Heavenly restriction gave Toji Zenin (Fushiguro, he’d say if he had the strength) something akin to superhuman, the Zenin rejected him because of it, though it was a gift in itself. Even with half of his abdomen exposed, he was breathing, faintly, but breathing. He felt his end nearing, he was ready to close his eyes until he heard small footsteps, footsteps he hardly recognized, but recognized nonetheless.

“You just had to listen to your worthless pride.”

He recognizes that voice, a distant memory resurfaced, where someone cried, someone of insignificance died and another born. Toji remembers the lifeless body that was his mother and the squirming baby girl that laid on top of her beatless chest, craving for warmth. Was it a memory or a dream? Toji couldn’t tell the difference.

“You think you could’ve won against Gojo Satoru?” She asked, her voice quiet,she was whispering, a normal person wouldn’t have heard it, but Toji was anything but normal. He heard the tremble in her voice, not that he lingered on it. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Even with half your guts on the floor, I know you’re listening to me,” Toji can’t remember her name, he recognizes her voice, yes, but he can’t put a name nor a face, especially when his vision turns foggy, he surmises that his time is near.

“Toji,” She started out, the sun was setting, he saw how the gravel had an orange hue, it was bright. “I will never grieve you, I will not give you a proper burial, you will be left here, pathetic and alone, die knowing no one will love you enough to even hold you.”

His gaze still downcasted towards the gravel on the ground, his body was nearing its limit, yet he still felt the warmth of the sun setting, but why was it that he saw droplets of water near his feet?

“I hate you…so much…” He felt a bit of his body move, but he was numb overall. Someone was touching him, he couldn’t tell, his eyes had lost their vision and it didn’t seem like he was getting better. “I…”

Oh, he remembers, yeah, that’s Makoto.

His little sister.

Makoto Zenin rose up from the ground, her hands red and reeked of the blood of the man sitting lifeless against the half-destroyed wall she suspects was from Gojo’s technique. The least she could do is let him die not sprawled on the ground, but with dignity to sit up.

“So your dad is Garp?!” Shanks gawked, eyes wide at the aftermath from the chaos erupted before them, specifically, a brawl between Vice Admiral Garp and their captain, Gol D. Roger.

It wasn’t much of a fight. Fists flew, grunts echoed, and it ended rather abruptly when a small, furious voice rang louder than either of the two legends.

“ I don’t wanna go back yet !!”

There she stood, barely reaching anyone’s shoulder, arms crossed, cheeks puffed with defiance. Garp turned to his daughter, visibly flustered. He was caught off guard by his only daughter’s request. 

The Roger Pirates watched, utterly entertained, as the Marine Hero, the same man feared across the seas, crumbled at the hands of one little girl. His face twisted with frustration, muttering half-baked scoldings, while his eyes shimmered suspiciously.

And when Roger let out a booming laugh, the rest of the crew followed suit.

“ Oi, Garp! Looks like you’ve met your match !” Roger cackled.

“Yeah,” she muttered, propping her chin on her palm, elbow balanced on the edge of the ship’s rail. Her voice was calm, too calm, given what had just come out of her mouth.

Across from her, Buggy let out a shriek so loud it startled nearby seagulls into flight.

“SO IT’S TRUE?!” he howled, his body exploding apart in every direction like fireworks in a panic. His head spun midair, hovering with wild eyes and twitching lips. “No wonder you’re scary, Garp? The Garp that’s always on Captain’s tail?”

She blinked at him, unimpressed. “I guess so,” she said, brushing a stray hair behind her ear with a casual flick.

Buggy’s floating head nearly dropped from the sky.

“C-Crazy, you’re crazy!” he stammered, “That man’s a monster! A living legend! You’re saying that guy is your dad?! So what are you doing on this ship?!”

She leaned back against the rail, gazing out toward the endless stretch of sea. “Hm… Out of all the ships I saw, the red sails looked the most exciting!” 

Her gaze lifted to the sails above, bright red and billowing against the wind, a shimmering glint of admiration.

“It looked way cooler than the other ships.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “I didn’t even realize it belonged to the infamous Gol D. Roger. I just thought it looked like it could take me somewhere I hadn’t been before, super flashy!”

Buggy’s head bobbed midair, the wonder in her voice catching him off guard.

“R-Right, right!” he said, recovering fast and puffing out his chest, well, where his chest would’ve been. “Our captain’s the flashiest of them all! You’ve got good taste!”

“So, why aren’t you going back?” Shanks asked, inching a little closer to her on the deck, curiosity tugging at his features. Up close, he was reminded again just how tall she was, Garp’s blood ran strong, apparently.

She sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and keeping her eyes fixed on the horizon. “It’s fun being pirates.” Her lips curled into a small, teasing smirk. “Why? Want me gone that badly?”

“Yes!”

 “No!”

The two answers clashed in the air instantly.

She didn’t even need to look up, she already knew who said what. Her sharp glare zeroed in on Buggy, whose face had already contorted into an exaggerated grimace.

“But you’re basically a Marine! ” Buggy protests, flailing dramatically as he frantically turns to Shanks. “What if she rats us out?!”

“Oh, shut up, you’re just scared” she snapped, eyes narrowing.

Rayleigh’s voice cut through the tension, calm but pointed. “Did you know your father made it his life’s mission to capture our captain?”

He stepped into the conversation like he’d been listening the whole time, because he probably had. Rayleigh looked at her with just a small amount of curiosity, after he had checked in with his careless Captain who had just fought her father. 

“How do we know you’re not feeding him information behind our backs?” he added, expression unreadable.

“Come on , Rayleigh,” another crew member, Taro, she recalled, interjected with a huff. “If that were true, Garp would’ve been breathing down our necks a long time ago.” He ruffled the girl’s hair. 

“Exactly!” she threw up her hands. “As if I’d let him get information that easily. No way in hell I’d give him the satisfaction.”

Once things settled, the conversation drifted naturally back to the trio, to their familiar corner on the deck of the Oro Jackson. The wind had calmed, but the curiosity between them hadn’t. It wasn’t quite an interrogation, but she could feel the way their eyes lingered on her, wanting to ask more questions. 

Especially now, knowing who her father was, someone even Captain Roger spoke of with an odd mix of exasperation and respect.

“Why don't you wanna be a Marine?” Buggy asked, tilting his head with a finger pressed to his chin. “You’d probably get a high rank right off the bat! You’d be rich!”

She gave him a flat look, the kind only someone used to his antics could muster. “Buggy, that’s called nepotism.”

He shrugged unapologetically. “So?”

“I don’t know…” she sighed, toying with the loose threads on the hem of her shirt. Her voice softened. “I… got onto this ship just for fun, I thought one day I’d just leave and continue my way through my dad.” 

“But?” Buggy tilted his head, intrigued by her answer, her dad is a scary man with scary potential, he needs to know these things. 

“Sailing with you guys is so fun,” She mumbled, her voice had a slight tremble to it as she still didn’t want to look straight in the eyes at the other apprentices. 

“My older brother’s a Marine.” Her thoughts briefly flicked to Dragon, once a loving brother figure to her, now an increasingly distant one. She recalls her childhood where Dragon and her would scavenge through the forests in Dawn Island, waiting for Garp to finally show and do some training. 

“Rarely saw him after, and when I do, he looked like shit!”

“You mean that Dragon guy?” Shanks asked, blinking as if trying to remember something, “I think you mentioned him before.”

“Mhm,” she nodded. “Never home. Even Dad visits more.”

“You sound like a brat throwing a tantrum,” Buggy chimed in again, grinning. “So you do act like a girl sometimes, I thought you’re just a brute.”

She gasped, scandalized. “Excuse you?! ”

“Now, now,” Shanks stepped in quickly, arms between them like a referee. “Let’s not start a war on deck, alright?”

“She started it,” Buggy mumbled under his breath.

“You provoked me!” she shot back, leaning forward with a glare.

“Alright, alright,” Shanks laughed, placing a hand on her head and ruffling her hair. “Let’s take it easy, marine spawn.”

“Hey!” She shot up, clearly offended, a frown scrunching up her face. “I’m a pirate through and through now, okay? I hate Marines.” Her arms crossed over her chest with the full drama of someone thoroughly committed to the bit.

Buggy blinked at her, unimpressed. “So you hate your family?”

“That’s different!” she huffed, turning her nose up. “They don’t count.”

-----

“How ya feeling?” Hongo asked, standing beside the bed with his arms loosely crossed, his expression gentle but observant. He had just finished checking her vitals, carefully, given how frantic Shanks had been when he all but shoved her into his care. It had taken a lot to calm the captain down.

The girl blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling before letting her gaze drift around the room. Clean. Nautical. Slightly chaotic. She didn’t recognize a single thing, except for the man watching her with quiet patience.

“Hongo,” she finally said, her voice dry but teasing, “I see you got your teeth back.”

“Hey,” he replied with a short laugh, clearly not offended. “We can trade barbs when you’re not halfway to the grave. Let’s not make my captain worry more than he already is.”

A pause, then a soft murmur: “I’m on the Red Force, huh?”

“Yeah.” Hongo nodded, but then narrowed his eyes slightly. “If you’re not gonna answer my questions, I’ll go get Shanks.”

“No!” she blurted, sitting up too fast before wincing at the effort. “No, I’ll answer. Just… please. I need to be away from Shanks for a bit. If that’s okay?”

Hongo eyed her, reading more between the lines than she realized. Then, with a small smile, he said, “Can’t reject a lady’s request.”

He pulled a chair closer to her bedside, his tone gentle but firm. “So… what happened?”

She stared down and then she told him. Everything. (or at least stuff that are relevant)

-----

“Hey, Capt.” Hongo greeted as he stepped out of the room, only for Shanks to immediately crowd him, hand still half on the doorframe.

“How is she? Is she okay?” Shanks asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant, he failed miserably. Everyone on the crew knew just how much the girl meant to him. He might’ve tried to act cool about it, but the fact he’d been standing outside the door the entire time, down to the second, said everything.

Hongo sighed, his hands on his waist. “She needs rest. Her health isn’t great. She told me a few things, but… I don’t think it’s the full story. I’m not sure I’m equipped to handle all of it.”

“She’s awake?” Shanks asked, eyes lighting up, completely ignoring the rest of Hongo’s words.

“Yes, she’s awake, but—”

Before Hongo could finish, Shanks had already turned to push the door open, only to be yanked back by Benn Beckman with one hand. It looked comical, like someone dragging back an overexcited cat.

“Whoa there. Listen to the doctor, she needs rest,” Beckman said, calm but firm.

“Ugh, fine,” Shanks groaned, deflating like a sulking kid.

“Never thought I’d live to see Pouting Shanks,” Yassop muttered to Lucky Roux with a smirk.

“We’re gonna be seeing a lot of that,” Roux whispered back, both of them shaking their heads with amusement.

“Hm, I think Limejuice is calling for me,” Shanks blurted out, already half-turning to flee down the front of the deck, clearly hoping no one would question why Limejuice, of all people, would ever need him urgently.

Behind him, several senior officers exchanged knowing smirks, low chuckles echoing through the corridor. Watching their proud captain all but retreat because of a woman? Now that was a sight.

“So,” Benn Beckman called out casually, arms crossed, “What did she actually say, Hongo?”

Yassop and Lucky Roux blinked, then leaned in like kids overhearing gossip for the first time.

Hongo, ever calm, adjusted the strap of his med kit and sighed. “She asked me to keep Shanks out of her room for a while.”

That made the air shift slightly.

“Not sure what happened between them back on that island,” he added, voice just low enough to make it sound important, “but whatever it was… it definitely something .”

The silence that followed was punctuated only by Shanks’ very unsubtle footsteps retreating down the Red Force, faster than any pirate captain should ever be walking.

----

“Now,” a voice called from the doorway, smooth, teasing, yet unmistakably firm. “Why did I hear from my doctor that Ms. Patient in here doesn’t want my presence?”

The air shifted.

She flinched before she could catch herself. That voice, low and careless, threaded with an old warmth that unsettled her more than she'd admit, dug into her chest like a dull blade. She didn’t turn toward him. She didn’t want to.

“Because Ms. Patient ,” she said tightly, her eyes fixed on the wooden planks, “ explicitly does not want your presence. Is that too hard to understand, Red-Hair ?”

Shanks stepped inside anyway, she had been cooped in the room for awhile, but guessing from the silence on deck and the night sky, it was around dawn, she finally saw that familiar smirk was already tugging at his lips, boyish and far too charming for someone so infuriating.

“Yeah,” he said with a mock sigh, “I guess it is. Y’see, I’ve never really had women reject me before.” His voice dipped with amusement, eyes scanning the room before locking onto her still form. “Kind of a new experience.”

She rolled her eyes, slowly turning her head to glance at him, just a little. “Glad I could be your first,” she muttered.

“I’d love for you to be my firsts,” He had jokingly said, but was met up with a glare from the bedridden patient so Shanks immediately deflected, “So,” he said, gaze drifting around before settling back on her. “How’ve you been?”

The silence between them stretched.

“Peachy,” she answered curtly, her voice clipped, eyes already drifting back toward the ceiling as if it could shield her.

Shanks inhaled, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “Right. Should’ve expected that.”

There was a flicker in her gaze then. Still, her voice was softer this time. “Luffy missed you.”

Shanks’ face shifted, just slightly. His grin widened at the name being dropped, he thinks of the little guy who had dreams like his former captain, who’s now wearing his hat like a legacy. 

“Missed that little anchor too,” Shanks said with a smile. 

She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The name alone was enough to carve silence between them.

But Shanks pushed forward anyway, taking a cautious step closer, his eyes scanning her face like he was searching for something left unsaid.

“But I asked about you , sweetheart,” he said gently, his voice lower now. No grin. Just rawness.

“Never better,” she bit out, her voice thick with sarcasm as she shifted slightly on the bed, wincing at the sting that laced through her ribcage. “Is that what you want to hear?”

Shanks didn’t flinch, but something tightened in his eyes. His arms were still crossed, his stance relaxed—but only on the surface. “I want to hear the truth, at least,” he replied, tone softer now, stripped of that usual teasing lilt.

She stared at him, and then, without warning, glared, sharp, unfiltered, exhausted.

“Well,” she said, dragging the word like a blade, “I feel like shit. My head’s pounding, I can’t feel half my fingers, and I think I might hurl in about two minutes. So if you’re done playing pirate therapist, could you please get me a bucket?”

Shanks blinked once. “Why a bucket,” he said, already walking over to the gaped door with a nonchalant tilt of his head, “when you’ve got a perfectly good sea right outside this room?”

Despite herself, a breathy laugh escaped her lips. 

“Yeah, right,” she muttered, rolling her eyes, “As if I’d dare tarnish your beloved sea.”

He turned back, just in time to catch the faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t bitter. Just a flicker of something long buried between them, genuine, if fleeting.

Her words held no venom now, only the dry edge of someone too tired to pretend and too familiar with the person standing before her. It was the kind of banter only shared between people who had once known each other too well and maybe still did.

Shanks leaned against the wooden walls of the room, watching her with a quiet fondness. “My sea’s been through worse,” he said, “It can handle a little heartbreak.”

“How ‘bout you?” she asked suddenly, voice casual but eyes carefully trained on him, like she was daring him to be honest. It caught Shanks off guard, but he recovered with a tilt of his head and a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“How’s the big scary Yonko faring in his beloved sea?”

A laugh erupted from him, loud, familiar, and echoing with that signature Red-Haired charm. It rumbled from his chest, deep and full, and for a fleeting moment, she saw not the infamous Emperor of the Sea, but the boy who once dangled his legs off the Oro Jackson beside her, carefree and bright-eyed.

“This big and scary Yonko,” he said, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye, “was absolutely terrified for a certain patient’s life. Scariest I’ve ever felt, I fear.” His voice dipped with quiet sincerity toward the end, a tremble of truth hidden in the humor.

She held his gaze, her smile softening just slightly before her tone leveled into something more grounded.

“I’m fine, Shanks,” she said, but it was too clean, too rehearsed. Her posture had stiffened, the slight tremor in her fingers betraying the calm she tried to maintain.

He watched her closely, unconvinced. The image of her back on that bloodstained island, crumpled beneath the weight of everything she carried, played on repeat in his mind.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, his voice low and earnest, no longer laced with his usual levity.

“I’m not pretending,” she lied.

“Here’s some tangerine, your favorite,” Shanks suddenly said, setting down a small woven basket on the bedside table with a casual air that didn’t quite mask the thoughtfulness behind the gesture. “A bit sour since it’s not in season, but still sweet enough to eat. Don’t worry.”

She blinked at the offering, then at him, eyes narrowing slightly, not in annoyance, but in curiosity. Her fingers reached toward the fruit instinctively, brushing against the coarse skin of one of them. The scent was immediate, bright, citrusy, familiar.

“You have a tangerine tree on your ship now?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, as if trying to place the absurdity of it. Her voice was light, teasing, but her gaze stayed fixed on his face.

Shanks just hummed in response, a noncommittal sound paired with a shrug.

But you don’t like tangerines.

She didn’t say it out loud. It stayed trapped in the back of her throat like so many other things she didn’t allow herself to speak. Shanks never liked tangerines. Too acidic, he used to say. Always gave her some every time the three pirate apprentices scavange through a new island they just docked in. 

“Thanks…” She quietly said as she watched Shanks leave the room.

----

“Look who’s up!” Lucky Roux bellowed from the edge of the deck, waving one thick arm toward the figure emerging from the cabin. A broad grin stretched across his face, and several heads turned in her direction.

“I’m not that sick,” she called back with a small smile, the breeze catching strands of her hair as she stepped fully into view. Sunlight kissed her skin, and for the first time in a while, she didn’t feel like she was suffocating.

“For the lady,” Roux said, presenting her with a skewer of freshly grilled meat, steam still rising from it.

As a Monkey D., she knows better than to reject a peace offering. Especially if it’s meat. She takes the meat with little to know grace, munching on it immediately. 

The crew chuckled, a few raising their mugs in a lazy salute.

“Not pairing my meat with beer? That’s preposterous,” she added with a mock frown, biting into the meat again. It was warm, juicy, something she missed. 

“We’re gonna dock soon,” Lucky Roux said, shifting beside her. “Might take a couple of days.”

She arched her brow. “One of those usual remote islands you lot crash on for rest and reckless drinking? Or something different?”

“Nah, captain said we needed to restock,” Yassop chimed in, puffing lazily on a cigarette. “Supplies, medicine, the works.”

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she inhaled deeply. The scent of the sea filled her lungs, salt and wind and wood and freedom. The breeze danced over her skin, she closed her eyes briefly, letting it wrap around her.

Being on a pirate ship felt different. It was different.

Even as a Vice Admiral, she never got to experience this, the quiet laughter, the sun-warmed deck beneath her feet, the unspoken bond between people who’ve risked their lives together not for duty, but for choice.

This wasn’t obligation. It was freedom.

And god, how she missed it.

“Now look who’s finally out of their room!” Shanks shouted, his voice booming with playful exaggeration as he strode across the deck. Without hesitation, he slung a heavy arm over her shoulders.

The gesture, so familiar yet distant, made her shoulders tense instinctively. Her balance wavered, just for a moment. She wasn’t as steady on her feet as she thought she’d be, her recovery is growing less and less each day. 

“Shanks,” she murmured, her voice low but not cold. A soft smile ghosted across her lips before she could stop it, brief, fleeting, but real. The man beside her still carried the same spark in his eyes, the same lopsided grin that used to drive her mad. 

“Oh~?” Shanks leaned closer, his red hair brushing her cheek as he tilted his head with mock disbelief. “Was that a smile I just saw? Are you actually happy to see me now? Miracles do happen.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He laughed, loud, unrestrained, like a certain captain they sailed under from back then, Shanks nudged her gently with his elbow. “You wound me. After everything I’ve done for you.”

“Your everything ain’t much if I’m being honest,” She jabbed at red-haired.

“Hey!” 

Choruses of laughter from his crewmates erupted.

----

Roger’s execution wasn’t a celebration, no matter how the world painted it.

The crowds in Loguetown had gathered like it was a festival, eager to see the Pirate King die, their voices loud with awe and hunger for a new era. Some cheered. Some jeered. Some clung to hope for the treasures whispered in dying breaths. But for her, for them, it was mourning in the truest form.

Heavy rain fell like judgment. Cold, sharp, relentless.

She stood in the shadow of the gallows, soaked through, her coat clinging to her frame, fists clenched at her sides. Beside her, Shanks was silent, red hair plastered to his face, lips drawn tight. He had cried, she realized, but now that it was raining heavily, she couldn't quite decipher it as well.

Buggy had just run off, screaming something about Shanks being a fool, his figure vanishing into the storm.

“Buggy rejected you, huh?” she said at last, her voice just loud enough to be heard over the patter of rain. It wasn’t mockery, far from it. Her tone was flat, like she had already expected it.

A beat of silence passed between them, and then Shanks took a hesitant step closer.

“I was gonna wait to ask, but…” He extended his hand, trembling just barely. “The offer’s for you too. Come with me. Let’s be pirates together.”

She looked down at his hand. It was the same hand that had once pulled her up when she stumbled on the deck of the Oro Jackson. The same hand that offered her meat when she hadn’t eaten. The same hand she used to sneakily reach for during storms when she was scared.

Now it was shaking.

Her eyes flicked toward the empty scaffolding, the wooden beams stained with rain—and Roger’s blood.

“Shanks…” she whispered.

“Don’t say no,” he said quickly, almost desperately. “Not after everything.”

She exhaled, slow and shaky. “Sha–”

Shanks interrupted, not wanting her rejection and excuse to be verbalized, “You wanted to, you wan–”

“I’m going to be a Marine,” she cut in, her voice firm, though her lips quivered. “I’ve already decided.”

His hand faltered in the air.

It made sense to her. It was the rational thing to do.

She had just watched a man—no, the man who had changed her life—die at the hands of the system her family served. A system her father upheld. A system her brother once fought for.

A system she had no choice but to return to.

To her, becoming a Marine was the only way to keep what little stability she had left. Garp was a Marine. Dragon was a Marine. Her blood was steeped in justice, in duty, in structure. Her and the naive dream to be able to change it.

But for Shanks?

For Shanks, it was betrayal.

He had just witnessed the World Government and the Marines steal the life of the only man he ever called Captain. He had lost Buggy. He had lost Roger. And now, he was losing her too.

“Decide differently,” Shanks said, the words sharper than he meant them to be. His voice was tight, strained.

She blinked, surprised at the sudden shift in tone.

“You think this is easy for me?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t raised, but it was cold. Steady.

“You think it’s easier for me?” he shot back.

“I have ties in the Marines,” she said, stepping back as if putting physical distance might temper the fire in his chest. “I’m not meant for your kind of freedom, Shanks.”

His hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much, why it felt like her words were slicing open old wounds he hadn’t known he still carried.

“You don’t know a thing,” he muttered.

She frowned. “I know enough.”

She didn’t. She didn’t know that Shanks came from a past as stained and fractured as her own. That he wasn’t born free. That Roger saved him from a fate darker than most could imagine. That one day he had to step inside the place of his lineage, as much as he hated it. 

“You’re going to regret it,” Shanks said, not as a threat, not as spite. His voice was low, roughened by rain and grief. There was no smugness in his tone. He wasn’t warning her out of arrogance, he was mourning her before she even left.

She didn’t meet his eyes. If she did, she knew she’d shatter.

Shanks stepped forward, just once, but stopped himself from reaching out. They had touched so many times before, laughs shared under starlight, bruises exchanged during sparring, warmth passed during cold nights at sea.

But now?

Now his hands stayed at his sides. Anchored.

“I know you better than you think,” he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly, pained. “You’d hate yourself.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep it together. One second longer and she’d break.

“Goodbye, Shanks,” she said instead, turning and walking away from the comfort. “See you at sea.”

----

They met again for the first time in years.

----

The bitterness that had once wrapped around their hearts like iron had eroded, softened by time. With distance came clarity. With maturity came yearning, not the painful kind, but the quiet ache that settles in the chest when you realize the person you once pushed away is still part of your soul.

She hadn’t expected to hear her name that way, called out so openly, so joyfully. It echoed across the harbor, cutting through the noise of the port town.

And when she turned, blinking under the sun, there he was. A flash of crimson, a familiar grin, a mop of unmistakable red hair. Shanks.

“Shanks??” Her voice pitched up with disbelief and delight, her smile radiant, blooming like spring after a long winter.

Before she could say more, he was already there, arms around her, spinning her off the ground in a hug that pulled the breath out of her lungs and replaced it with laughter. She clung to him without hesitation, surprised by how natural it still felt.

“What are you doing here?” she asked breathlessly, once her feet found the earth again.

Shanks, still holding her elbows, looked at her with stars in his eyes—his grin boyish, just slightly crooked. “Docked here for some supplies,” he said, brushing a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, “but rumor had it there was a very charming and dangerously competent captain in the area.”

She snorted. “Who would that be?”

“I wonder who?” he said with a lopsided grin as they stood there for a moment longer than they should’ve, in the middle of a bustling dock, hearts caught somewhere between nostalgia and something dangerously close to hope.

“Huh,” Yassop muttered, eyes narrowing as he watched the woman who had been lingering near their captain ever since they docked. His arms crossed over his chest, an unreadable expression painted across his face. “You don’t look like the Captain’s type.”

She turned toward him, a brow arching. “Your captain has a type ?”

“N—” Limejuice tried to interject, perhaps to soften the blow, but Yassop barreled right over him.

“Petite,” Yassop began, counting on his fingers with theatrical flair. “Cute. Small. Maybe even a little helpless. You know, that damsel in distress effect.”

Each word stabbed just a bit sharper than the last.

She blinked. Her lips parted slightly, caught between a scoff and a laugh. “Oh…” she exhaled, her mouth agape just enough to hide how that landed, deep and uncomfortable. Convenient , she thought. That’s… everything she wasn’t.

Too tall. Too harsh. Too stubborn. Just gr—

“What are you guys talking about?” Shanks asked, flashing his usual boyish grin as he approached the small gathering.

“Nothing!” Yassop and Limejuice chimed in unison, a little too quickly. The woman beside them merely smiled with quiet amusement, clearly enjoying their flustered state. For all his carefree charm, it was easy to forget how much Shanks was respected by his crew, despite his young age. But now that they’d reunited, she could see how much he’d grown. 

“Really?” Shanks tilted his head, raising a brow in suspicion.

Before the others could dig themselves into a deeper hole, she casually looped her arm around his and leaned into him with a playful bump of her shoulder. “Exactly that. Nothing.”

Shanks glanced down at her, teasing warmth in his voice. “You’re getting awfully chummy. How would the world react, seeing their beloved Marine Captain arm in arm with a pirate like me?”

“They’ll live,” she quipped, her tone light but steady. “Besides, it’s not like you’re pillaging this island, right? Normal people know you don’t do that. I think.”

Shanks let out a laugh, light and windblown, “You think, huh? You sure you’re not ruining that pristine Marine record of yours by hanging around me?”

“Oh come on, your being noisy," She rolled her eyes , "let’s go and eat something. There’s this nice place that sells lobster, you still like that, right?” she said casually, though her eyes flickered with something softer, nostalgic.

Shanks’s face lit up like the sun hitting open waters. “I could never reject a woman’s offer to eat lobster,” he grinned, already falling into step beside her.

The streets of the island were warm and busy, dotted with cheerful chatter and the occasional cry of seagulls. They didn’t talk much as they walked, comfortable silence now filled the space between them.

When they reached the restaurant, Shanks looked around in delight, already imagining a seat by the window, B ut she surprised him. “To-go, please,” she told the vendor instead, then turned to Shanks. “We’re having a picnic.”

“A picnic?” Shanks raised a brow but didn’t protest, already intrigued.

“There’s a spot nearby, by the cliffs. I sit there when I needed to clear my head.” Her voice lowered, just slightly.

He smiled, following without another word.

As they found the perfect place overlooking the ocean, she spread the food between them on the grass, the red of the lobster almost glowing under the sun.

“If this keeps going, my crew’s gonna start calling me a neglectful captain,” Shanks teased, taking a generous bite and groaning with exaggerated delight.

“It’s been years since we ate together like this,” she said, smiling as she picked at her lobster with delicate precision. “They’ll live.”

Shanks let out a hearty laugh, the same laugh she remembered from what felt like a lifetime ago. “You really look like a reliable captain now,” she teasingly said out of the blue, taking a big bite of his own.

"While you still eat like an animal,” He said back, watching her with a playful smirk.

For a moment, the world around them faded, no Yonko, no Marines, no war or duty or time. Just them, sitting cross-legged on a faded cloth under the shade of an old tree, salt on their lips and sea breeze in their hair.

They talked like no time had passed. Jokes about Buggy’s tantrums. Memories of Roger yelling at them to “hold on tighter” during storms. The nights spent huddled beneath the stars, whispering dreams and dumb ideas to each other.

Shanks was the same. Older, yes. Stronger, yes. But his spirit? Still that scrappy, sharp-eyed boy, S he caught herself watching him too long, too softly. The way the light hit his hair, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The way he still made her laugh without trying.

And then she felt it, that tug in her chest, that familiar ache.

She had promised herself she wouldn’t do this. Not again. But sitting here, with him, the years peeled away like they never existed.

She can’t help but fall in love with him all over again. 

----

That’s why, after a few weeks of The Red-Haired Pirates docking in this quaint island, she had decided to do something quite reckless.

She had kissed him, and he could only look at her with widened eyes. She was hoping for warmth, a laugh, a grin, maybe even the rare sight of the infamous Red-Haired Captain flustered.

