Deilu

The ink on a Mostro Lounge contract never truly dried; it merely waited to absorb the freedom of whoever signed it.

For months, Azul Ashengrotto had been playing a game of meticulous, agonizing patience. He was a creature of calculated steps, yet every calculation involving the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm had dissolved into frustrating variables. Before the crisis of the anemones, before the absolute chaos of Book 3, Azul had tried. He had extended invitations to the lounge, offered subtle assistance, and attempted to weave himself into the Prefect’s periphery.

But there was always an obstacle. If it wasn't that insufferable, fiery-eared tanuki Grim demanding tuna, it was Ace Trappola’s loud mouth, Deuce Spade’s stubborn density, or the lingering aftershocks of two consecutive Overblots that left the Prefect entirely drained and utterly unavailable. Azul was tired. He was sick of waiting for a window of vulnerability.

So, when the sea witch’s opportunity finally presented itself—when over two hundred students foolishly bartered away their magic for a chance at high test scores—Azul knew the Prefect would come knocking. He had expected the desperation. He had counted on the exhaustion.

What he hadn't counted on was the Prefect actually reading the fine print.

Inside the dimly lit VIP room of the Mostro Lounge, the smell of expensive sea-salt incense hung heavy in the air. Azul sat behind his monolithic mahogany desk, hands elegantly resting on his cane, his signature business smile firmly pinned to his face. Across from him sat the Prefect, bags bruising the skin beneath their eyes, shoulders hunched from the sheer weight of a world they didn't belong to.

"Just sign on the dotted line, Prefect," Azul murmured, his voice a smooth, rhythmic purr. "And the burden of your friends’ foolish mistakes will vanish. It’s a very generous offer."

The Prefect, despite their trembling hands, didn't pick up the golden pen. Their eyes traced the glowing, magical script of the parchment. As they read, their brow furrowed, the exhaustion briefly giving way to stark disbelief.

"Azul..." the Prefect’s voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. "This... this doesn't say anything about releasing Ace, Deuce, or Grim."

Azul didn't blink. "Doesn't it? I assure you, it settles the matter of their debts quite nicely."

"No, it doesn't," the Prefect countered, their voice gaining a fragile edge of defiance. "This contract states that I transfer my residency to Octavinelle permanently. It says I become an indentured employee of the Mostro Lounge, bound to your personal service, indefinitely. But it leaves their anemones completely intact. You're just taking me and keeping them trapped. I want to change the terms. We need to rewrite this."

The temperature in the VIP room seemed to plummet.

Azul’s smile didn't falter, but the warmth behind it died instantly. His grey-blue eyes turned into shards of glacial ice. For a fraction of a second, the polished, sophisticated housewarden vanished, replaced by the suffocating, predatory shadow of the sea witch. He leaned forward, his knuckles whitening against the silver handle of his cane.

"Change the terms?" Azul chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that didn't reach his eyes. "You come into my lounge, begging for my clemency to bail out your worthless, incompetent companions, and you have the audacity to dictate the parameters of my business? You wish to negotiate, Prefect? From what position of power do you speak?"

The Prefect flinched, shrinking back into the leather chair.

"I am a businessman, not a charity," Azul sneered, his tone dripping with an icy, calculated venom while maintaining that sickeningly polite cadence. "If you find my initial proposal... unsatisfactory, then we shall revert to standard protocol. I shall offer you the exact same terms I offered the rest of the student body. A wager. You have three days to break into the Atlantica Memorial Museum and retrieve a photograph of the royal family. If you succeed, your friends are freed. If you fail, Ramshackle Dorm belongs to me."

He slid a fresh, standard contract across the desk. The golden light of the magical pact flared, illuminating the harsh lines of Azul’s face.

"Sign it," Azul commanded softly, the underlying malice vibrating through the air. "Or watch your friends serve me until graduation. The choice is entirely yours."

Knowing they had no other choice, knowing this was the only crumb of a chance they would get to save their makeshift family, the Prefect picked up the pen. With a heavy, defeated heart, they signed their name.

The trap had snapped shut. And Azul had no intention of being a gentle captor.

The next two days were a living nightmare.

Azul’s business persona didn't just crack; it inverted into something systematically cruel. He didn't just want the Prefect to fail; he wanted to break the quiet resilience that had kept them moving through the madness of Night Raven College. Every time the Prefect crossed paths with him in the hallways or entered the lounge, Azul was there, a looming, suffocating presence.

"Oh, look, Floyd, Jade," Azul would drawl, his voice carrying perfectly across the crowded cafeteria. "It’s the magicless wonder. Tell me, Prefect, how is the swimming practice going? I do hope you aren't getting waterlogged. It would be such a shame if you drowned before delivering my photograph."

Beside him, the Leech twins stood like twin monoliths of impending doom.

"Fu-fu-," Jade chuckled, though his eyes remained sharply observant. "The Prefect does look rather... withered today. Are you ensuring you take proper nourishment? It would be quite inconvenient if you collapsed before the deadline."

"Koebi-chan looks like a dried-up little mackerel!" Floyd laughed, leaning his massive frame over the Prefect, his mismatched eyes wide and manic. "Hey, Azul, can I squeeze 'em yet? They look like they're gonna pop anyway!"

"Now, now, Floyd," Azul chided smoothly, a malicious glint behind his spectacles. "We must respect our guests, even those who are utterly out of their depth. Though, I must admit, watching someone with absolutely no magical aptitude attempt to infiltrate a secure underwater facility is the finest entertainment I’ve had all semester."

It didn't stop there. Azul actively weaponized the twins, forcing them to deliver backhanded compliments and structural taunts every hour of the day. He made sure the Prefect knew exactly how pathetic their odds were. He took pleasure in watching the light slowly drain from their eyes, replaced by a frantic, jittery paranoia.

