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Chapter 1: Three Years Old, The Wild King of a Deserted Island
🕑 Added 2025-08-19 08:24:36 +0000 UTC(Hehehe, I'm a Brain-Brain Fruit user, hand over your brain obediently!) His consciousness froze at the cold front of the hundred-ton truck
(Hehehe, I'm a Brain-Brain Fruit user, hand over your brain obediently!)
His consciousness froze at the cold front of the hundred-ton truck bearing down on him.
CRASH!
Guys, who can relate?
He seemed to hear the distinctive electronic voice of a Cybertronian—and damn it, it was even a loli voice!
"I thought it was a speed bump."
"Take it up with my insurance."
"We're all just trying our best to live."
Damn, so frustrating! My 512GB of "study materials" on the USB drive were still…
Then came endless darkness and bone-deep, tearing pain.
When he opened his eyes again, it was a completely unfamiliar world.
The salty sea breeze, carrying the savage scent of primordial jungle, roughly invaded his nostrils.
Massive trees he'd never seen before blocked out the sky, while bizarre bird calls and beast roars echoed back and forth.
Beneath him, coarse gravel painfully pressed into his body.
"What the hell? Where did you dump me? Is this still domestic territory?"
A childish, weak voice emerged. Kyle panicked, sitting up and frantically feeling around his body.
Thank God, thank God—little arms, little legs, kidneys, little buddy—all intact…
Wait, what the hell! A roughly three-year-old kid stranded on a deserted island? This doesn’t look good, no matter how you spin it!
His past life memories were like shattered mirror fragments, impossible to piece together into a complete picture, while his current body's memories were equally chaotic—he only vaguely remembered surviving a shipwreck.
Amid the confused thoughts, hunger was the first to sound the alarm.
Then came the cold—the sea breeze cut right through his thin, tattered clothes of unknown material.
And those sounds from the forest that made his scalp crawl.
Kyle shivered, survival instinct overriding all confusion and resentment.
He crawled and stumbled until he found a low cave, half-hollowed out by the waves, barely enough to shelter him from wind and rain.
The cave reeked of foul, fishy odors and dampness, but Kyle didn’t care.
He huddled in the deepest part of the cave, listening to the roaring waves outside and the faint sounds of chewing from the jungle.
"System?"
"Ring, grandpa?"
"…"
His tentative inquiries were swallowed by the sound of waves, and Kyle fully calmed down.
Good news: He'd transmigrated!
Bad news: Hell mode start!
"I'm Kyle Grylls (not really), and I'm going to show you how to survive in some of the most extreme and dangerous places!"
Dum dum dum dum
As a sheltered kid from peaceful times, Kyle's wilderness survival experience had been limited to trash-talking "I could do that!" under survival videos. But now, the only hard thing about Kyle was his mouth.
Using the water puddle in the cave as a mirror, Kyle examined himself—black hair, golden eyes, and though his small face was thin and childish, you could vaguely see he'd grow up to have the kind of handsome looks that would make readers jealous.
To avoid an early-death bad ending, he now had only one goal: survive!
---
Three years.
Three whole years—do you know how I've been living?
His body grew at an incredible rate, becoming stronger and more agile.
It far exceeded what a child's physical capabilities should be, according to his past life memories, making Kyle realize this world was far from ordinary.
Years of running, climbing, and fighting had given him smooth, solid muscle lines full of explosive power.
"Hey, hey, hey, scored some grub again, bros!"
Kyle skillfully processed the wild rabbit in his hands while talking to himself, occasionally letting out weird cackles.
"Today's lunch is roasted rabbit, some unrecognizable little fruit, and some questionable stuff. Dig in, bros!"
"Ah, so good, burp."
After wolfing down the cute bunny, Kyle sat on a rock, ready to enjoy an unknown fruit he'd picked from the island.
The fruit was completely white, with layered concentric circle patterns on its surface.
"Hmm, feels like I've seen this somewhere? What is this thing? Whatever—whether it's good or bad, your boy Kyle will know with one bite!"
The moment the first bite hit his stomach, Kyle's face went from green to white, his stomach churning like ten thousand goblins having an impact party.
"Ugh~"
Even with Kyle's extensive eating experience, he'd never tasted anything this disgusting. He spat several times, trying to drive away that desperate flavor.
"The taste is like a fermented sock that hasn't been washed for a month in summer, mixed with a dead rat that's been rotting for three months, slow-cooked for seventy-seven days—barely rates a quantum micro-stink."
Kyle grimaced, feeling like his taste buds had been thoroughly traumatized.
He shook his head vigorously, trying to rid both the demonic taste and the fruit's strange appearance from his mind.
There were more important things waiting—the sun was still high, and his daily "required course" hadn't started yet.
For three whole years, this had been his routine. Now, six-year-old Kyle's small body contained strength and agility completely disproportionate to his age.
---
A beautiful day starts with a nude beach run.
Kyle ran barefoot on the slightly wet beach, each step sinking deep then bouncing back powerfully at surprising speed, leaving a trail of small footprints that were quickly smoothed away by the incoming tide.
Next was strength training. He'd long since mapped out this jungle, finding an ideal "gym"—a place scattered with various rocks of different sizes and shapes that were reasonably manageable.
Lifting, moving, throwing, hurling—these monotonous actions repeated day after day. His muscles, far beyond his peers, were firm and well-defined, long accustomed to this burning, acid-like sensation.