But what she got was silence. His fingers rose, gently brushing against his lips, as if trying to hold onto something already fading.

“I can’t,” Shanks murmured, barely above the sound of the sea between them.

Her heart dropped.

Her love was answered with an I can’t . With rejection.

She bit the inside of her cheek, tasting salt that wasn’t from the ocean.

She thought of the nights wrapped in the same blanket, their knees touching beneath a shared silence. The soft laughter. The reckless teasing. The vulnerable conversations under the stars, whether it was yesterday or ten years ago, it all remained etched in her, stubborn and beautiful.

She had believed that maybe, maybe, some part of him held onto it too.

But now, with a kiss she never meant to be a goodbye, she knew, this moment would shift everything.

And that was the last moment they had with each other.

She knew then, as his laughter from his ship faded into the night and the scent of salt clung to his cloak, that she had never stood a chance. Not truly. Not against the pull of the horizon, not against the freedom in his veins.

He belonged to the sea.

And the sea never shared.

----

“Men!” Shanks called out, voice cracking ever so slightly as he raised a half-filled mug toward the sky. His usual grin was replaced by something softer.

“Let’s drink!”

----

Years later, when they meet again, it will be beneath the sun that shines over hometown, and standing beside her will be a wide-eyed, grinning rascal, pestering Shanks with unrelenting energy, who will soon inherit the will that’s the Straw Hat.

----

“Shanks…” Hongo’s voice came out low, hesitant, as he stood just outside her door. He couldn’t meet his captain’s gaze—how could he, with the weight of the news sitting like lead on his tongue? “I’m sorry.”

Shanks turned to him, smiling out of habit, though something uneasy tugged at the edges of his chest. “What is it, Hongo?”

The ship doctor hesitated for just a moment longer before the words dropped, heavy and final.

“She only has a few months left to live.”

The smile on Shanks’ face faltered, no, shattered. One word slipped from his lips, barely audible over the crashing waves beyond the deck.

“…What?”

----

“You knew?” Shanks’ voice was low, but there was something sharp in it, something that cracked beneath the surface. His eyes, usually warm with mischief or mirth, had gone cold. Focused. Piercing.

She didn’t flinch.

“Yes, I knew.” Her voice cut back with equal weight, though not as steady. “And I knew the real reason you kept docking on islands with no real trade value.” Her hand dragged down her face, wearied more by the conversation than her illness. “You weren’t looking for food or supplies. You were looking for a cure.”

Shanks stared at her, the silence stretching between them like a taut rope. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Hongo’s your senior officer,” she replied flatly. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to hear it from him?”

“You don’t believe that,” Shanks said. “Do you?” Shanks would much rather listen in on the person with said illness, the same person he had cared for as well. 

She didn’t respond, and in her silence, Shanks sighed, long and tired, the sound of a man who’s been fighting something he can’t punch away.

His voice dropped. “So… you knew from the beginning. That’s why you asked me, isn’t it?”

Her eyes flickered, the briefest trembling in her fingers before she folded them into her sleeves. “I said what I said and I’m not going to take it back,” she murmured, “because I trust you more than anyone in this world.”

She looked at him then, not fragile, not even afraid, but unguarded.

“I can’t rely on anyone else to do it right.”

“You’re a cruel lady,” Shanks said, and though his voice held a teasing lilt, it faltered at the edges. There was a bitter smile on his face, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, because deep down, he knew: he couldn’t win with her. Not in this. Not ever.

She let out a lifeless chuckle, dry and hollow, despite wanting to ease the tension. “If only you knew what they call me in the Marines.”

“I don’t need to know,” he replied, softer now, searching her face for something, anything, beneath the cracks. “cause I know what you are.”

“Oh?” she raised a brow, dragging her gaze up to meet his. “And what am I, Red Hair?”

Shanks hesitated. The truth itched at the back of his throat.

“You’re someone who carries the world on her back, smiles like it’s light, and dares anyone to notice the weight.” He exhaled slowly, his words sincere. “A reckless woman indeed.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. But it passed quickly.

“That’s funny,” she murmured. “Because when I look at you, I see a man who sailed the seas to outrun the things he couldn’t fix. We’re not so different, you and I.”

Shanks looked away for a moment, jaw clenched, tongue caught behind words he wanted to say. That’s not true, if you knew what I’ve been doing these past few years…

“But you still asked me,” he said quietly, unsaid words remain unsaid. 

She didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

“You know I love you, right?” Shanks whispered, as if the words themselves might crumble under their own weight. His voice was quiet, almost too quiet, like he was afraid of what the sentence might become once spoken. 

She didn’t answer at first.

Brows furrowed, she blinked slowly, as if trying to decipher whether she had truly heard him right. She thought she had misheard the man she had known since childhood. 

Then after a few pauses, she answers, her hands clenched onto the bedding, glaring at the man, not believing a word that had left his lips. 

“No,” she said, curt and steady. “I don’t.”

Shanks blinked, surprised by the bluntness of it. He wasn’t expecting that type of answer.

“You don’t get to say that to me,” she continued, her voice cold under the silver gleam of moonlight. “Don’t you dare ever say you love me.”

Her words hit like a blade, it started blunt, yet it got sharper the more she says and she didn’t stop.

“Love is unconditional. Love is warm,” she said, jabbing a finger into her own chest. “You want to talk about love?”

Her voice cracked, just slightly.

“I’m afraid to die, no because of the pain, or what hell or judgement I’d face, but because I want to see Luffy become Pirate King. I want to see Ace carve his name into the world leaving his own legacy. I want to see the day my brother and my father finally reunite.”

She got out of bed, stepping forward towards where Shanks is, and now her finger pressed hard into his chest.

“They left me. Over and over. And still, I wait. Like some loyal fucking dog.” She took a shaky breath. “That’s love.”

Her hand fell back to her side, clenched into a trembling fist.

“That’s fucking love, Red-Haired.”

Shanks stood there, silent. Taking it. Letting her speak, letting her bleed it out, because he knew he had no right to interrupt.

“And you?” she laughed bitterly. “You brought me nothing but confusion. Silence. Half-truths. Heartbreak.”

She shook her head slowly, her eyes wet but blazing.

“So don’t you dare tell me you love me now, when you couldn’t even give me the dignity of closure.”

She turned her back slightly, her voice growing smaller, but no less furious.

Shanks tried to reach for her arm, her name softly leaving his lips, but she continued.

“You’ve always loved the sea more than me. And that’s fine. I made peace with that a long time ago.” She laughed, 'cause what can she do? The man she had painfully pined over the years and in the end rejected her, says that he loves her, when she was running on limited time.

“What I can’t forgive,” A pause, “what I’ll never accept is you standing there with those sad fucking eyes, telling me you love me... like it makes things better between us.”

Shanks didn’t say anything for a long time.

The night wind moved around them through the open door. brushing past her like an apology, rustling the red hair that earned him his name, now shadowed by guilt.

He stepped forward once.

Then stopped.

His hands clenched at his sides, not out of anger, but restraint, because the part of him that wanted to reach out, to hold her, to pull her close and say I’m sorry , was still the same part that had left her all those years ago.

"I don’t expect you to forgive me," Shanks said at last, his voice low, honest in a way that felt almost cruel.

She didn’t turn to face him. Her shoulders remained rigid, like the tension alone was holding her together.

"And I won’t insult you by asking for it."

Silence. But her breathing wasn’t steady anymore.

“I meant what I said,” he continued, each word heavier than the last. “My love for you… it was consuming.”

She furrowed her brows, a bitter scoff caught in her throat. Another excuse. Another romanticized lie.

“What I wanted was to live a quiet pirate life, just the three of us,” Shanks started out, a smile etched on his face as he thought back the memories they had in the Oro Jackson, the happiest moments of his life. 

“But then there were times I imagined something else. A quiet life. You and me. A farm, maybe. A family.” He shook his head, bitter at the dream. “And that's what terrified me.”

Her silence stung. So he kept going, the only way he knew how, forward, even if the ground was falling apart beneath him.

“I’m a pirate. The sea calls for me. But you—” Shanks looked at her, really looked at her— “You were like my anchor. You pulled me in, even when I didn’t want to be caught.”

She turned her head slowly, just enough to glance at him from the corner of her eye. “I was your anchor? So I was the weight? The thing that held you back from chasing your grand adventure?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

But she wasn’t convinced. Her fingers twitched at her sides, trembling from holding back too much for too long.

Shanks stepped forward, his voice quieter now. “You were my freedom too. I just didn’t realize it until it was too late.”

That’s when she turned fully. Her gaze met his, glassy but sharp.

“Do you think that makes it easier?” she asked, voice frayed at the edges. “Hearing that now?”

“No,” he whispered. “But you deserve the truth. Even if it’s a thousand years late.” Eyes yearning for a future they never get to live in.

The wind picked up slightly, pushing the salty air against her cheeks, but it did nothing to cool the fire inside her chest. She hadn’t meant to say any of it, not to Shanks, but the words came tumbling out before she could stop them. She didn’t want his pity, she never did, but it felt like the weight of everything was finally collapsing on her.

“I lived a life where everyone I love left me,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking the words made them more real. 

“My mom, my dad,” She pressed her hands to her forehead, shielding her eyes from Shanks, the tears falling freely now, “My brother.”

Shanks didn’t move. He didn’t speak, but his eyes never left her, his presence quiet and steady.

“I gave up my freedom for Garp and Luffy,” she choked out, her breath hitching. “I stuck with Luffy because... because I grew up alone, and I didn’t want that for him. His dad... my brother left to do something greater, something important.” Her voice broke on the last word, but she couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop.

“I wanted to do the same,” she continued, her chest tightening, her grip on her hair becoming more desperate. “But I just can’t leave Luffy alone.” She shut her eyes, biting her lip so hard that it almost hurt, willing herself to stop the flood of emotions. She didn’t want him to see her this way. She didn’t want to break down in front of him.

But he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Then he found himself his own family,” she continued, her words bitter with the sting of truth. “And he’s leaving, too, to be a pirate. And in the end... I’m the idiot who’s left behind, waiting for everyone to come back. I’m the one who stays, Shanks. I’m the one who stays .”

Her breath was ragged now, tears still falling, though she no longer cared.

Shanks didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He simply moved closer, his large presence both grounding and comforting.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough, his words quiet, but firm. “You’re not waiting. You’re living. You’ve been living, fighting for those you love, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”

Her head snapped up, surprise flickering in her eyes, but Shanks didn’t meet her gaze. 

“I never wanted to leave you behind,” he murmured, “I never wanted to make you feel like that. But the sea... the sea calls, and we have our paths. We all have our own journeys. But that doesn’t mean you’re not important. You’re more than just someone left waiting. You’ve taken a piece of my heart with you, whether you believe it or not.”

“I don’t,” she whispered softly, “I don’t believe it.”

For a moment, the two stood there, locked in the silence of everything they were and everything they could never be.

----

“Boss?” Lucky Roux called, stepping toward Shanks the moment the red-haired captain emerged from the room she’s staying in. The sea breeze tugged at his coat, but Shanks didn’t seem to feel it.

Shanks stood still for a beat, his eyes dark beneath the shadow of his hat. His jaw was clenched, his usual grin nowhere to be found.

“Find a remote island,” he said, voice low and cold— resigned. “We’re doing this.”

A beat of silence.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” his crew echoed, voices steady but weighed with unspoken understanding.

----

Her fingers trembled by her sides, but her eyes, her eyes were still. Steady. They gleamed under the soft light with a clarity Shanks hadn’t seen in her for a long time: resolve, and something heavier, something final. He hated that look. It meant her decision had already been made. She wasn’t waiting for him to change it, just to accept it. Still, Shanks looked at her as if the weight in his chest might lift if he could just say it, if he could finally admit what he’d never been brave enough to before.

“I love you,” he said, quieter this time. No grin, no teasing lilt, just the truth. Raw and bare, stripped of everything he usually used to protect himself. It was the only thing he had left to give her.

There was a pause. A silence so thin it could’ve split open if one of them so much as breathed wrong.

“Yeah,” she said, voice soft, a smile tugging at her lips like it had been stitched there with thread too weak to hold. “I love you, Shanks.”

But she didn’t say 'too.'

And that absence meant everything.

Not because the words weren’t true. They were more than anything else she’d ever said. But because acknowledging it, admitting it fully, would’ve broken her. Would’ve tied her down to something she could no longer afford to chase.

She believed he said it to make her feel better. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. It didn’t matter.

Because in the end, this was it for her. 

He felt it, every trembling breath she took, every flicker of pain she tried to bury beneath that ever-steady gaze. It took everything in her just to stand, to speak, to let him see her like this: fragile, fading, but still proud. She never begged. Never cowered. Even now, at the end of everything, she clung to the last remnants of who she was. That was her final act of defiance.

“I’m asking you to set me free,” she said, cutting through the silence, her voice steady, almost gentle. “Before it gets to me. Before I forget who I am.”

Shanks’s hand curled into a fist. His jaw tightened so hard it ached. “Change your mind,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Don’t ask me for this.”

But she only looked at him, unwavering. “I made up my mind, I trust you, Figarland Shanks.”

Tears shimmered in his eyes, refusing to fall, not yet. Not until she meets her peace. 

“Make it fast?” she asked, and this time her voice wavered.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice breaking around the edges, but still he meant it. With every aching bone in his body, he meant it.

She closed her eyes.

And then, with the quiet grace of a man who had carried the sea in his chest, Shanks drew his blade, not with anger, not with grief, but with reverence, as if he were not ending a life.

She waited for it, waited for the sharp, clean edge of mercy. But instead, he stepped forward. Gently, without a word, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

It shattered her.

The intimacy, so simple, so tender, caught her off guard. Especially after everything that had passed between them in their last encounter: the distance, the denial, the years filled with unspoken longing. The affection she had buried deep in her ribs, pined for in silence, was suddenly returned. But at what cost?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice low, raw.

Her tears came in torrents, freely now, spilling down her cheeks as she managed a breathless, “I know.”

Then—

The blade slid through her heart like a whisper.

No sound. No resistance.

Only the wind remained.

And when it passed, she was gone.

Shanks stood there, unmoving, holding her close even as the warmth slipped from her limbs. For a long time, he said nothing. Did nothing. The sea was quiet, almost reverent, mourning with him in stillness.

And then, he wept.

Not loud. Not wild. Just a single tear, slipping down a face that had braved storms and gods.

Even the sea could not carry this loss.

----

“Men!” Shanks called out, his voice cracking ever so slightly as he raised a half-filled mug toward the sky. His usual grin, wide and reckless, was replaced by something more hollow, 

He could not hide his sorrow, not tonight. Despite the cheery lilt in his tone, his cheeks were stained with tears, carved by grief like rivers over weathered stone. 

“Let’s drink!” he declared, loud and bright, as if the sheer force of his voice could drown out the ache swelling in his chest.

“To her,” he said, quietly this time, to himself, voice nearly lost to the wind,

Foosha Village

12 years before canon

Luffy had said something that made her stop in her tracks, something loud and offhand, like most things he said, but this one stuck.

“Ace is the Pirate King’s son!”

She blinked. At first, she just stared at Luffy, deadpanned, assuming it was just another one of his dramatic exaggerations. But the more she thought about it… the more it made no sense. There was a purge of newborns after the Pirate King was executed, but somehow she realized that Ace did bear a faint resemblance to Roger, with a hint of feminine features. 

“You sure he’s Roger’s kid?” she asked, trying to keep her voice flat, feigning indifference. But her heart was already racing with a strange excitement. She hadn’t spoken much to Ace since he’d shown up; most of her time was still wrapped around her Marine duties. And when she came back, it felt like Luffy had already found his own family.

“Yeah!” Luffy nodded emphatically, mouth full, rice flying. “He hates it, though. But that’s just stupid!” he declared, banging his cup on the table. “His dad is COOL! ”

“But I’ll be cooler!” 

She couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips as she set down a plate of meat in front of him.

And then, just like that, it was gone and Luffy scrambled.

“I’m gonna go!!!” Luffy shouted, shoving the last of his food into his mouth before bolting out the door with the speed only a boy like him could manage.

She looked down at the empty dishes he'd left behind.

Her chest twisted.

It was a strange ache, half-hurt, half-warmth. Luffy had found his brothers. (brother, she reminded herself of the loss, brother, she repeated) He didn’t wait for her to come back to give him a family. He’d found one on his own.

And even if it stung a little… It also made her proud.

She decides to try and talk to Ace if given the chance.

Dadan called out her name.

“I didn’t know you were back!” Dadan said, despite her fear of Garp, she had always liked his daughter, she might even say that she thinks of her as her own daughter.

“Been here a few days,” she replied, gently pulling away from the hug. “I just didn’t have time to drop by. Sorry.”

Dadan lit a cigarette, leaned against the rickety door frame of her house, and exhaled. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks. You’re glowing as always.” She laughed dryly. 

“Hah! That’s the alcohol,” Dadan smirked. “So, are ya hanging for a while, or just passing through?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked out toward the trees where distant laughter echoed, Luffy’s, maybe Ace’s too. 

“Not sure, my transponder snail is a bit lethargic, so I left her alone” she said at last. “If I’m getting calls from work, I wouldn't know.”

A silence settled between them before she broke it again.

“So. Ace and Luffy.”

Dadan let out a small laugh, flicking ash into the dirt. “Thank you for taking care of them, I know it’s hard, It’s probably like holding back two hurricanes with a wet mop.”

“You’re not wrong.” Dadan smiled, her expression softening. “But they grew on me. Those boys… they’re gonna tear the world apart someday. In the best way.”

“It’s weird seeing you openly be affectionate of these boys,” She smirked at Dadan,  who widened her eyes, looking like she was caught red handed, “So you do care!” 

“I DON’T!” 

“AUNTIEEEEE!”

Luffy’s voice rang out across the clearing like a cannonball, full of mischief and raw enthusiasm. His rubber arms shot forward, grabbing at her shoulders as he launched himself toward her with a force that would’ve knocked any other adult straight off their feet.

She caught him, barely. Her boots scraped back against the dirt trail as she braced herself.

“Luffy—ow! That’s my shoulder, not a slingshot target,” she grumbled, but she didn’t push him away. If anything, she allowed herself to smile just a little at the boy now clinging to her with the kind of desperation only Luffy could muster.

“Come on, come on, pleaaaase train Ace and me!” he beamed up at her, eyes sparkling with that wide, reckless hope of his.

She raised a brow. “Isn’t Garp training you guys?”

“He’s not here! ” Luffy complained, flailing his arms with cartoonish dramatics. “And when he is, he’s scary! He punches too hard, and he threw me into a mountain last week!”

“That sounds tamer than when he trained me,” she said dryly, crossing her arms.

“But you’re better! You’re cool! And you don’t yell as much!”

He gave her that look. That stupid, effective look. Big round eyes, quivering lip, like the entire world would end if she said no.

She sighed and glanced past him to where Ace stood a few feet away, arms crossed and expression unreadable. But there was a flicker in his eyes, curiosity, maybe? Or a silent challenge.

“I don’t know…” she started, only for Luffy to up the ante by grabbing her hands with both of his and practically shaking her. “Pleeaase, Auntie! We’ll be so good!”

She stared down at him, then she turned toward Ace. “What about you? You okay with this?”

Ace shrugged, but there was a spark of something almost eager behind the casual tone.

“I don’t care, I just want to get stronger,” he said. “If you’re gonna teach us anything, I’ll take it seriously.”

She folded her arms, pretending to consider. “I’m not going easy on either of you.”

“YEAHHHH!” Luffy whooped, already running circles around her. “You’re the best!!”

Along the way, they had realized, maybe, just maybe, her training was slightly harsher than Garp. 

“You’re worse than Gramps!” Luffy cried through a mouthful of food, crumbs spilling onto his lap as he stuffed his face with roasted meat.

“You’re the one who kept slacking off,” she muttered, unfazed, casually tossing a fruit toward Ace, who caught it one-handed.

The three of them were seated around a small fire, the meat they’d hunted sizzling faintly on flat stones and as per usual, Luffy fell asleep after taking in almost all of their food, he was now sprawled out on the grass, his stomach round.

“So, Ace,” she started casually, “I hea—”

“Why’d ya become a Marine?” Ace interrupted, sharp and unexpected.

She blinked, the firelight casting flickers across her face as the question settled between them. It wasn’t an accusation, but it was laced with curiosity. A question he probably couldn’t ask Garp, especially not to Luffy.

“As much as Garp yells at us to be Marines, I don’t think he can force us,” Ace added, picking at the edge of the eaten watermelon, eyes not meeting hers. “You’re strong. You could’ve just said no. Become a pirate. Do whatever you want. Was being a Marine your dream? Who in their right mind dreams of being a Marine?”

She exhaled slowly, watching the embers dance in the pit. “You’re asking a lot of questions tonight.”

Ace shrugged but went quiet, waiting.

“…To answer you,” she said at last, her voice even but distant, “I couldn’t throw away everything Garp gave me. As much as I wanted freedom, I couldn’t walk away from the man who raised me.”

She thought of Garp’s face when Dragon left. The grief buried under fury. The quiet in the house that followed.

“I don’t agree with the system. I’ve seen its ugliness more than most. But Garp… he believed in the good parts. He wanted me to be safe. To be strong. I joined for him… and because I thought maybe I could do some good.”

Ace stayed still, his expression unreadable.

“But my best… it’s not something big or heroic,” she continued, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. “I realized I can’t change the world. I just try to keep the people I love safe.”

She hated being a Marine, but she loved her family more, even when it sometimes felt unreciprocated. 

“So you’re okay with me and Luffy becoming pirates?” Ace finally asked, quieter now. Less defiant. Seeking something, permission, maybe. Understanding.

She looked at him, really looked, and saw the way his jaw tensed, the flicker of worry in his eyes despite his tough exterior. He wanted her blessing.

“I want you both to be free,” she said softly. “No matter what path that is. If being a pirate gives you that freedom… then I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Ace turned to face the other way, but she can tell that he was flushing from the way the tip of his ears turned red. 

If Ace can ask questions, she can too. She was always curious if what Luffy had told her was ture or not. 

“Say,” she began gently, testing the waters, “I heard something from Luffy.”

Ace shifted where he sat, not looking at her. “Yeah?”

She hesitated for a moment, then continued, “That your father was Gol D. Roger… Is that true?”

The change in Ace was immediate. His shoulders tensed, his jaw tightened, and the flicker of peace in his eyes vanished. “Luffy told you that?” His voice was low, guarded.

“Yep,” she said, almost playfully, as if trying to soften the blow.

“That loudmouth…” Ace muttered, burying his face in his arms. Shame crept into his voice. “Of course he’d blab to someone else.”

She watched him carefully. The shift in his body language. The fear. The instinct to hide.

“Before you get angry,” she said calmly, standing up as she sat herself closer beside him, close enough that their knees almost touched. 

“he wasn’t trying to out you. He was just rambling. Bragging about wanting to be Pirate King, like always.”

Ace didn’t respond.

“Go on, then,” he muttered bitterly after a long pause, eyes still downcast. “Say it. Say you don’t believe it. Or that someone like Roger shouldn’t have had a kid in the first place. That I’ve got the devil’s blood or whatever crap people like to throw around.”

Her heart ached for him. This boy, so full of fire and will, still carried the weight of a name he never asked for. She ponders on what she should say next.

“I knew your father,” she said softly.

Ace’s head snapped toward her. “...What?”

“I was a stowaway on his ship when I was young and he took me in right then and there! An idiotic move seeing that my dad was Monkey D. Garp, not that he knew, anywaaays…” She rambled on.

Ace said nothing, but his gaze didn’t move from her face.

“I don’t know what you went through, Ace,” she continued, “truly. But you should know this, if your father had known you, if he’d had the chance… I think he would’ve loved you with everything he had.”

“A demon like that could never love his own child,” Ace muttered, his voice rough with a mix of anger and something quieter, something close to doubt.

But even as the words left his mouth, they didn’t settle like truth. They felt… empty. The kind of thing you say over and over until you start believing it. Except, for the first time, Ace wasn’t sure he did.

She didn’t speak right away. Just sat there, letting the silence work its way through the heaviness between them.

“You don’t sound convinced,” she finally said, quiet but firm.

Ace scoffed. “I have to.”

Her gaze flicked toward him, sharp yet gentle. “Why? Because it’s easier to hate him than to wonder what could’ve been?”

Ace clenched his fists in the dirt beneath them, jaw tightening. He looked like he wanted to yell, or run, or break something, but he didn’t. He just breathed. Shaky and uneven.

“You’re the first person,” he said slowly, “who’s ever talked about him like that. Like he was a person. Not a monster. Not a pirate king. Just... a man.”

“I didn’t know him long,” she admitted, “but I knew enough. He laughed too loud, ate too much, trusted people too easily, and risked his life for his crew. He wasn’t perfect. He was far from it. But he loved this world, and that’s why… he would’ve loved you, too.”

Ace blinked hard, head turned away as his voice cracked, “I don’t know if I could’ve loved him.”

She gently nudged his shoulder. “You don’t have to. But maybe, you can stop hating yourself because of him.”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, he seemed so much younger than he usually let himself be.

“Thanks.” It was curt and mannerless, but she knew he meant well. 

“Don’t mention it, kid.”

Oro Jackson

30 years ago

“Say, Lass,” Roger called out, his voice booming warmly as he approached the girl seated cross-legged on a barrel near the ship’s edge. The salty breeze tousled her hair, but her gaze remained locked on the ocean. “Aren’t ya gonna tell me where you came from?”

She didn’t look back, only shrugged. “You never asked, old man.”

Roger barked out a hearty laugh. “Fair enough! So? Where’s home?”

“The East Blue,” she replied simply, her voice carried on the wind.

Roger whistled, his grin widening. “Well, I’ll be damned. What do you know, we’ve got more in common than I thought!”

“You’re from the East Blue?” She finally turned to face him, eyes wide with disbelief. The man on his way to becoming the best pirate this world has ever seen, hailed from what is considered as the weakest blue?

“Born and raised,” he said proudly, jabbing his thumb to his chest. “Loguetown. Polestar Islands.”

Her mouth parted slightly. “Foosha Village. Dawn Island.”

Roger chuckled. “Now that you’ve had a taste of the world, the East Blue must feel a little smaller, huh?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes wandered back to the sea, shimmering beneath the moonlight. But something in her expression had changed, a flicker of awe, of longing, of possibility.

“The sea feels alive,” she murmured. “Like it’s calling.”

Roger smiled at that, his expression softening beneath the shadow of his hat. “That’s the pull, Lass. The sea only calls the wild ones.”

“Wild, huh?” she echoed, her lips quirking upward.

“You wouldn’t be on this ship if you weren’t.”

“Guess that’s true,” she murmured, her voice lighter now, like the sea breeze itself.

Roger leaned against the railing beside her, arms crossed as he watched the same vast sea. “You wanna sail your own ship one day?”

She blinked, surprised by the question. It hadn’t crossed her mind, not really. Not seriously.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly, her legs swinging off the barrel now. “I don’t think I’d make a good captain.”

Roger glanced sideways at her, but didn’t say anything. He just nodded, understanding in his silence.

“But I think about it sometimes,” she admitted, “A ship of my own. A crew. But where would I even go? What would I be looking for?”

“Freedom,” Roger said,  like it was the easiest answer in the world, his smile brighter than the moon in the sky.  “That’s what we all want, isn’t it?”

She smiled at that, soft and tired. “Then maybe I already found it.”

Roger laughed again, deep and genuine. “Don’t be so sure. The sea’s got a way of making you chase after more, even when you think you’ve got everything you need.”

She didn’t respond right away. But as the waves gently rocked the Oro Jackson beneath them, she glanced out at the world again and wondered.

Maybe one day, when she wasn’t just a stowaway or a tagalong, when she wasn’t behind closed doors surrounded by white uniforms, when she wasn’t faced and burdened with a father’s dream, maybe the sea would call her in a different way.

“Maybe,” she said quietly. “One day.”

“Ms. Marine-chan,” Makino’s voice called out gently through a knock on the wooden door. The teasing nickname lingered in the air, soft and familiar. “Ace is about to leave. Aren’t you going to come see him off?”

“That’s early,” she responded from within, though her voice came out raspier than intended. She held back a cough, stifling it with the back of her hand. The last thing she wanted was Makino’s worry. “Yeah, I’ll come. Is Dadan still pretending she doesn’t care?”

Makino gave a knowing smile just as the door creaked open, revealing the older woman with a faint sheen of sweat on her brow.

“She’s still in denial,” Makino laughed lightly, adjusting the basket in her hands. “I brought something. I peeled one of your tangerines earlier, by the way. It's sweet!”

She handed over the basket and watched as the older woman took it with a small, amused smile.

“That’s sweet of you. Thank you,” she said, plucking a slice and popping it into her mouth before turning to place the basket gently on her table. 

“Alright,” she said, exhaling softly as she reached for her coat, “Let’s go see Ace.”

They walked towards the outskirts of the forest, Ace ventured out not on the official harbor of the island, not when people don’t know who he is.

“Take care, Aceeeee!” she heard Luffy shout, his tiny arms flailing wildly as he waved with every ounce of energy he had.

“Yeah!” Ace called back, just as loud, grinning from ear to ear as his small dinghy drifted further down the river. “See you, Luffy! I’m heading out!”

“I’ll be a lot stronger when I leave in three years!” Luffy yelled with bright conviction, the kind only a child with a dream could have.

Ace’s gaze lingered, now not on Luffy, but on the woman standing quietly beside him. The woman who wasn’t his mother, but who had done more for his heart than most ever could. She had believed in him. Spoke kindly of the father he once despised. Showed him warmth, understanding.

