Foosha Village lay quiet in the embrace of the afternoon sun. The waves lapped gently against the docks, and the scent of sea salt and tangerines floated lazily through the air. For most, it was a sleepy, peaceful town on the edge of East Blue — but for two boys, it was the entire world.
"Oi! Vihaan! Come down here!"
A pebble clinked against the window of a modest little house just above the slope facing the sea. Inside, the curtains shifted.
"Do it again and you'll regret it," came a voice from above — calm, clear, a little amused.
Luffy grinned up, both hands on his hips, the red bandana around his neck fluttering in the breeze. "Only if you're scared to race me!"
A moment later, the window creaked open. Vihaan leaned out, silver eyes catching the sun just enough to glint dangerously. "You? Beat me in a race? That'll be the day pigs swim and Garp retires."
"Then bring it on, smartass!"
In a blur of motion, Vihaan leapt from the ledge — feet landing with surprising grace on the railing, then bounding down onto a barrel, and finally the dirt road. He straightened his loose collar, dusted his pants, and smirked.
Luffy was already sprinting toward the path behind the tangerine grove. "First one to the windmill wins!"
Vihaan gave a small sigh. "He never waits…"
He followed, not running as wildly as Luffy, but with fluid, calculated strides. Unlike Luffy, who tore through the grove like a whirlwind, Vihaan dodged roots and low branches without missing a step. A fox darted away as he passed, startled by the sudden thud of young feet against earth.
By the time Vihaan reached the windmill, Luffy was panting on the ground, arms splayed.
"I—huff—beat you…"
Vihaan raised an eyebrow, only slightly out of breath. "You call collapsing at the finish line a win?"
Luffy gave a toothy grin from the grass. "A win's a win!"
Vihaan chuckled and flopped down beside him, arms behind his head.
They stared up at the sky — clouds drifting lazily like ships on a pale blue sea.
The two boys had grown up together, though not from birth.
Luffy was a local — wild, scrappy, fearless. Vihaan… wasn't.
No one knew where he came from. Not even him.
Seven years ago, he had washed ashore in a barrel after a storm — barely breathing, soaked in blood and seawater, no memory of how he got there. Garp had been the one to pry the barrel open. The old Marine narrowed his eyes the moment he saw the boy's silver necklace and calculating stare.
"This kid's trouble."
But Makino had stepped forward, her soft smile unwavering. "Then he'll fit right in."
Vihaan didn't cry when he woke up. Didn't even speak for two days. He just watched. Listened. When he finally spoke, his words were deliberate and polite. Almost too polite for someone his age.
"I don't know who I am," he had said. "But I'd like to stay."
Luffy had burst into the room that day, tracking mud and carrying a frog. "Makino! Look what I—oh."
Their eyes met.
"I'm Luffy!"
"Vihaan."
"Wanna see a frog explode?"
Vihaan blinked. "...Sure."
And that was that.
They were opposites in every way.
Luffy charged at life with reckless abandon. Vihaan studied it first, then struck with precision. Luffy was all heart. Vihaan was sharp-eyed instinct wrapped in charm.
But somehow, it worked.
Vihaan learned to loosen up. Luffy learned to look before he jumped… sometimes.
They spent their days racing through fields, testing themselves in imaginary battles, and sneaking food from the market stalls (mostly Luffy — Vihaan was a master at distracting the seller).
Some nights, they lay awake on the roof of Makino's bar, Vihaan tracing constellations while Luffy pointed out stars that "looked like meat."
Other nights, Vihaan stared at his cracked mirror pendant and wondered where he had come from. What he was before the sea had taken him.
But every time that darkness crept in, Luffy would elbow him and whisper, "Even if you're from space or Hell or wherever… you're still my brother, 'kay?"
Vihaan never said it, but those words meant more than Luffy could ever know.
Then came Garp's training.
Which was another way of saying daily torture disguised as discipline.
The old man dropped both boys off in the jungle for "survival experience." Luffy cried about bugs. Vihaan lit a fire using polished stones and roasted a squirrel.
When Garp demanded they learn to fight, Luffy developed his trademark "punch-and-scream" style. Vihaan studied the flow of motion — watching how enemies moved, testing different weights of sticks, learning leverage over strength.
He was brilliant. Luffy didn't get it, but he trusted it.
What Luffy lacked in planning, he made up for in raw, untamed drive.
What Vihaan lacked in memory, he made up for in focus.
Together, they became something dangerous.
By the time they turned twelve, they'd already built their first raft — a sad, wobbly thing they named The Monkey Mirror.
It sank within an hour.
"We need a bigger one," Luffy said, coughing up seawater.
"No," Vihaan muttered. "We need a plan."
One evening, after a day of training and tree climbing and Luffy getting chased by a goat, they sat on a rock overlooking the ocean. The sunset cast their shadows long and golden.
"What'll you do when you go to sea?" Vihaan asked suddenly.
Luffy didn't hesitate. "Become Pirate King."
Vihaan nodded. "I thought so."
"What about you?"
Vihaan was silent for a long time. The tide hissed below them, washing shells onto the shore.
"I want to find my past," he said softly. "And then... let it go."
Luffy tilted his head. "Let it go?"
Vihaan glanced at him. "Whatever I was before, it doesn't matter. But I want to know... so I can stop wondering."
There was a pause. Then Luffy grinned.
"Then we're both going. You'll be my co-captain, right?"
Vihaan laughed — short, quiet, but real.
"Only if I get to make the battle plans."
"You can't boss me around!"
"You'll be dead without me."
They both cracked up, their laughter carried away by the breeze.
Makino sometimes watched them from the bar's window.
She knew boys like them didn't stay in small towns. Not for long.
She watched Vihaan study maps late at night. Saw the way he tried to flirt with the older girls — awkward but charming, always with a glint of mischief in his eye.
She saw Luffy swing from trees yelling "Gum-Gum!" and land face-first in the river.
She loved them both like sons. But she knew the sea would call them soon.
It always did.
One night, as a storm brewed quietly offshore, Vihaan couldn't sleep.
He stood in front of the mirror — not the pendant, but the real one Makino kept near the bar.
His reflection stared back — same tousled hair, same eyes that sometimes glowed silver in the dark.
He touched the mirror. It felt warm.
Suddenly, a flicker — not his face.
Another.
A flash of something — a smirk, sharper. More dangerous.
Vihaan stumbled back.
It was gone.
But the feeling remained.
His pendant pulsed gently against his chest, almost as if it had heard something he hadn't.
He took a deep breath.
Whatever he was...
He'd face it.
With Luffy at his side, nothing felt impossible.