By the end of the second day, after another failed, exhausting strategy meeting with Jack, Ace, and Deuce, the sheer weight of the psychological warfare began to take its toll. The insults weren't just playful banter anymore; they were sharp, targeted needles meant to deflate the Prefect's remaining sanity.

It got to a point where even the twins, known for their chaotic and often merciless nature, began to exchange uneasy glances.

During a shift at the lounge, as the Prefect walked past carrying a heavy tray of dirty dishes, their hands shaking so violently the glass clinked, Floyd watched them with a rare furrow in his brow.

"Hey, Azul," Floyd mumbled, leaning against the counter, his usual hyperactive energy dampened. "Koebi-chan looks real bad. Like, if I squeeze 'em right now, they're just gonna turn into mush. It ain't fun if they don't even try to wiggle away."

Jade stood beside them, adjusting his white gloves. "Indeed. The level of psychological distress the Prefect is exhibiting seems slightly... counterproductive to a fair wager, Azul. Their eyes are entirely vacant."

Azul didn't even look up from his ledger. He flipped a page, his expression cool and unbothered. "They brought this upon themselves by rejecting my initial, generous offer. They chose the hard way. They must learn the consequences of trying to outsmart me. Do not soften now, gentlemen. We have a dormitory to acquire."

That night, the silence of Ramshackle Dorm was deafening.

The Prefect couldn't sleep. Every time they closed their eyes, they saw Azul’s mocking smile, heard Floyd’s threats of being squeezed, and felt the crushing weight of their own uselessness in a world governed by magic. They were so tired. Their muscles ached, their head throbbed with a persistent, dull migraine, and a suffocating paranoia had taken root in their chest. Every shadow looked like a tentacle; every creak of the old floorboards sounded like Jade’s polite footsteps.

Unable to breathe inside the stifling bedroom, the Prefect wrapped a thin blanket around their shoulders and stumbled out onto the creaking wooden porch.

The Night Raven College campus was bathed in a pale, ethereal moonlight. The air was crisp, almost biting. The Prefect sat on the edge of the porch, pulling their knees to their chest. For days, they had held it together. They had been the brave leader, the reliable Prefect, the one who cleaned up everyone else's messes.

But out here, in the dark, away from the demanding eyes of their friends, the dam broke.

Quiet, racking sobs tore through their throat. Tears, hot and uncontrollable, spilled over their cheeks, dripping onto the old wood of the porch. They pressed their face into their knees, trying to muffle the sound, their small frame shaking with absolute, unadulterated exhaustion. They just wanted to go home. They wanted the taunting to stop. They wanted to sleep without dreaming of drowning.

A few hundred yards away, on the wooded path that bordered the Ramshackle property, a tall figure paused.

Jade Leech had been out for a late-night mountain hike—a hobby he thoroughly enjoyed for its quiet solitude. He had his specimen kit slung over his shoulder, but his steps halted as the faint, heartbreaking sound of crying drifted through the trees.

He looked toward the dilapidated dorm. In the pale moonlight, he could see the small, crumpled shape of the Prefect on the porch, weeping silently into their own arms. They looked so incredibly small, stripped of the fierce determination they usually wore like armor.

Jade stood frozen for a long moment, his golden eye glinting in the dark. A strange, unfamiliar sensation tugged at his chest. It wasn't the thrill of the hunt, nor was it the amusement of a prank. It was a profound, unsettling discomfort.

The next morning, the sun had barely risen when Jade entered the Housewarden’s office in Octavinelle. Azul was already at his desk, sipping Earl Grey tea and reviewing the ledger for the day.

"Azul," Jade spoke up, his voice lacking its usual playful cadence.

Azul glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Good morning, Jade. You're up early. Did you find an interesting specimen on your walk?"

"No," Jade said, walking over to stand directly in front of the desk. "I am here to speak about the Prefect."

Azul’s eyes narrowed slightly. "What about them? Have they found a way to the museum?"

"No. But I believe you have pushed them far enough," Jade said directly, his tone perfectly polite yet unusually firm. "I happened across Ramshackle Dorm late last night. The Prefect was on the porch, weeping quite severely. They appear to be completely broken, Azul. For once... I find myself feeling a bit bad for the little shrimp Floyd is so fond of. Their spirit is entirely spent."

Azul remained quiet for a moment. He set his teacup down with a soft clink. A dark, unreadable expression passed over his features, a mixture of possessive satisfaction and a strange, sharp pang of irritation that anyone—even his own vice-housewarden—was pitying what belonged to him.

"Is that so?" Azul murmured, leaning back in his chair. He adjusted his glasses, his eyes obscuring behind the glare of the lenses. "Then they are exactly where they need to be. Just wait, Jade. The fruit is ripe for the picking. They will come to me."

The third day was a disaster. The final attempt to breach the Atlantica Memorial Museum failed spectacularly, leaving the Prefect, Leona, and the others empty-handed as the deadline lapsed.

Late that night, long after the Mostro Lounge had closed its doors to the public, the lights inside the main floor were dimmed to a soft, ambient violet. The air was completely still.

The heavy glass doors of the lounge pushed open with a weak, hesitant groan.

The Prefect stumbled inside. They looked like a ghost. Their hair was disheveled, their uniform wrinkled, and their eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. They could barely keep their balance, their feet dragging against the polished floorboards.

From the shadows of the bar, two tall figures emerged. Jade and Floyd had been cleaning up, but they stopped entirely when they saw the state of the human before them. The Prefect didn't even flinch at their sudden appearance; they were past the point of fear. They were just empty.

Floyd looked at the Prefect, his usual wide grin completely absent. "Hey... Koebi-chan. You look... real small. Like you're gonna evaporate."

"Prefect," Jade said, his voice unusually soft, devoid of his usual mocking formality. "The lounge is closed. But... I presume you are here to see Azul?"