Ace shouted her name.

“Thank you… for everything you’ve done!” Ace shouted suddenly, his voice cracking through the air. 

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She smiled, but it wavered.

“Dadan raised you more than I did, boy!” she shouted back, voice rough with unshed emotion. She tried to wave him off with a scoff, like this was just another casual goodbye, but the lump in her throat was impossible to swallow.

“Ya both did!” Ace yelled. “Thank you again!”

“Good luck, Ace!” she called, the words almost breaking in her chest.

“Bye, Ace!” Makino and a few others chimed in beside her.. “Don’t catch a cold!”

“You just wait!” Ace’s voice rang out once more. “I’ll make my name soon!”

And just like that, just like Shanks, just like Dragon, another person she loved disappeared into the horizon.

Another piece of her heart left to chase the sea.

“You’re leaving?”

Mayor Woop Slap stood at the doorway of her small home. It had always been quiet, always a little empty, but now it felt hollow, it was far emptier than usual.

“I’m a Marine,” she replied simply, folding a shirt into her half-packed bag. “I’m always leaving.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said, the weariness in his voice sharper than before. He stepped inside and slowly lowered himself into one of the rickety wooden chairs by her table, watching her methodically stuff the rest of her belongings into the bag. Essentials. 

He exhaled. “What happened, lass?”

She paused for a moment, hand still on the bag. Then, in a quieter voice:

“Luffy didn’t cry.”

Mayor Woop Slap blinked, confused.

“When Ace left,” she clarified, her voice strained but steady. “Luffy didn’t cry.”

She wanted to. She nearly did. If she had blinked, the tears might’ve slipped free. But Luffy? He was smiling.

Big, wide, bright-eyed.

Excited about the future, about setting out, about becoming stronger.

She remembered a time when he cried. When Shanks left, he’d cried. That memory was seared into her mind: the small boy with the straw hat too big for his head, screaming on the dock towards a man she had affections for.

But that wasn’t Luffy anymore.

That boy had grown.

Now, if she left, he wouldn’t cry. He’d see it as a challenge. As a step closer to the sea. He’d chase her, not to hold her back, but to find her out there. To cross paths, to brag about his crew, to laugh and share stories with Ace under the sun.

“He’s grown.” She whispered it to no one in particular, but her heart squeezed around the truth and for the first time, she realized—

He didn’t need her anymore.

“So now, ya leaving for good?” Mayor Woop Slap leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he studied the young woman before him, the one who used to run barefoot through the village, covered in dirt and mischief, now dressed in something neat, her pressed Marine coat not worn, it was folded and on her bed.

She paused.

“I wouldn’t say for good,” she said finally, her voice steady, but she couldn’t look him in the eyes. Because even she wasn’t sure she believed it.

“You’ve always said you’d settle down here someday,” he reminded her gently.

She smiled. “Plans change, Mayor.”

“Luffy woul—”

“Luffy wouldn’t mind,” she cut in quickly, almost too quickly. A soft smile bloomed across her face as she turned her gaze to the window, where the wind rustled the trees outside. “He’s got his dream now. A crew to find. Seas to conquer. Who am I in his grand adventure?”

Mayor Woop Slap studied her. “Does Garp know?”

Her breath hitched. “Huh?”

“Does he know?” he repeated, more quietly this time, his voice weighed down with understanding.

She gripped the edge of the table and swallowed hard.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she muttered, her tone just a little too rehearsed.

The room was quiet, filled only by the creaking of the wooden beams above them. Woop Slap didn’t press further. He just nodded, slow and grim.

“Makino’s worried too, you know,” he added, softer now. “She said you haven’t been by in weeks, just coming in and going, just to buy a drink for yourself.”

“I’ve been busy,” she said with a half-hearted shrug. “Marine work.”

“She thinks you’ve been avoiding Luffy.”

Her mouth tightened. “Maybe I have.”

“You know,” Woop Slap said after a pause, “that boy’s not stupid.” He paused again, realizing he’s wrong, “Okay, he’s an idiot and loud, wild, even more, but something about that boy means well..”

She walked over to the door and picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

“That’s fine,” she said, turning the knob. “He’s gonna find me someday and he’s gonna introduce me to his beloved crew and I’d probably cry from being too proud of him or something, I thought of this, y’know.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she opened the door to the cool dawn air and stood in the doorway for a moment, as if trying to remember something she couldn’t quite grasp.

“Take care of them, Mayor,” she said, not turning around. “Take care of my home.”

Mayor Woop Slap knew she didn’t mean her house.

Everything changed, just from one simple mistake.

Isolated, alone, just like she liked, but why is this man in front of her, at her stay?

“Dragon,” she breathed, as if tasting the name for the first time in years. It sat strangely on her tongue, familiar, yet distant. “Why are you here?”

An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. Even breathing has become a chore these days.

“Luffy isn’t with me,” she added, her voice flat. “But he’s fine. Wants to be a pirate. Good for him.” She paused.

“I’m not here for Luffy,” Dragon replied, voice as steady as ever, but she could hear the undercurrent of something else. Concern. Guilt. Maybe both. His eyes, usually unreadable, watched her too closely for her liking.

“Then?” she asked coldly, unwilling to entertain hope.

“I’m here for you.”

She scoffed, sharp, bitter, disbelieving. “Don’t give me that crap,” she snapped. With a shaky exhale, she pushed off the bed, staggering slightly before finding her footing. Even now, she refused to appear weak in front of him. Especially in front of him.

He had been her first heartbreak—not as a lover, but as a brother.

He chose the Revolution over their family. Over her. 

She coughed harder, lurched forward in a way Dragon had never seen, he stilled as he stared.

“What?” she said, voice laced with venom and weariness. “Surprised the girl Garp trained like a damn warhound turned out like this?”

There was a pause. Then Dragon said, quietly but firmly, “Garp would’ve never let what they did to you happen.”

That struck something deep. Her jaw clenched, eyes burning—not with tears, but something colder.

“What do you know?” She clenched her hands that were on her side.

“You weren’t there,” She said, barely a whisper. “Neither of you were.”

She clenched her fists tighter and ushering Dragon to come into the humble abode, it was small, it wasn’t a proper house even, but it was enough for her to get by. She glanced at Dragon, who just stood there, looking at her as if she was some form of entertainment.

“How did you know I was here?”

“It took awhile, but I have eyes everywhere.” 

Silence filled the air once more, she hated this, hated that Dragon was calculating something in which she had no idea of, the air around started circling while the rain turned thunderous. 

“Stop that,” She glared at her older brother, even then, they could still be bickering like siblings, no matter how long time has passed, and contrary to what she thinks, Dragon had always had the best interest for her. 

“Also,” she snapped, finally lifting her gaze, eyes blazing, “stop staring at me. Tell me, why are you really here?”

Dragon didn’t flinch. Instead, his voice came steady, deceptively calm, “How was everyone at the village?”

Of all the questions, that was the last she expected.

He was still Dragon, still the stoic, calculated revolutionary. But for a moment, she could see through the cracks. He missed it—home. Their village. The peace they once thought would last.

At least, that’s what she hoped.

“They’re fine,” she replied, voice clipped, unwilling to give him more than he deserved. “They’re doing fine.”

But her brows furrowed. Why ask about the village now? Unless—

“A close confidant of mine died a while back,” Dragon said slowly, the shadows in his voice sharpening. “She was captured by the Celestial Dragons. Died from an experimentation’s side effect… She was someone’s… eighth wife. Before she passed, she left behind her child, she’s growing up with the same side effects.”

She didn’t respond at first. Only stared, a distant memory tugged at her, half-forgotten and buried deep.

“When she escaped and called,” Dragon continued, slower now. “Your name came up.”

That made her blink. Once. Twice. Then a bitter sigh escaped her lips.

“I’m not in cahoots with them,” she said. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

But Dragon wasn’t satisfied. He moved suddenly, grabbing her hand, holding her with more desperation than force. His voice dropped to a growl, “You know exactly what I’m asking.”

“No,” she hissed, trying to pull back. “I wasn’t a wife. I wasn’t subjected to something that cruel.”

It was a lie. Or, at least, a half-truth.

She was the other thing.

And she would never say it—not to Dragon, not even to Garp. Especially not to them.

Dragon stared at her like he was trying to pull the truth from her soul.

“Are you like this because of what they did to you?” he finally asked, voice low.

“No!” Her voice cracked on impact. Raw. Furious. Desperate. “It’s entirely different.”

But even as she said it, her hands trembled. The kind of trembling that doesn’t come from weakness, but from the exhaustion of holding back too much for too long.

“When was the last time you went back to the village?” Dragon asked, his arms folded, voice calm but edged with something deeper. “You told me you didn’t want Luffy to be alone… so why are you here? Come with us. Join the Revolutionaries. We can change things, bring justice to places no one else dares to see.”

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she rose from the bed slowly, her bare feet brushing against the cold floor. With trembling hands, she grabbed the front of Dragon’s worn green cloak, clutching it as if she could somehow shake the hypocrisy out of him.

“How dare you,” she said, voice thick with disbelief. “How dare you talk about Luffy being alone.”

Her fists clenched tighter around the fabric. She looked up at him, eyes swimming with unshed tears, not weak, never weak, but exhausted.

“You say that like you weren’t the one who left. You left everything. You don’t get to say that to me,” she spat. “ Me. ”

The last word echoed between them like a punch.

“You only ever cared about the Revolution,” she continued, her voice rising. “If Ginny—” her voice faltered at the name, and it tasted bitter on her tongue, “—if Ginny hadn’t said my name, would you even be standing here right now?”

Her nails dug into the fabric of his cloak. “After everything I went through, everything they did, you think I’d just come crawling back to your cause?” Her voice cracked.

She had once hoped that, just once, someone from her family would come for her .

But Garp had his unwavering loyalty to the Marines, a system that built itself on silence and suppression. Even if he didn’t participate in its cruelty, he never stopped it either.

And Dragon… Dragon had the Revolution. Justice on a grand scale. Justice for the world. Never just for her alone.

And Sh—

“I’m not the only one Luffy has,” she said suddenly, voice quiet, a shift in tone.

Her hands loosened, releasing his cloak. She stepped back.

“He found his own family,” she continued, almost fondly. “You didn’t ask, but… he has brothers. Two of them, I guess… One now.”

She smiled softly, sadly.

“I’m just his aunt. And no matter how much I tried, no matter how much I raised him, nothing will compare to the bond he has with those two boys.” Her voice trembled slightly. “He’s going to be a pirate. He’ll leave when he’s seventeen. I can’t stop him.”

She didn’t need to say it, but it hung there anyway.

Just like you. Just like all of you.

Another person she loved, destined to leave her behind.

She remembered all the little moments Luffy had chosen others over her. The times he chased after Sabo and Ace, leaving her behind in the trees. The nights he rambled on and on about Shanks, eyes glowing with hero worship, until she wondered if he even remembered how she used to sing him lullabies when he had nightmares.

And in those moments, the truth settled in like fog.

She wasn’t the person in his life.

But Luffy—oh, Luffy—he was everything in hers.

“I can’t stop him,” She reiterates, clutching own shirt, over her heart, a feeling of heaviness washing through her.  “And I won’t,” 

Oro Jackson

30 years ago

“Hey,” Shanks started, his voice light with curiosity as he stared up at the sky. “If you could do anything in the world… what would it be?”

They were lying on the deck of the Oro Jackson, the ship gently rocking beneath them as it sailed through calm waters. The stars above glittered like a sea of fireflies. Buggy snored a few feet away, limbs sprawled out in a mess of blankets and dramatic snoozing.

“Hm…” she hummed thoughtfully, brows furrowed in concentration. “Anything in the world?”

“Yeah. Anything,” Shanks grinned, rolling onto his side to look at her.

“Then I guess…” she trailed off, eyes locked on the stars above, “Anywhere.”

“‘Anywhere’ isn’t something you do, stupid,” Shanks chuckled, reaching over to ruffle her dark hair with affection.

She pouted and swatted at his hand, but not too hard.

“I don’t care,” she admitted, voice soft. “As long as I’m with you guys, it doesn’t really matter what I do. Anywhere would be enough.”

Her eyes sparkled beneath the starlight, and for a moment, Shanks forgot how to breathe.

“The sea sure is pretty,” she added.

“Yeah…” Shanks murmured, though he wasn’t looking at the sea, his gaze stayed fixed on her, his expression a little more serious now, a little softer.

“It’s pretty alright.”

Blood coated her hands. It dripped from her fingertips, splattered across her boots, and soaked through the once-pristine white shirt she was wearing. Crimson trailed along the cracked cobblestones beneath her feet. 

The air was thick, still, eerie in its silence. There were no screams, no sirens. No approaching Marine warships, no hurried footsteps of panicked bystanders.

Just bodies. Dozens of them. All fallen in grotesque stillness, twisted mid-motion. Among them, one stood out: a man slumped at the base of the desecrated fountain, clad in the unmistakable attire of a Celestial Dragon. His glass helmet was shattered, the remnants glinting like ice around his pale, lifeless face.

The sun hung low, casting long shadows across. It should have been beautiful, serene even, but the bloodied scene turned it into something else. Something wrong. The stench of iron and ozone lingered in the air.

“Boss?” Lucky Roux’s voice cracked through the silence, uncertain. Even he, always the cheerful, carefree one, looked disturbed, his eyes wide as he took in the carnage.

“You guys stand back,” Shanks said quietly, his tone hard in a way rarely heard. He stepped forward, slowly. Deliberately. His crew obeyed without hesitation. “I’ll handle this.” 

She stood at the center of it all, alone, shoulders tight, breath shallow, her face turned slightly toward the dying light of the sky. Her knuckles were scraped raw, arms trembling from restraint more than fatigue.

And yet, the moment she heard his voice—

“Look at this,” Shanks called her name gently, as if afraid he might break her with too much weight behind the word. “What happened here?”

She turned slowly.

Her face, once furrowed with fury or grief, or perhaps both, softened in recognition. That voice. That familiar drawl, steady as the sea and just as endless. It had been years since she'd last heard it, but time did little to dull its comfort.

She dropped the Celestial Dragon’s body like it was nothing more than trash.

Shanks didn’t flinch. He never had, not even when she got like this. But something about the way she looked now, standing ankle-deep in blood with her hands still faintly glowing with Haki, made his heart twist.

No Marines. No Cipher Pol. No Navy dogs on the horizon.

Not even an admiral.

And yet a Celestial Dragon was dead.

“Shanks.”

Her voice was quiet. Hoarse. Almost like it hurt to say it.

Only now did she seem to fully register the chaos surrounding her , the mangled bodies, the blood drying on her clothes. 

She was suddenly hyper aware of every breath she took. But still, her eyes didn’t waver from the red-haired man before her.

That hair.

It reminded her of them . It wasn’t recent that she found out about Shanks, she never knew Shanks came from there. Not until much later. He knew her kin, her pain, and still never told her. That betrayal sat bitter at the base of her throat, but this wasn’t the time.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was still clipped, tight.

“Can’t I greet my favorite Marine?” Shanks offered with a half-hearted grin. It was lighthearted on the surface, but not a single muscle in his body was relaxed. His stance was measured. Ready. Even his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Long time no see, Ms. Marine, how are you?”

He walked forward, and with each step, the air thickened with the pressure of Haki, his own Haoshoku clashing faintly against hers. It wasn’t hostile, but it was undeniable. The ground beneath them groaned as if to bear witness to what could happen if they didn’t tread carefully.

Shanks sensed that some of his newer crew members collapsed behind him on their ship, unable to bear the weight of it.

“You’re leaking too much,” she muttered, not looking back at the chaos behind him.

“Right back at you,” Shanks replied dryly. “Half my men are face-down and we haven’t even talked yet.”

Silence again. Not awkward, just... heavy.

“I didn’t think you were the type to kill a Celestial Dragon out in the open like this,” Shanks said eventually, his voice low, gesturing with a small nod toward the bloodied corpse slumped on the stone pavement.

She didn’t look away.

“Didn’t think I’d go this far, to be honest,” she muttered, her breath still unsteady, “Something snapped, I...”

Around them, the air still hung heavy with the iron scent of blood. It was eerily quiet now, but still she realized that this wasn’t a place to linger.

She finally glanced down at her hands, still faintly glowing with the remnants of her power, slick with crimson. Reality began to settle in. The Celestial Dragon lay still. Dead. The world government wouldn’t let this go unpunished.

“It’s not safe here,” she murmured, wiping her palm against her coat with a grimace. “I have to go.”

Shanks looked at her hands, still bloodstained, trembling with something deeper than exhaustion.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly.

She stared at him. “What?”

“Not forever,” he clarified. “Just for a while. You need to disappear. At least until the heat dies down.”

“I’m not afraid of this.”

“I know,” he said, his voice gentle. “You were never afraid of anything, were you?”

Shanks smiled sadly. “But you think I want to watch them erase you? You think I haven’t seen what happens to people who stand up to them ?”

She didn’t respond. Her jaw tightened. Her whole body was wound tight, like the wrong word could make her snap.

But Shanks didn’t move closer. He just let the weight of his words hang between them, steady as the sea.

The sea he had chosen over her. 

“Shanks,” She had whispered, loud enough for Shanks to hear, “I’m dying.”

Shanks’ smile faltered.

Just slightly.

Enough for her to notice.

The weight of her words settled like lead between them. The battlefield, the blood, the bodies, suddenly all of it dimmed beneath the gravity of what she had just confessed.

“I’m dying,” she said again, this time with a strange calm. Not a plea. Not even sorrow. Just… fact.

Shanks’ brows pulled together. “What are you talking about?” Shanks’ fists clenched at his sides. “Have you told anyone ?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Of course she hadn’t.

“That’s why you’re doing all this,” he said, looking at the carnage around them. “You think if you go out swinging, it’ll mean something.”

“No," She shook her head, but gave no explanation, "you wouldn’t understand even if I told you.”

Shanks stepped even closer now. Close enough to see the cracks in her mask, the tremble in her lips, he wasn’t sure if that was from adrenaline or some sort of weakness.

“You always felt too much,” he said softly. “Even back then. That’s what made you beautiful.”

“Don’t even start, Red-haired,” She spat out, not wanting for old feelings to resurface, but she knew why Shanks was saying nonsense, “Why are you even here, go back to your precious Red Force,” 

“I’m not letting you die here,” Shanks said with finality. “Not like this. Not alone. Not in blood.”

Her eyes met his. And for a brief moment, she looked like that girl again. The one who laughed too loud. Who dared to dream, even when dreaming was a crime for herself at that time. 

“Shanks, that’s not why I told you.” She closed her eyes, feeling too much.

Her voice was low, ragged, as her bloodied fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, dragging him closer. Her breath ghosted just shy of his lips, had the moment been different, it might’ve meant something else entirely.

“I’m not your captain,” she said through clenched teeth, each word laced with bitterness. Her grip on him tightened. “I will never be your captain.”

Shanks didn’t speak. He understood. This wasn’t a moment for argument, this was her flare, her fire still burning even as her strength faded. Letting her talk was the only right thing to do.

“Don’t you dare,” she rasped, drawing in a breath that trembled, “don’t you ever dare let my body fall into the hands of those World Government bastards. Do you hear me?”

Shanks’s expression darkened, but he remained silent, his eyes steady on hers.

“Shanks.” Her voice cracked, and something unfamiliar flashed across her eyes, grief, anger, betrayal. Something raw. “As much as you hurt me… as much as you humiliated me…The times where you forced me to even think about leaving Foosha for good, but even then…”

She faltered, her knees buckling. Shanks caught her before she could fall.

“I trust you more than anyone,” she breathed, almost like a confession. “More than Dragon. More than Garp.”

"So that's why I want you to—"

And that was the truth that broke her, Shanks widened his eyes at the revelation she had just spat out.

This woman, the Vice Admiral feared across seas, the sister of the world’s most wanted man, the grandchild of a Marine legend, was strong. She wielded all three forms of Haki. She had once sailed under the Pirate King (Though as a mere stowaway)

She was strong.

Until she wasn’t.

As the tears finally fell, they didn’t fall from weakness, but from the weight of everything she was never allowed to say. It cascaded to her bloodstained cheeks, she faltered.

All that strength, the kind that had carried nations on her back, that had stared down gods and monsters, trembled now in the space between her and Shanks.

“I have no idea how and why you’re here, but I trust you , Shanks,” she whispered again, as if saying it louder would make it too real, too dangerous. “So don’t… don’t let them get their hands on me, don’t you dare let them near me…”

Shanks swallowed hard. Her grip on him was iron, trembling but stubborn.

“I won’t,” he said at last. “Not a damn bone of you will be theirs.”

Her head dropped forward, resting against his shoulder now, the weight of her frame sinking into his. She wasn’t unconscious, but she was tired. Soul-tired.

“You always did talk too much,” he murmured into her hair, voice low, trying to steady her. His coat draped itself around her shoulders like instinct, like memory. “You could’ve just said you wanted me to stay.”

“Shut up,” she muttered weakly, and he almost smiled.

The air around them was heavy still, tainted with blood and silence, but it was no longer suffocating.

Behind him, Lucky Roux and Yasopp kept their distance. Not out of fear. But reverence. They knew better than to interrupt this kind of moment.

“Don’t fall asleep on me just yet,” Shanks whispered. “We’ve still got a ship to catch.”

She let out a broken chuckle.

“I just…” she rasped, a trail of blood leaving past her lips, trembling with every word she had forcefully spat out. “Wished I could see Luffy, just one last time.”

And just like that, Shanks’ composure cracked. Just for a second.

Because he knew he wouldn't be able to fulfill her wish.

And so, without another word, he held her tighter. As if that could stop the inevitable. As if memory and history and pain could hold her here.

And for the first time in a long, long while—

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Let’s go to Sabaody Archipelago!”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The grove (not an island! They recently found out) shimmered with iridescent bubbles, floating lazily in the air like dream fragments. Among the glimmering light, the Straw Hat crew walked with curious eyes and giddy anticipation.

“Hey guys! I can see a theme park!” Usopp’s voice broke through the bubble-filled air, pointing excitedly. “Let’s go! I wanna ride the ferris wheel!” Luffy was as excited as Ussop, forming their little duo, wanting to rush towards the park.

Chopper’s eyes sparkled. “A theme park?! That’ll be Shabondy Park!”

Camie gave a wistful sigh, a small smile playing on her lips. “Ahhh, the ferris wheel… It’s my dream to go on it someday.” Camie’s expression faltered. Her eyes fell toward the ground, voice soft. 

“Dream. . ? Why can’t you go on it?” Chopper asked, tilting his head.

“Stop that nonsense!!” Pappag barked, exasperated. “You know you can’t do that, Camie!”

“. . .Yeah, I know,” she muttered, her smile dim.

“Camie. . .” She provided comfort to the mermaid, fully knowing the circumstances fishmen have on this island. Camie smiled at the consolation, “Thank you, Ange -san!” 

She offered her name weakly, “That’s just a lousy nickname Sanji gave me. . . you can call me by your name.” She turned her attention towards her captain, Luffy. Who was busy fanboying with Ussop who wanted to go to Shabondy Park. 

“Luffy, is it okay if I stay in the Sunny?” She inquired of her captain, receiving a disappointed look from the said man. 

“Heeeeeh?” Luffy let out a grumble of confusion, “No way! We have to go to Shabondy Park together and ride the ferris wheel together!” A childish complaint from the captain. “and what I say goes!” 

“Hey, do you really wanna be cooped up there when we can explore this place?” Ussop asked, raising a brow. “Nami already has Sanji wrapped around her finger, he wants to be in the Sunny, come ooon.” Ussop grabbed Luffy’s shirt, pointing at him.

“Look how offended Luffy looks!” 

She sighed, she could never say no to Luffy. Ever. A nagging older brother's voice came through her mind. 

“You gotta say no to him someday, you can’t just agree with him on everything!” 

“Ace. . . What am I gonna do. . ?” She muttered to herself, as Ussop and Luffy both tilted their heads in confusion.

A little ways off, Hachi was being bombarded with questions from Nami. “What exactly are we doing on these islands anyway? You mentioned something about a ‘coating’?”

“Basically,” Hachi began, “if you do that, your ship will be able to travel underwater!”

Luffy’s eyes lit up. “Huh?! Really?!” Leaving her and Ussop, his attention fully towards the Octopus Fishman.

“Nyuu! But first, we have to find ourselves a coating mechanic. He’ll have to coat your ship with this resin,” Hatchan explained, though some of the Straw Hat was minding their own business, too busy gaping at the groves. “If the job’s not done properly, the whole ship can sink and fall! I know a mechanic that I trust with my life, so I’d bring you to him.” 

“That’s great!”

“But in return, I need you guys to promise me one thing,” Hatchan said, his tone more serious than they had ever heard. The usually cheerful fish-man wore a grave expression, his brows furrowed with a concern that was uncharacteristic of him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as if bracing himself for whatever reaction they might have.

“Right, what is it?” Luffy asked, tilting his head slightly, curiosity piqued but without an ounce of worry in his voice. He was as carefree as ever, completely oblivious to the weight of Hatchan’s words and what they meant.

“This place has a lot of World Nobles running around,” Hatchan started explaining. Luffy listened, his expression unbothered, but what he didn’t notice was the way one of his crewmates visibly flinched at the mere mention of them. 

“They’re the people who live in the Holy Land, Mariejois,” Robin added, her voice as calm as always, yet there was a quiet sharpness beneath it. Unlike Luffy, she understood the severity of the situation.

“Uh, what about them?” Luffy asked, still not grasping the gravity of the conversation, his voice light, casual, completely disconnected from the fear that weighed heavily on the others.

“No matter what happens in this town,” Hatchan’s voice dropped lower, filled with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. “You gotta promise not to disobey the World Nobles.”

She stared at Hatchan, taking in the way his entire body seemed tense, his posture rigid with fear. Desperation. She recognized it instantly. It was the same look she had once worn, the same fear that had been drilled into her long ago.

“Even if there are people killed in front of your eyes, you have to pretend you don’t see anything.”

“The World Nobles are also known as the ‘Celestial Dragons,’” Hatchan continued, his words slow, deliberate, like he was trying to make Luffy truly understand the weight of them.

“They’re incredibly proud, and they wear something like a mask to avoid breathing the same air as us.” His voice held something unspoken, something resentful, but also full of fear.

“Never go up against them. Promise me, Luffy!” Hatchan pleaded, his voice tight with worry, his eyes searching Luffy’s face for any sign of understanding.

“Sure!” Luffy said with a grin, as if making a promise to not cause trouble was the easiest thing in the world. He didn’t realize—none of them did—that his promise would mean nothing soon enough.

Then they heard it.

A desperate scream.

“Please, somebody help me! I gotta go back to my family, my daughter and wife!” The voice was rough, hoarse from what was likely hours, maybe even days, of crying.

A man, bound in heavy chains, stumbled forward, his wrists and neck bruised and raw. His clothes were torn, his face covered in grime, but more than that, his eyes held nothing but sheer, unfiltered desperation. He clawed at the thick iron collar strapped tightly around his throat, his fingers bloody from the effort.

Her hands shot up to her own neck before she could stop herself, fingers grazing smooth skin where cold, rusted metal once dug into her flesh. It was a reflex, an unconscious reaction, her body remembering before her mind could even process what was happening.

A small movement, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Someone had seen it.

“Come on! Somebody! An axe—just help me get rid of this thing! I’ve given up on the New World, please help me!” The pirate wailed, voice cracking under the weight of his fear.

“Don’t get involved,” Hatchan warned, eyes darting around warily, as if afraid that even speaking too loudly would bring unwanted attention. “He was probably caught and sold as a slave. His owner must’ve brought him here, and he made a run for it.”

The man continued to struggle against the collar, yanking at it with everything he had. “If I can just take off this rin—”

BOOM.

A sickening explosion rang through the street. The force of it made the ground tremble beneath them. The man’s headless body collapsed onto the pavement, smoke curling from where the collar had detonated. Blood splattered across the ground, dark and thick, pooling beneath his lifeless form. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air, acrid and suffocating.

Luffy gasped, his eyes widening. “Huh?!”

“That’s awful! We should have saved him!” Brook roared, horror painted across his usually jovial expression, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Pappag slapped Brook lightly, his face pale. “You promised not to get involved with the Celestial Dragons!”

“What is this town?!” Chopper cried, his voice shaking, his small body trembling as he stared at the lifeless corpse before them.

She wasn’t breathing. Her chest tightened, constricting painfully. Her head spun, her vision blurred. The scene before her twisted, warping into something else entirely, something from her past—

“Hachin, there’s a Celestial Dragon near!” Camie cried out, clinging onto the octopus fishman in fear.

“If a slave tries to escape, the collar around their necks will explode,” Hatchan said grimly. The explanation was unnecessary. She knew that already. She knew it too well.

Then she saw it.

A dog.

No. Not just any dog.

Her stomach twisted violently. Her hands trembled. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps.

She knew that dog. She knew that dog.

“Oh my,” a voice, dripping with condescension, sneered. “Saru, how vulgar.”

Her body moved on instinct—

She knelt.

The moment her knees hit the pavement, shame burned through her like fire, searing her to her bones. Humiliation clawed at her throat, but her mind screamed OBEY. OBEY. OBEY.

She was shaking. She was trembling. No matter how far she had come. No matter how much she had changed. She was still—

“Hey, what are you doing?!”

Luffy’s voice cut through her haze like a blade, sharp and grounding.

“She’s quick!” Hatchan said, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “Hurry, get on your knees too! And whatever you do, don’t look them in the eyes!”

