One Piece: The Dragon King’s Voyage

The dawn broke over Foosha Village, a soft pink bleeding into the gold of the sea. Luffy scrambled up his cliff, stick clutched in his fist, his wild black hair whipping in the breeze. He squinted at the horizon, where a speck had grown overnight—red sails slicing through the waves like a blade against the sky. "A ship!" he shouted, grin splitting his face so wide it crinkled his eyes. "A real pirate ship!" His voice bounced off the rocks, bold and unshaken, as if the ocean itself had answered his call from the day before. At seven years old, he was a wiry bundle of energy, scrawny but scrappy, his bare feet digging into the dirt as he waved his stick like a flag.

Down below, the village stirred. Fishermen paused mid-haul, nets dripping in their hands, while women carrying baskets craned their necks toward the docks. Whispers cut through the morning hush—strangers, a ship, pirates maybe. Taro, his beard still damp from yesterday's eel debacle, squinted from the shore. "Red sails," he muttered, scratching his head. "Ain't seen that 'round here before." Woop Slap, the mayor, stomped out of his house, cane in hand, his pinched face already red with indignation. "Trouble! That's what it is! More trouble!"

Luffy didn't hear the buzz. He bolted down the hill, stick dragging a line in the dirt, his laughter trailing behind him like a comet's tail. He skidded to a stop at the docks just as the ship loomed close—wood creaking, sails snapping in the wind. A figurehead shaped like a dragon's head gleamed at the prow, its painted eyes fierce and wild. "Cool!" Luffy crowed, bouncing on his toes. "That's my ship someday!" He didn't notice the itch in his chest flare—sharp, alive, a heat that pulsed once and settled.

The gangplank dropped with a thud, and a man stepped ashore. Crimson hair peeked from beneath a straw hat, shading a face carved with easy confidence—sharp eyes, a stubble-dusted jaw, a smile that promised stories. His coat billowed, black and tattered at the edges, and a sword hung loose at his hip. Behind him, a crew spilled out—rough men with scars and grins, hauling barrels and ropes, their laughter loud and free. Red-Haired Shanks had arrived.

Makino emerged from the tavern, wiping her hands on her apron, her brow creasing as the pirates fanned out. "Pirates?" she murmured, glancing at Luffy, who was already darting toward them. "Luffy, wait!" But he was gone, weaving through the growing crowd of villagers, his stick raised like a challenge.

"Oi, you!" Luffy planted himself in front of Shanks, grinning up at the man who towered over him. "You a pirate? A real one?" Shanks tilted his head, straw hat casting a shadow over his eyes, and chuckled—a low, warm sound that rolled like the tide. "Aye, kid. Real as they come. Name's Shanks. Who're you?" Luffy puffed out his chest, stick jabbed toward the sky. "I'm Monkey D. Luffy, and I'm gonna be the Pirate King! The best pirate ever!"

The crew burst into laughter, a roar that shook the docks. "Pirate King, huh?" one called, a burly man with a missing tooth. "You're a shrimp!" Another, lean and sunburned, slapped his knee. "He'd sink his own ship!" But Shanks didn't laugh. He crouched, meeting Luffy's gaze, his smile softening. "Big dream, kid. Takes guts to shout it like that." Luffy nodded, unfazed by the jeers. "Yup! And I'm tough—tougher than anybody! Wanna see?"

Before Shanks could answer, Luffy spun around, spotting a crate Taro had left on the dock—heavy with fish, twice his size. "Watch this!" He grabbed it with both hands, muscles straining, and hoisted it overhead with a grunt. The villagers gasped, Taro choking on his pipe. "That's fifty pounds!" Luffy giggled, tossing it up and catching it like a toy. "Shishishi! Easy!" A faint golden shimmer flickered along his arms, gone in a blink, but Shanks' eyes narrowed, catching it.

"Strong little runt," Shanks said, straightening. "What's your secret?" Luffy dropped the crate with a thud, scratching his head. "Secret? I'm just me! The toughest!" Shanks smirked, glancing at his crew. "Hear that, boys? Tougher than us, he says." They laughed again, but there was a glint in Shanks' stare—curiosity, maybe something more.

The day unfolded in a blur of noise and motion. The pirates set up camp on the docks, barrels of ale cracked open, songs spilling into the air. Luffy stuck close, pestering Shanks with questions—"How many islands you seen? Got any treasure? Fight any monsters?"—his stick swinging like he was already on deck. Shanks humored him, spinning tales of storms and sea kings, his crew chiming in with exaggerated boasts. Makino watched from the tavern, serving drinks to curious villagers, her smile tight. "He's taken to them," she murmured to Taro, who grunted. "Too taken. That kid's trouble enough without pirates eggin' him on."

Trouble found Luffy before noon. A trio of bandits—the same ragged men from the day before—slunk back into view, emboldened by the chaos of the pirates' arrival. Gorr, their scarred leader, spat as he eyed Luffy chatting with Shanks near a pile of barrels. "That freak kid's at it again," he growled to his cronies. "Thinks he's big with pirates around. Let's rough him up—show 'em this is our turf." They hefted clubs and a rusty knife, slipping toward the docks.

