be a strong Marine one day, just like me!"
He said it like a promise, not a suggestion. And he said it often. As if the more he repeated it, the more true it would become.
And that hurt the most.
Because part of Luffy wanted to make Garp proud.
And yet…
He also remembered Ace. Marineford. The way Garp sat trembling, fists clenched, knowing he couldn't save his grandson. The weight of that choice.
Do I want to be a Marine just to stop feeling lost? Or do I really believe in justice?
Garp didn't just throw Luffy into trees or demand push-ups before breakfast.
He told stories.
At night, with his feet kicked up and a grin on his face, Garp would lean in and paint pictures with words:
"Luffy, there was this pirate — 'Bloody Hook' Daznar — took over an entire town and forced the people to build him a statue out of cannonballs! What a scumbag! Pirates are all like that — greedy, cruel, power-hungry."
Luffy would nod, but inside, he remembered Vivi's courage. Chopper's kindness. Franky crying as he rebuilt dreams.
Then Garp would shift gears:
"But Gol D. Roger? Now that was a pirate with guts. Strongest man I ever fought. He didn't run — he stood in front of the world and laughed. Even at the end."
Luffy would listen, wide-eyed.
Why do you respect him, Grandpa? Why do you sound proud when you say his name… if pirates are so bad?
Those stories didn't inspire clarity. They dug the hole deeper.
Because the man Garp wanted him to be — the Marine, the soldier, the enforcer of justice — spoke with reverence about the man who broke the world.
And the boy listening? He didn't know which part of the story he was supposed to inherit.
For now, the only thing he was sure of… was strength.
He needed it. Desperately.
No matter what path he took — Marine, pirate, something entirely new — he would need to be powerful enough to stand against this world.
So, he trained.
Not in a flashy or obvious way. He couldn't risk Garp or the villagers thinking something was strange. So he masked it with joy. Laughter. Playfulness.
He became the most energetic child Foosha Village had ever seen.
He ran everywhere — up hills, across fields, through alleyways. He climbed trees under the excuse of chasing birds. He leapt into bushes claiming to "hunt invisible tigers." He challenged goats to races and fences to battles.
The adults laughed.
"Luffy's just so full of energy," Makino would say fondly.
In reality, every action had purpose. He did push-ups beneath tables. Practiced squats while playing "pirate captain" in the sand Held planks under the guise of pretending to be a "sunbathing log."
He even began breath control exercises, trying to mimic the basic flow of Haki focus techniques from the series. He didn't know how soon he could awaken it — if at all — but he wasn't going to wait until life forced him to learn mid-fight.
Some nights, after running himself to exhaustion, he'd sit alone beneath the stars and whisper to the wind:
"What am I supposed to be?"
No answer came.
But the ocean always kept whispering.
It started with a ripple in the harbor.
Luffy was sitting on a crate outside Makino's bar, chewing on meat and humming a song from his old world, when he saw the sails.
Red.
Not the red of a merchant flag or a fishing crew. Red like fire. Red like rebellion.
A massive ship rolled into the harbor, its red sails billowing like fire. A Jolly Roger flapped proudly on the mast — a skull with three scars over its left eye.
Villagers flooded the docks, whispering, gasping.
The pirates stepped off laughing, vibrant, chaotic, alive.
And at the center of them was a man with fiery red hair, a long coat, and a straw hat slung low over one eye.
Red-Haired Shanks.
He walked like the ocean itself moved out of his way. Loose, relaxed, smiling. That iconic straw hat tilted low over one eye.
Luffy stared, heart hammering.
The man who gave him the dream… had arrived.
And whether he followed canon or not, Luffy knew one thing:
Everything would change now.