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, grounding herself, keeping her from losing herself entirely.The Celestial Dragon sneered down at the unconscious, nearly lifeless man, his pristine white boot pressing cruelly against the bloodied flesh. The once-proud figure lay crumpled in a heap, his breath shallow, his body broken beyond recognition.

“Oh, he’s certainly useless now.”

Saint Roswald and Saint Shalria.

Names she hadn’t dared to speak for years. Yet here they were, standing before her once again, as if fate itself was laughing at her futile attempts to outrun the past.

Her stomach churned. Her breath hitched. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to move, to run, to fight, but she was frozen. Paralyzed by the echoes of chains rattling against marble floors, by the phantom grip of hands she had long escaped but never truly forgotten.

“So you meet your end wailing for people to save you?” Saint Roswald wrinkled his nose in disgust before raising his gun, leveling it at the unmoving body. The trigger clicked, and a deafening shot rang out, sending another bullet into the corpse. A final, unnecessary act of cruelty.

“Frankly, it sickens me.”

The gunshot echoed, reverberating in her skull like a long-buried nightmare dragged back to life. The scent of gunpowder mixed with the stench of blood, an all-too-familiar combination that sent ice through her veins.

Luffy’s body tensed beside her, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He moved before he could think, pure, unfiltered rage fueling his every step. But Hatchan grabbed his wrist, yanking him back with desperate force.

“Wait, you promised!!” the fish-man hissed, voice trembling with urgency.

Luffy struggled, his body vibrating with restrained fury. His eyes, usually so bright with reckless joy, darkened into something dangerous. Something lethal.

“I think I would like a giant for my next slave,” Saint Shalria mused, her tone disturbingly casual, as if picking a trinket from a store.

Her father chuckled, low and indulgent. “You should start with a mere human child first.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “And have it be like Charlos’ slave? No, thank you.”

Her breath hitched sharply.

Her blood turned to ice.

No. No, no, no.

Even after all these years. Even after she had clawed her way out of the abyss they had thrown her into—

They still remembered.

Her fists clenched at her sides, fingernails digging so deep into her palms that warm blood pooled in the creases of her skin. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out everything but the ghosts of her past.

She remembers how Saint Charlos had favored her.

Favored her a bit too well.

A ghostly touch slithered down her spine, suffocating, inescapable. The mangrove trees surrounding her were replaced with towering marble halls, with golden chandeliers casting twisted shadows against the floors she had scrubbed raw with her own hands. A memory of a man she was forced to touch every day.

She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, desperate—desperate—to keep herself from spiraling.

“I’m sure that pirate could’ve fought the weak-looking girl and an old man!” Chopper said, frustration evident in his voice.

“But if you wound a Celestial Dragon, an Admiral will most likely hunt you down,” Pappag informed them, his tone weary.

“Huh?! Like Aokiji?!” Luffy blurted, his anger momentarily giving way to shock.

Brook and Chopper flinched, mirroring his disbelief. But one of them remained silent, Luffy noticed that one of his crewmates had been eerily silent for a while. 

Luffy tilted his head, frowning. His gaze shifted, searching—and then he saw her.

Kneeling.

Shaking.

She barely registered his voice the first time.

“Oi…?”

It was softer now, no longer the brash, careless tone he usually carried. It was gentler. Concerned.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

She couldn’t breathe.

She had spent years searching for the meaning of freedom—not just the kind spoken of in grand tales, but the kind she could feel in her bones, in the wind against her skin, in the laughter shared over meals that weren’t rationed by someone else’s hand. 

She had found a glimpse of it in Luffy’s unwavering spirit, in Ace’s reckless grin, in the way they carried themselves like they had never been shackled.

Through them, she had found purpose, a reason to keep moving forward. They gave her more than just the illusion of freedom, they gave her a reason to believe in it.

And yet, her journey hadn’t been a willing one. She hadn’t chosen to be a pirate; Luffy had forced her hand, had backed her into a corner until the only way was intertwining her path with his. Not once did she ever regret her decision to give in to Luffy, to carve out a space for herself where no one could ever chain her again.

But standing here, in the shadow of those who had once chained her, she wondered if she had ever truly escaped at all.

Comfort. That was what Luffy was. Even as the world threatened to pull her under, the sound of his voice was an anchor.

“Luffy. . .” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

He noticed it, of course. Luffy wasn’t dumb, not in the ways that mattered. He had seen her act strangely from the moment they set foot on this island.

He crouched beside her, searching her face, his usual unshakable energy replaced by something softer. Something understanding.

“Hey. . . what’s wrong?”

She forced a smile, her fingers brushing against his shoulder in reassurance. A weak attempt to pretend she was fine.

“Nothing,” she lied, her voice steady even as her hands trembled. “I’m just as shocked as you are.”

Hatchan from afar had a strange look in his eyes, he didn’t believe her, neither did Luffy.

Because she was still trembling, even as she gripped onto Luffy’s sleeve like a lifeline.

Her fingers tightened against Luffy’s shoulder, gripping onto him as if he were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Because right now, in the presence of those who had once owned her, who had stripped her of dignity, of freedom—she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t shatter.

‘ Not in front of Luffy .’ Her heart whispered,

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

She was no older than five years old when she was sold at an auction house, right here, in Sabaody Archipelago. The bright lights blinded her, and the room felt suffocating, filled with people shouting numbers that she couldn’t comprehend. Her tiny hands trembled as thick iron shackles bit into her wrists, too heavy for her small frame to bear. 

Fear clawed at her throat, but her mind kept wandering back to home—to the familiar fields of Lvneel Kingdom in North Blue. So close to Mariejois, yet so far from Sabaody. How did it all happen so fast?

She remembered it so vividly—It had been just an ordinary day— she was helping her mother in the field, the air thick with the scent of fresh crops. 

Her parents were farmers, simple and humble farmers in Lvneel. Her mother was exhausted from working under the scorching sun, so they opted to rest. She laid down on the dirt as she gently touched her mother’s arm with glowing fingertips, allowing warmth and relief to seep into her mother’s aching muscles. 

She loved her power—her devil fruit was like magic that made people feel good. It made her happy when they smiled at her with gratitude.

But that day, she wasn’t the only one who noticed her powers. A few men wearing a gaudy, extravagant helmet—shiny and shaped like a bubble—walked through the field, followed closely by tall, imposing guards in black suits and dark sunglasses. 

She didn’t understand why everyone in the village suddenly dropped to their knees, faces pressed into the dirt. Why did they look so terrified?

One of the guards approached, his heavy footsteps making the ground tremble. He looked down at her, his face emotionless, yet somehow intimidating. Her mother and father didn’t move, paralyzed by fear. The guard’s voice was like gravel as he asked.

“Is that power from a devil fruit?”

She was just a child, bright-eyed and blissfully naive. A wide grin stretched across her face as she nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah!” she chirped, as if proud that someone noticed her gift. “I don’t know what it’s called, but I call it the Tender-Tender Fruit! I can make people feel things I want!” She let go of her mother and stepped forward to show the big man her glowing fingers. 

“Look! I can make them feel happy or calm, anything that I want them to feel! As long as I can feel it too!”

The guard hummed thoughtfully, his cold gaze flickering back to the noble behind him. The man leaned down to whisper something in the noble’s ear, and the bubble-helmeted figure gave a faint nod. She didn’t know what they were talking about, but her excitement slowly faded as she noticed the uneasy looks her parents gave each other.

Then, without warning, the guard grabbed her arm and pulled her away from her mother. She stumbled, almost falling, but he didn’t slow down. Panic set in as her parents stayed frozen, not fighting, not yelling—just standing there, rooted to the spot with pale faces and wide, empty eyes.

“Hey, mister,” she asked, her voice soft and confused, “Hey, where am I going?” She didn’t resist, too shocked and dazed to understand. 

“We’d like you to use your powers for other people,” the guard answered flatly, not even looking at her.

She blinked up at him, trying to process it. Helping people? That was okay, wasn’t it? She liked helping. She glanced back over her shoulder and waved with a beaming smile. 

“Bye-bye, Mom! Dad!” she called cheerfully. But her parents didn’t wave back. They just watched with an expression that is quite hollow, defeated.

There were three World Nobles present that day, each of them from different families, adorned in their grotesque bubble helmets and luxurious garments, surrounded by a swarm of armed guards. By some twisted coincidence, they had decided to visit the countryside together, perhaps to flaunt their power or indulge in the exotic simplicity of rural life. 

The villagers had scattered at the mere sight of them, heads bowed low, faces pressed into the dirt. Nobody dared to breathe too loudly, fearful of attracting unwanted attention.

“Oi, that one’s mine,” he snarled, glaring at his companions. “I found her first.” A blush forming, “The immeasurable pleasure she could give me,” Slight drool escaped his lips.

The second noble, a slim, snake-like figure, scoffed and waved a lazy hand.

“You? Don’t be absurd,” he drawled. “A power like that deserves refinement,” He waved his hand in dismissal, “She’ll be my personal healer. Imagine it, never needing a doctor, always having someone to soothe away the aches of travel and pleasure.”

The third noble, a woman, clicked her tongue in annoyance.

“You men are insufferable,” she sneered. “A delicate thing like that should be kept as a pet—a precious little doll to amuse me and calm my nerves whenever I wish.”

The tension between them was thick and palpable, and their guards stood on edge, unsure whether to intervene or let the argument unfold. None of them wanted to upset their respective masters, but they couldn’t help but exchange nervous glances. World Nobles fighting amongst themselves was a dangerous affair, one that could end in death if not resolved carefully.

Finally, the first noble huffed and straightened his posture, casting a sideways glance at the small girl.

“There’s only one way to settle this fairly,” he proposed, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “We put her up for auction. Whoever pays the most can take her.”

“Fine,” the second world noble grunted. “But you better have the pockets to keep up.”

The woman merely shrugged with a bored expression, already calculating how much she was willing to spend. The three of them nodded, signaling their agreement, and one of the guards pulled her roughly dragging her toward the ship that would take her to Sabaody.

The nobles continued to bicker as they followed behind, already discussing strategies to outbid each other. To them, it was nothing more than a game, a twisted competition to see who could flaunt their wealth the most. 

The girl, meanwhile, was too stunned to fully comprehend what was happening, looking back at her parents with wide, questioning eyes. Her parents could do nothing but watch, paralyzed by fear and resignation, aware that any resistance would mean their immediate execution.

That night, she found herself in the belly of a dark ship, crammed into a small cage with chains around her wrists and neck. She didn’t understand why—why she wasn’t going home, why her parents didn’t come to get her, why everyone else around her looked so defeated and lifeless.

When they reached Sabaody, her world twisted even more. She was cleaned up, dressed in a thin, uncomfortable gown that exposed her bare shoulders, and led into the grand hall of an auction house. The stage was big and intimidating, and bright lights shone down on her like cruel eyes. People filled the room—rich, loud, and greedy—staring at her like she was nothing but an object.

The bidding started, and it was chaotic, numbers being thrown around like it was a game. People kept shouting higher and higher, but the ones she heard the loudest were the three Celestial Dragons—she had learned their proper name from the whispers of the auction house— the same ones who had been in her village that day. They were arguing with each other, each demanding to take her, fighting over her like she was a prized possession. She didn’t understand why they wanted her so badly.

Her first heartbreak came when she realized what it really meant to help these people. It wasn’t like tending to her mother’s tired muscles or making her father laugh after a hard day’s work. It wasn’t gentle or kind. It was nothing like what she imagined.

She realized, in the crushing silence of the backstage cage, that her parents hadn’t fought for her. That they hadn’t chased after her or begged for her return. They had let her go, knowing full well what awaited her at the end of that journey. Maybe they were powerless, maybe they were terrified, but the pain of betrayal cut deep, searing through her chest like a brand.

And when the final gavel hit the podium, her fate was sealed. Saint Charlos, one of the Celestial Dragons, had won the bidding war, purchasing her for an obscene amount of money. She didn’t understand why, or how, or what she’d done to deserve this fate.

That was the first time she truly understood what it meant to be powerless.

She was dragged off the stage, tears finally streaming down her cheeks as the reality of her fate settled in. The dream of helping people had turned into a nightmare, and her innocent heart could no longer bear the weight of hopelessness.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

It started as a whisper. At first, she thought it was just another cruel joke—another sneer or mocking nickname thrown her way by the guards or the other slaves. 

It wasn’t uncommon for them to pick on her, especially when she was relatively new and still had that glimmer of hope in her eyes.

But when she was dragged before Saint Charlos for the first time—still trembling, still holding back the sobs that had been clawing at her throat—she heard it for real. The noble looked at her with that grotesque, wide-mouthed grin of his, his cheeks flushed red from either excitement or the wine he’d been drinking. 

He clapped his hands together like a child presented with a new toy and sauntered closer, his guards holding her in place as she struggled to keep her chin up.

“Ohhhh, my own Pleasure Doll!” he cooed in that sickeningly childish tone, bending down to peer into her wide, fearful eyes. “I’ve been waiting to see you up close. Make me feel pleasure now!”

She didn’t respond, not immediately. Her hands were shaking, and she was trying to remember how to breathe without drawing attention to the fear clawing at her ribs. One of the guards nudged her hard in the side, making her stumble forward.

“She’s a bit stubborn, my lord,” the guard apologized quickly, yanking her by the hair to force her to bow. “But she’s got the power you wanted. Just say the word. . .”

Charlos didn’t seem bothered by the lack of response. In fact, he seemed to find it amusing, his laughter bubbling up like a spoiled child’s giggle. He reached out, pinching her cheek between his gloved fingers, yanking her face up so that their eyes met.

“What’s the matter, Pleasure Doll? Not gonna smile for me?” he teased, his breath hot and rancid against her face. “You’re mine now. You’re gonna make me feel happy every day, aren’t you?”

She swallowed thickly, forcing herself not to pull away despite the sharp pain in her scalp. Her lips quivered, and she barely managed a nod, her voice coming out strained and tiny.

“Yes, my lord,” she whispered, willing her power to work through the pain and terror. Her fingers tingle faintly, and the comforting warmth washed over Charlos, making him sigh with satisfaction.

“See? Good little Pleasure Doll,” he crooned, patting her head like she was a pet. “Now make me feel pleasure .”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir.” One of the guards spoke up, interrupting her from using her Devil Fruit, “It is claimed that she can only give feelings she has felt before, I doubt a girl her age would know what pleasure means.”

“Oh~?” Saint Charlos drawled, eyes gleaming with a depraved curiosity, a flush rising on his cheeks.

She didn’t understand what the guard meant. Not entirely. Not yet.

But Saint Charlos’ laugh—low, perverse, and far too delighted—told her enough. There was something in that sound that made her skin crawl, something that made her fingers stop glowing.

Later that night, when the doors locked and the lights dimmed, she learned the true meaning of “Pleasure Doll.”

Not through words. But through silence. Through the way her body froze and her spirit fled somewhere far away.

She wasn’t old enough to name what happened. But she felt it—screaming in her bones, bleeding behind her eyes, trembling in her fingers. She couldn’t summon anything after that. Not joy, not calm, not even a trace of her power. It had retreated into her, too frightened to show itself.

From then on, every time he called her that name— Pleasure Doll —something inside her cracked.

It wasn’t a title, it wasn’t affection. It was ownership. A curse disguised as praise and she had to wear it every day, smiling when told, trembling when alone, whispering apologies to herself for not knowing what to do.

The nickname spread like wildfire after that. The other Celestial Dragons picked up on it, snickering and jeering whenever they passed her in Mariejois. Charlos’ Pleasure Doll —a twisted, affectionate name meant to reduce her to nothing but a tool for their comfort and pleasure.

And every time they called her that, they expected a smile, as if the name itself was something sweet and precious rather than a chain around her throat. She hated it—hated the way it clung to her like a second skin, reminding her of how powerless she was. But she forced herself to smile through it because not smiling would lead to punishment.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

It was only later—years later—that she told Ace about her God awful nickname, the first thing the young boy did was insult her. 

“Pleasure Doll?” He repeated, his face scrunching up as if trying to piece it together. Then, almost on instinct, he barked out a laugh. “Pleasure? You?”

Her gaze snapped to him, confused and almost hurt, but he didn’t give her the chance to spiral. He pointed at her, smirking with a faint blush on his cheeks.

 “Are they blind or just stupid? You’re stubborn as hell! Sometimes rude, and way too blunt for your own good!” He was practically cackling now. “Pleasure? You’re the opposite of pleasure!”

Her mouth fell open, and she looked seconds away from punching him, but he just kept going, undeterred.

“And a doll? Really? Look at you!” He gestured up and down. “You’re in the woods with the three of us, dirt on your face and leaves in your hair, looking like some kind of wild animal. If that’s a doll, I’ve been lied to my whole life!”

She couldn’t help it—she snorted out a laugh, and Ace’s grin softened, though his cheeks stayed stubbornly pink.

“You’re such an idiot,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Maybe,” Ace shot back, shrugging, “but at least I’m not the one thinking they’re some fancy doll. You’re just you—wild, stubborn, annoying you.”

She looked at him, eyes still wet but now sparkling with something lighter, something a little more alive.

“That’s better,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re more than whatever they called you. Way more.”

When she smiled—really smiled—he felt something stupid flutter in his chest, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he just tossed a stick at her, making her yelp and snap back at him.

“Oi! What was that for?”

“For thinking dumb things,” he said, more to himself, as he stuck out his tongue. “Can’t let you get away with that.”

And when she lunged at him, ready to tackle him to the ground, he couldn’t help but laugh, because that’s what he wanted—her fire back. Even if it meant a few bruises from her relentless revenge.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The universe truly hated her. That was the only explanation.

She was there when Fisher Tiger raided Mariejois.

She could hear it, chaos unfolding beyond the gilded walls, the sounds of shouting and metal clashing. A glimpse from the corner of her eye revealed the sprawling grandeur of Mariejois crumbling, flames licking at pristine architecture, slaves fleeing in every direction as shackles hit the ground like discarded burdens.

Hope flickered in her chest, a tiny, fragile thing that dared to dream of freedom. But just as quickly as it sparked, it was crushed by the cold, unyielding grip around her wrist.

Saint Charlos’ greasy fingers dug into her skin, his clammy hand holding hers in a vice-like grip, forcing her to keep her touch on him, keeping him drunk on the fabricated euphoria that she forced herself to feel just to satisfy his demands. 

Her power was a cruel, twisted gift. It couldn’t just conjure emotions out of thin air; it had to come from her own heart, her own soul. So she forced herself to feel the ecstasy he wanted, the ecstasy she had felt from him, because if she didn’t, she knew he’d make her feel pain instead.

She couldn’t even cry. Tears would disrupt the illusion. Instead, she fixed her eyes on the mayhem outside, letting a small, fleeting wish take root. If only she could just break free, if only someone could save her.

A shudder ran through Charlos as he pulled her closer, his face pressing into her neck, his breath hot and rancid against her skin. 

“You’re mine, little slave,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “Your power is the most important thing to me right now. I’ll never let you go. Never. No matter what happens out there, you will never leave my side.”

His grip tightened, his nails biting into her skin, and she forced herself to smile, to play the part of the obedient, adoring servant. A hollow, empty smile that never reached her eyes.

She wanted to scream, to claw at his face, to use her power to force fear or disgust down his throat—but she didn’t dare. She could only glance at the freedom outside and cling to the pitiful, desperate hope that someday— someday —someone would tear her away from this living nightmare.

Years later, though the shackles were long gone, its ghost still haunted her—an unyielding reminder of the past she couldn’t escape, but one day a boy with a straw hat, bright, unbreakable, and relentless, will tear her away from the nightmare that had once consumed her.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

In her years in Mariejois, serving Saint Charlos, there was one guard she had grown close to.

“Machi-san!”

He was her designated guard—the one responsible for making sure she was there when Saint Charlos woke up, there when Saint Charlos needed her, and there when Saint Charlos wanted her. He was the one who led her toward her own personal hell, day after day. Yet, despite being the one who chained her to this torment, Machi himself was. . . kind.

He had been her guard for about a year now, replacing the previous ones who had either been killed or reassigned to another family. Out of all of them, he was by far her favorite.

Unlike the guards before him, Machi let her bathe on her own, affording her a small sliver of privacy. He dressed her modestly—how a child should be dressed—shielding her from the prying eyes of those who saw her as nothing but a tool. He treated her like a human being, as if the “Hoof of the Soaring Dragon” branded onto her stomach was just a meaningless mark instead of a cruel reminder of her enslavement.

When Saint Charlos grew dissatisfied with her powers and forced her to the point of overexertion, her fingers wrinkling and cracking, raw and bleeding from the strain, Machi would carefully tend to her wounds, his touch gentle and deliberate, as though she were something precious and not disposable.

Without realizing it, he had begun caring for her more than he thought possible.

“Pedi-san,” Machi called out softly, his voice carrying a hint of regret as he used the vile nickname the Celestial Dragons had given her, one he despised but was forced to say. Pleasure Doll, P.D., Pedi. He wasn’t allowed to know her real name, after all. 

“Do you know what a vivre card is?”

She shook her head, wiping at her damp cheeks, Saint Charlos had been rough today, much rougher than usual, he got home demanding his Pleasure Doll because the auction house he went to did not have a mermaid slave on sale, she was overwhelmed by his emotions and had a hard time keeping up the feelings he wanted, which caused the tantrum that wounded her immensely. 

Machi pulled out a small piece of blank paper. It moved ever so slightly, as if alive, and she couldn’t help but stare at it in confusion.

“See here?” he said gently, holding the paper between his rough fingers. “This paper will always lead to its owner. Do you trust me?”

She nodded quietly, despite the tears running down her face, her small hands trembling as he pressed the paper into her palm and closed her fingers into a fist.

“I’m giving this to you,” he whispered, keeping his voice low so that no one else would hear. “The vivre card here belongs to Dragon,” He repeated the name slower so that the girl would understand.

“Dr. . . agon?”

“When the time is right, find the owner of this paper. He’ll treat you well. Tell him that Machi sent you, okay?”

“Can’t we go there together?” she asked, her head tilted with that familiar, childlike innocence that refused to fade despite all she had endured.

Machi hesitated, his heart aching at her simple question. He wanted to—oh, how he wanted to. He wanted to take her to Baltigo, to see his comrades again, to laugh and joke like old times. To be free, together. But deep down, he knew that was just a dream. A fragile, fleeting fantasy that would never come true.

He hadn’t always been nice to her, he had followed protocol in fear of being found out and disrupting the whole mission, but when he was hit by Saint Charlos because of something as measly as forgetting to open the door for Saru (their damn dog), and despite still bleeding out from his head, he was still forced to do his job. 

He dragged his aching body through the pristine halls of Mariejois, head pounding and vision blurred, but he didn’t falter. He didn’t dare.

As a personal guard for the slave, his duty was to ensure that she didn’t run or falter, to keep her compliant and at her master’s beck and call. He hated himself for it, for every time he had to look at her frightened eyes and do nothing. But it was his mission—his purpose—to stay undercover, even if it meant dragging this innocent child through hell. 

He thought she was just another pitiful soul caught in the cruel web of power, just another slave who had lost all hope. He never expected her to be the one to shatter his defenses.

But everything crumbled down one day, when he stumbled into her room, already rehearsing the words to tell her to prepare herself for Saint Charlos’ chamber, she looked up with wide, concerned eyes. He froze when she moved toward him, the tiny hands that had been used to soothe monsters now reaching out to him. 

Before he could even protest or tell her to back away, she touched his hand, her small fingers wrapping around his. A surge of warmth spread through him like a gentle tide, washing away the pain and the crushing weight on his soul. His dizziness faded, his heartbeat steadied, and for a fleeting, fragile moment, he felt at peace.

Machi looked down, bewildered, as the little girl gave him a worried frown. “Machi-san, are you okay?” she asked, her voice as soft as a whisper, laced with genuine concern that no one in this hell ever showed him.

He didn’t have the heart to answer, too caught up in the ache blossoming in his chest. Something broke inside him at that moment—a dam of guilt and regret and something horribly tender. 

For the first time in years, he couldn’t hold back the tears burning in his eyes. He was supposed to be strong, supposed to be indifferent and practical, but in the face of this child’s innocent kindness, he crumbled.

He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. He had been trained to be detached, and for the most part, he had succeeded. He watched guards come and go, watched them beat her for the smallest mistakes, watched her try to hide her trembling hands behind her back as if showing weakness would make it worse.

It started off subtle, he never questioned why she was afforded the rare luxury of her own room—nothing more than a cramped and dim space, but a privilege compared to the vast slave quarters crowded with dozens of others. 

Perhaps it was because of her power, or maybe it was because the Celestial Dragon liked to think she was his personal pet, a toy to show off to his peers. Whatever the reason, it gave her a small corner of solitude, and at night, Machi guarded that door with his life.

He knew he was breaking rules when he gave her a slice of bread one evening, after she had spent the entire day in the chamber without food. She looked at it as if she didn’t know what it was, just stared at the stale, hardened crust with wide, unblinking eyes. He almost took it back, thinking it was stupid of him to expect her to eat something so pathetic, but then she grabbed it with both hands and devoured it like a starving animal.

He hadn’t meant to give her more after that, but when he saw how she savored even the smallest scraps, he found himself slipping her bits of dried meat, an apple once in a while, and whatever else he could sneak past the kitchen guards. It was a small comfort—nothing compared to the horrors she faced every day—but it made her smile, just a little, and that was enough to make him forget the gnawing hunger in his own belly.

Sometimes, when he treated her hands after Saint Charlos’ cruel experiments, he would hum softly under his breath, an old tune from the vast seas. He didn’t think she would notice, but one evening, as he wrapped her bandaged fingers, she hummed it back to him, soft and shaky but unmistakably the same melody. He froze, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. She looked up with hesitant eyes, unsure if she had done something wrong.

“That’s. . . a good song,” he managed to choke out, and her face lit up with a shy, fleeting smile, recognizing Bink’s Sake.

That was when he knew he had failed—failed his mission to stay cold and unfeeling, failed to keep himself from caring too much. Somewhere along the line, she had wormed her way past his defenses, and he had let her, selfishly. She wasn’t just another mission. She wasn’t just a slave. She was a little girl who had never known kindness, and he had given her scraps of it without thinking about the consequences.

He tried to justify it to himself, saying that it was better to keep her spirit alive, that the Revolutionaries would need her unbroken when the day finally came. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the truth. He cared about her. He had grown to see her not just as a responsibility, but as a child—his child who deserved better than this hell.

And he knew that one day, it would be his undoing.

“Machi-san?” The young girl called out to him, breaking him from his thoughts of the past.

At that moment, he wasn’t a revolutionary soldier infiltrating enemy territory. He wasn’t a cold-hearted guard following the commands of monsters. 

He was just a man who saw the girl as his daughter. The look she gave him, full of trust and quiet fear, tore through every wall he had ever built around his heart.

He knelt down in front of her, his rough, calloused hands cupping her tiny face with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed. He forced himself to smile, even though his heart was breaking, and wiped away the streak of blood that had dripped onto her forehead.

“Yeah,” he choked out, his voice shaking with something he couldn’t quite name. “We’ll try together.”

And even though he knew that he was lying—knew that he would never make it out of this mission alive—he couldn’t take that tiny spark of hope from her. He couldn’t be the one to snuff it out. So he let her dream, just once more, and swore to himself that he would give her that chance to keep dreaming, even if it cost him everything.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The day came faster than expected

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Machi knelt beside her, his broad shoulders shielding her trembling form from the chaos outside. For once, she got a good look of his eyes behind the sunglasses he wore 24/7, they weren’t cold or calculating—they were gentle, filled with a sadness she didn’t understand. He spoke in a low, urgent whisper, his hand carefully resting on her shoulder.

“You’ve been told your whole life that you belong to them,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his gaze, as he held her between his hands. 

“But listen to me. You were never theirs to own. No matter what they did to you, no matter how they tried to break you—you’re still your own person. You deserve to be free.”

He looked over his shoulder, making sure the coast was clear before slipping a key into  her collar, unlocking them with a soft click .

“Run,” he urged, his voice catching just a little. “Run and don’t look back. Live. Find something to fight for that’s yours. Promise me—you’ll never let anyone chain you down again.”

She stared at him, frozen in disbelief, but he just gave her a soft, bittersweet smile and nudged her toward the door.

“Go.” He said again, much more stern, “Remember that you’re your own person.” He smiled, “And that’s enough to make you keep forward.”

And with that, he stood up, turning back to face the chaos, giving her the one thing she thought she’d never have—a chance at freedom.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“GUARD #23 ! ” Saint Charlos bellowed, not bothering to look the man in the eye. Names were beneath him. Titles were beneath him. Everyone else was beneath him.

‘ Ah. . .’ Machi thought, ‘Dragon-san, sorry for not keeping my promise to come back, but I’m betting my life on the next generation.’ 

He saw Kuma’s gentle smile. Ivankov’s defiant laugh. So many comrades, faces burned into his memory. But it was her—the girl with trembling hands and eyes too bright to belong to a slave—that filled his heart in his final moment.

And now, standing before him, was the embodiment of that oppression, Saint Charlos, red-faced and livid. The Celestial Dragon had struck Machi with the butt of his rifle, screaming for answers, demanding to know where his precious slave had gone.

But Machi didn’t flinch. He had calculated everything.

She should be running down the Red Line right about now, he thought.

Down the very escape path he had carved with his own hands.

He had bet everything on her.

Despite the horrors she had endured under the grotesque and perverse Saint Charlos, despite the bruises, the commands, the trembling, there had been something else in her eyes. A flicker. A spark. Something wild, something free, something that refused to be extinguished.

He had seen it. The way she looked at the world—not just with fear, but with hope buried deep, waiting to bloom.

