Isaac Newton in One Piece

The waves lapped gently against the hull of the ship as Isaac and Nolan sat in the quiet aftermath of their encounter with the Marines. Their vessel creaked softly, the only sound aside from the ocean breeze and the occasional gull cry. The pair had been silent for a while, lost in thought after narrowly escaping their pursuers.

Nolan stretched his arms above his head and let out a long sigh. "So, what now? We just keep sailing until we hit another island?"

Isaac, leaning against the ship's railing with his journal open in one hand, didn't look up. "That's the general idea. We need to figure out how far we can go with the supplies we have and plan for the next island carefully. No point running into trouble unprepared."

Nolan squinted at the horizon, shielding his eyes from the sun. "You know, we could use a little less 'trouble' in general. Feels like every day it's something new."

Isaac smirked. "That's the pirate life, right?"

Nolan gave him a sideways look. "We're not pirates, Isaac."

"Tell that to the Marines," Isaac shot back, his tone dry. He flipped a page in his journal and began scribbling again.

Before Nolan could respond, a shadow flitted across the deck, followed by a loud squawk. Both boys looked up to see a seagull with a small messenger bag strapped to its chest circling above them. It cawed once more before diving down and dropping a rolled-up newspaper onto the deck.

Nolan scrambled to pick it up, his curiosity piqued. "A news bird! I've always wanted to see one of these up close. How do they even know where to go?" He unrolled the paper, his eyes scanning the headlines. "Let's see what's going on in the world."

Isaac glanced over as Nolan began to read aloud. The front page was dominated by news of pirate activity in the New World, updates on the Yonko, and a report on a mysterious treasure found in the Calm Belt. But what caught Nolan's attention was a smaller section toward the bottom, marked with bold lettering: WANTED!

"Hey, uh… Isaac?" Nolan's voice trembled slightly as he pointed to the page. "Look at this."

Isaac leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the bounties. His heart sank as he saw their names printed beneath grainy sketches.

WANTED:

Isaac Newton – 400,000 Berries

"Known devil fruit iser and wanted for attacking marine officers, destruction of a marine ship and evading arrest."

Nolan Henshaw – 10,000 Berries

"Alleged accomplice of Isaac Newton and wanted for killing one marine."

The pair stared at the bounties in stunned silence for a moment before Nolan broke it with a loud groan. "Four hundred thousand? Already?!"

Isaac sighed, closing his journal. "Well, I guess that marine captain didn't take the loss quietly."

Nolan jabbed a finger at his own bounty. "And what's with mine? Ten thousand? That's barely pocket change compared to yours!"

Isaac raised an eyebrow. "Would you prefer it to be higher? I'm sure we can arrange something."

"No thanks," Nolan muttered, setting the paper aside. "But seriously, 400,000 is huge, Isaac. People are going to come after you now. Bounty hunters, other pirates… even stronger marines."

Isaac crossed his arms, staring out at the sea. "I know. But it's not surprising. We've been making waves—literally and figuratively. This just means we need to be even more careful."

Nolan leaned back against a crate, rubbing the back of his neck. "Careful doesn't seem to be our strong suit. You think we can really stay under the radar now?"

Isaac thought for a moment before responding. "Not forever. But we don't need to stay hidden forever. We just need to keep moving and get stronger in the process. That way, when someone does catch up to us, we'll be ready."

The weight of his words hung in the air as the two fell silent again. Nolan picked up the newspaper, flipping through it idly. "You know," he said after a moment, "I was kind of hoping for something exciting in here. Instead, it's just more trouble for us."

Isaac smirked faintly. "What did you expect? A heroic profile about the two kids who escaped a marine ship?"

"Yeah, something like that," Nolan said with a chuckle. "I guess this is what we get for living on the edge."

The seagull that had delivered the paper swooped down again, landing on the railing with an expectant look. Nolan fished a few berries out of his pocket and handed them over. "Thanks for the delivery," he said, watching as the bird took off with a satisfied squawk.

Isaac turned back to his journal, making a note about their new bounties and the implications they carried. "We should start charting a course. The sooner we find another island, the better."

Nolan leaned back against a crate, staring at the clouds as they drifted lazily overhead. "So… what now?" he asked, his tone uncertain. "We can't just keep running forever. And it's not like we have some grand plan or anything."

Isaac, who had been quietly scribbling in his journal, paused and tapped the end of his pen against the page. "You're right. We need a goal—something to work toward. Otherwise, we're just wandering aimlessly."