The Prefect just nodded numbly, their voice caught in their throat. They leaned against a nearby pillar just to stay upright.

Jade and Floyd exchanged a long, heavy look. For all their cruelty over the past few days under Azul’s orders, seeing the absolute devastation in front of them hit a strange nerve. Floyd walked behind the bar, grabbing a glass, and poured a warm, sweet, amber-colored herbal drink. He slid it across the counter toward the Prefect.

"Here," Floyd mumbled, looking away. "Drink it. On the house. Azul ain't gonna mind. You look like you're gonna pass out before you even make it to the VIP room."

"It will soothe your nerves," Jade added gently, gesturing toward the glass. "Please. Consume it, and then we shall escort you to the Housewarden."

The Prefect didn't suspect anything. They were too tired to think, too tired to care. They picked up the glass with both hands, their fingers icy cold against the warm glass, and drank the entire thing. It tasted sweet, like honey and deep-sea chamomile, coating their throat with a soothing warmth.

"Thank you," the Prefect whispered, their voice cracking.

Jade guided them by the elbow, his touch surprisingly careful, leading them down the corridor and opening the heavy double doors to the VIP lounge. Floyd followed silently behind.

Azul was waiting. He sat in his large leather chair, the dim light casting long shadows across his face. As the twins ushered the Prefect inside, Azul looked up, his eyes instantly locking onto the trembling figure.

"Leave us," Azul commanded quietly.

Jade and Floyd bowed their heads, but before they left, Floyd glanced back at the Prefect one last time, a flicker of genuine guilt crossing his face, before closing the doors firmly behind them.

Azul leaned back, a smug, cruel smirk playing on his lips. "Well, well, well. Look who comes crawling back. The three days are up, Prefect. And from what my sources tell me, the Atlantica Museum remains entirely unrobbed."

The Prefect stood in the center of the room, their knees shaking.

"Tomorrow morning, the paperwork becomes official," Azul taunted, his voice dripping with condescending satisfaction. "Ramshackle Dorm will belong to Octavinelle. I suppose I will have to find a suitable place for you to sleep. Perhaps a small cot in the broom closet? Or maybe you can sleep on the floor of the kitchen after your shifts. You really should have taken my first offer. You look absolutely pathetic."

The Prefect didn't fire back. They didn't anger. Instead, a large, heavy tear spilled over their lashes, followed by another. Their shoulders began to heave.

"Azul... please," the Prefect sobbed, the tears of absolute frustration and exhaustion finally crashing down completely. "Please, just stop."

Azul froze, his smirk faltering slightly at the raw agony in their voice.

"I’ll sign it," the Prefect cried, pressing their palms against their eyes as they wept openly, their voice breaking into jagged pieces. "I’ll sign the first contract. The one you made. I’ll stay in Octavinelle. I’ll work for you, I’ll work in the lounge, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be yours, Azul. Just... please. Leave my friends alone. Void their contracts. Let them go."

They took a shuddering breath, looking at him with desperate, pleading eyes. "And please... let Grim stay with me. Don't throw him out. He has nowhere else to go. Let him stay with me in Octavinelle. I'll work double shifts to pay for his food. Just... please."

Azul stared at them, completely stunned. The cruel, calculating facade he had maintained for days shattered in an instant. He hadn't expected them to break so entirely, to offer themselves up so completely on a silver platter just to protect a handful of fools and a magical cat.

Then, a sudden, breathless rush of triumph and dark euphoria swelled in his chest. A breathless, slightly unhinged laugh escaped his lips. He laughed into their face, the sound sharp and echoing in the quiet room.

"You... you would willingly bind yourself to me?" Azul laughed, though his eyes were wide, fixed on them with a terrifying, obsessive intensity. "For them? Oh, Prefect... you truly are magnificent in your foolishness."

The Prefect's tears flowed faster, their vision blurring. The room suddenly felt incredibly heavy. A strange, crushing lethargy began to creep into their limbs. Their head spun violently.

"I'm just tired, Azul," they whispered, their voice fading as they stumbled forward, barely able to keep their eyes open. "I tried my best... I really did. I'll do anything you want after I sign. Just... please think about it..."

Azul’s laughter ceased. His expression softened into something intensely warm, dark, and deeply possessive. He stood up from his chair, tossing his cane aside. He walked across the room, his footsteps silent on the thick carpet, until he stood right in front of the collapsing Prefect.

He reached out, his gloved hands catching them gently by the shoulders before they could hit the floor. With an incredibly tender movement, Azul cupped their cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the hot tears streaming down their face.

"Shh... it's alright," Azul murmured, his voice no longer mean, no longer teasing. It was a soothing, melodic lullaby, filled with a terrifyingly sweet affection. "I will change the contract to your terms, my dear. Exactly as you wish. Your friends will be freed, and your little monster will stay right here with you. You don't have to worry about a thing anymore."

The Prefect’s eyelids felt like lead. They tried to blink, looking up at Azul’s smiling, beautiful face, but everything was fading to black.

"Azul... what...?" they mumbled, their tongue feeling thick.

"You're safe now," Azul whispered, sliding his arms around their waist to support their dead weight. "I will take care of you. Everything you need, everything you want, I will provide. You just have to stay with me. Forever."

As the darkness fully claimed the Prefect, a sudden realization sparked in their dimming mind. The drink. The warm, sweet drink the twins had given them. It had been drugged. The twins hadn't wanted to do it—the guilt on Floyd’s face made sense now—but they had no choice. Azul had commanded it.

The Prefect slumped completely into Azul’s arms, unconscious.

Azul held them tightly against his chest, burying his face into their hair, inhaling their scent. He let out a long, contented sigh. "Finally... you are mine."

When the Prefect finally woke up, the first thing they noticed was the sheer comfort of the bed.