And so, when the final blow came, Machi fell with a quiet smile etched into his bloodied face.

Peaceful.

Hopeful.

Because he had helped that girl—the one he’d come to love like a daughter—make her escape.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Run. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.

Her lungs burned with every breath, her legs aching as she stumbled down the steep, jagged slopes of the Red Line. Blood slicked her palms, her fingernails cracked and torn from clawing at the stone. She could taste iron in her mouth, not from a hit, not this time, but from biting down hard enough to keep herself silent. She couldn’t risk a scream. Not now. Not when she was still so close.

The wind howled around her, but inside her chest, it was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that came before a storm—or after someone you love has left for good.

Don’t think about him. Don’t you dare think about him.

But she did.

And now, as she ran, scraping her knees, swallowing sobs, that memory clung to her like armor.

She didn’t know what was happening above. She didn’t need to.

She knew .

She knew what Machi had chosen. What he’d gambled. What he’d given up to carve this impossible path just for her.

And she hated it.

She hated that he had believed in her more than she ever had in herself.

A sob finally escaped her lips as her foot slipped. She caught herself—barely. Her hands trembled. Her body shook.

But her eyes?

Still burning.

Still alive.

With grief. With rage.

Because Machi was gone and she was still alive, left behind with nothing but the weight of his sacrifice.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

It took months of sailing and pillaging through random islands, but finally, she made it. The vivre card didn’t flutter so raggedly anymore, a sure sign that the man she was searching for was near.

“Dawn Island?” she muttered, eyeing the map in her hands.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Thank you for everything, but I think I have to g–” 

“ Staaaaay! ”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Hey, who are you?” a kid’s voice rang out, rough and loud against the quiet lapping of water, he ran towards her from the forest.

She froze mid-step, one foot still in her boat, the other just landing on the shore that was near a forest. A boy with a straw hat stood a few meters away, hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he stared directly at her. His face was round with curiosity, but his posture was oddly fearless.

“Did you just come off that tiny boat?” he asked again, squinting.

She didn’t answer.

He took a few bold steps forward, but before he could get too close, another voice barked out from behind him. “Oi! Don’t run off like that, stupid!”

A taller boy emerged from the trees, his brow furrowed, jaw tense. He eyed her like a wild animal sizing up another—wary, guarded.

She shifted uneasily.

A third kid followed, a mop of blonde hair under a worn top hat, watching her with equal caution. His eyes flicked from her boat to her face, then down to her hands. Looking for weapons, maybe.

“I don’t know her,” the boy in the hat muttered under his breath. “She ain’t from here.”

“Obviously,” the tall one replied.

The boy with the straw hat pouted but didn’t back off. “You gonna talk or what? You mute?”

The tall one slapped him lightly on the back of the head. “Idiot. Don’t provoke her.” Another one of the kids, the blonde one, spoke up. “Yeah, that’s rude.”

Their eyes locked with hers. She could see it now—distrust and something else. These weren’t normal kids. They weren’t scared of her, but they weren’t welcoming either.

Good, she thought. Maybe they wouldn’t try to touch her.

She glanced away. “I’m just passing through,” she murmured, gripping the boat’s edge tighter. “I won’t stay long.”

“Good,” the tall one replied immediately.

“My name is Monkey D. Luffy and I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!”

The declaration rang through the clearing like a gunshot.

A second later, two fists came crashing down on his head in perfect sync.

“IDIOT!” the older boys yelled, voices overlapping in frustration. “Don’t carelessly give your name to strangers!”

Luffy stumbled back, clutching his head. “Owww! What was that for?!”

“She could be spying for someone!” the one in the red shirt snapped, eyes flicking to her with caution.

“Or worse, she could be from one of the families!” the one in the top hat added, glancing around like someone might leap from the shadows at any second.

But Luffy—stubborn, bright-eyed Luffy—just beamed at her, completely unfazed by the scolding. “But she looks cool!” he exclaimed. “Look at her scars! She’s strong, I can feel it!”

She flinched. Her eyes dropped to the ground, and her hands curled into fists. Those scars weren’t battle medals. They were remnants of survival. Chains. Branding. Punishment. Nothing worth admiring.

Don’t say that. She wanted to tell him . Don’t look at me like that.

She didn’t.

The two older boys seemed to finally take her in—truly take her in. Their eyes lingered longer now, scanning the rawness of her appearance. Her fingernails were dark with dried blood and grime. The nail beds were inflamed. Her hair clung together in tangled, greasy tufts. Her limbs were covered in scars—some pink and fading, others still red and puckered beneath haphazard bandages.

“Oi.” The red-shirted one called out, voice lower now, but firmer. “Where’d you come from?”

She hesitated. Then, with a voice as soft as the breeze, she replied, “North Blue.”

The boy stiffened. “Huh?! North Blue? Are you crazy?”

The one in the top hat stepped forward, his expression caught between disbelief and concern. “That doesn’t make sense. . . We’re in East Blue.”

She said nothing. Just stood there, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“Who cares?” Luffy chimed in, flopping down onto the grass with the ease of someone who had never known true fear. “A blue is a blue. What’s the difference? East, West, North, South.”

The older two stared at him in silence.

“Luffy. . .” the blond one muttered, sweatdropping, “That’s. . . really not what we’re worried about.”

But Luffy only looked at his brothers with a bored expression, his pinky lifting to casually dig into his nose. With zero shame, he flicked a booger off into the bushes, entirely unbothered by the tension thick in the air. 

“She’s here now. Who cares.”

It was so simple.

She blinked slowly, almost in disbelief at the absurdity of it all—and then, against all odds, a laugh bubbled up in her throat. It started as a hiccup of a sound, escaping her lips before she could stop it. And then it grew, soft and shaky at first, but warm, so warm it startled even her.

“You’re funny,” she said, giggling now, brushing at her face as if that could hide the smile breaking through. Her voice sounded strange to her ears. Light. Unburdened, even for just a second.

“Yeah, I like her!” Luffy grinned, instantly brightened by her laughter, his grin stretching so wide it practically split his face in half. He jumped up, arms thrown into the air. “Be in my crew!”

“Huh?” Her head tilted slightly, confusion written all over her face.

“What—Luffy?! You can’t just ask random people that!” the freckled boy in the red shirt snapped, throwing his arms in the air, punching Luffy, yet again. 

“She just got here, dumbass!”

“Ahhh!” Luffy shouted, “Stop hitting me!!”

The one in the top hat, snorted. “Typical Luffy. Offers a place in his imaginary pirate crew before learning someone’s name.” He laughed at Luffy’s antics, unlike Red Shirt who resorted to violence.

But Luffy stood firm, beaming at her like she’d already said yes. “I mean it! You’re cool, I can tell. Be in my crew!”

She blinked again, flustered by the sudden attention. “But you just met me.”

“So?” Luffy asked, as if that was the dumbest excuse in the world.

“And pirates?” She turned her attention towards the other two boys, despite only knowing Luffy what could have been only minutes, she knew he wouldn’t give her the answer she wanted.

“Yeah, all three of us are going to be notorious pirates one day. Don’t let that put you off,” Top Hat added with a half-smile, tone more playful than serious. He crossed his arms and gave her a look, not quite suspicious, but certainly assessing.

“All three of you?” she repeated, eyes darting between them.

“Yeah,” The one in red scoffed, shoving Luffy lightly in the head. “I’m gonna be my own captain. No way I’m lettin’ him boss me around.”

“Same here,” Top Hat said smoothly, smirking. “We’re not joining Luffy’s crew—we’re letting him tag along with ours.”

“Hey! No fair! I said it first!” Luffy whined, arms flailing. “I’m the captain!”

“Keep dreaming, little brother,” Red Shirt muttered, ruffling his hair roughly despite Luffy’s squirming protest.

She watched them with wide eyes, stunned by how normal it all was. Their bickering was loud and chaotic and a little bit wild, but it wasn’t dangerous. It wasn’t cruel. They joked and laughed and shoved each other, but there was no fear in their eyes, no desperation in their voices. It was freedom. It was family.

Her stomach grumbled—loudly.

All three boys paused and turned to look at her. She instantly flushed, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold in the sound. It was embarrassing, but more than that, it made her feel small. 

“Oi, weird girl, you hungry?” the one in red asked, raising an eyebrow. His tone wasn’t exactly gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either, more like a blunt warning. “Just a heads up. . . so girls like you don’t cry or nothin’. we hunt our own food around here. Got it?”

Her blush deepened, and she ducked her head, unsure whether to nod or apologize.

“Oh, come on, Ace,” Luffy chimed in cheerfully, completely unbothered by the tension. He said the name so casually— Ace —and the moment it left his lips, she froze. That name. It struck something inside her. Not the boy in front of her, but the weight of memory it carried. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know. 

“Don’t say my name, idiot!” Ace shouted, shoving Luffy’s face with his palm.

Top Hat—still unnamed—burst out laughing. 

“Too late now, Ace. Damage done.” Top Hat had said as Ace groaned and crossed his arms. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

“Well,” the boy with the hat grinned at her, suddenly offering something softer, something honest. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag. My name’s Sabo. What’s yours?”

She opened her mouth, hesitated—then closed it again.

Her name. It had been so long since anyone had asked. So long since she’d said it without it being barked by an overseer or recorded in a ledger or screamed in pain. Saying it had always been an act of submission.

But not now.

This was different. This time, she wasn’t reciting it as property. She wasn’t forced. She wasn’t tagged or owned. This was her choice.

She looked at Sabo, then at Ace—still frowning—and finally at Luffy, who was picking his nose again and didn’t seem to have a single thought behind his eyes.

And somehow. . . that made her feel safe.

She offered them her name, her voice a little rough from disuse. It felt strange in her mouth, strange but right.

It hung in the air for a beat. Not demanded, not judged. Just accepted.

The boys didn’t react with laughter or scorn. Luffy gave her a grin. Sabo nodded. Ace muttered something about finally having something to call her that wasn’t “weird girl.”

And for the first time in a long time, her name didn’t feel like a shackle.

It felt like hers .

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Because of them, she was healing, slowly, gently, finally starting to feel safe. But in a cruel twist of fate, their paths crossed in a fleeting moment. . . and just like that, with a single glance, her former master recognized her—

and the chains she thought she'd broken clamped back around her soul.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Half the crew had scattered to the nearby stalls, laughing and bickering over ice cream flavors with Hatchan and Pappag trying to mediate. It was a rare moment of lightness, and she had quietly stepped away, drawn not by the sweets, but by the shimmer of the sea and the skyline of Sabaody Park.

She stood outside the gates, just far enough to breathe. The vibrant lights of the amusement park cast long shadows, glimmering across the ocean’s surface. It was beautiful. It was loud and messy and full of life.

She never got to appreciate the view back then—when she was young and caged, when her world had been made of cold walls and muffled screams. But now, standing here in the salt-kissed wind, she tried to let it settle into her. To believe she was truly free.

She closed her eyes, letting the sea breeze kiss her cheeks.

And then the nightmare walked in.

"Is that…?" a voice slithered into her awareness, vile and drenched in obsession.

Saint Charlos.

He was perched atop a massive, trembling slave, parading down the path like a king. His eyes locked onto her, and in an instant, the grotesque recognition contorted his features into a twisted glee.

The dual-colored strands of her hair—light and dark—glinted under the sunlight.

His favorite colors. His fixation. His favorite slave.

His voice cracked in ecstasy.

“My Pleasure Doll!”

Her body froze.

Everything stilled. The world dropped out from beneath her, leaving her floating in a slow-motion haze of dread. Her breath caught in her throat. Her feet couldn’t move. Her fingers twitched by her side.

The commotion around them dimmed. Civilians turned to look. But worst of all, her crew— her family —was close enough to hear.

“Guards!” Charlos barked. “Take a look at her! Behind the neck! See if she has my tattoo on her!”

She felt them approach. The click of boots. The shuffle of leather gloves. Fingers grabbing her hair—wrenching her head back.

She didn’t resist.

Not at first.

The cold rush of humiliation drowned her—her identity stripped from her lips, her body treated like property again. The guards yanked her hair upward, revealing the brand scorched into the back of her neck. P.D.

Pleasure Doll.

The crowd gasped. Some in curiosity. Some in horror.

But before the guards could confirm it, she moved . Swift as a bullet. Her arm shot up, grabbing one guard by the wrist and hurling him off. The other she slammed with her elbow, spinning out of reach before they could respond.

Her breathing was ragged. Her vision blurred at the edges.

“What—” the guards stumbled back, stunned.

“You’re mine!” Charlos screamed, red-faced and pointing like a petulant child denied a toy. “You’re my Pleasure Doll!”

Her fists clenched. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Eyes wide and shimmering. She had been seen. Unmasked.

And yet—somewhere in the back of her mind—she waited. Dread churning in her gut.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

[MONTHS AGO, IN ALABASTA]

The heat was unforgiving. The desert sun bore down on them like it had a grudge, and the city streets of Alabasta buzzed with the bustle of post-war recovery. Even the wind carried heat in it.

She winced as sweat trickled down her temple, her long hair clinging to her neck like a suffocating scarf. With a groan, she pulled it up and twisted it into a lazy bun—anything to survive the sweltering weather.

She didn’t think. She hadn’t in a while. Not about that part of her, not since joining the crew. But the moment the strands lifted, the back of her neck was bare. . . and the brand caught sunlight.

Simple. Small. But unmistakable.

P.D.

A stamp of ownership. A whisper of a past she'd tried so hard to bury beneath laughter, fighting, and dreams of freedom. Her stomach twisted.

And that’s when she heard it.

“Hey, what does P.D. stand for?”

She flinched.

“Huh?” she turned, heartbeat quickening, looking at her right to see Ussop questioning her.

Luffy standing beside her with an ice cream half-melted in his hand and his head tilted in innocent curiosity. His big, round eyes blinked at her like he didn’t just trigger an earthquake under her ribs.

Before she could stutter out an excuse, Luffy’s grin stretched wide—easy and sudden, like always—and he threw an arm around her shoulders.

“It stands for ‘Pretty Dangerous! ’” he declared proudly, puffing his chest out. “Back when we were kids, She once beat Ace in a fight even though I couldn’t!!”

She blinked, while the other crewmates looked at her in awe. Was she stronger than Luffy? (She was not, it was purely luck)

Luffy gave a confident nod, his free hand gesturing wildly. “Yup! It was a secret title. Only cool people get those!”

She stared at him.

She laughed. A breathless, cracked kind of laugh, but it felt good. Like exhaling poison.

Luffy just grinned wider, pleased with himself for making her smile.

She let her hair fall again, covering the brand. Not out of shame, but. . . protection. She wasn’t ready to show it. Not yet. But the panic had passed.

“Eh, not going to tie your hair up?” Nami called from a few steps away, fanning herself with a folded map, her cheeks flushed from the heat. “My hair’s short and I still have to tie it up—you're gonna die at this rate!”

“Nah,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck with a small, absent smile. “It’s fine.”

The brand still burned.

But somehow, today—it burned a little less.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

She stared, wide-eyed and breathless, the world around her turning to static as her mind reeled with disbelief.

No. No, no, no.

She was an idiot—for believing, even for a moment, that she had grown past the horrors of her childhood. That she had escaped them. That her scars had faded into something like strength. She had been foolish enough to think she was free.

But here, under the heavy skies of Sabaody, she realized she had only ever been on borrowed time.

She wasn’t free. She was shackled still.

Saint Charlos pointed his stubby, trembling finger at her, eyes bulging with grotesque delight. “Guards!” he shouted, spit flying from his fat lips. “Put the slave collar on her now!”

His words were knives, each syllable slicing open something she had worked so hard to stitch closed.

Her body stayed still, but her mind screamed, frozen in place like prey caught in the eyes of a predator. The world tilted as boots approached, the clang of metal chains echoing in her ears, too loud, too familiar. Hands grabbed at her—too rough, too forceful—and for a moment, her body flinched in instinctive submission.

But something else took over.

Her reflexes, honed from years of survival in the wild forest with three equally wild boys, ignited like wildfire. With a sharp twist of her body, she slammed her elbow into one guard’s temple. He crumpled. Another reached for her again, and she ducked low, grabbing his wrist and flipping him over her shoulder with a grunt. 

Two more advanced. Her fingers twitched, glowing faintly with a soft luminescence, and as she made contact, their bodies slackened. Sleep crept over them like a wave. They slumped to the ground, dazed and groaning.

She panted, her chest rising and falling rapidly, adrenaline pumping like lightning through her veins. But even as her body moved, her heart was collapsing in on itself. Because she could feel him, his presence slinking in like smoke.

Saint Charlos had not moved an inch from his place atop his hunched-over human transport. But as his guards fell around him, his lips curled into a grin, disgustingly calm. 

And then, before she could react, panic from fear, his pale, stubby fingers lunged forward and grabbed her by the hair.

She gasped, the sharp yank to her scalp jerking her back into place. Pain flared at her roots. The action shocked not only her but also the cowering slave beneath Charlos, who dared not move as his master leaned forward gleefully.

"You think you can run from me again?” he sneered, his bloated face looming close. His breath reeked of rot.

She trembled, not in fear of him, but in fury, in shame, in the horrifying realization that she was back at the beginning. A life she had buried clawed its way out of the ground and wrapped around her like chains.

She remembered Hatchan’s warning. His voice in her mind was like an echo: Don’t fight back.

She remembered what would happen if she resisted. The weight of the consequences. The lives that would be put at risk if she retaliated. The faces of her crew—her family —flickered in her mind.

And yet.

Saint Charlos, frustrated that his men still hadn’t gotten up, kicked one of the groggy guards, cursing under his breath. “Pathetic worms,” he snarled. “Hurry and chain her. She's mine.”

Metal scraped across the ground. She could hear it—the cold, unmistakable clatter of shackles being prepared. Her wrists twitched as her body shook, and her breath hitched.

Chains. Again.

Her knees weakened.

The sound of the clinking metal felt louder than gunfire, more deafening than cannon blasts. As the cuffs clicked around her wrists, her vision blurred.

No longer a crewmate.

At that moment, she was a possession. A plaything.

A doll.

Back to where she started.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

And just like that, Camie and she were taken right out from under the Straw Hats’ watch.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Her and Camie were taken by slave traders!”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

A portion of the Straw Hat crew had stormed into the auction house in Grove 01, fury simmering just beneath the surface. The intel they’d received had led them here, desperate to recover Camie, the kind-hearted mermaid who had been taken right from under their noses, and their crewmate. Their hope had been to arrive before anything irreversible happened.

But they were too late.

Camie was bought. The number 500 million berries echoed in the air like a cannon blast. Gasps and murmurs swept through the crowd as the buyer—none other than a grotesquely gleeful Celestial Dragon—paraded the purchase with pride, his smug face nearly glowing with excitement. A mermaid. A rare treasure. A symbol of power he could abuse however he liked.

But something was missing.

Someone.

Their crewmate—she wasn’t there.

That’s when Nami's gaze flicked sharply to the side.

Her eyes darted past the main stage, beyond the gasping crowd and the grotesque preening of the Celestial Dragon. A movement. Her hair—messy, tangled—and yet unmistakable in color. A band of guards stood around her, one of them gripped a thick chain that led straight to her neck.

Nami's breath caught.

“Sanji. . .” Nami said in horror as she gripped the man’s suit, the man in question startled by her expression. 

“Nami-san, wha–” 

She pointed at Saint Charlos, the world noble who had just walked in, her hand covering her mouth, suppressing a scream. 

Unlike Camie, who stood shackled beneath the blinding lights of the auction stage, paraded like merchandise before a sea of bidding voices, one of the Straw Hat crewmates wasn’t part of the show. She wasn’t for sale—because she had already been chained right behind the Celestial Dragon. 

She stood silently behind the Celestial Dragon who now claimed Camie, her presence unnoticed by the crowd but painfully visible to those who knew her. 

Three guards held her by the arms, though she made no move to resist. There was no fire in her eyes, no spark of mischief, no trace of the warmth she used to carry. She looked hollow. The same girl who once teased Luffy and scolded him for his recklessness now looked like a ghost of herself, swallowed by a nightmare she thought she’d escaped.

“Mufufufu,” Saint Charlos danced on Hatchan’s body, his grotesque laughter echoing through the auction house. “I hit him! I finished off that fish-man!”

Blood splattered the polished floor, pooling around Hatchan’s crumpled form. His pink, spotted limbs sprawled awkwardly as pain wracked his body. Despite it all, he still gripped Luffy’s pants with one trembling hand, his breathing ragged and shallow.

“S-Straw Hat, wait. . !” Hatchan pleaded, choking on the words as blood stained his lips. “You can’t. . . ha. . . mad. This is my fault!”

Luffy’s gaze didn’t waver from Charlos, his eyes dark and unyielding, already dead set on the World Noble a few steps above.

“You promised not to get involved, even if someone was shot in front of you by a Celestial Dragon!” Hatchan gasped, his voice desperate. “I’m a pirate anyway. . . I’ve done bad stuff. . . I’m sorry for getting you guys involved.” Tears mixed with the blood on his face as he continued, his voice cracking. 

“Nami. . . I wanted to make it up to her. . . even just a little. Everything I’ve done. . . It's a mistake. I really am useless!”

Luffy’s rage was palpable, rolling off him like waves of suffocating heat.

“Pedi-chan~!” Saint Charlos sang out, oblivious to the danger standing just a few feet away. The whole auction house stayed eerily quiet, too terrified to move or even breathe. She bit her lip, wishing desperately for Camie to be brought out so she could take advantage of the chaos, break the collar and get her to safety while she stayed behind with Saint Charlos. All before Luffy noticed she was there.

“Don’t I deserve a reward? I’m only like this with you.” Charlos’s drool dripped down his chin, his beady eyes fixed on her with a sickening blush spreading across his cheeks. Her stomach twisted into knots, disgust and shame curling together in a nauseating mix. How could he ask for such a thing in front of all these people?

That’s when Luffy noticed her.

His head snapped to the side, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight, the woman he grew up with, his most trusted crewmate, standing right next to that disgusting Celestial Dragon, chained up. Luffy looked in horror before turning it into a glare that was enough to silence half the room, and his voice came out low and venomous.

“Oi.”

She froze, her heart pounding against her ribs. If looks could kill, Charlos would be nothing but dust. Luffy’s face twisted in a mix of confusion and fury. 

Why was his best friend standing behind the disgusting Celestial Dragon? 

“Pedi-chan,” Charlos cooed, his irritation leaking through his voice. “Do you know him?”

Her lips pressed into a tight line, her gaze dropping to the floor as shame burned through her. She couldn’t look at the Straw Hats, especially Luffy.

“Pedi-chan,” Charlos snapped, stomping closer and gripping her cheek with rough fingers. He squeezed hard enough to leave bruises, forcing her face toward him.  

“I asked you a question.” He let go of her face, opting to yank her hair instead. She heard a very familiar horror-filled gasp from one of her crewmates, despite the rough act, she didn’t let out a sound of discomfort.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to tremble. Her mind raced, trying to find a way to get Camie out, to diffuse the situation, to do anything to stop Luffy from making the worst mistake of his life.

But it was too late.

Luffy was already moving, his footsteps slow but purposeful, and his eyes promised devastation.

If she answered, then everything she had tried to bury, every secret she had stuffed down and pretended didn’t exist, would come spilling out into the open. The past she fought so hard to keep hidden would be laid bare for everyone in the room to see.

Her eyes darted around, catching glimpses of other pirate crews, their curiosity piqued by the tension crackling in the air. 

If she let the truth slip out, she would be branded—the Straw Hat who was once a slave—a label that would stick until they reached the last island, and maybe even after that.

“Why is she with you?” Luffy had asked the Celestial Dragon, but he paid the lowly pirate no attention. His was captivated by his newly returned slave.

“Oi, what are you doing there?” Luffy called out again, his voice tighter than before, now aimed towards his childhood friend, and yet again, she didn’t answer. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, the eyes of the man she swore her life to, the one she called her captain. 

Did she even have the right to call him that anymore?

But she didn’t want to answer Saint Charlos either—not in front of them. Not in front of everybody.

“Pedi-chaan~” Charlos’ voice slithered into her ears like poison as he tightened his grip on her hair, forcing her eyes to widen from the uncomfortableness. “Even if you are my favorite, my Pleasure Doll,” He cooed, her crude nickname out in the open, “I have my patience.”

“The hell did he call you?” Luffy’s eyes were dark, still couldn’t comprehend the scene unfolding in front of him. 

“Oi,” He called out for the third time, “Answer your captain.”

Her heart pounded, breath hitching as she forced the words out, keeping her voice steady, void of any trembling that could make her more vulnerable than she already is.

“No. . . I don’t know them,” She swallowed, “ My Lord. . .” She blatantly ignored Luffy and answered Saint Charlos.

“Fufufu,” Saint Charlos laughed, his revolting chuckle sounding more like a gurgle. “You sound so mature since the last time I saw you as a child.”

Child.

Child.

Child. . ?

The word echoed in their mind. Heat rushed to her face, and a suffocating wave of humiliation wrapped around her like chains. She didn’t dare open her eyes, didn’t want to see their reactions, her crewmates, her friends. She didn’t want to face them. Not now. Maybe not ever.

She could feel their realization settling in like ice creeping down her spine. It wasn’t just a coincidence, it wasn't just a whim that Charlos had taken notice of her. He knew her. He had a past with her. And they didn’t want to imagine what that entailed. 

Sanji clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, and Nami’s expression twisted with shock and a glimmer of guilt, as if she blamed herself for not knowing sooner.

But Luffy—Luffy didn’t say a word. His eyes darkened, shadowed by the brim of his hat, he took another step forward, silent and menacing.

She wanted to scream, to throw herself in his path and tell him it wasn’t worth it, because if he punched Charlos, everything would be over. An Admiral would come. The crew would be annihilated.

But the words wouldn’t come. They were stuck in her throat, and all she could do was watch as Luffy strode forward, completely undeterred, completely unyielding, his fury aimed straight at the man who had once owned her.

And for the first time since she joined his crew, she was terrified, not of the consequences, not of the Celestial Dragons, but of Luffy’s wrath.

Because nothing—not reason, not fear, not even her pleading—could stop him now.

Her chest tightened painfully as Luffy reached Charlos, the Celestial Dragon too arrogant to recognize the danger hurtling toward him. And then—

The punch landed with a sickening, satisfying crunch, and Charlos was sent flying across the room, crashing through rows of seats and leaving stunned silence in his wake.

Luffy stood there, unwavering, as if daring anyone to challenge him. And she could only watch, heart torn between terror and pride.

Because that was Luffy—stupidly brave and beautifully reckless. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, she couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—that was why he captivated her so completely.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Chaos ensues

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

They were back at Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar, but the atmosphere was suffocating. Two of their crew were gone—their captain and his beloved childhood friend. The silence stretched on, heavy and unforgiving, as the remaining Straw Hats huddled around the bar, each lost in their own thoughts. No one dared to speak.

Not after that.

Nami was the first to break the quiet, her voice small and uncertain. “She. . . was a slave?”

The words hung in the air, spoken but not truly processed. It didn’t feel real, how could it be? How could someone as strong as her, someone who had fought beside them and kept them together, have carried a burden so immense and never once let it show?

“I still don’t get it,” Usopp muttered, rubbing his face in frustration. “She never said anything. Not once.”

“Why would she?” Robin’s voice was calm, but there was something dark and simmering in her gaze, a fury barely held at bay. “Would you?”

The others fell silent. No one had an answer to that.

“It didn’t seem that Luffy knew either,” Franky rumbled, the usual brightness in his voice replaced by a grim seriousness. “He’s just as in the dark as we are.”

Chopper’s ears drooped, his tiny body trembling with guilt. “But we’re her crew,” he whispered, voice cracking. “She didn’t have to go through this alone. We could’ve—” His lip quivered. “We could’ve helped. . .”

“We didn’t know,” Franky muttered, clenching his fists so tightly that his metallic joints creaked. “Damn it, we didn’t even see the signs.”

Were there signs to begin with? Robin’s mind wandered back to Water 7, when she had opened up to them—barely— about how her Devil Fruit gave her control over emotions, how she was freely able to manipulate how she felt and how it kept her grounded. Was that a sign? Or just another mask she wore to keep them from seeing how broken she really was?

She had always been so good at hiding what she truly felt. She was their anchor, the one who could calm down Luffy and Usopp, take care of Chopper, random chats with Nami and Robin, and listen to Sanji’s ridiculous romantic gestures with a laugh. People confided in her. They sought her out for comfort. She made everyone feel safe.

But the minute they stepped onto Sabaody Archipelago, she’d been. . . different. Withdrawn. Restless. Robin should have noticed it sooner, the way she’d stayed on high alert, like prey sensing a predator.

“It makes sense now,” Brook said, his usual joviality replaced by a solemn stillness. “Why she looked at that Celestial Dragon like she had seen a ghost.”

Sanji gritted his teeth, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “That bastard called her his ‘Pleasure Doll’,” he spat, his voice low and venomous. “What the hell did he do to her?”

No one answered.

No one wanted to.

The thought alone made Sanji’s blood boil, rage settling into his bones and refusing to leave. He had seen countless acts of cruelty on the seas, but this—this was something else. The idea of someone owning her, of someone stripping away her pride, her strength, her freedom—it was sickening.

“I’m going to find her,” Sanji declared, pushing himself up from the bar. “She shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“No.” Zoro’s voice cut through the room, firm and unyielding. “It’s none of our business.”

Sanji whirled on him, disbelief contorting his features. “The hell are you talking about, mosshead?”

Zoro didn’t flinch, eyes dark and serious. “This is between her and Luffy. We’ll just make it worse by barging in without knowing anything.”