During training, he'd occasionally curse in his past life's colorful language, and when the mood struck, hum snippets of catchy songs dredged up from some corner of his memory.
"That day's squid~ squid rise up!"
He gave a low shout, veins slightly bulging in his arms, easily lifting a rock almost twice his height, then hurling it forcefully to crash into the distant sand with a dull thud.
Agility training relied even more on the jungle itself—this crisis-ridden primordial forest was his natural obstacle course.
Kyle leaped between fallen giant logs, swung through the forest canopy on thick vines, nimbly avoiding small predators that tried to ambush him from the shadows.
His senses had long been honed sharp as the finest blade—every gust of wind, every subtle friction of leaves could rapidly form a judgment in his mind.
As for combat skills, he couldn't claim any sophisticated techniques—these were all life-preserving abilities learned on the edge of life and death: simple, direct, deadly.
He'd practice stabbing, chopping, and sweeping against thick tree trunks with his homemade spear, each movement pursuing speed, accuracy, and ruthlessness.
"Take my Monkey Steals Peach… bah bah bah, what am I even practicing! Be serious, Kyle—you’re gonna be the kid who could out-survive Bear Grylls and still roast Les Stroud!"
He'd occasionally stop, breathing heavily, wiping sweat from his forehead, a cunning gleam flashing in his eyes that didn't match his age, then straighten his face and dive back into the tedious training.
---
As the setting sun began gilding the sky and sea, Kyle sat on his exclusive "observation deck"—a towering cliff edge overlooking the endless blue waves.
Post-exercise fatigue arrived as expected, the soreness carrying a strange satisfaction.
This meant he'd survived another day, pushed his limits forward another small step.
Kyle unconsciously flexed his arm, raising a solid bicep completely inconsistent with his slender frame. These muscles were all earned through real training—not something some pointy-headed guy could claim!
"Homelander? No, no, no, I don't eat beef." Kyle muttered, "Breaking news from fitness circles—six-year-old superman online lifting with the power of nine dragons!"
These slightly twisted fantasies were his medicine against loneliness. In the monotonous daily survival routine, you had to find some fun, right?
But beneath these jokes lay confusion about his own body. This growth rate, this strength, this recovery ability—none of it seemed like what a normal human child should have.
Even if the island's "cuisine" was "unique" and the environment "survival of the fittest," it shouldn't have catalyzed him into his current state, right?
---
The sun's last rays completely sank below the horizon, and sparse cold stars began twinkling in the night sky.
Kyle stretched, preparing to return to his crude but safe cave.
As night deepened, waves gently lapped the beach with rhythmic "whoosh" sounds, occasionally mixed with unknown night insects' calls.
Kyle lay in the depths of the cave on several layers of dried broad leaves—barely qualifying as a "bed."
Usually, after a full day of high-intensity physical exertion, he could fall dead asleep the moment his head hit the "pillow." But tonight was different.
Chaotic thoughts surged like a beach after low tide, with all sorts of random ideas and images washing up.
Forest shadows, ocean vastness, those bizarre yet real creatures… and that damned white fruit that tasted like pure torture.
That taste… just thinking about it made Kyle shudder, his stomach starting to act up again.
But what tormented him wasn't just that torturous flavor—it was those patterns on the fruit's skin. Circle after circle, like concentric spiral ripples spreading outward.
Spiral patterns…
He seemed to have seen this distinctive pattern somewhere before.
Like a puzzle missing its crucial piece, that key fragment remained hidden behind memory's fog, barely visible, making him itch with frustration and inexplicable irritation.
Wait!
Spiral patterns? Disgustingly inedible?
Lightning struck his mind without warning, dispelling all the fog!
A memory long buried yet vivid as life itself rushed out like floodwaters through a broken dam.
It belonged to his past life—a bizarre, fantastical world full of passionate adventures, fierce battles, diverse pirates, marines sworn to uphold justice, and… a type of fruit with magical powers.
These fruits typically bore unique spiral patterns and could grant eaters incredible supernatural abilities, but in return, eaters would be rejected by the sea, becoming unable to swim. Most widely known and memorable—they tasted like a concentrated mixture of the world's most disgusting things, distilled eighty-one times!
Devil Fruit!
Kyle sat up in shock like a corpse returning to life, his eyes wide as saucers in the dark cave.
Spiral patterns… that unspeakable taste… and his own body, which even before eating that suspected "Devil Fruit" had already shown superhuman strength and recovery speed… Everything, when viewed through the lens of "Devil Fruit," seemed so… logical, yet so unbelievable!
Countless clues strung together like scattered pearls on a thread.
The oversized, strangely behaved creatures on this island; this endless, apparently boundless ocean; and the sense of wrongness he'd always vaguely felt—this world seemed to operate under a completely different set of physical laws and power systems than he'd known.
He recalled his first moments after transmigrating, that sudden shipwreck, the original body's unclear memory fragments… a world filled with endless oceans and countless islands…
"Shit… It's a Devil Fruit!" The words practically squeezed out through his teeth, carrying barely suppressed trembling and a hint of excitement he hadn't even noticed himself.
"This place…" His voice was thin as a mosquito's buzz, yet carried the absurd weight of something called "destiny."
"This place… is the world of One Piece!"