The mattress was plush, the sheets were made of a ridiculously high-thread-count silk that felt like cool water against their skin, and a heavy, warm duvet was tucked securely around them. The air smelled of expensive sea-salt and lavender.

They blinked open their eyes, expecting the peeling wallpaper and drafty windows of Ramshackle Dorm.

Instead, they were looking at a massive, beautifully decorated bedroom in deep shades of indigo and silver. Elegant, underwater-themed light fixtures cast a soothing, shimmering glow across the room. Across from the bed, a massive mahogany wardrobe stood, and sitting right at the foot of the bed, snoring loudly, was Grim.

The Prefect bolted upright, panic flaring in their chest. But as they looked around, their breath hitched.

In the corner of the room stood the old, rickety wooden chair from their Ramshackle bedroom. Next to it was the small, chipped mirror they used every morning, and their sparse collection of personal books and clothes were neatly arranged on a pristine silver shelf. Everything they owned had been moved.

The heavy door to the bedroom clicked open.

Azul walked in, carrying a silver tray laden with a steaming bowl of fresh soup, freshly baked bread, and a glass of juice. He wasn't wearing his standard uniform; he wore a soft, elegant lounge robe, his hair slightly loose. The moment his eyes met the Prefect's, his face lit up with a genuinely warm, radiant smile.

"Ah, you're awake," Azul said softly, setting the tray down on the bedside table. He sat on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to gently brush a stray lock of hair from the Prefect's forehead. His touch was incredibly gentle, completely devoid of the malice from the days prior. "How are you feeling, my dear? I had Jade prepare a special broth to help with the lingering effects of the sleeping draught."

The Prefect shrank back slightly, memory rushing back. "Azul... what did you do? The contract—"

"It is already done," Azul interrupted gently, his voice incredibly sweet. He reached into his robe and pulled out a signed parchment, showing it to them. The terms were exactly what they had begged for: Ace, Deuce, and the rest were freed from their anemones, Ramshackle was technically absorbed into Octavinelle’s property to finalize the wager legalities, but the Prefect and Grim were officially permanent residents of the Housewarden’s personal quarters.

"They are free," Azul reassured them, his thumb caressing their cheek. "And you are here. With me. Where you belong."

The Prefect stared at the paper, a profound sense of relief washing over them, so intense that they let out a shaky breath. The mean, tormenting Azul from the past three days was completely gone.

Because of the contract’s absolute resolution, the looming threat of the Overblot—the desperate, spiraling madness that usually consumed Azul when his ink-stained ambitions were pushed to the brink—never happened. He had won. He had secured his prize before the pressure could break him.

The next few weeks fell into a surreal, comfortable, and bizarrely peaceful routine.

Azul completely stopped being mean. In fact, he became an absolute sweetheart—almost overwhelmingly so. He was fiercely attentive, bordering on obsessive. Anything the Prefect so much as glanced at, whether it was a specific pastry from the cafeteria or a new blanket, would appear in their room by the end of the day. Azul spoiled them rotten, constantly seeking their approval, lingering close to hold their hand or wrap his arms around them from behind while they worked on their assignments.

He was still mentally unwell, of course. His deep-seated insecurities about his past, his weight, and his true form occasionally manifested in quiet, desperate moments where he would cling to the Prefect in the dark, begging them to promise they would never leave him, demanding reassurances that he was enough. But to the Prefect, an insecure, doting Azul was a million times better than the cruel tyrant he had been during the wager.

Furthermore, the Prefect gained two entirely unexpected fixtures in their life: Jade and Floyd.

The Leech twins, perhaps to make up for their role in the psychological warfare, or perhaps because they genuinely grew fond of having the magicless human around without Azul’s strict orders to torment them, completely integrated themselves into the Prefect’s daily life. They became a bizarre mix of overprotective brothers, accomplices, and helpers.

One afternoon, the Prefect was sitting at a table in the corner of the Mostro Lounge, working on an essay for Professor Trein’s class.

"Koebi-chan~!" Floyd sang, suddenly dropping his massive frame onto the seat next to them, sliding a giant plate of freshly fried calamari and a fancy tropical drink onto the table. "You're studying too much! Your brain's gonna turn into jelly. Eat this!"

"Floyd, I just ate an hour ago," the Prefect sighed, though a small smile tugged at their lips.

"Doesn't matter! Azul said you look like you lost half an ounce of weight this morning and he almost threw a fit at the chefs," Floyd laughed, leaning his head on their shoulder. "If you get skinny again, he’s gonna make us do those awful customer service seminars. Save us, Koebi-chan!"

Jade approached elegantly from the side, placing a perfectly folded, heated blanket over the Prefect’s lap. "I noticed the lounge's air conditioning was drafted toward this corner. We cannot have our favorite resident catching a chill."

The Prefect looked up at the twins. "You two are ridiculous. You know that, right?"

"Fu-fu-," Jade chuckled, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement. "Perhaps. But we are quite dedicated to your comfort. After all, a happy Prefect means a much more manageable Housewarden."

"Yeah! Azul's way less annoying when he gets to cuddle you at night," Floyd chimed in, snatching a piece of food from the plate. "He used to just grumble and count coins all night. Now he just talks about what kind of pillows you like."

The Prefect leaned back into the plush chair, wrapping the warm blanket tighter around themselves. Grim was currently curled up on a nearby stool, completely stuffed with premium tuna that Azul had imported specifically for him.

They looked out over the glittering, luxurious expanse of the Mostro Lounge. They were still tired. The exhaustion of being ripped away from their original world and thrust into the madness of Night Raven College hadn't completely vanished; the emotional fatigue still lingered in the quiet spaces of their mind.

But as Azul walked out of his office, his eyes immediately scanning the room until they landed on the Prefect, his face softening into that devoted, beautiful smile as he began walking toward them, the Prefect let out a soft, contented breath.