“Aargh, you’re so insensitive, mosshead!” Sanji barked.

“Yeah! We should be there to support her, you brute!” Nami added, glaring.

“Three-sword style,” Chopper muttered bitterly, earning a confused glance from Usopp.

“Chopper, you don’t have to use Luffy’s insults when he’s not here—and that’s not even an insult,” Usopp said, sweatdropping.

“I agree,” Robin spoke up, surprisingly siding with Zoro despite the pained look on her face. “As much as it hurts to just sit here, this is something Luffy needs to handle. We have to give them space to talk it out.”

Sanji grumbled something under his breath but didn’t argue. Nami folded her arms tightly around herself, trying to ignore the sting in her chest.

“I can’t help but feel supeeeer bad for what she’s been through,” Franky said, wiping his eyes with his massive hands. “She didn’t deserve any of that.”

“She didn’t,” Robin agreed,softness in her voice. “But she didn’t want us to know. We have to respect that, at least until she’s ready to talk.”

Nami bit her lip, her voice almost a whisper. “I just hope Luffy can bring her back.”

They fell into silence once more, the heaviness returning to crush them under its weight. None of them knew what to say or how to feel. Guilt mixed with anger, helplessness mixed with regret. They wanted to be there for her, to protect her like she had always protected them.

But for now, all they could do was wait.

And hope that Luffy could somehow break through the walls she had built to protect herself.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“The epitome of freedom, that’s who you are.”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The minute the fight ended, she had run. Not toward Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar like the others, but in the opposite direction. Her feet moved on instinct, quickly carrying her to the Thousand Sunny without a second thought.

She sat on the ship’s railing, staring at the waves below. The salty wind brushed against her skin, but she felt none of it. The vastness of the sea seemed to mock her, open and unbound, while she remained trapped, the metal collar still on her neck.

She had run.

Like a coward.

She had run because she didn’t want to know what the aftermath was like. how the crew would react, how different they’d treat her after knowing something as gruesome as that. The moment Charlos called her his, there was no escaping it. The truth had been laid bare, staining her like filth that would never wash away.

Her fingers traced the old scars hidden beneath her sleeves, the ones she never spoke of. They were rough and uneven, reminders of her past that never quite faded. Her hand drifted lower to the brand on her stomach, now exposed for the world to see, the same mark she had tried to scrape off countless times. 

The skin there was raw, marred with jagged lines of failed erasure, a permanent reminder that she had once been owned.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

You’re free.

That was what she told herself every day, to drown out the voices that whispered otherwise. She had sailed across the Grand Line, battled monsters, laughed with her crew, chased dreams, she had lived. But when she knelt before them again, when her body remembered what it meant to be powerless, it felt like she had never left that cage.

And now they knew.

Now he knew.

Luffy—who had always been freedom itself.

From the moment they were kids, he had been untamed. Wild, reckless, laughing like the world could never hold him down. Even when he stumbled, he only got up stronger. He chose his path, always, never shackled by anything or anyone.

And she. . .

She was nothing but tainted and chained. Forced to be caged by her past.

Her wrists still ached with chains. The bells still rang in her ears. No matter how far she ran, no matter how much she thought she had grown, she could still feel hands on her skin, forcing her to—

“You’re thinking too much again.”

The words struck her like a whisper wrapped in thunder.

She flinched.

Her breath caught in her throat, heavy and sharp, and she didn’t turn around. Not yet. Her body froze—half in disbelief, half in dread. Of course he’d come. Of course he’d find her.

He always did.

“Found you!”

His voice rang out behind her, unmistakable, full of life and warmth and something unshakably Luffy . He called out her name with that wild, boyish grin plastered across his face, as if nothing had happened, as if nothing could ever be too heavy to bear.

“Now come on,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “The crew’s waiting!”

His footsteps echoed on the stone floor, loud in the silence she had wrapped around herself. She didn’t move. Her back stayed turned to him, eyes locked on some invisible point far ahead, like if she just stared hard enough, maybe the past would unravel and let her go.

But she felt him draw closer anyway, his presence impossible to ignore, loud and quiet all at once, disruptive and comforting in the way only he could be.

“Luffy,” she started out, still not looking back at her captain, ashamed. “I’m not coming back.”

He didn’t reply immediately, and that silence felt heavier than anything else.

Finally, his voice came, steady and determined. “As your captain, I order you to come back.”

She let out a bitter laugh, fingers trembling as they gripped the fabric of her pants. “I won’t,” she whispered, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“Will do.” 

“Will not!” 

“Will do!” 

“Will not!”

“Why not?!” His tone was louder, but there was that childishness that never seems to disappear whenever he’s with her and vice versa. She could hear his footsteps approaching but not too close.

Her chest tightened painfully. “Saint Charlos likes me enough to forgive you all if I ask him nicely.” Her voice wavered, and she grimaced at the thought, knowing what ‘nicely’ truly meant when it came to the World Nobles. “It’s safer this way, Luffy.”

She didn’t notice when he moved, but suddenly he was beside her, sitting on the railing like it was the most natural thing in the world. His shoulder brushed against hers, but he didn’t force her to look at him.

“I don’t care.”

Her breath caught again.

Luffy leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. He wasn’t looking at her, just gazing out at the sea like he was waiting for the next adventure.

“I don’t care about an admiral coming out to get us,” he said. “I don’t care about the Celestial Dragons.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he kept talking, his tone unwavering.

“I don’t care if the whole world comes after us. You’re my friend. My nakama. I’m not leaving you behind.”

Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t help the tremor in her voice. “You don’t get it. . . It’s not just about me. It’s about you guys.” Anger was evident in her voice. “Don’t you remember what Aokiji did to the crew? it’ll hurt everyone. It’ll hurt you.”

Luffy glanced at her, and there was something uncharacteristically serious in his gaze. 

“I don’t care about getting hurt.”

“Luffy,” she said sternly, her voice uncharacteristically serious. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot, idiot!” Luffy shouted back. 

“I’m just a ticking bomb in your crew! I’m not a top-tier, talented navigator like Nami, or someone as smart as Robin who can read Poneglyphs.” Her hands clenched around the fabric of her pants, knuckles going white.

“Sanji’s the best cook I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen the best of the best, Luffy.” Her voice shook when she thought about the opulent feasts she’d witnessed at the Holy Land. “Zoro’s going to be the greatest swordsman to ever live. Franky’s mentor built the ship of the Pirate King! Ace’s dad—the King of the Pirates himself!”

Her voice broke slightly, but she forced herself to keep going. “Chopper’s a doctor, someone we’d all die without. Usopp’s got aim like no one else, and his dad is on a Yonko’s ship! Brook is the musician you wanted from the very beginning of the journey. Everyone has something—everyone’s amazing!”

She choked back a sob, trying to be stern as she glares down at her trembling hands. “And me? I’m not anything, Lu.” 

Luffy stared at her, his mouth set in a firm line. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, too busy digging her nails into her palms to stop herself from falling apart completely.

The silence was killing her. 

“So just leave m–”

A fist came down on her head, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to get her attention. She yelped, yet still not looking at his direction..

Luffy’s lips twisted into a frown, and his brows furrowed. “You’re so stupid,” he said bluntly, his tone blunt and a little annoyed. “You think I pick people for my crew because they’re useful?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

“You think I wanted a navigator because she’s the best? Or a swordsman because he’s the strongest?” Luffy crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. “I pick people because I like them and think they’re cool!” Her chest tightened at his words, and she clenched her fists. 

“You’re saying that ’cause I’m having a crisis over here,” she snapped, glaring at the hardwood of the Thousand Sunny. “I’m just the girl you felt bad leaving back in Mount Colubo.”

Luffy looked ready to protest, but she didn’t give him the chance.

“I never wanted to be a pirate anyway,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “You’re the one who manhandled me and dragged me to your small boat when I was just on the shore with Makino and the others, so do me a favor and let me be.”

Yes, he did, he dragged her into this grand adventure, but she loved Luffy, never had she once hated being a part of a crew like The Straw Hat Pirates. 

She had to lie, she had to convince Luffy that she hated this, that he should just leave her be.

Luffy didn’t say anything, just watched her with that same unwavering gaze. It made her chest feel tight, made the truth dig its way to the surface, scraping her raw.

He never made her feel like she had to fight. Never made her feel like she had to be stronger, or better, or worth something. It was never about that with him. He just wanted to be around her, in that simple, unshakeable way that was just so. . . Luffy.

She bit her lip hard, trying to stop the trembling. Luffy had shown her how fun it was being a pirate. It wasn’t about piracy and pillaging—it was about what grand adventure they could have next. Never looting or power. To be a pirate—the pirate, The Pirate King—was to be the freest person on the sea, chasing dreams without restraint.

She got a taste of that freedom. She loved that freedom. She loved Luffy.

She waited for Luffy’s back talk, but what she felt instead was his fist. A solid punch straight to her face—so sudden and forceful that it sent her flying and knocked her sideways, blood trickling from her nose.

“What are you—” She shouted, her hand coming up to her face in disbelief.

“Tell me what you want,” Luffy demanded, his voice uncharacteristically firm.

“I told you already!” she spat back, wiping the blood onto her shirt. “I hate being a pira—”

“NO!” Luffy’s shout cut her off, loud and raw, vibrating with an intensity that made her heart lurch. He wasn’t looking at her with pity or worry or anything soft like that. Instead, his eyes were blazing, fierce and unyielding, like he was daring her to lie to him again.

“Tell me what you want,” he repeated, and it wasn’t just an order—it was a challenge. A call to face herself.

Her hands trembled in her lap, fingers clenching. Her vision blurred as tears finally broke free, rolling down her cheeks despite how tightly she tried to hold them back. 

She finally looked up, but still couldn’t look at him, not directly, so she kept her face angled away, even though she knew he could see her crying.

“I. . .” Her voice cracked, barely a breath above silence. The words sat heavy in her chest, too full of ache to push through. But she had to say it, she needed to say it.

“I wanna be free.”

Luffy didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just watched her, like he always did when someone was trying to find the words. His eyes weren’t demanding or impatient—they were just there , wide and steady, offering her space, warmth, and the quiet comfort to keep going.

“I want to eat Sanji’s cooking. . .” she said at last, soft and trembling.

“Yeah,” Luffy nodded, voice just as soft. “Sanji’s cooking is the best.”

“I want to know what Robin’s reading,” she continued, the dam finally breaking, “and hear her weird little morbid facts. . .”

“She’s always reading weird stuff,” he laughed lightly, eyes closed, as if the thought warmed him too.

“I want to see Nami yell at you about how much meat you ate last night.”

“Whaaat? That’s what you remember?” Luffy pouted, but he was smiling. “You’re weird.”

“I want to hear Usopp’s stories—see how crazy they get. I want to see Chopper panic over a papercut, and get shy when someone calls him a great doctor.” Her voice wobbled, tears blurring her vision. 

“I want to see Franky build something unnecessarily huge and completely impractical. I want to hear Brook’s songs at night and see you laugh so hard your hat falls off.”

Luffy’s expression softened, but he still didn’t say anything. He just let her speak.

“I want to see Zoro get lost ten steps from the ship. I want to see him and Sanji argue over nothing. . . and you just sitting there, ignoring them while you stuff your face.”

“Mhmm! that’s important stuff,” he said with a grin. “Meat waits for no one.” As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her voice wavered, but she didn’t stop. “I want to see you become King of the Pirates!”

“Is that so?” Luffy asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up just slightly.

She wiped her face roughly with the back of her hand. “So that you can achieve your crazy dream.”

“I’ll do it!” Luffy declared, his grin now stretching wide and fearless.

“I wanna be with you guys!” She shouted, the words leaving her in a desperate rush.

She finally looked at him, and he gave her that familiar grin, wide and fierce, she felt like crying more, that damned smile that always gives her comfort, oh how she would want to give back to Luffy someday. 

“Luffy,” she finally whispered, her voice shaking, “I’m. . . scared. Scared that one day you’ll realize I’m not worth it. That I’m just a burden. That I’m too useless to be part of your dream.”

Luffy’s face softened, and he stepped forward, poking her forehead with his knuckles, just hard enough to make her wince.

“Stop being an idiot,” he said with the brightest smile she had ever seen. “I decided a long time ago that you’re my friend. You’re stuck with me now. Doesn’t matter if you’re broken or scared or whatever. You’re here, and that’s enough.”

She stared at him, disbelief and hope warring in her expression.

“And you know what?” Luffy added, a hint of determination in his tone. “If you’re scared, then just rely on me. I’ll fight anything that tries to take you away—even your own doubts. ’Cause that’s what a captain does. I’m gonna be the Pirate King, and that means keeping my friends safe—even from themselves.”

Her throat closed up, and tears burned in her eyes. Luffy didn’t falter, just kept grinning at her like he had never doubted a word he said.

“Luffy. . .” She whimpered. Her hands trembled in her lap, and her vision blurred. “This isn’t like Enies Lobby, You don’t understand—”

He cut her off, his voice unwavering. “Yeah, I don’t.”

She froze.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” he said, his tone softer now. “You don’t have to keep running away. I’m your captain, what I say goes. That means I’m not letting you leave. I’m not letting anyone take you. Ever.”

His words tore through the walls she had built around herself, crumbling her defenses to dust. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. It wasn’t just the fear or the shame, it was the helplessness of being loved despite everything. Despite being broken and scarred and stained.

Luffy didn’t move to comfort her or force her to speak. He just stayed beside her, his presence solid and unwavering. That’s how he always was—like the sun, stubbornly bright, never letting darkness linger.

“I thought I was free,” she finally whispered, voice cracked and raw, she reached her hand out, towards the sky, towards nothing. “But seeing him again. . . Knowing he’s been searching for me, moving some strings to catch me, I felt weak and useless and—”

“You’re not weak.” Luffy’s voice was fierce, cutting through her spiraling thoughts. 

“You’re strong. You’re one of my nakama. You fight with us. You laugh with us. You’re strong enough to keep going, no matter how hard it gets. That’s why you’re on my crew.”

She didn’t have words for that. She didn’t know how to respond to someone who looked at her scars and didn’t see damage but survival. Someone who would fight the whole world just to keep her safe.

Luffy leaned back, staring up at the sky. “You don’t have to be okay right now. But you don’t have to be alone, either.”

She let out a shaky breath, her heart aching, but for the first time, it wasn’t from fear or regret. She wiped her eyes, looking at him through blurred vision. 

"That’s easy for you to say, Luffy." Her voice came out strained, like something fragile on the verge of breaking. "You don’t know what it’s like. . . to be treated like you’re less than human."

A shadow crossed his face, and for a moment, his eyes turned distant—thoughtful in a way she rarely saw.

"You’re right." His voice was quiet, but steady.

She froze.

"But I know you."

Her heart lurched painfully, caught between disbelief and something that felt a little too much like hope.

"You’re not just ‘someone who was owned.’" Luffy took a step closer, his tone firm, almost defiant. "You’re not ‘tainted.’ You’re not ‘chained.’"

She looked away, fists trembling as she tried to rein in the flood of memories—days when pain was all she knew, and survival was the only instinct left.

But he didn’t let up.

“You’re you.” His voice was warm, gentle—like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. She finally looked up, and there he was, grinning so wide it made her stomach lurch.  “And that’s enough for me.”

Her breath caught, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he could say that so easily, like he wasn’t talking about someone who had been broken beyond recognition. Someone who had clawed her way to freedom only to find herself drowning in guilt and self-loathing.

Something inside her cracked, a hairline fracture in the armor she had worn for so long. A fleeting memory surfaced, back when she had felt the first taste of hope.

“Go.” He said again, much more stern, “Remember that you’re your own person.” He smiled, “And that’s enough to make you keep forward.”

She forced herself to look at him once more, searching for any sign of doubt. But his eyes—so open and unguarded—held nothing but certainty.

A sob caught in her throat, tears stinging her eyes as she tried to make sense of it all.

She had spent years convincing herself that she was broken—that being owned and used had left her too damaged to ever belong anywhere. She had buried her feelings so deep that even she couldn’t find them anymore. But Luffy—Luffy saw straight through her walls, like they didn’t exist at all.

It didn’t make sense. Why did he care so much? 

Her parents hadn’t thought she was worth it. The people she’d begged for help from hadn’t thought she was worth it. No one ever did.

But Luffy—

He didn’t see her that way at all.

He just grinned, wide and sure, like he had never doubted it for a second.

"You’re one of us."

His words landed gently, but they shook her to the bone.

Before she could respond, before she could even blink, he stepped forward and reached up, placing his hands gently on either side of her head. The gesture wasn’t rough or forceful. It was careful. Delicate, in a way she wasn’t used to.

She flinched slightly at the contact, out of habit more than fear, but he didn’t waver. In his fingers, he held the small set of keys they’d fought so hard to get. The ones meant to unlock chains that should never have existed.

He found the lock behind her neck without fumbling.

And with a soft, almost imperceptible click— The collar fell away.

And just like that—

The weight crushing her chest lifted, just a little. It wasn’t gone, but it didn’t suffocate her like before.

And when she looked up, Luffy was still standing there, smiling, bright and unwavering. "Come back. Everyone’s waiting. They’re worried about you."

A weak, trembling smile pulled at her lips, and she finally nodded. "Okay."

Luffy hopped down from the railing, holding his hand out without a moment’s hesitation. And she took it, fingers curling around his, feeling something warm seep into her frozen heart.

He pulled her to her feet, and as they made their way back to the others, she couldn’t help but glance at him, wondering how someone like him could exist in a world so cruel as she let him pull her back to the crew, back to the family she never knew she needed.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

One day, in a land where samurais were born, she would look upon her captain—the boy she had followed across the endless sea—and see him laughing, his body moving with an untamed rhythm, a grin stretched wide that it seemed humanely impossible. And in that moment, something deep within her would shatter.

The wild, flowing hair, so different from the messy strands she had always known. The billowing clothes, the way his form stretched and twisted like a figure pulled from a dream. The eyes, burning, radiant, a different color than it should be.

She recognized him.

Back when her wrists were bound and her voice was nothing more than a whisper between cracks of a whip, she had begged for salvation. For a god who would break her chains—not with fire and fury, but with laughter so vast it swallowed the cruelty of the world whole. The stories whispered in the dark, the legends passed from slave to slave—of a god who danced and laughed even in the face of suffering.

Joyboy.Sun God Nika.The Warrior of Liberation.

And he had answered. Not from the heavens, not as an untouchable deity—but as a reckless boy with a straw hat and an impossible dream. A boy who had never cared where she came from, only that she was free to go wherever she wanted.

Her hands trembled as she watched him move, the very embodiment of the legend she had clung to in the darkest corners of her past.

Her salvation hadn’t come from some distant god.

[POST ALABASTA]

Luffy sat at the very tip of the Going Merry’s bowsprit, right on top of her head, staring out at the endless horizon. His eyes still glistened with the remnants of tears as they sailed away from Alabasta, leaving Vivi behind. She climbed up to join him, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she plopped down next to him. Without even thinking, Luffy’s fingers tangled with hers, his grip surprisingly gentle despite his usual carefree nature.

“Hey, crybaby,” she teased, giving him a playful nudge with her shoulder. It was an old nickname from their wild days as kids, one that Ace had loved to taunt him with, and one she’d picked up on.

Luffy’s pout was instant, his lower lip jutting out as he glared at her, clearly not over being called that. “Oi! Don’t call me that!” he grumbled, though he didn’t pull his hand away from hers.

She couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “We’ll see Vivi again,” she reassured him softly, squeezing his hand.

Luffy just grunted in response, still sulking from the nickname. She tilted her head to get a better look at him, making sure he wasn’t hurt. “Hey, I never got to ask,” she said, her tone softening, “You’re okay, right? The fight with Crocodile must’ve been insane.”

Luffy huffed, almost indignant. “Nah! I’m fine!” His hand instinctively went to his hat, tugging it down as a grin broke across his face. “It was my fight! You had your own, and besides, in the end—” He flashed her that big, bright, infectious smile. “I won!”

Her heart fluttered despite herself. She leaned against him, and without missing a beat, Luffy leaned even further into her, practically draping himself over her shoulder. She stifled a laugh, used to his clinginess, but it still made her feel warm inside.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, nudging his knee with hers. “You’ve gotten really strong. I’m proud of you.”

Luffy’s face lit up, and he scooted even closer, practically pressing his head to her shoulder. “Really? You think so?” he asked, his voice brimming with excitement.

She smiled, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “Mhmm!”

A beat passed, and then she broke the comfortable silence. 

“So. . . How did it feel seeing Ace again after so long?”

Luffy immediately perked up, the sparkle in his eyes reminding her of the little boy who used to idolize his older brother. “He’s strong!” he declared proudly. “But I’m stronger now! I could totally beat him!”

She snorted, trying not to laugh too loud. “Oi, beat me first, then we’ll talk,” she challenged, shooting him a playful grin, remembering the times where she beat him only because she always had a stash of meat somewhere. 

Luffy cocked his head to the side, looking at her like she just said something ridiculous. “Nah! I can already beat you!” he declared with that signature confidence, her fingers glowed and proceeded to touch him, making him sleepy. 

“That’s. . . unfair. . .”

She couldn’t hold back her laughter this time, shaking her head at his stubbornness. “Whatever you say, captain,” she teased, ruffling his messy hair. He just hummed contentedly, clearly pleased with the praise and the attention, and didn’t make a single move to pull away from her.

“How about you?” Luffy asked, his dark eyes bright with curiosity. “How did it feel to meet Ace after a while?”

She hesitated, a soft, fond smile tugging at her lips. “I missed him,” she admitted, her voice gentle as memories washed over her. “He looks happy. . . a bit different from back then.” Her gaze softened as she thought about how much he’d grown, not just in strength but in spirit.

Luffy gave a loud huff, squeezing her hand tighter. “You’re my crew, got it? Not Ace’s!” He pouted, leaning in closer, almost like he was afraid she’d slip away.

A laugh bubbled out of her at his possessiveness, and she ruffled his hair with her free hand. “Yeah, yeah. I know, Captain,” she teased, flashing him a bright smile. “You’re stuck with me.”

Luffy grinned, his earlier pout completely forgotten, and scooted even closer—if that was even possible, letting his head fall against her shoulder. “Good!” he chirped, his voice muffled by her shirt.

His clinginess was endearing, and despite herself, she couldn’t help but feel her heart skip a beat. If Luffy noticed, he didn’t say anything, too content just being by her side, claiming her as his own without a second thought.

Despite everything—despite the past that clawed at her mind like an old, festering wound, despite the scars that marked her soul from years of being treated as nothing but property—being claimed by Luffy felt different. It wasn’t suffocating or demeaning. It wasn’t possessive or twisted. It was just. . . endearing.

He wasn’t trying to own her. He was just saying it like he always did—as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be his, not as something to take, but as something to cherish. It made her heart swell with warmth, chasing away the bitter memories and replacing them with something gentler, something sweeter.

Luffy’s grip on her hand tightened slightly, and she couldn’t help but smile. To him, she was just. . . herself. And that was enough.

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew, who had been watching from the deck, couldn’t help but take notice of how ridiculously clingy Luffy was being with her.

Usopp was the first to break the silence, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “Wait a minute. . . Are they always like that?”

Nami raised an eyebrow, a sly smirk forming on her lips. “Now that I think about it. . . Yeah, they’re practically glued to each other.”

Sanji, still clutching a basket of freshly picked tangerines, looked absolutely livid. “What the hell is that idiot doing? Clinging to a lady like that—so shameless!”

Zoro just scoffed, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “He’s always been like that with her. It’s nothing new.”

Usopp nodded knowingly, despite not really knowing anything. “Yeah, you remember what that guy ‘Ace’ said? Childhood friends, huh? That’s gotta be it. They’re just. . . y’know, close.”

Nami crossed her arms and gave the pair a long, thoughtful look. “Close doesn’t even cover it. I’ve never seen Luffy so clingy with anyone else. It’s like he’s drawn to her.”

As if on cue, Luffy leaned even more into her side, practically half-asleep against her shoulder. She just smiled softly, adjusting her position to make him more comfortable. The crew couldn’t help but exchange knowing glances, each silently making a mental note to tease Luffy about it later.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

she was always surprising the rest of the crew

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“So. . . you grew up with Luffy?” Usopp asked, leaning forward with obvious curiosity. The crew had just left for Alabasta, fresh off their encounter with Ace. Meeting Luffy’s older brother had already been shocking enough, but what had thrown them for a loop was the way Ace had so casually greeted her. As if they had known each other for years.

She barely spared Usopp a glance as she reclined against the railing, arms crossed, staring out at the sea. The ocean breeze tousled her hair as she exhaled slowly.

“Yeah,” she drawled. “Didn’t think it was that important, to be fair.” 

“You grew up with our monster captain!” Nami screeched, though there was affection in her voice. “I can’t not be curious! Growing up with Luffy of all people. . . what was he like?”

A slow, almost melancholic smile curled at her lips as distant memories surfaced in her mind—chasing after Luffy, pulling him out of trouble, his endless, unshakable determination.

“I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!”

She huffed a small laugh. “I can tell you he hasn't changed at all since he was a kid.” Her voice softened with warmth. “Always hungry, always reckless, always saying dumb things with a straight face.”

“And you also grew up with someone who happened to be the Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates,” Sanji said, shaking his head as he exhaled a puff of smoke. 

“Portgas D. Ace,” His name left a stir in her heart, “Who would’ve thought you grew up with a couple of beasts, mademoiselle?” 

“To be fair,” she drawled out, forcing a smirk, “I didn’t know he was a commander. Last I knew, he was just the captain of his own ship, the Spade Pirates.

A memory stirred in the back of her mind, pulling her into the murky past she tried so desperately to forget. Cards. She hated cards. Ace. Joker. King. Queen. They were nothing but symbols of ownership to her. 

The Celestial Dragons liked to play games with them, their sick little way of turning lives into entertainment. Pick a card, pick your fate. The way they would laugh when she pulled the Joker—the fool . Or how they would force her to serve the one who drew the Ace—because the Ace was the best , the chosen . The one who held power over others.

She never wanted to hear those words again. Didn’t want to feel the bile rise in her throat when someone uttered “Ace” with admiration. But she couldn’t forget the day he found out about it—the day she let it slip, just barely, in a moment of weakness.

She remembered how Ace’s face softened when she’d offhandedly mentioned how she was familiar with card games, her voice unsteady, eyes distant. He had sensed it immediately—how her guard dropped, how her shoulders tensed as if bracing for some unspoken threat. She’d expected him to mock her, to brush it off, but instead, he looked at her with that boyish grin, determination flickering in his eyes.

“ Guess I can’t change my name ,” he had said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly, “ but I can change what it means to you .”

She had blinked at him, confused and unsure.

He leaned forward, a spark of fire dancing in his gaze, and pointed to his chest proudly. “ One day, when you hear the word ‘Ace,’ I want you to think of me. Not those bastards. Not the way they twisted it. Just me. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll give you something to look forward to. Something worth smiling about. ”

She had scoffed, tried to brush it off as one of his usual reckless promises, but the words stuck with her. Slowly, bit by bit, he made good on it. He made sure to shout his name loud and proud whenever he did something impressive, or even when he just wanted to make her laugh. 

Every time he defeated a strong opponent, whether it was a stray beast or a pirate, he’d grin at her and declare, “ That’s your Ace! ” Whenever he cooked something edible, a rare miracle, he’d set it down with a flourish and say, “See? The best, just like the name!”

And overtime, against her own will, she started to believe it. The word Ace no longer twisted her stomach in knots. It didn’t make her feel like a possession. It became something she wanted to hear, something warm and hopeful.

He turned a word that once symbolized her nightmares into something that made her heart race for entirely different reasons. He had made her want to smile when she heard his name.

When they met again in Alabasta, albeit just a short amount of time, she couldn't help but smile widely when he introduced himself as ‘Her Ace’, but he wasn’t here now, he had his own adventure. And her? She was voyaging through the seas with Luffy and his crew, a crew she would soon call her family.

“You seemed really close to him,” Nami said, suspicion laced in her tone as her eyes narrowed. “You guys together or something?”

Her face flushed crimson almost immediately, and she sputtered in response, desperately trying to play it cool. “No, no, no! Nothing like that! We just grew up together, that’s all. That’s why we’re close!”

“Woah,” Nami muttered, “This is the first time I see her so improper. . .” She said in awe, looking at Ms. Childhood Friend who was always prim and proper. Ussop nodded in agreement. 

“You’re right,” He answered with the same amount of awe, “I think this is the first time we ever hear her stutter.”

Despite her best efforts to sound convincing, her voice wavered, and her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her coat. She forced a laugh, trying to wave off the uncomfortable knot forming in her stomach. Nami didn’t look entirely convinced, and neither did the others.

But what could she say? That once upon a time, in the wild and reckless days of their childhood, she might have thought of it—just once, maybe twice—but shoved it down because it was safer to never let herself think that way? 

She felt the feeling from both of the boys she grew up with (one she regrettably couldn’t), she couldn’t decipher the difference of love, she was just happy to even receive it! After years of believing she wasn’t worth being loved for, being wanted.

She grimaced at her own thoughts, guilt coiling in her chest. As much as she admired Ace, she couldn’t forget the bitter truth. Unlike Luffy, Ace knew, at least a little, about her past. It was a slight slip-up on her part, but he hadn’t pried. He just listened, watched her with those dark eyes that always burned with understanding.

And that was why it would never work. She didn’t want him to carry her burdens. She didn’t want him to feel responsible for the way her heart ached whenever he smiled at her like she was something special. Someone worth saving.