Nolan sat up, intrigued. "Alright, genius. What do you have in mind?"

Isaac closed his journal and looked out at the vast ocean surrounding them. For a moment, he was silent, his mind turning over possibilities. Then, as if a switch had flipped, his expression hardened with determination. "The Grand Line."

Nolan blinked. "The Grand Line? Are you serious? That's where the craziest pirates in the world go. You've seen the stories in the paper—most people don't even survive the entrance."

Isaac smirked. "Exactly. If we're going to survive in this world, we need to aim high. The Grand Line is where we'll find the strongest people, the biggest challenges, and the best opportunities to grow."

Nolan scratched his head. "Okay, but we can't just waltz in there tomorrow. We're two kids on a stolen ship with no real crew. We'd get annihilated."

Isaac nodded. "That's why we're not going yet. We give ourselves one year—enough time to train, gather supplies, and find at least two more crew members. If we're going to take on the Grand Line, we'll need a proper team."

Nolan tilted his head, considering the idea. "Two more, huh? Any idea what kind of people we're looking for?"

Isaac shrugged. "Skills we don't have. Maybe someone who can navigate better than us—or a fighter strong enough to watch our backs."

"And maybe a cook," Nolan added. "Because I'm not living off hardtack and canned beans for a year."

Isaac chuckled. "Good point. A cook would be useful."

The two fell into a comfortable silence, the enormity of their decision sinking in. Nolan stared out at the waves, his excitement growing despite himself. "The Grand Line, huh?" he said, a small grin tugging at his lips. "I guess if we're going to risk our lives, we might as well aim for something big."

Isaac leaned back against the railing, his gaze steady and confident. "It's not just about the risk. It's about proving that we can do it—that we're capable of surviving and thriving in a world that's stacked against us."

Nolan nodded, his grin widening. "Alright, I'm in. One year to prepare, two more crew members, and then we head for the Grand Line. Sounds like a plan."

Isaac extended a hand, and Nolan shook it firmly. The pact was made, and the goal was set.

As the ship sailed onward, the two began to brainstorm how they would achieve their ambitious plan. They discussed where to search for potential crew members, what skills they needed to develop, and how to avoid drawing too much attention from bounty hunters and marines in the meantime.

For the first time in days, the uncertainty hanging over them seemed to lift. They had a purpose now—a clear direction to guide them through the chaos of the world.

…

…

The sun had begun to set as Isaac and Nolan's ship drifted toward the silhouette of an island on the horizon. From afar, it looked like any other small village—a few buildings scattered along the shore, a cluster of trees swaying gently in the breeze. But as they drew closer, something felt off.

The first thing they noticed was the silence. There were no birds chirping, no bustling activity near the docks. The air seemed thick, oppressive, as if the island itself was holding its breath.

Nolan furrowed his brow as he leaned over the railing. "This place looks… dead."

Isaac adjusted his glasses and squinted toward the shore. He could make out a few figures moving sluggishly near the docks, but their movements were strange—slow and unsteady, like they were struggling to even stand.

As the ship bumped gently against the dock, the boys exchanged a wary glance. "We should be careful," Isaac said, his voice low. "Something's not right here."

Nolan nodded, grabbing his medical bag. "I've got a bad feeling about this, but if there are sick people here… maybe I can help."

They stepped off the ship cautiously, their boots crunching against the weathered wooden planks of the dock. The air was heavy with the stench of decay and sickness. The closer they got to the village, the more the extent of the devastation became clear. Houses were in disrepair, their windows shattered and doors hanging off their hinges. The streets were littered with debris—and worse.

Nolan gagged as they passed a crumpled figure lying face-down in the dirt. "Is that…?"

Isaac placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Don't get too close. We don't know what caused this. It could be contagious."

A hacking cough drew their attention to a figure slumped against the side of a building. It was a middle-aged man, his skin pale and his clothes hanging loosely off his emaciated frame. He looked up at them with hollow eyes and tried to speak, but all that came out was a weak, raspy croak.

"Sir, what happened here?" Nolan asked, kneeling down but keeping his distance. "Are you hurt?"

The man gestured weakly toward the center of the village, his hand trembling. "Plague…" he whispered. "It started… weeks ago. Took… everyone…"

Isaac and Nolan exchanged a grim look. A plague? That explained the desolation, the bodies in the streets. But what kind of sickness could spread so quickly and so thoroughly?