It wasn't a normal life. They were effectively bound to a fiercely possessive, slightly unhinged merman and his chaotic twin enforcers. But as Azul slid into the seat next to them, gently taking their hand and kissing the knuckles with absolute reverence, the Prefect realized something.

Compared to the cold, drafty, terrifying isolation of Ramshackle Dorm, being completely cherished and protected in the depths of Octavinelle really wasn't that bad at all.

Clothes? Check. First aid kit? Check. Matches and firestarter? Check. Food and water? Check. Hygiene supplies? Check. Emergency shelter? Check. Money? Check.

Looks like you’re all set. After settling your hat into your head and pulling the bill down over your eyes as you always do, you steel your resolve for what is to come.

With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you march out of the barracks so you can begin your mission. At least, that’s what everyone thinks you’re doing. You’ll let them keep believing that.

A sharp call of your name brings you to a halt, and you instinctively stand at attention. The empty halls allow for the sound of his footsteps to echo all around you. It’s debatable which is louder. The Admiral’s footsteps, or your own heartbeat. 

Akainu comes to a stop in front of you, glowering down at your form. His piercing eyes scrutinize your appearance. Instead of your usual uniform, you’re in civilian clothing for the mission. Spying in a Marine’s uniform would obviously not go well.

“At ease.” You robotically relax your posture at his command. “I trust that you don’t need any further briefing on your mission?”

“No, sir.” Despite the man in front of you being your biological father, this is the only way you referred to him. Both in and out of work. “I understand the assignment in full.”

“As you should. I expect you to come back with results.”

“I will, sir.”

The Admiral stares at you a moment longer, then nods sharply, “You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” With that, you take your leave, stepping down the halls of the base to leave. Just as you’re about to pass the threshold, you hear your name spoken again.

Akainu’s expression is as terse as ever as he stares a hole into you. He then sighs and turns away, “Don’t disappoint me.”

Of course those are his last words to you. Resentment twists inside you like a knife. Fuck this. You can’t wait to never have to see this bastard’s face again. You don’t respond to him, and you know that he doesn’t expect you to.

You hurry out of the base, eager to leave. The swinging doors are thrown open unceremoniously in your rush to put as much distance between you and Akainu as possible.

"Oh? Were you planning on leaving without saying bye to me? I'm hurt." Slowly drawled out words greet your ears, bringing you to a halt and making you whip around.

"Uncle!" A rare smile sneaks across your face, "I thought you were still away on a mission."

"I was. I got back a little bit ago. Just in time, too" Kizaru pushes his lanky body away from the wall he was leaning against and meanders over to you. His hand reaches out and flicks your hat off before gently rustling your hair. If anyone else did this, you would break their arm for the audacity, but you make an exception for him.

If he could indulge you by allowing you to refer to him as Uncle after what was initially just a little slip up thanks to hearing Sentomaru say it so many times, then you could tolerate the mussing of your hair. Just tolerate. You totally weren't enjoying the attention or anything like that.

"So, what is this mission of yours? I heard that you were going to be spying on Red Haired Shanks, but that can't be right."

You shake your head, "That is right. They wanted to send someone that he would be less likely to recognize if he spots."

Kizaru withdraws his hand and sighs in a drawn out fashion, "You don't sound very concerned. You do know that's an Emperor, yes?"

"I know that," you grumble and roll your eyes at his lack of faith in you. "I'm going to be careful. I promise you, he'll never even see me." If only he knew just how true that was going to be. Shanks would never see you. Nor would his crew. Or anyone in his general area, for that matter.

The Admiral stares at you, and you squirm ever so slightly under his gaze. There was no way for him to know what you were up to, but that didn't stop the irrational fear from taking root regardless.

Finally, mercifully, he breaks eye contact and looks away with another beleaguered sigh. "I hope you're right." Kizaru ducks down to pluck your fallen hat off the ground. He dusts it off and drops it onto your head. It's noticeably crooked. You figure that he did it on purpose. "Will you promise your uncle something?"

"Of course." The response is almost instinctual.

"Come back if it starts to get risky. That mission isn't worth losing your life over."

His concern for your safety creates a conflicting storm of warmth and guilt within you. Returning to the Marines was out of the question, but you obviously couldn't say as much. Instead, you do what any rational soon-to-be traitor would do under your circumstances. Lie.

"I'll leave as soon as it gets dangerous, I promise." It's a half truth. Yeah, you'll never be anywhere near Shanks, but you will be leaving danger in a sense.

"Alright." Kizaru pats your head, "Take care of yourself, (Y/N)."

"I will. Goodbye, Uncle." You turn your back to him and fix your hat. "Tell Sentomaru I said bye."

A hum of acknowledgement is all you get in response from Kizaru. There's a 50/50 chance that it'll slip his mind until much later, but what can you do? That's just how he is. You'll miss him and Sentomaru when you're gone.

But that's neither here nor there. You need to leave before Akainu notices that you're still here and lollygagging. You stride toward the docks where a privateer vessel is waiting for you. It was a small, inboard paddlewheeler with an enclosed helm that doubled as a sleeping quarters. A nice ship. Shame you’re going to have to ditch it soon.

“(Y/N)!” There was a call of your name yet again. The imposing figure of one of the men under your command is looming over your ship. He's too big to be getting on it, so he's left standing on the dock near it and tossing some boxes of provisions to someone on the boat. He turns to you with a broad smile across his scarred face. "We've got 'er ready for you!"

A wisp of a smile graces your typically stern features, “Thanks, Sven. I appreciate it.”

The person that had been in the helm squeezes out of the door and joins you two on the dock. Nesca may be on the short side for a fishman, but she's still a couple heads taller than you. The modified dorsal fin sprouting from her head that anglerfish were named after bounces and sways as she makes the jump.

She flashes you a smile filled with needle like teeth and winks, "I snuck some extra snacks in for you with the rest of that stuff."