Luffy didn't see them coming. He was mid-rant—"I'm gonna have a ship bigger than yours, with a dragon that flies!"—when Gorr's shadow loomed. "Oi, brat!" the bandit snarled, club raised. "Still yapping about kings? Hand over whatever those pirates gave you!" Shanks turned, hand resting on his sword, but Luffy spun first, grinning. "You again? You're boring! Go away!" Gorr swung, aiming for his head.

The crowd gasped—Makino shouting, "Luffy!"—but Luffy ducked, quick as a spark. He punched upward, fist slamming into Gorr's gut with a crack. A burst of heat flared, sharper than before, and Gorr flew back, crashing into a barrel with a groan. Smoke wisped from his shirt, and the other bandits froze as golden flecks danced in Luffy's eyes, fading fast. "Shishishi! Told ya—weak!" he crowed, bouncing on his toes.

Shanks whistled low, stepping forward. "Nice hit, kid." His crew cheered, but the bandits weren't done. The knife-wielder lunged, blade glinting, and something snapped in Luffy. The itch in his chest roared—a heat he couldn't name—and his back shifted. A ripple ran down his spine, and with a raw, instinctive flex, wings burst out—small, leathery, dragon-like, tipped with golden scales. They flapped once, clumsy and wild, sending a gust that knocked the bandit flat. Luffy blinked, twisting to look. "Whoa! Wings? Cool!"

The villagers gasped, some stumbling back, others gaping. "What is that?" Taro muttered. Woop Slap's cane clattered to the ground. "A monster!" Shanks' crew went silent, then erupted—"Did you see that?" "He's a freak!" But Shanks just watched, eyes sharp beneath his hat. Luffy flapped again, giggling as the wings retracted, vanishing as quick as they'd come. "That was fun! Can I do it again?"

Gorr, coughing in the wreckage, scrambled up with his last crony and bolted, screaming about "demon kids." Luffy didn't care—he turned to Shanks, grinning. "Did ya see? I flew a little!" Shanks crouched, ruffling Luffy's hair. "Yeah, I saw. You're full of surprises, huh?" His voice was light, but his gaze lingered, tracing where the wings had been.

The pirates settled into Foosha for days, their laughter and ale flowing freely. Luffy was a constant shadow, climbing their ship, begging for sparring matches—usually ending with him flattened but laughing. Shanks watched him closely, noting the flickers: a golden shimmer when he got mad, a faint growl in his giggle. One afternoon, as Luffy wrestled a crate bigger than himself, Shanks called him over. "Kid, c'mere."

Luffy bounded up, dripping sweat, his stick tucked under his arm. "What's up, Shanks?" The pirate leaned against a barrel, straw hat tipped back. "You really mean it—Pirate King, huh?" Luffy nodded, fierce. "Yup! I'm gonna sail everywhere, find the One Piece, and be free!" Shanks smiled, a quiet thing, and pulled something from his coat—a small sack of loot, coins glinting. "Freedom's tough. Takes more than strength. You ready to fight for it?"

Luffy's eyes lit up. "Yeah! I'll fight anybody!" Shanks chuckled, then grew serious. "Prove it, then. One punch—hit me as hard as you can." His crew snickered, but Luffy didn't hesitate. He dropped his stick, wound back, and swung—his fist aimed for Shanks' chest. The itch flared again, and this time, his hand shifted—fingers lengthening, nails sharpening into black claws tipped with gold. The punch landed with a boom, a gust of heat rippling out. Shanks slid back a foot, grinning, unharmed but impressed. "Not bad, kid."

Luffy stared at his hand as the claws retracted, skin smoothing back to normal. "Whoa! Claws now? Awesome!" He flexed his fingers, giggling. "I'm gonna get stronger—way stronger!" Shanks laughed, loud and free, and his crew joined in, clapping Luffy on the back. Makino, watching from the tavern, frowned, unease curling in hergut.

Days later, a storm brewed on the horizon—dark clouds rolling in, a sign to move on. Shanks stood on the docks, his crew loading the ship, Luffy tugging at his coat. "Take me with you! I'm ready!" Shanks knelt, meeting his eyes. "Not yet, kid. You've got fire—more than you know—but the sea's no place for you 'til you're bigger." Luffy pouted, fists clenched. "I'm big enough!" Shanks shook his head, then paused. He lifted the straw hat from his own head, its edges worn but proud, and set it on Luffy's.

"This is a promise," Shanks said, voice low. "Keep it safe. Get strong—stronger than me. Then come find me, Pirate King." Luffy's jaw dropped, hands gripping the hat's brim. "Your hat? For real?" Shanks grinned. "For real. Don't lose it." He stood, ruffling Luffy's hair one last time, and turned to his ship.

Luffy watched them sail off, hat shadowing his eyes, a grin splitting his face. The itch in his chest burned, and he flexed his hand—claws flickering out and back, wings twitching faintly before fading. "Shishishi! I'll do it, Shanks! I'll be the best!" That night, he dreamed again—golden scales, a voice rumbling, "The king awakens." He mumbled back, "Gonna sail, scaly guy," and slept on, the hat clutched tight.