Nami raised an eyebrow, still unconvinced. “I don’t see Luffy calling himself ‘Your Luffy’ or anything,” she shot back, earning a startled screech from Usopp.

The entire crew seemed to eye her up and down, curiosity practically radiating from them. Even Sanji had paused mid-spin with the basket of tangerines, eyes gleaming with intrigue. Zoro, on the other hand, merely grunted, clearly uninterested in whatever romantic nonsense they were conjuring up.

She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. They wouldn’t understand , she thought. That name—“Her Ace”—it wasn’t what it sounded like. It wasn’t romantic (At least, she thought it wasn’t) It wasn’t something he said to be possessive or flirtatious. It was something that was meant to be comforting. Healing.

“It’s not. . . It’s not like that,” she mumbled, trying to convince the other crewmates. “It’s just teasing. An inside joke from when we were little.”

The excuse was flimsy at best, but it was all she could manage. Besides, how could she explain to them that it wasn’t about love or romance? It was about survival. About giving her something to look forward to. 

Nami wasn’t buying it, and neither were the others, but she forced herself to meet their eyes, trying to shift the topic. “Uh, but. . . Luffy is. . .” She trailed off, racking her brain for anything that would distract them. “Luffy is more. . . touchy with me?”

It came out as more of a question than a statement, but the whole crew—aside from Zoro—nodded in unison.

“You’re right,” The crew answered in unison. 

“You were getting chummy on Merry’s head, y’know?” Nami mentioned, recalling the scene before her eyes.

“He does cling to you a lot!” Chopper nodded.

Sanji, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, shot her a half-serious glare. “Oi, Luffy better not be getting fresh with a lady,” he grumbled.

She quickly waved her hands. “No! It’s not like that! It’s just. . . subtle things. We just grew up really close with each other, that’s all. We kinda did grow up in a jungle, haha. . .”

She forced a laugh, hoping it would mask the truth. They couldn’t know how it wasn’t just childhood closeness. How it was Luffy constantly pulling her out of her own nightmares without even realizing it. How it was him dragging her into wild adventures just to remind her that she wasn’t stuck anymore.

Zoro glanced at her with a half-lidded gaze, sensing the tension behind her lighthearted words, but he didn’t push. He never did. Maybe he understood—maybe he didn’t—but he let it drop all the same, returning to his nap against the Merry.

She let out a quiet breath, grateful that the conversation was shifting. But even as they moved on to lighter topics, she couldn’t help but think about Ace. About how he made the word “Ace” mean something different—something that didn’t suffocate her.

Luffy however—

“Hey, Zoro! Did you know she grew up with Luffy?” Usopp screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at the crewmate who has only been yawning the whole time, not even trying to participate in the interrogation. 

Zoro, lounging with his arms crossed, barely opened one eye before yawning. “Yeah, of course I do. I was the first mate.”

“Um, aren’t you technically second?” Nami asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, she joined right after me,” Zoro shrugged lazily. “I said yes before she did.”

“But didn’t you sail out with Luffy first?” Usopp pressed, his brow furrowing in confusion.

She didn’t make eye contact, stretching out her arms with an exaggerated groan. “Yeeaah,” she drawled out, “It’s a long story. . .”

The crew exchanged glances but decided not to push further. If it was something worth knowing, she’d tell them eventually. Or maybe, like Luffy, she just didn’t think it was all that important.

“Still,” Chopper beamed, his little hooves tapping against the deck, “That’s so cool! Being pirates with someone you grew up with!”

A soft smile settled on her face as she glanced down at him, knowing Chopper's own struggles with finding a place to belong and his father figure. Gently, she reached out and patted his head, ruffling his fur.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Luffy, oblivious to the conversation, suddenly perked up. “Oi! What are we talking about?” he asked through a mouthful of meat.

Nami sighed, shaking her head. “We’re talking about your childhood, dummy.”

“Oh!” Luffy grinned widely. “It was awesome! She’s the best! I don’t even know how many times she’s saved me from getting killed by wild beasts and Ace!”

She rolled her eyes. “If I weren’t there, you wouldn’t be our captain, captain..”

“Yeah, but I turned out fine!” Luffy declared proudly.

The entire crew, almost in unison, shouted, “Debatable!”

Luffy just laughed, and she shook her head, a quiet chuckle escaping her lips. It was chaotic, ridiculous, and messy, but this—being here, with him and his crew—felt warm, was this what home felt like?— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

"You made me live, when I wanted to die."

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

"Hey, guys, we should stop at the nearest island for resources,” Nami called out to the crew, glancing at her log pose.

“Robin-san, was it?” She smiled, taking a good look at the older woman. She had just been interrogated by Usopp, who had failed miserably, everyone else had already been captured by Robin’s charm, aside from herself and Zoro.

“Nico Robin,” Robin replied, nodding with a faint smile.

“Would you like to walk together?” She offered, her tone casual but curious.

“Sure.”

As the Going Merry settled ashore, the crew dispersed to gather supplies. She kept her stride alongside Robin, wanting to get to know their newest and most unexpected crewmate—the woman who had already wrapped the whole crew around her finger. Despite her reservations, She trusted Luffy, if he said Robin wasn’t a bad person, she wasn’t. Still, curiosity nagged at her.

“What are we searching for, Childhood friend-san?” Robin teased, amusement glinting in her eyes. Her cheeks flushed at the nickname, and she offered Robin her name and a sheepish smile.

“Feel free to call me that and not. . . whatever that was,” she mumbled.

Robin chuckled, not missing the embarrassed look. “Nothing important,” She said, shrugging it off. “I don’t really have a role on this crew.” The words came out sounding almost self-deprecating, and Robin gave her a curious glance. “But I thought I’d buy some inventory and look for some scents for Merry. Our crew’s... kinda stinky.”

Robin laughed softly, clearly not disagreeing.

“So, you were childhood friends with Luffy?” Robin asked, her tone conversational. “I heard the commotion earlier, but I didn’t catch the whole story.”

She hummed, glancing at the ground as they walked. “Yeah, I stumbled onto his island when I was a kid.”

“Stumbled?” Robin echoed, raising an eyebrow. As someone who had spent her life fleeing from island to island, Robin could easily tell that the word didn’t quite fit.

She just gave a soft smile, deliberately steering away from that topic. “I just wanted to tell you that Luffy is. . . well, Luffy. Now that you’re his nakama, he’s not gonna let you go.”

Robin observed her carefully, There was something both protective and wistful in her expression. “So don’t go doing anything crazy, alright, Robin-san?”

Robin hummed thoughtfully, giving her a knowing look. “You seem to know something that I’m unaware of. Personal experience?”

She giggled, the sound unexpectedly light. “Luffy. . . He’s the type of person who leaves a piece of himself to everyone he meets. And that piece stays with you, even if you don’t want it to.”

There was a quiet strength in her words, a deep-rooted faith that Robin couldn’t quite fathom yet. Her gaze softened, and despite her usual guarded demeanor, her eyes were warm and welcoming.

“So don’t bother fighting it,” she said, giving Robin a reassuring smile. “Welcome to the Straw Hat Pirates!”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Y’know—”

“Heeeey! Big Sis!” Nami’s voice cut through as she marched toward them, still half-distracted by the glittering jewels Robin had gifted her earlier. “Oh!” she called out her name, waving excitedly. “You guys wanna shop for clothes? This island’s perfect for cute summer fits!”

“Oii—!” Luffy called out, her name leaving his mouth just before his arms stretched unnaturally forward and yoinked her toward him. He wasn’t even paying attention, just a spontaneous Luffy impulse, and the two of them crashed to the ground with a loud thud .

She grunted, rolled over, and smacked him on the head.

“Ow!” he cried, holding his head as if she’d hit him with a cannonball.

Nami blinked, eyebrows shooting up at the sight. “I’ll never get used to how casual you are about Luffy just. . . manhandling you like that,” she said, half-laughing. “Even Zoro would’ve stayed down and twitched for a while.”

She shrugged with a crooked grin, brushing dust off her pants. “What can I say? You get used to it if you grow up with him.”

Luffy was already standing, spinning in a lazy circle, gaze locked onto the blooming floras and massive fruit trees around them, eyes sparkling with curiosity. She grabbed his arm before he could wander again.

“Oi, Luffy, what are you doing?”

He looked at her like he’d only just remembered she existed, lips parting into a grin. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“Hey! We wanted to look at clothes first,” Nami protested immediately, puffing up as she placed a possessive hand on the bag of jewels Robin gifted her from Crocodile’s stash. “You can’t eat every second!”

And just like that, they were bickering, Luffy shouting “Meat is more important than sandals!” while Nami threatened to dock his allowance for the next month.

Robin, trailing behind with a gentle smile, chuckled. “Is the crew always this lively?” she asked, her eyes glinting as she glanced at the two chaos gremlins arguing in front of her.

The girl watched the scene for a moment before smiling herself, softly, genuinely.

“Yeah,” she said, voice quiet but warm. “It’s definitely never quiet here.”

Luffy was now rubbing a rapidly growing bump on his head, courtesy of Nami’s fist. She stepped closer, reaching up to gently pat him on the same spot.

“Nami, it’s okay. Let’s eat first,” she said, her voice calm but firm, patting Luffy’s bump-ful head. “He is our captain, after all.”

Nami looked between them, sighed dramatically, then rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. But after that, we’re going shopping—and you’re carrying my bags, Luffy!”

“ Ehhh?! ” Luffy groaned, already slouching like she’d told him to lift the Going Merry. 

“Nami,” she called out, catching up as they strolled past a row of vibrant market stalls. The orange-haired girl turned, already mid-giggle from something Robin had whispered.

“Who’s with Merry?”

“A-Okay!” Nami gave her a thumbs-up, fingers forming a ring. “I asked Sanji to stay back and watch her, he practically volunteered.” She tilted her head toward the ship's direction.

From across the planes, they could just make out Sanji on the dock, dramatically swooning.

“Have fun, mademoiselles!!! ” he bellowed, hearts spilling out of his eyes like a cartoon waterfall. “Oi, Luffy! You better guard those ladies with your life!! ”

“Okay. Let’s get something to eat,” Luffy responded flatly, already walking toward the nearest restaurant, like that was the only message he’d heard.

They sat under the shade of a big leaf umbrella, tropical drinks in hand, plates of grilled skewers and fried fruits already starting to disappear thanks to Luffy’s bottomless stomach, but Nami hadn’t been paying attention, hers were on his childhood friend. 

“Y’know,” Nami said between sips, elbow on the table, her cheek lazily resting against her knuckles. “You usually talk so proper. . . Where did you say you grew up again?”

She didn’t pause. “I grew up with Luffy.” Then added, a little quieter, “My parents were farmers, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

Nami blinked. “Heeeeh?” she drawled, leaning back for a better look at her. “Wouldn’t have guessed you were a farm girl. You’ve got this. . . noble, serious vibe. Like someone who used to smack rich brats with a ruler or something.”

She snorted. “Thanks, I guess.” Not even commenting just how close, yet so far her assumption was.

“But y’know—” Nami twirled her straw thoughtfully, eyes narrowing like she was piecing together a puzzle. “Even with how proper you act sometimes. . . you’re wild. Like, Luffy -level wild.”

That made her sit up straighter, eyebrows raised. “Huh?”

“Not your stupidity! ” Nami rushed to clarify, hands waving. “You’re definitely smarter than him, no offense—”

“None taken,” Luffy said mid-chew, not even looking up.

“—but the recklessness ?” Nami jabbed a finger toward her. “The way you just throw yourself into danger without blinking? That’s Luffy wild. And the fact you don’t even realize you’re doing it kinda makes you scarier.”

She blinked, deadpan.

Robin giggled into her drink. “I quite enjoy watching the chaos unfold.”

Her lips twitched upward, but she looked away with a small hum, pretending to study the flower arrangements in the nearby vendor’s stall.

“Y’know what,” she murmured after a moment, voice softer, changing the uncomfortable subject on her part. “I kind of miss farming.”

Nami blinked. That, she hadn’t expected.

“The smell of earth, working with your hands, watching something grow. . .” she trailed off, tapping her fingers against her glass. “I might buy some seeds. Start a garden on Merry. It’d be nice to have something that’s just mine, y’know?”

Luffy popped his head up from his plate. “We can grow meat?”

“No, Luffy.”

“Why not?”

“That’s not how meat works.”

“It could be,” he mumbled, suspiciously defensive. 

Nami blinked once.

Then twice.

Then rubbed her eyes like she wasn’t sure if the mountain she was looking at was real.

“Wait. . . wait, wait, wait—” she straightened, her voice slowly rising in pitch, “—how many plates did you just finish?!”

The table groaned beneath the weight of Luffy’s leftovers. Plate after plate was stacked to the heavens, leaning precariously to the side like a teetering tower ready to topple over at the slightest breeze. Chicken bones, fish tails, skewers, half-chewed garnish, and crumpled napkins were crammed into every crevice of the leaning pile. Some plates even had teeth marks on them. Literal teeth marks.

Nami’s eye twitched.

“LUFFY!”

The shriek echoed across the open plaza of the seaside restaurant, startling a flock of seagulls into the sky. Several patrons turned their heads, forks frozen mid-bite, as the Straw Hat navigator officially lost her mind.

“Stop eating! We don’t even know how much this place charges—what if it’s tourist pricing?! What if they scam us per plate ?!”

Luffy looked up, blinking. His cheeks were puffed like a squirrel's, stuffed full of some kind of grilled meat bun, grease shining on his lips. Despite the glare she was giving him, his hands hadn’t stopped, they were still moving like clockwork, picking up another skewer, dunking it in sauce, then shoving it toward his mouth.

“Heeeeh?” he mumbled with a full mouth, then swallowed with a loud gulp. “But it’s so gooood, Nami!”

Nami looked seconds away from a heart attack.

“We can’t pay for this!”

At that moment, she placed her hand over Nami’s arm, calm as the sea after a storm. “It’s alright, Nami. Let him eat. I think I have enough to cover it.”

Nami turned her head slowly, eyes wide. “. . .What?”

“I’ve got money,” she repeated with a small shrug, as if it were no big deal.

Nami’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What do you mean you have money? How much money?”

She scratched her cheek, a sheepish look settling onto her face. “Robin isn’t the only one who stole from Crocodile’s stash.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!”

“I was saving it. For emergencies.”

“THIS IS NOT AN EMERGENCY!” Nami gestured wildly at the avalanche of dishes like it was the end of the world. “Luffy’s eating habits is never an emergency.” Nami emphasized, hoping it would get through her thick skull, knowing how she has a bad habit of going soft for Luffy.

“Come ooon,” she giggled, bumping her shoulder gently against Nami’s. “Loosen up a little. I’ve got enough to feed Luffy and still go on a shopping spree with you. Let me pay.”

Nami froze again, lips twitching.

Then, without warning, her face crumpled into exaggerated tears. She lunged toward her and wrapped her in a dramatic hug, cheek pressed against her shoulder.

“You’re an angel,” Nami sniffled, clutching her like salvation. “A radiant goddess of fortune. My beautiful, rich savior.”

Before she could reply, a shadow loomed over them.

“Oiii!” Luffy’s voice rang out, bright and oblivious. He called her name, eyes sparkling, before lobbing a hot skewer directly into her face.

“Eat it, eat it! It’s delicious!”

The skewer slapped her cheek with a sizzling sound. She yelped in pain but instinctively bit into it anyway , teeth sinking into the smoky, juicy meat.

“Luffy!” she growled, walking towards the disaster that was their captain. “You could’ve taken my eye out!”

“But you ate it! ” he grinned, bouncing in place like he was proud of himself.

“Because it hit me in the mouth! ” she shouted between chews, “It’s hot! ”

Still, she kept eating it. Huffing every few seconds from the heat, lips puffed and reddened, but chewing through it like a trooper. Her eyes narrowed at him like she was planning to kick him under the table later.

Nami watched them with an odd look on her face, one eyebrow arched in disbelief. Her gaze drifted between the two, Luffy practically beaming, and her, flustered and furious, but not pulling away.

“Y’know. . .” Nami started, her voice quieter now, thoughtful, “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen Luffy share his food with anyone.”

Robin, sitting beside them with her hands delicately folded over her lap, tilted her head toward the scene. Her eyes were calm, but glittered with curiosity.

“Oh?” she asked, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Nami nodded slowly. “He guards his food like a dragon . Even Zoro got punched once for trying to steal a dumpling. But with her. . .” her eyes softened. “He just gives it away.”

Robin chuckled behind her hand, the sound low and amused. 

“Isn’t that interesting?”

Across the table, Luffy had now stuck a second skewer between her lips, grinning wider with every bite she took. She swatted at him, annoyed, but her expression was gentle, fond even, like this chaos was something she’d memorized long ago.

And for a second, just a second, the two girls watched as the captain and his childhood best friend bickered and shared food like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

But it mattered to Nami.

Because money, was still Money.

No matter how sentimental the moment looked, no matter how heartwarming it was to see their captain being a semi-decent human for once.

Money was sacred.

And this “emergency stash” was about to be swallowed bite by bite by the bottomless pit that was Monkey D. Luffy.

Nami then slammed her hands on the table, rattling the plates and utensils, and screeched:

“STOP. EATING!!!”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The truth seeped through in the littlest ways

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

[JAYA]

Nami picked up the worn-out book, flipping it around in her hands as she examined its faded cover. The title, though smudged, was still legible in its large, bold print.

“A picture book?” she mused aloud, bringing it closer to her face to inspect the details. The edges were slightly frayed, and the pages had yellowed over time. “A pretty old one at that.”

“Liar Noland?”

“Oh!” Usopp let out an excited huff, leaning forward with interest. “I like the sound of that, sounds cool!”

“Liar Noland?” Her and Sanji echoed at the same time, their voices overlapping in surprise. They both turned to face each other with raised eyebrows before sharing a look of mutual bewilderment.

“Huh?” Nami furrowed her brows. “You guys know it? It says here it was published in the North Blue, though.”

“Didn’t I tell you guys?” Sanji took a casual drag from his cigarette, exhaling before flashing them a smirk. “I was born in the North Blue.”

“You too?!” The words slipped out before she could stop herself. It was too fast, too unguarded. Her shoulders stiffened the moment she realized her mistake, her expression freezing for just a fraction of a second. If someone were paying close enough attention, they might have noticed the way she winced, just slightly, before she quickly turned her attention back to the book.

Sanji, mid-exhale, pulled the cigarette away from his lips and looked at her with curiosity. “You were from the North, too?”

“Uh, yeah.” She shifted her gaze away, she didn’t want to be asked more questions, but curiously piled up in her stomach, something terrible must have happened to Sanji if he could allocate himself from the North to the East.

“That’s a shock!” Usopp jumped in, effectively breaking the growing tension. “I thought you guys were East people, like us!”

Sanji shrugged, resting his hands in his pockets. “I was born in the North,” he explained, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips, “but I grew up in the East.”

“You told me your parents were farmers,” Nami spoke up, “But I thought they were farmers in Luffy’s island. . .” She pondered for a moment.

Usopp whistled. “That’s crazy! So wait, does that mean you guys might have known each other as kids? What if you were childhood besties and don’t even remember?”

“I bet my whole life that could never happen.”

“Wouldn’t forget a face as pretty as hers,” Sanji added smoothly, flashing his usual flirty grin.

She rolled her eyes, but there was something else behind her expression, a flicker of something unspoken, something careful.

Sanji and her locked eyes, and for a moment, the chatter around them faded into the background. There was something unspoken lingering between them, an understanding that neither of them had ever put into words. It wasn’t just the casual flirtation he often threw her way or the way she would roll her eyes at his over-the-top chivalry. No, it was something quieter, deeper.

He wasn’t just looking at her like he usually did, like a lady to be wooed or a pretty face to admire. There was something solemn in his gaze, something that weighed heavy on his shoulders despite his usual carefree demeanor. She met his eyes, searching for the root of it, and it clicked.

A person born in the North but raised in the East. They had both crossed the Red Line at some point, whether through the Grand Line itself or some other means of transportation.

And crossing the Red Line as a child wasn’t something most people did willingly. It wasn’t a voyage of adventure or curiosity. It was more likely survival, desperation, being dragged away from everything familiar to somewhere foreign and unforgiving.

There was a flicker of something like sympathy in Sanji’s gaze, and she didn’t know whether to feel comforted or exposed. It was the kind of look that said, I get it. The kind of look that didn’t need words to convey how messy and twisted the past could be.

She wondered how much he had been through, how many sleepless nights or bitter memories haunted him when no one was looking. For all his flirtatious charm and gentlemanly theatrics, there was a sadness in his eyes that never quite left.

He knew. Maybe not the details, but he knew the feeling. Of being uprooted, forced to adapt, to survive against odds stacked so heavily against you that you weren’t sure how you made it out alive.

The smallest of smiles tugged at her lips, and she nodded at him, almost imperceptibly. Sanji just gave a half-smile back, something softer than his usual flamboyant grins. It wasn’t flirtation. It wasn’t some exaggerated declaration of love. It was a simple acknowledgment, an unspoken pact between survivors.

Maybe, just maybe, they understood each other a little better now.

Robin, who had been quietly flipping through a book nearby, finally spoke up. “It’s interesting, isn’t it?” she mused, her voice calm and thoughtful. “The world is vast, and yet, sometimes paths cross in unexpected ways.”

“Yeah, yeah, poetic and all that,” Usopp waved a hand dismissively. “But the real question is, why is this Noland guy called a liar? I mean, that’s kinda harsh, don’t you think?”

She found herself flipping through the pages again, lingering on the old illustrations of a man pointing toward the horizon, speaking of a place no one else believed in. A liar or a dreamer?

Maybe there wasn’t much of a difference between the two.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

"I want to live!"

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

[POST ENIES LOBBY]

She had been right.

Robin cared so little for her own life that she was willing to sacrifice herself for the crew. The events of Enies Lobby had hit them like a truck, they got Robin back, they lost Merry, and now they were opposing the World Government.

She knew Luffy would go to great lengths for his crewmates, but to oppose the World Government? A small voice at the back of her mind whispered that Luffy would defend her just as fiercely—that he would even attack a Celestial Dragon if he could. She shook her head, forcing the thought away.

No. Nonsense. Luffy isn’t that self-righteous, she told herself. She was in denial, opposing the World Government was one thing, but openly opposing a Celestial Dragon was another. She would rather die than let Luffy be that idiotic, but at the same time, she couldn’t believe he would go that far. And that was okay. She didn’t want him to.

The person in question was currently sleeping.

While eating.

“Geh,” Sanji grimaced, setting plates of food on the table. “That’s. . . different.”

“What’s different?” Kokoro asked, raising a curious brow.

“Luffy hates missing meals after a fight,” the girl who grew up with him remarked, a soft fondness coloring her voice. “So I guess. . . he adapted?”

“He’s sleeping like that?!”

“Pirate bro is amazing. . .”

“Nya?!”

Everyone stared in awe as Luffy continued eating despite being completely fast asleep, his cheeks comically puffed out with food, snores mixing with the sound of slurping and chewing as if nothing in the world could interrupt his dream, or his appetite.

Then suddenly—

CRASH!

Wood splintered, dust flew, and the walls of the house practically exploded inward. A tall man in a Marine uniform stomped through the rubble, wearing a dog mask and radiating authority like a storm.

Everyone jumped into action, but she didn't move because the moment he stepped through that hole, she knew . Even if it had been years, even if he looked a little older, a little grayer.

A smile crept across her face before she even realized it

“You’re the Straw Hat Pirates, aren’t ya?” the man boomed, arms crossed. “I brought someone who’d like to meet you, Monkey D. Luffy.”

No one had time to react before the man charged forward and—

BAM!

—punched Luffy right in the head mid-bite.

“LUFFY!” he shouted. “WAKE UP!”

“GAAAHHHH!!!” Luffy bolted upright in a panic, rice and meat flying. “OUCH?!” he screamed in pain, clutching his head.

Sanji blinked in confusion, nearly dropping his cigarette. “ Ouch?! You’re made of rubber, that’s not supposed to hu—"

“I heard you’ve been doing a lot of reckless stuff,” the stranger growled, reaching up and removing his mask with a grin. “Luffy!”

Luffy’s jaw dropped.

“G-G-G-GRANDPA?!”

The entire room echoed the word, wide-eyed and stunned.

“ GRANDPA?! ”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Garp-san,” She greeted the man in front of them, “I see you’re as lively as ever.”

“I told you to call me Gramps,” Garp furrowed his eyebrows, his hand flying everywhere, “Gr-a-mps!” He emphasized each syllable, as if talking to a toddler. 

“Garp-san.”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Can’t believe Luffy forced you to become a pirate!” Garp scowled, his voice booming loud enough to rattle the deck. The other Straw Hats stayed silent, exchanging uneasy glances as they watched the interaction. “I thought I was shaping you into a great Marine!”

She gave him an eerie smile, the kind that made even Garp pause for a second. “Garp-san. . . I hate Marines.”

“Huh?! But you like me, right?!” Garp barked, letting go of Luffy to grab her by the shoulders, his massive hands practically engulfing her.

“Yes, yes, you’re an exception.” She patted him on the arm, doing her best to comfort the giant man who looked uncharacteristically deflated.

“Hehe!” A blush crept over his cheeks as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, looking oddly bashful for a man of his stature.

The whole crew shared a collective thought, eyes darting between Garp and Luffy.

'He’s just like Luffy!'

Sanji leaned towards Nami, whispering, “Is it just me, or does Luffy actually take after his grandpa?”

Nami glanced at the two with wide eyes. “They’re practically the same person! No wonder he’s so reckless!”

As Garp went back to hammering down on the house, Luffy tilted his head and plopped down on the floor, completely unfazed. She let out a long sigh, feeling the tension leave her shoulders. Maybe she could finally relax now—

“By the way, Luffy,” Garp stopped hammering and turned back around, his pinky digging into his nose. “I heard you met your dad.”

Luffy’s head snapped up, eyes wide and clueless. “Huh?”

She couldn’t help but stare, just as bewildered as the rest of the crew. Luffy’s dad? She’d never heard anything about him, and considering Luffy never brought him up, she had always assumed he was out of the picture—maybe dead, like Ace’s.

“I have a dad?” Luffy asked bluntly.

Garp snorted. “Oh, he didn’t introduce himself? I heard he saw you off at Loguetown.” A smug grin curled his lips as he watched the reactions unfold.

Sanji’s eyebrows raised in mild surprise. “Luffy’s dad was in Loguetown?” 

Nami whipped around to face the childhood friend that’s supposed to know everything about Luffy. “I’m curious to know what kind of person could raise someone like Luffy.” Nami gripped onto her, “Did you know?!” 

She furrowed her brow, trying to recall everyone they had encountered in Loguetown. Tashigi? No. Smoker? No way. Buggy? As if!

“Oi,” Luffy called out to his grandpa, “What’s my dad like?” 

Garp grinned wider, clearly reveling in their confusion. “Your father’s name is Monkey D. Dragon—the Revolutionary.”

The words hit like a thunderclap, and the air seemed to freeze.

The chaos and panic that ensued after Garp’s sudden drop of information fell onto deaf ears, the world around her had gone completely silent. 

Dragon. . . Dragon. . ?

“I’m giving this to you,” he whispered, keeping his voice low so that no one else would hear. “The vivre card here belongs to Dragon,” He repeated the name slower so that the little girl would understand.

“When the time is right, find the owner of this paper. He’ll treat you well. Tell him that Machi sent you, okay?”

Bile rose in her throat as memories she thought she’d buried clawed their way to the surface. Her knees nearly buckled, and she pressed a palm to her forehead, trying to force the nausea back down.

“Hey, why are you guys panicking?” Luffy asked, scratching his head, looking utterly confused as usual.

“Idiot!” Sanji snapped, “Do you not know who Dragon is?!”

“Your dad is a dangerous man, Luffy!” Nami shouted, her face a mix of disbelief and exasperation. Then Nami spun around to face her, noticing how pale she looked. “Hey, why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost? You seriously didn’t know either?!”

The sudden attention jolted her from her trance, and she whipped her head towards Nami, stammering, “How would I know?! Luffy didn’t even know himself!”

Her frantic response only seemed to confuse the crew more, and Nami gave her a scrutinizing look. “Garp-san!” she exclaimed, turning to the old Marine with wide eyes. “Is it true? Dragon-san is Luffy’s father, and he’s from the?” She tilted her head, still trying to wrap her mind around it. “The Revolutionary Army?”

“Huh!” Nami gasped, her jaw dropping. “Waaaait a minute!” Nami grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her like a rag doll, her eyes blazing. “You also don’t know about the Revolutionaries?! Have you guys been living under a rock?!”

Nami was in full demon mode, and if it weren’t for the shock of hearing Dragon’s name, she might have laughed at how unhinged Nami looked.

She was still trying to piece everything together, her mind swimming with thoughts of Machi and the vivre card. Her fingers tightened unconsciously around the fabric of her shirt. “No, I didn’t. I mean, I’ve heard people fighting the world government before, but I really don’t anything about revolutionaries and Drago—”

“Lass.” Garp’s gruff voice cut through the chaos, and she stiffened when he gave her a serious look. “Y’know Dragon?”

“Uhh. . .” She swallowed thickly and gripped her shirt harder, forcing herself to meet Garp’s gaze. “No, it’s. . . just that someone I knew. . . knew him as well.”

Garp hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin as his bushy brows furrowed. “Hm. Do I know this person? My networking ain’t bad for an old man, y’know!” He let out a hearty laugh, seemingly oblivious to her internal turmoil.

She waved her hands sheepishly, trying to push away the scrutiny. “Uh, no way, Garp-san! I don’t think you’d know this person!”