"Nesca, they're going to notice that when they take inventory later."

"So what? What are they going to do? Fire me for making sure you don't starve while on your mission?" As expected, she was entirely unbothered by the threat of disciplinary action. She was the type to go with the flow of things regardless of where exactly that flow took her. She couldn't care less if it gets her in trouble.

Sven lets out a bellowing laugh, "Besides, we both did it, so they're going to have a hard time pinning down who did it!"

"Might not be that hard if you keep yelling it." You roll your eyes and have to make a considerable effort to suppress the smile threatening to show itself again.

"Well, whatever. Nothing that they will do will be as much of a blow to our egos as being held back from joining you on this mission." Sven crosses his muscular arms and scowls at the base in the distance, "They're letting a kid go and stake out an Emperor, but they won't let us, actual adults, tag along to make sure you have support if things get hairy. If that isn't a kick in the teeth, I don't know what is."

"Yeah," Nesca chimes in, "we've been through so much together, but now is when they separate us? Talk about ridiculous."

These two have been under your command since you became a lieutenant. For every achievement and failure you've had in your career, they've been right behind you. Of course, there have been many more people in your units over the years, but these two were among the three that had been consistent through every promotion. The third... he wasn't here anymore.

"They probably don't want to risk Red Haired Shanks becoming suspicious from seeing a trio following him around." That, and neither of these people could exactly be considered conspicuous. Sven was damn near ten feet tall, and Nesca was a fishman. They would absolutely call attention to you if you three were to go on this mission together.

Nesca was less than impressed with the explanation. "I guess that makes some sense, but I still don't get why they're okay with sending you off like some sacrificial lamb. Can your dad seriously not be bothered to give enough of a shit to at least try and pull some strings to get you backup?"

Hearing Akainu getting referred to in such a cozy term of endearment makes you want to reprimand Nesca, but you refrain. You know that she doesn't mean anything by it. Despite her concerns, Akainu's inaction has worked in your favor. Having anyone with you would have been a massive hindrance to your plan.

Another hindrance would be Akainu coming over here if he notices you're still here and not diligently heading toward your destination. You shoulder past your comrades and leap onto the boat, “I’m not a sacrifice. The rank of Commodore wasn’t handed to me, I earned it. I’ve been trained for this for as long as I can remember.”

"I know, I know." Nesca waves her hand dismissively, "We're just looking out for you. You better be careful out there."

Sven easily unties the rope anchoring your boat to the dock and tosses it to you. “Good luck, (Y/N)! I can’t wait to hear about everything when you’re back!”

"I will! You two stay out of trouble while I'm gone!" While you do hope that they'll behave for their sake, that first part was a lie. You won’t be back. Never. You’d rather die than ever set foot on a Marine base again.

—

Several weeks have passed since your departure and covert runaway. At this point, they still believe you to be on assignment, and if everything continues as planned, it should be several months before your absence becomes known. Due to the high risk nature of spying on an Emperor, there would be zero communications until you got back. Sengoku wasn’t willing to risk you being found out if the Red Haired Pirates had a black transponder snail on them. Not only would it jeopardize your safety seeing as that you were alone and didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell against an Emperor’s crew, but the discovery would likely make them much harder to tail going forward since they would now know to be wary of this tactic.

Of course, you were nowhere near where that crew had been sighted lurking about. Your end goal was to get out of the Grand Line entirely and start life anew on some remote island where no one would ever think to look for you. Ideally, you would be assumed dead. Killed in action while stalking a predator you had no hopes against. 

If anyone knew you were still alive and just deserted the marines… Well, you’ve seen what Akainu does to people like that, and you aren’t naive enough to think that you’ll get special treatment purely because you’re his child. If anything, that would incentivize him more to make an example out of you. To prove that he would never go easy on anyone.

All in the name of his precious Absolute Justice. 

Currently, your biggest hurdle was the calm belt. Even if you hadn’t ditched- and burned- your original vessel, it would have done little to help you cross it. Sure, the absence of wind and ocean currents wouldn’t have slowed it down, but its wooden structure never would have stood a chance against the dense population of sea kings lurking in the depths of that part of the sea.

What you needed was something sturdy and fast. A high powered engine in a preferably metal boat that could take a few hits if need be. On top of that, you needed some weapons to assist you in fending off the beasts. As powerful as you were, even you could only do so much against the likes of such a creature.

Despite all of the risks, you feel relatively confident in your plan. All that you need to do is make it at least halfway through. After that, you think you’ll be able to fly the rest of the way out or at least island hop to the North Blue. Of course, you being a zoan devil fruit user came with risks, but hopefully the fear of drowning if your wings grow too tired will motivate you to persevere through exhaustion.

As long as you can pull this off, and do so without calling attention to yourself, you’ll finally have the freedom you’ve yearned after for so long. It’s so close that you can taste it.

“Commodore (Y/N)! Fancy seeing you here.”

W h a t ?

Once hot blood runs cold as ice through your veins. Who the fuck said that? You slowly turn your head to look over your shoulder to see who just recognized you. This could ruin everything. You can’t risk a sighting. You’ll have to kill whoever saw you.

“Whoa! If looks could kill, I don’t think I’d survive that one!” The man laughs and jumps down from the rooftop he’d been perched upon. Oh, fuck. That’s Fire Fist Ace. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

Another person drops down in front of you, prompting you to whip your head back around only to see Marco the Phoenix blocking the other exit to this alleyway. Oh, this couldn’t get any worse! What’s next?! Is fucking Whitebeard himself going to appear, too?!

More Whitebeard Pirates filter into the alley, but Ace and Marco appear to be the only Division Commanders here. Your hands clench into fists at your sides, “What the fuck do you want from me?”