"Do you know where we can find the source?" Isaac asked, his analytical mind already racing. If they could identify where it started, they might have a chance of figuring out what caused it.

The man shook his head weakly. "Don't… go further," he murmured. "You'll… die too."

Before they could ask him anything else, the man slumped forward, his body going limp. Nolan clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "This is horrible," he muttered. "We have to do something."

Isaac frowned, deep in thought. "We don't even know what we're dealing with yet. Charging in blindly could get us killed—or worse."

Nolan stood, determination flashing in his eyes. "I'm not just going to sit here and do nothing. These people need help. If there's even a chance I can save someone, I have to try."

Isaac sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But we do this smart. No touching anyone without protection, and if things look too dangerous, we pull back. Agreed?"

Nolan nodded. "Agreed."

Isaac and Nolan moved cautiously through the desolate village, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional cough or groan of the sick. But then, a rich and savory scent cut through the heavy air. It was comforting, warm—a stark contrast to the despair that seemed to suffuse the place.

Nolan sniffed the air, his brow furrowing. "Is that… stew?"

Isaac tilted his head, surprised. "In a place like this? That doesn't make sense. Let's find out."

Drawn by the aroma, they followed it through the dilapidated streets, past crumbling walls and groups of sickly villagers huddled together. The scent led them to a small clearing where they stopped, surprised by what they saw.

A boy, slightly older than Isaac, was crouched next to a fire, stirring a pot. His long black hair hung loose around his shoulders, and his sharp yellow eyes gleamed with focus. His clothes were simple and a bit worn, but his movements were deliberate as he ladled steaming stew into a bowl.

Nearby, on a crude cot, lay a frail woman. Her face was pale and gaunt, her breathing shallow. The boy knelt beside her, his expression softening as he gently helped her sit up. "Eat, Mom," he murmured, holding the bowl close to her. "It's not much, but it'll help."

Isaac and Nolan exchanged glances, then stepped into the clearing. The crunch of their boots on the dirt made the boy's head snap up. He stood quickly, his yellow eyes narrowing as he instinctively held the ladle like a weapon.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice sharp and defensive.

Isaac raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Relax. We're not here to cause trouble. We just… followed the smell." He nodded toward the pot. "It's hard to ignore something like that in a place like this."

The boy's tense stance eased slightly, though his gaze remained wary. "You're travelers?"

"Yeah," Nolan said, stepping forward. "We came to see if we could help. What's going on here? Why is everyone so sick?"

The boy hesitated, glancing down at the woman before answering. "A plague. It started a few weeks ago. Spread fast. I'm just trying to keep her alive." His voice softened as he looked back at the woman, his mother.

Isaac's curiosity grew. "You're not sick, though. How are you able to stay here and help without getting infected?"

The boy's gaze darkened. "I don't know. Maybe I'm immune. Or maybe it just hasn't hit me yet. Either way, I'm not leaving her." He looked back at the woman, his expression a mixture of worry and determination.

Nolan stepped closer, his voice calm. "I can take a look at her if you want. I know a bit about medicine."

The boy hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Her name's Talia. She… hasn't eaten much in days."

As Nolan knelt by Talia, gently checking her pulse and temperature, Isaac turned to the boy. "What's your name?"

"Kieran," the boy said, his yellow eyes studying Isaac. "And you?"

"Isaac. That's Nolan. We're just passing through."

Kieran tilted his head slightly. "Passing through here? Of all places?"

Isaac gave a small smile. "It's not like we planned it."

Kieran let out a short, humorless chuckle. "Fair enough." He glanced at the pot, then back at them. "You hungry? There's enough for a couple more bowls."

The offer caught them off guard, but Isaac nodded. "Thanks. We appreciate it."

Kieran ladled stew into two more bowls, handing them over without another word. Isaac took his gratefully, the warmth seeping into his hands. He sat down on a nearby log, his mind racing. Kieran's calm determination and quiet strength were striking, especially in a place as hopeless as this.

As they ate, Nolan looked up from Talia. "She's weak, but she'll recover if she eats and rests. You've been taking good care of her."

Kieran's expression softened slightly. "She's all I've got left."

Isaac, stirred by the boy's quiet resilience, looked at him thoughtfully. "You're impressive," he said. "Most people would've run by now, but you're still here, helping."

Kieran shrugged, his yellow eyes unreadable. "Running wouldn't solve anything."

Isaac smiled faintly, feeling a growing respect for this strange, serious boy. "No. It wouldn't."