I got Isekai’d into a One Piece Normality!

“Ahhhh! Update! Update! Update it, damn you, update it!”

I was furiously mashing F5 on my keyboard while looking at the screen. My eyes focused on nothing else besides the number of chapters. 53. That damn number. That demon number. The number that should not exist because 54 is way sexier and the creator of the number 53 was probably a cuckold furry!

I would give anything to see that number increase into its better version, but no matter how much I tried, nothing changed.

“You do realize that does nothing, right?”

Kyle was behind me, sitting on a chair (my gaming chair, now that I noticed. Son-of-a-bitch must have stolen it while I was focusing), a robe wrapped around his pudgy self while he drank my while from my glass like he owed my place!

“Well, you’re not helping either, so shut up!”

“Of course I’m not. There is nothing to ‘help’ with.” The liquid swirled around the glass. A few drops fell upon the robe and Kyle pretended not to notice, probably because that was also my robe. “The author either has not written the next chapter or chose not to publish it. Whatever’s the case, nothing to be done.”

“What the heck do you mean? It’s been over a year, man! Over a year of waiting for not one single chapter! That is so unfair!”

“Alas, so is life.”

“Do you know how big this story is? Do you know how many times I’ve had to re-read it just to remember plot points? How much time I’ve wasted reading it again and again so I can be ready for when he publishes the next chapter!?”

“Well, send him a letter then. I’m sure he will take pity on your dedication and publish the next chapter. Or tell you to screw yourself and go back to banging hot blondes, whichever comes first.” Kyle snickered. “Haha. ‘Comes’. You see, it is funny because—”

“No, it is not funny and that’s why no one likes you, shut the fuck up!”

Kyle made a face but didn’t argue. I knew I had stepped over the line, but I was just too stressed to apologize. My hands went to my head, grabbing and pulling at non-existent hair.

“I just want another chapter, man. Just another chapter.” I’ve seen junkies less addicted to me. Couldn’t be helped, however, since I was addicted to something far, far better than any ****: words. “Which kind of guy writes over half a million words on a story just to stop all of the sudden?”

“Dan, you’re reading a One Piece fanfic. If you’re expecting professionalism from non-professionals, the fault lies on you.”

“But what about the fans!? Doesn’t he care about the fans!?”

“Well, either he doesn’t or whatever issue holds him down is more important. Kyle, a year is a lot of time: if he didn’t write anything new its because he doesn’t want to, and in that regard, you do not matter.”

I felt my heart sink at that. Truth be told, Kyle was right: it was over. Joever, as the kids say. The story wasn’t updated in over a year, not a single word. Even if the writer still cared about her, what was to say this wouldn’t happen again?

It was over.

The story he loved was, effectively, over.

“You are way overdramatic with this, huh?”

“Shut up!” I jumped, taking a stool from the corner of the room (Kyle liked to joke it was my ‘cuck stool’, even though I never had a girlfriend on the first place) and setting it in front of my PC. “If he won’t write, then all I’ve gotta do is write it myself!”

“Write ‘it’? You mean, continue the story he left unfinished?”

“Nah, I mean… wait, COULD I DO THAT!?”

“I mean… yeah? He has no rights upon it, it’s a fanfic after all. He might complain, but what can he do other than that? You can slap a ‘unnoficial sequel’ onto it and write away. Worst things he can do is go nuclear and delete the old one.”

“Hum… but that would be in bad taste, right?”

“It would not be well seen, yes.”

“Then let’s not go with that. At any rate, that wasn’t the idea!”

“Wasn’t it?”

“Of course not! If he won’t write, then let me write it myself! The perfect story! The perfect fanfiction! The perfect One Piece—”

“Basically, you’re just gonna make your own version of the story since you’re impatient.”

I actually stopped and turned myself at that.

“You can be a real bitch sometimes, you know that?”

“I just speak truth as I see it.” Said Kyle, all the while with that smug smile on his face. “I’m not saying it is a bad idea, by the way. I’m just telling it as it is. Your motivation comes from the fact others fail or refuse to live up to your expectations, so you decide to take things on your own hands and do it yourself. This might work for a while, but chances are you’re just gonna run out of gas eventually and leave it unfinished too.”

“Then what would you have me do!?”

“Ideally? Nothing. The writer doesn’t care about the story or the readers, so you do the same. Forget about it, pretend it was never ever made to begin with. Maybe he will be back to writing at some point and you can all go back to enjoying it. Or maybe he will never write it again, or perhaps he will write it, find out that he’s screaming into the void and then drop the story again. It doesn't matter. If you stop caring about these things, whatever happens is irrelevant, and nothing can be better than that.”

“But I—”

“Of course, that is what I would do, but I am a much superior specimen than you”, said the pudgy little man with poor eyesight. “So, for you, I think writing your own story would do you good. Maybe you will drop It after a few chapters, or maybe you will find in said story a new hobby. Regardless, it’s a better use of your time than just waiting for what may never come.”

Encouragement was something rare coming from Kyle. He was usually so obsessed with seeming smart and snarky, I found myself forgetting why we were friends on the first place.

Moments like this one were a welcome reminder.

I smiled fondly at him, and then turned back around to start writing.

“Ow!”

And was promptly hit by something.

“What is that? An earring?”

While I was busy rubbing my forehead Kyle had apparently grabbed whatever was thrown at him in midair, the lucky bastard. He was looking at it right now; a small golden earring shaped like a N in the palm of his hand.

“Where did this come from?” I asked.

“You tell me.” He shrugged. “It came from over there.”

“It did?”

“Of course it did. Did you not notice one hit you in the forehead?”

It was only them that I looked down. And indeed there it was: on my desk, near the keyboard, an earring just like the one Kyle held.

“Huh. Weird. Where did this thing come from?”

I reached down and picked it up.

And that was the moment I noticed the change.

In hindsight I can’t say how I didn’t notice that before. I had word open, ready to start writing, and what should be a blank page before me was hidden by some sort of… purple black vortex of energy. Hells, there was even lighting crackling around it.

“Hum… Kyle?”

“Yes?”

“Is it normal to have a Black Vortex of Doom when you open your word?”

“What in the world would even—wait. What the hell?”

Suddenly Kyle was by my side, peeking at the screen. Positively unfair that a man such as he could move that quickly when he wanted, if you asked me. He was looking at the vortex now, a look of worry upon his face.

“I think you should turn this thing off and get away from the computer right now, Dan”, he said, and I’ve never seen him so worried in all my life. “I think this is—”

He didn’t get to finish. There was something — a flash, a pulse of the vortex, a sudden pull — and then he was gone, consumed by it, into it. I barely managed to get a glance of his feet getting pulled into the strange vortex.

“… WHAT THE FUC—” I screamed, but I, too, had no time. For the vortex flashed again, pulsed again.

And this time, it was I who was pulled into it.