Marco holds up his hands in a placating manner, though it’s anything but. “Nothing much,” he steps closer, “I promise that none of us want to hurt you, but we’re in a bit of a bind.”

“And? How’s that my problem?”

“We need to pick up some medicine for our pops, but the only island that has enough of it right now has a Marine base on it. This medicine is really important, we can’t risk it getting destroyed in an attack, so that’s where you come in. In order to guarantee its safety, we’ll let them know that we have an Admiral’s kid in our custody, and that you won’t be released unless we get what we need.” Marco smirks, “Now are you going to make this easy or difficult? Because I can promise you, you’re coming with us whether you like it or not.”

No. No, no, no, no, no, no! This isn’t happening! This can’t be fucking happening! You were so close, and now everything is going to be ruined because of some fucking pirates! Your hands are shaking- no, your whole body is! Your heart is pounding, adrenaline is spiking, your nerves are on fire. No. You aren’t about to give up and let them take you and ruin your life.

“No… you can’t do this to me.” You shake your head and meet Marco’s lax eyes, “I won’t let you!”

In a split second, your arms transform into wings, and you shoot yourself up into the air. Your legs turn next, shifting into clawed talons that you use to send an attack at Fire Fist and the people clustered around him. Everyone but him dives out of the way as the strike slashes through the cobblestones and walls. Ace tanks the hit directly, but all it does is go right through the logia devil fruit user.

“Not bad, but you’re going to need to do better than that to actually hurt me!” Ace erupts into a column of flames and directs it right at you. Just what you wanted. You flap your wings hard, blasting the fire right back at him- but more importantly- the people around him. They all scream as their clothes catch to fire, making Ace immediately panic and focus on them rather than you.

Not wanting to waste a single precious second, you take off, cutting through the air with remarkable speed. That much is to be expected of someone with the Tori Tori no Mi Model: Peregrine Falcon. As one of the fastest animals on the planet, your speed was generally unmatched. Kizaru was the only person that could ever really challenge you in terms of speed. Escaping these pirates should be a breeze.

“You’re pretty good! I wouldn’t expect anything less from an Admiral’s kid!” The voice of Marco comes from above.

You look up just in time to dodge him swooping down to try and grab you. Fuck, he’s fast! It’s time to engage in some real evasive maneuvers. You rip off your backpack and chuck it at him, then shift into your full beast form.

With your body shrunk down to the size of the bird your devil fruit is modeled after, taking the backpack with you would be impossible. You’ll have to come back for it later, or maybe not at all depending on how poorly this goes. 

In your true form, you’re able to take full advantage of the speed the peregrine falcon is known for. Buildings all meld into a blur as you rocket through and around them. A family shrieks as you speed through one open window and out the other, then you’re weaving through lines upon lines of laundry, and next you’re in an open market.

As quickly as you shot off, you stop and slip under a table, the cloth on it easily concealing your presence. Your heart is pounding and you’re panting hard as you wait in silence. The tablecloth doesn’t get ripped off by your pursuer or anyone else, so you’re cautiously optimistic that you succeeded in losing him. Now you just had to figure out how to get out of here without being spotted again. All of those pirates saw what you look like in all of your forms, which was going to be a major problem. The second you leave this sanctuary, you’re going to be at risk.

There isn’t a clear, easy option. You’re just going to have to take a gamble and hope that your beast form will be unassuming enough to not catch their eyes again. You peek under the tablecloth to see if any of the Whitebeard Pirates are lurking nearby. It doesn’t look like any of them are here.

Okay, here goes nothing. You fly out from your hiding spot and high into the air at what should look like a normal speed for a bird. Flying as fast as you can would just draw attention to you. So long as you look like a normal bird at a glance, you should be able to get away unnoticed.

“There you are.”

Before you can even blink, a taloned foot closes around your small form. You squawk in surprise, then immediately shift into a half-bird form to try and break Marco’s hold. Something cold snaps around your wrist, and all of your energy is sapped away in an instant, right along with your powers.

Sea stone cuffs. They came prepared. You fall through the air, but only briefly before Marco catches you. He lands hard on a rooftop, but remains upright and doesn’t drop you. He grins, but his eyes have an odd gleam to them that you don’t recognize, “You’re good. I didn’t think they still made Marines like you anymore.” Why is he complimenting you? Freak.

You start to struggle in his hold, but he’s faster than you and locks the other cuff around your free hand. Now you’re completely at their mercy. This is awful. This is a worst case scenario.

“Now then, let’s get you back to the ship.”

—

The journey from the small seaside town to the Whitebeards’ ship was lost on you. You weren’t processing any of it. As soon as reality sank in, you went completely numb. Every word said by the pirates bounced right off you.

They were going to know. You’re nowhere near where Shanks and his crew are. They’re going to know you deserted. He’s going to know you deserted. It’s over. Your life is over. These pirates signed your death certificate as soon as they locked those cuffs on you.

Distantly, you glance at your surroundings. You’re chained to a cot in what looks to be the ship’s infirmary, if all the nurses milling about are anything to go off of. Only one of your hands is cuffed, the other is free again. They aren’t concerned about a devil fruit user being dangerous while sea stone cuffs are eating away at their strength. What a disaster. Years of training, and this is how it ends. How humiliating.

And to make it worse: your hat is gone, leaving your face bare for all to see. Now that you're thinking about it, you probably lost it during the initial chase. You were so consumed with getting away that you can't even recall when exactly it was lost.

Fingers snap in front of your face, and you look up sluggishly at the person disturbing you. Twin Blade Thatch is at your bedside, looking… confused? Sad? This is another expression that you don’t recognize.

He smiles slightly, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes, “You okay there, kid?” When you don’t answer, he looks over his shoulder, “Did you give them something?”

“No,” the voice belongs to Marco. “They’ve been out of it since we caught them. They’re… really upset about getting captured, it seems.”

Thatch lightly claps you on the shoulder, “Don’t beat yourself up about it, kid. It’s not like you got caught by a weak crew. There are plenty of Marines well above your rank that wouldn’t have won that fight either.”

“Yeah, you actually gave us some real trouble there at the start.” Ace was in here too, apparently. “Not many people are able to use my own powers against me, that was pretty smart.”

“Before I forget to ask, do you have any allergies? I don’t want to accidentally kill you with my cooking.” Thatch stares at you expectantly, but his smile fades as you neglect to answer his question. “Is that a… no? Come on, I’m just trying to help you out here, you don’t need to be so guarded. I can even make you your favorite meal to make up for the situation we put you in.”

“It doesn’t matter…” Nothing does.

“Don’t say that. We’ve gotta feed you, kid.” That weird expression is on his face again. You wish he’d stop making it at you. “It won’t take long to get the medicine we need. You’ll be back with your old man before you know it.”

No!

“I won’t go back!” Hot tears start to drip down your face, then pour as the last thread of sanity within you snaps, “I’m not going back! You can’t make me go back to that place! To him! I won’t let you!”

Ace is standing close enough that you’re able to lunge at him and rip the dagger from his belt with your free hand. He tries to snatch it back, but your frenzied state gives you the speed you usually only have with your devil fruit’s help. You aren’t going back, you’ll make sure of it! Marco might be able to heal, but he isn’t a necromancer. Even he won’t be able to do anything about a corpse. Dying by your own hands will be better than being burnt alive by the magma Akainu will use on you.

You raise the knife high, then plunge it down at your stomach. A wide, manic grin breaks out across your face in what will be your final moments. You've taken control of your fate. You've won against Akainu. You can die happy knowing that.

Blood splatters all over your torso… but you don’t feel any pain. You blink once, then twice. Your eyes finally focus on the sight in front of you. The knife is stabbed into a hand. It then closes around the hilt and snatches the weapon from your hands. Ace lets out a string of curses as he stumbles back and rips his own dagger from his hand.

All you can do is stare at him. W… What? Why did he do that? That shouldn’t have hurt him. Why would a logia devil fruit user let himself get hurt like that?

Nurses rush toward him, but also you. All of your limbs are pinned down by them. Not that there was any need. The fight had left your body as your mind grew hazy again. You didn’t get it. You couldn’t comprehend what just happened or why.

A prick to your neck snaps you out of it. Your head was being held down, but your eyes flit to the side and see that Marco had a needle pressed into your neck and was injecting you with something. In an instant, a warmth spreads through you, and your body goes completely slack.

Marco heaves a sigh and sets the syringe aside. His hand gently strokes your hair for reasons you couldn’t understand. He speaks softly, “There we go, just calm down. You don’t have to go back if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

On the other side of the room, Nurses are fretting over Ace’s wound. One even goes so far as to scold him, “What were you thinking? You have logia powers! Why would you let yourself get hurt like this?” Even in your sluggish state, your ears perk at the interrogation. You wanted to know this, too.

Ace looked almost offended by the question. “What do you mean “why”? If I’d let that go through me, it would have gone into them instead. Better my hand, than their guts.”

His answer did nothing but spawn more questions. What did he mean by that? Why would it be better for him to get hurt than for you to die? Your life was of no real significance to him. All that you were was a bargaining chip, and you didn’t even need to be alive for that. They just had to make the Marines believe that you were.

None of this makes sense. What is wrong with these people? You’re an enemy. Your death should be celebrated, not prevented. You don’t get it, and your mind growing more and more foggy by the second isn’t helping.

"exactly!" she groans, trying to push you further. "so, go!"

still, something in your body just wouldn't let you. you were sure if it was just nerves, cold feet, or maybe even something inside you telling you it wasn't worth it.

ah, yes. the point of overthinking that's accompanied by self-doubt.

eishia keeps a stable hand on your upper and forearm. "it's okay... he might get a little loud, but -"

before she could finish her sentence, the metal door swung open - and there stood august.

sewing pins sat between his lips, measuring tape draped around his neck as his goggles slowly slide down his forehead.

maybe he was working?

he tilts his head, removing the sewing pins before grinning widely. "hey! whatcha standin' out here for?!"

riyo and eishia both step aside, with eishia waving her brother bye before the two walk off.

now you've got no choice but to follow through without support. great.

"weird..." august murmurs, "still doesn't answer why yer campin' outside my door, though!"

scratching the side of your head awkwardly, you rest your hand on a beaded necklace around your neck - made by august, of course.

who said his artistry had to stop at clothing?

snapping in the middle of your face brings you back.

"hello?" august teases, poking your forehead. "anyone home?!"

giggling, you slap his hand away. "quit it, august!"

"what's up with you?" he asks, rounding you like a curious kid. "you feelin' sick?"

clearing your throat, you grab him by the shoulders to stop him from walking circles around you. "i have a question. okay?" he nods slowly. "okay...?" "and it's totally fine if you say no -" "spit it out!" he demands, plucking your forehead this time.

"ouch..." you frown, rubbing the spot. "i just..." puffing up your cheeks, you sigh. "could we maybe - please - date?"

you hadn't noticed you'd closed your eyes when you said it. but when you opened them, august was scratching his head and looked confused.

"huh?" he hums. kissing your teeth, "can we date? like, officially?"

before you know it, he's laughing enough to just barely shake the walls nearby. "aren't we already dating?"

this time, you're the one confused. "huh?"

"yeah!" he insists, "i kinda already told enjin and..." he pauses, fixing the goggles on his head. "...almost everyone else that we already were?"

"did you tell riyo and eishia?" you ask, pinching your brow. he nods. "yeah!"

those dumbasses made you do this for no reason.

"wait, so..." he says. "are we dating or not? 'cause if not, it's kinda too late-!" "yes," you interrupt. "yes, we're dating."