“Hey, Robin?” Luffy turned to the most knowledgeable person on the ship, his curious eyes fixed on her.

Robin placed her index finger and thumb on her chin, contemplating how to explain. “How should I put this. . .” she murmured before finally speaking. “Pirates don’t usually engage in direct attacks on the World Government. However, there are organizations out there actively working to overthrow that government. The Revolutionary Army is one such group, and at its zenith stands Dragon.”

Her calm, straightforward explanation seemed to click in everyone’s minds. Even Luffy’s face lit up with vague understanding.

But her heart tugged painfully as her mind lingered on the revelation.

‘ Machi-san. . . was a Revolutionary?’

The thought twisted inside her like a thorny vine. After all these years, she hadn’t allowed herself to think too deeply about Machi’s last words. Now it made sense—why Machi had spoken so cryptically, why she seemed so certain that the Revolutionaries would be a safe haven.

She couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, meeting Luffy was no coincidence. It felt as if fate itself had guided her to the Dawn Island that day when she had been nothing but a wandering child with nowhere to go. It was as if destiny placed her on the same path as Luffy, even if, in some other reality, she had met Dragon instead.

Either way, she knew that both men would have shown her freedom—just in different forms.

“Ack!” Garp suddenly shouted, as if snapping out of a trance. “I shouldn’t have said anything!” His face twisted into a grimace, which only made everyone else feel even more uneasy.

Then, just as abruptly, he burst out laughing, pounding his fist on the deck. “Bwahahaha! Forget I said anything!”

“WHAAAT?!” the whole crew shouted in unison, utterly baffled.

“Lass,” Garp’s gruff voice cut through the air, making her flinch. “Come here for a second.”

His face was serious—far too serious—and it made her stomach twist with unease.

“I’ve never questioned where you came from, have I?” His tone wasn’t questioning at all, more like a statement carved in stone. “And I had no reason to, not when I raised ya.”

She wanted to joke, to tell him that Dadan was the one who really raised her, but something about his tone kept her silent, her fingers unconsciously curling into fists.

“Your name’s been thrown around with the higher-ups,” he said, almost like he didn’t want to admit it himself. She didn’t need to ask who the higher-ups were, and some nagging feeling told her Garp knew more about her past than he let on. “Not even someone of my rank can protect you.”

The way his face twisted—half scowl, half something like regret—made her feel like she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to scream that it wasn’t true, that she could handle it, but the words lodged themselves in her throat.

“Thrown around?” She managed not to stutter.

Garp placed his large hand on her shoulder, and even under his touch, she couldn’t stop shaking. “Be careful out there. Not even Sengoku can hold them back, and he’s the Fleet Admiral.”

A shiver ran down her spine, ice settling in her stomach. “I had a run-in back when I was a kid. . .” She gripped her shirt over the brand on her stomach, hidden beneath the fabric, where no one could see. “But I—”

“I was hopin’ that wasn’t the case,” Garp muttered, his expression torn. The way he shut his eyes made it painfully clear he was fighting his own thoughts, grappling with the grim reality of what she might have gone through.

“Garp-san.” Her voice was stern, and his eyes opened, meeting her gaze full of resolve. “I have no intention of telling Luffy about my past with the Celestial Dragons.”

His expression darkened, ready to protest, but she didn’t let him. “Ever.” Silence grew between them. 

“It’s not good to hold things in, Lass.” Garp adviced, a concerned look adorned his face, “Luffy’s gonna find out sooner or later.”

“I’ll protect Luffy with my life .” She emphasized. 

Garp’s jaw clenched. “That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m talking about your life.”

Her gaze softened as she looked at Luffy, who was trying to decipher her and Garp’s conversation, and the air of curiosity was so obvious on his face.. “Luffy is. . . different. He’s someone.”

Garp followed her gaze, his eyes shadowed with worry.

“He’s—”

“Oi, oi, oi!” Luffy’s voice rang out, cutting through the heavy atmosphere. He bounded over with his trademark grin, curiosity lighting up his face. “Are you guys talking about something fun? I want in!”

“Luffy...” Garp raised his fist, trembling with suppressed emotion. “Don’t be rude and cut people off!”

“AAAAKH!”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Hello, Mon Ange, ” Sanji immediately greeted upon her arrival, eyes flicking over her as if to check for any lingering traces of distress. “You not joining them?”

“Nah,” she replied, her tone soft but steady. “It brings back memories, but Luffy was the one who saved Coby.” Her gaze drifted toward the window, where Luffy and Coby were having a civil conversation, sharing stories like old friends.

Robin let out a soft, knowing laugh, and it caught her off guard. “What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

Robin smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “You answered the same way Zoro did.”

She blinked, genuinely surprised, and glanced at the swordsman who sat slightly apart from the group, his arms crossed and expression as unreadable as ever. “Huh,” she mumbled, half amused and half confused. “Didn’t think I’d be compared to Mosshead today.”

Sanji shot her a look of betrayal, immediately launching into a tirade. “Don’t lump yourself with that muscle-brained mosshead! You’re way too refined and elegant to sound like him!”

She only gave him a bemused smile in response, brushing it off like usual. “Where’s Nami?” she asked, realizing she hadn’t seen the navigator since they arrived.

“Oh, Nami isn’t here either,” Chopper replied, his ears twitching. “I thought she wanted to hear the Marine’s story! I wonder if she changed her mind.”

Robin sipped her drink calmly. “She went to the swimming pool with Kokoro-san and the others. There’s an employee pool right behind this place.”

“EEEEH?” Hearts immediately surrounded Sanji, and his expression brightened like the sun. “Is Nami-swan in her swimsuit?! I’ll bring her drinks right away!”

He faltered, looking back at her with his heart-shaped eyes still pulsating. “ Mon Ange ! Robin-chwan! Would you both like to join Nami in the pool?” His excitement practically dripped from his every word, and it was clear he had ulterior motives.

She shook her head, unfazed. “Nah. I’m not really good with water,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but her fingers unconsciously brushed her forearm..

Robin’s perceptive gaze didn’t miss the small movement, but she kept her tone light and casual. “ Ange -san,” she said, using Sanji’s nickname for her with a hint of playfulness. “I wanted to ask you something.”

She turned her head toward Robin, genuinely curious. “What’s up?”

Robin smiled thoughtfully. “Are you a Devil Fruit user by chance?”

Her expression shifted to mild surprise, and she tilted her head. “Huh? It’s not something I hide. . . did you guys really not know?”

“HUUH?” Sanji and Chopper shouted in unison, eyes wide and jaws practically on the floor.

“E-Eh?! Y-You’re a Devil Fruit user too?!” Chopper’s eyes lit up with curiosity as he tugged on her pants, looking up at her with an almost childlike excitement. “What is it? What’s your power?”

She furrowed her brows, genuinely confused. “Did you guys really not know?”

Sanji was quick to gather himself, looking visibly offended. “Oi, Mosshead!” he called out, his voice dripping with irritation as he glared at Zoro, who was still leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. “Did you know about this too?”

Zoro cracked one eye open, looking more annoyed than surprised. “Yeah. I was the one who hauled her ass with Smoker when we were drowning,” he replied nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Sanji’s face immediately morphed into pure rage, and he lunged at the swordsman, kicking out in frustration. “Oi, how dare you touch Ange back in Alabasta! You bastard!”

Zoro blocked the kick easily, pushing back with his sword still in its sheath. “You have some messed-up priorities, Curly Brows!”

“How dare you know something about Ange before me!” Sanji roared, still attacking relentlessly.

“Your priorities are still messed up!”

Their bickering continued, escalating into the usual chaotic exchange of insults and kicks. Chopper sweatdropped, glancing back at her. “You didn’t think to tell us?”

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Didn’t think it was a big deal. I don’t really use it much.”

Robin chuckled. “It seems to be quite the revelation for some,” she teased lightly.

She gave a small smile, almost sheepish. “I guess I just didn’t think it mattered.”

“It does!” Chopper insisted, puffing up his chest. “We’re your crew! We should know these things!”

A soft, grateful warmth filled her chest at his words. “Sorry,” she said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to keep it a secret.”

“Hey, hey!” Chopper called out, bouncing on his hooves with wide, curious eyes. “But what is it? What is it?” His excitement was almost infectious, and she couldn’t help but smile at how endearing he looked—like a child waiting for a story.

She grinned, a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes. “How about I just show you?”

Robin raised an intrigued eyebrow, her usual calm demeanor now tinged with genuine curiosity. “I’d love to see it,” she said, giving a gentle nod of encouragement.

With a confident stride, she approached the duo still locked in their heated brawl. Sanji and Zoro were too caught up in their squabbling to notice her approach, throwing insults and kicks with the usual ferocity. A small puff of dust swirled around them from the force of their movements.

Without warning, she placed a hand on each of their shoulders, her touch feather-light yet purposeful. A faint, soft glow emanated from her fingertips, almost like a soothing pulse.

Immediately, their movements slowed, like gears suddenly coated in thick syrup. Zoro’s punch barely made it halfway before his arm dropped, his posture slackening. Sanji’s kick wavered mid-air, and he nearly toppled over from the unexpected lethargy. Their eyes grew heavy, lids drooping as if sleep had suddenly ambushed them.

“Oi. . . What. . . Did you do?” Zoro muttered, his voice uncharacteristically drowsy.

Sanji, despite looking like he was on the verge of passing out, still managed to swoon. “ Mon Ange . . . is touching me!” he crooned, hearts still pulsing even through his exhaustion.

“You’re messed up.” Zoro commented.

Chopper’s eyes sparkled with awe, practically bouncing on the spot as he let out a squeal of excitement. “Wow! That’s amazing!”

Robin chuckled softly at the sight of the usually combative pair now reduced to lethargic groaning. “It seems quite useful,” she remarked. “Especially when dealing with stubborn men.”

She gave a nonchalant shrug, still grinning, yawning a bit. “I ate the Tender-Tender Fruit,” she explained, “Not sure about the actual name, if I’m being honest.” Looking down at Chopper, whose admiration hadn’t waned. 

“It lets me make people feel whatever I want them to feel, as long as I can feel it too.”

Robin gave her an inquisitive look. “You can feel it too? Does that mean you have to be tired yourself, or do you just think about feeling tired?”

“It’s supposed to be the former,” she replied, scratching her cheek thoughtfully. “But I got good at manipulating my own emotions. I can trick my body into feeling something, and that lets me use the fruit’s power more efficiently. So even if I’m not really tired, I can convince myself I am—then pass that feeling on to others.”

Chopper’s ears drooped, and his eyes shimmered with concern. “T-That sounds sad. . . Like you’re forcing yourself to feel things just to use your powers. . .”

Her grin softened, and she crouched down to Chopper’s level, ruffling his fur affectionately. “It’s only sad if you make it sad, Chopper,” she replied with a gentle smile. To prove her point, she lightly tapped him on the head with her glowing fingers.

Chopper’s ears perked up, and suddenly laughter bubbled out of him, bright and uncontrollable. “Wahahaha! Hey! That tickles!”

She let go, and his laughter gradually died down, leaving him giggling with residual glee. “See?” she said warmly. “I can make people happy, too.”

Chopper’s eyes shone with a mix of relief and amazement. “That’s so cool! You’re amazing!”

Zoro, now half-asleep and leaning against the wall, grumbled under his breath, clearly displeased with how sluggish he felt. “Next time, give us a warning before using that damn power. . .”

Sanji, on the other hand, had managed to prop himself up with one hand, still half in dreamland. “ Mon Ange . . . your touch is. . . so soft. . .”

She snorted in amusement, ignoring Sanji’s lovesick muttering. Robin gave her a sly smile, clearly entertained by the display.

“You really are full of surprises,” Robin commented.

She gave a nonchalant shrug and flashed a grin. “Gotta keep you guys on your toes somehow.”

As the chaos gradually settled, she couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, the tension from earlier melting away with every laugh and every ridiculous comment. Despite everything, being surrounded by these unpredictable, chaotic idiots made her feel like she was home.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

[POST THRILLER BARK]

She had realized that the Straw Hats were filled with self sacrificing idiots as she watched the scene in front of her unfold. 

The battlefield was littered with debris, a grim reminder of the brutal clash that had just taken place. Panting and bloodied, Zoro stood tall before the towering figure of Bartholomew Kuma, his resolve unshaken despite the pain wracking his body.

“I beg of you. . !” Zoro rasped, forcing himself to stay upright. His voice was strained, but his conviction was unyielding. “Let my life exchange for his!”

Kuma remained motionless, his towering presence almost suffocating. Zoro took a shaky breath and continued, “Let mine substitute his. . !”

Kuma stared down at him, his expression unreadable. “If you have such great ambition. . .” he said slowly, as if testing Zoro’s resolve.

Zoro didn’t hesitate. “I’d say exchanging my life for his is an equally good deal!” He clenched his fists, blood dripping from his wounds. “But eventually. . . I will become the world’s number one swordsman. I know my head is not worth much at the moment. . . but if I can’t protect my captain’s dream, then whatever ambition I have is nothing but just talk!”

Kuma was silent, considering the swordsman’s words. “There is already no other way to save the crew.” Zoro muttered, determination burning in his eyes. 

“How will you ever be satisfied?” Kuma questioned, his tone as emotionless as ever.

Zoro lowered his head. “Then by dying for him. . .”

Before Kuma could respond, Sanji’s voice cut through the air. “Hold on a minute, you jerk!” Sanji staggered forward, his own body battered from the battle. “Just ignore this mosshead swordsman. . . If you must kill somebody, then just take my life!”

Kuma stood like an unmovable statue, his gaze shifting between the ragtag group sprawled across the battlefield. Sanji took a shaky drag from his cigarette, glaring through the blood dripping down his face. The cook didn’t waver, even as his knees threatened to buckle.

“Black Leg Sanji,” Kuma acknowledged, his voice deep and unfeeling, but noting the fierce resolve in the cook’s eyes. Sanji didn’t flinch.

“I know the Marines don’t give a damn about me. . . but soon enough, the man who will be most feared by the Marines will be me.”

Sanji’s gaze hardened, his determination unwavering despite his body’s protests. He spared Zoro a sharp look, biting back the surge of fear that threatened to crack his composure.

“What are you going to do if you die, idiot!?” he spat, angry at how easily Zoro seemed willing to throw himself away. “What happened to your dream!?”

But Zoro just gritted his teeth, unmoved. He knew that Luffy’s dream came first. It always did. And for that dream, he would gladly lay down his life.

“Tell everyone I’m sorry,” Sanji whispered, eyes sweeping over his unconscious crewmates. He hesitated when his gaze landed on her—her eyes awake, wide-eyed and struggling to stand.

“ Ange ?” Sanji’s voice softened, as if suddenly realizing just how fragile she looked.

Zoro’s instincts kicked in the moment he sensed Sanji’s hesitation, and with a quick movement, he hit the cook with the hilt of his sword, sending him into unconsciousness. Sanji crumpled to the ground without another word.

Kuma didn’t move, still sizing up the situation as Zoro turned to face him. But before he could take another step forward, she staggered to her feet, swaying slightly as if every breath scraped through her lungs.

“Zoro. . .” Her voice was a rasp, but determined. Trembling hands reached out, fingers sparking with the faint glow of her Devil Fruit power. Zoro didn’t hesitate, he slapped her hand away, scowling.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” he snapped, glaring at her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She looked down at her hand, rubbing the bruise forming from his rough shove, and let out a shuddering breath. “I’m not. . . trying to stop you,” she whispered. “I just—” She took a deep breath.

“You and Sanji. . .” Her eyes flitted between the unconscious cook and the swordsman. “You’re the right and left hands of the next King of the Pirates,” she said, forcing strength into her voice. “Luffy would rather stop being a pirate than have you two die.”

Zoro froze, and for a moment, his usual stoic mask cracked. Kuma watched their exchange with a glint of curiosity—perhaps even endearment—but remained silent.

“And let me be the one to tell him his childhood friend died on my watch?” Zoro scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re a bigger idiot than I thought if you think you matter less in this crew. As if he’d be more okay with you dying.”

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t look away. “Better me than you guys,” she muttered. “I’m just the kid he couldn’t leave behind. The one who should’ve stayed in that damn mountain instead of following him into this mess. I’m not like you, I’m not indispensable.”

“That’s bullshit,” Zoro shot back. “You think Luffy would just accept losing you? You’re his childhood friend—the one person he’d never let go of. Don’t think for a second that just because you’re not holding a sword or steering the ship that you don’t belong here.”

She swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic clawing at her throat. “I’m the one who’s supposed to keep him safe,” she whispered, almost to herself. “What am I on this crew if not for that?”

Zoro’s expression softened, just a fraction. “And you think dying here makes up for that? You’re not gonna fix anything by throwing yourself away.”

She laughed bitterly, her hands clenched into fists. “If I can’t be strong enough to protect him, then what’s the point of me being here at all? Maybe it’s better if it’s me—at least then, no one’s losing their dream because of me.”

Zoro’s eyes narrowed, irritation flickering across his face. “I thought about it a few times, but you’re kind of weird in the head, aren’t ya?” he muttered, almost incredulous. “You act like you’re just some burden that Luffy’s dragging along. But we all know you’re here because he wants you here. He’s not keeping you around out of pity. He’s keeping you because you’re his nakama.”

She furrowed her brows, but Zoro didn’t let up. “You don’t get to decide your life’s worth on your own. Not when you’re part of this crew. If you’re gonna die, at least make it for something that’s worth a damn—not just because you think you’re disposable.”

“It’s not okay for me to die, but it is for you?” She raised an eyebrow in disbelief at the first mate.

“You’re his childhood friend,” Zoro reminded her firmly, completely trying to avoid her previous statement. “You’re not just some sidekick. You’re his nakama too. And if you think he’s gonna be okay with you dying, you really don’t know him at all.”

Zoro’s words cut through her like a sword, sharp and merciless, but not without purpose.

Kuma finally spoke up, his monotone voice breaking the tension. “Is your resolve still unwavering?”

Zoro didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. If it’s my life in exchange for his, it’s a good deal.”

“Zor—” Before she could finish her sentence, Zoro knocked her unconscious.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Nothing Happened.”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The air was thick with dust and echoes of laughter, remnants of a joy long lost to time. The grand hall of the ruined castle stretched high, its cracked walls and shattered windows filtering the dying light. 

Among the scattered debris, a lone figure sat upright, his skeletal fingers gently cradling a conch shell, as if afraid it might shatter under his touch.

Brook let out a soft, wistful chuckle, his bony jaw creaking as his shoulders shook. "Yo-ho ho ho." he laughed quietly, the sound lonely and fragile amidst the ruins. His empty eye sockets fixed on the shell, where faint traces of voices seemed to resonate—familiar, precious voices, frozen in time.

"That song filled with memories. ., . and a party!" the echoes of long-gone friends seemed to cheer. Brook could almost see them—the Rumbar Pirates, gathered around, singing as though their very lives depended on it. Their voices mingled with his in a final, desperate melody, refusing to fade even in the face of death.

Brook squeezed the shell just a little tighter, as if holding on to what remained of his past. "Every single day was painful. . ." he whispered, his voice cracking with unspoken grief. It had been decades of isolation, of searching for a reason to keep moving forward, despite knowing that everyone he once loved was long gone.

“But you know, Luffy-san,” Brook started out. There was hope now, a flicker of light through the man in the straw hat in front of him. News that Laboon was still alive, waiting for him. A reason to survive beyond just enduring the pain. 

Brook's skeletal frame trembled with raw emotion as he lifted his head to the sky.

"I am. . . so glad to be alive!!!"

Luffy’s grin stretched wide.  “Of course you are!” he shouted, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

Brook, though his skeletal face remained unmoving, seemed to exude warmth and relief. For fifty years, he had wandered through the dark, alone and without purpose. Now, there was something to hold on to—a dream, a promise, and new friends to share it with.

Brook’s voice softened. “Would you mind if I become your nakama?”

Luffy barely hesitated, rolling onto his back on the piano as if he’d been waiting to hear those words. “Sounds great!” he replied without missing a beat.

Just like that, Brook had joined the crew.

Some of the Straw Hats erupted in protest, but Luffy didn’t seem to notice. He just laughed and spun around the grand piano, his energy infectious and unstoppable. His wild spirit could be felt pulsing through the room like a heartbeat.

“Oiii!” Luffy called out suddenly, waving towards the dual-haired woman, leaning against the cracked pillar. A soft, tired smile lingered on her lips, and she seemed content to watch from the sidelines.

Without warning, Luffy grabbed her arms, tugging her towards him as the music resumed, louder and livelier. “Come on, come on, it’s your favorite song!” he insisted, twirling her awkwardly despite her protests.

She couldn’t help the light laughter that bubbled up, his enthusiasm relentless and unwavering. “Luffy,” she called out between twirls, finally pulling back enough to look at him.

He paused mid-spin, still grinning. “Hey, hey, hey! We finally got a musician!”

She glanced toward Brook, who gave a courteous bow and a cheerful, “Yo-ho ho ho!” before returning to his piano melody.

“I’m happy for you, but y’know Luffy. . .” She started out, a bit exasperated. “Your crew is full of idiots. . .” she muttered under her breath, thinking about Robin and how she tried to sacrifice her life, thinking about Sanji and Zoro who tried to do the same, but Luffy only cocked his head in confusion.

“Huh?”

Luffy didn’t understand her quiet concern, but he didn’t need to. All that mattered was that they were together, alive, laughing, and welcoming new friends. The music played on, loud and unapologetic.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Let’s go to Sabaody Archipelago!”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The grove (not an island! They recently found out) shimmered with iridescent bubbles, floating lazily in the air like dream fragments. Among the glimmering light, the Straw Hat crew walked with curious eyes and giddy anticipation.

“Hey guys! I can see a theme park!” Usopp’s voice broke through the bubble-filled air, pointing excitedly. “Let’s go! I wanna ride the ferris wheel!” Luffy was as excited as Ussop, forming their little duo, wanting to rush towards the park.

Chopper’s eyes sparkled. “A theme park?! That’ll be Shabondy Park!”

Camie gave a wistful sigh, a small smile playing on her lips. “Ahhh, the ferris wheel… It’s my dream to go on it someday.” Camie’s expression faltered. Her eyes fell toward the ground, voice soft. 

“Dream. . ? Why can’t you go on it?” Chopper asked, tilting his head.

“Stop that nonsense!!” Pappag barked, exasperated. “You know you can’t do that, Camie!”

“. . .Yeah, I know,” she muttered, her smile dim.

“Camie. . .” She provided comfort to the mermaid, fully knowing the circumstances fishmen have on this island. Camie smiled at the consolation, “Thank you, Ange -san!” 

She offered her name weakly, “That’s just a lousy nickname Sanji gave me. . . you can call me by your name.” She turned her attention towards her captain, Luffy. Who was busy fanboying with Ussop who wanted to go to Shabondy Park. 

“Luffy, is it okay if I stay in the Sunny?” She inquired of her captain, receiving a disappointed look from the said man. 

“Heeeeeh?” Luffy let out a grumble of confusion, “No way! We have to go to Shabondy Park together and ride the ferris wheel together!” A childish complaint from the captain. “and what I say goes!” 

“Hey, do you really wanna be cooped up there when we can explore this place?” Ussop asked, raising a brow. “Nami already has Sanji wrapped around her finger, he wants to be in the Sunny, come ooon.” Ussop grabbed Luffy’s shirt, pointing at him.

“Look how offended Luffy looks!” 

She sighed, she could never say no to Luffy. Ever. A nagging older brother's voice came through her mind. 

“You gotta say no to him someday, you can’t just agree with him on everything!” 

“Ace. . . What am I gonna do. . ?” She muttered to herself, as Ussop and Luffy both tilted their heads in confusion.

A little ways off, Hachi was being bombarded with questions from Nami. “What exactly are we doing on these islands anyway? You mentioned something about a ‘coating’?”

“Basically,” Hachi began, “if you do that, your ship will be able to travel underwater!”

Luffy’s eyes lit up. “Huh?! Really?!” Leaving her and Ussop, his attention fully towards the Octopus Fishman.

“Nyuu! But first, we have to find ourselves a coating mechanic. He’ll have to coat your ship with this resin,” Hatchan explained, though some of the Straw Hat was minding their own business, too busy gaping at the groves. “If the job’s not done properly, the whole ship can sink and fall! I know a mechanic that I trust with my life, so I’d bring you to him.” 

“That’s great!”

“But in return, I need you guys to promise me one thing,” Hatchan said, his tone more serious than they had ever heard. The usually cheerful fish-man wore a grave expression, his brows furrowed with a concern that was uncharacteristic of him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as if bracing himself for whatever reaction they might have.

“Right, what is it?” Luffy asked, tilting his head slightly, curiosity piqued but without an ounce of worry in his voice. He was as carefree as ever, completely oblivious to the weight of Hatchan’s words and what they meant.

“This place has a lot of World Nobles running around,” Hatchan started explaining. Luffy listened, his expression unbothered, but what he didn’t notice was the way one of his crewmates visibly flinched at the mere mention of them. 

“They’re the people who live in the Holy Land, Mariejois,” Robin added, her voice as calm as always, yet there was a quiet sharpness beneath it. Unlike Luffy, she understood the severity of the situation.

“Uh, what about them?” Luffy asked, still not grasping the gravity of the conversation, his voice light, casual, completely disconnected from the fear that weighed heavily on the others.

“No matter what happens in this town,” Hatchan’s voice dropped lower, filled with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. “You gotta promise not to disobey the World Nobles.”

She stared at Hatchan, taking in the way his entire body seemed tense, his posture rigid with fear. Desperation. She recognized it instantly. It was the same look she had once worn, the same fear that had been drilled into her long ago.

“Even if there are people killed in front of your eyes, you have to pretend you don’t see anything.”

“The World Nobles are also known as the ‘Celestial Dragons,’” Hatchan continued, his words slow, deliberate, like he was trying to make Luffy truly understand the weight of them.

“They’re incredibly proud, and they wear something like a mask to avoid breathing the same air as us.” His voice held something unspoken, something resentful, but also full of fear.

“Never go up against them. Promise me, Luffy!” Hatchan pleaded, his voice tight with worry, his eyes searching Luffy’s face for any sign of understanding.

“Sure!” Luffy said with a grin, as if making a promise to not cause trouble was the easiest thing in the world. He didn’t realize—none of them did—that his promise would mean nothing soon enough.

Then they heard it.

A desperate scream.

“Please, somebody help me! I gotta go back to my family, my daughter and wife!” The voice was rough, hoarse from what was likely hours, maybe even days, of crying.

A man, bound in heavy chains, stumbled forward, his wrists and neck bruised and raw. His clothes were torn, his face covered in grime, but more than that, his eyes held nothing but sheer, unfiltered desperation. He clawed at the thick iron collar strapped tightly around his throat, his fingers bloody from the effort.

Her hands shot up to her own neck before she could stop herself, fingers grazing smooth skin where cold, rusted metal once dug into her flesh. It was a reflex, an unconscious reaction, her body remembering before her mind could even process what was happening.

A small movement, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Someone had seen it.

“Come on! Somebody! An axe—just help me get rid of this thing! I’ve given up on the New World, please help me!” The pirate wailed, voice cracking under the weight of his fear.

“Don’t get involved,” Hatchan warned, eyes darting around warily, as if afraid that even speaking too loudly would bring unwanted attention. “He was probably caught and sold as a slave. His owner must’ve brought him here, and he made a run for it.”

The man continued to struggle against the collar, yanking at it with everything he had. “If I can just take off this rin—”

BOOM.

A sickening explosion rang through the street. The force of it made the ground tremble beneath them. The man’s headless body collapsed onto the pavement, smoke curling from where the collar had detonated. Blood splattered across the ground, dark and thick, pooling beneath his lifeless form. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air, acrid and suffocating.

Luffy gasped, his eyes widening. “Huh?!”

“That’s awful! We should have saved him!” Brook roared, horror painted across his usually jovial expression, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Pappag slapped Brook lightly, his face pale. “You promised not to get involved with the Celestial Dragons!”

“What is this town?!” Chopper cried, his voice shaking, his small body trembling as he stared at the lifeless corpse before them.

She wasn’t breathing. Her chest tightened, constricting painfully. Her head spun, her vision blurred. The scene before her twisted, warping into something else entirely, something from her past—

“Hachin, there’s a Celestial Dragon near!” Camie cried out, clinging onto the octopus fishman in fear.

“If a slave tries to escape, the collar around their necks will explode,” Hatchan said grimly. The explanation was unnecessary. She knew that already. She knew it too well.

Then she saw it.

A dog.

No. Not just any dog.

Her stomach twisted violently. Her hands trembled. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps.

She knew that dog. She knew that dog.

“Oh my,” a voice, dripping with condescension, sneered. “Saru, how vulgar.”

Her body moved on instinct—

She knelt.

The moment her knees hit the pavement, shame burned through her like fire, searing her to her bones. Humiliation clawed at her throat, but her mind screamed OBEY. OBEY. OBEY.

She was shaking. She was trembling. No matter how far she had come. No matter how much she had changed. She was still—

“Hey, what are you doing?!”

Luffy’s voice cut through her haze like a blade, sharp and grounding.

“She’s quick!” Hatchan said, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “Hurry, get on your knees too! And whatever you do, don’t look them in the eyes!”

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, grounding herself, keeping her from losing herself entirely.The Celestial Dragon sneered down at the unconscious, nearly lifeless man, his pristine white boot pressing cruelly against the bloodied flesh. The once-proud figure lay crumpled in a heap, his breath shallow, his body broken beyond recognition.

“Oh, he’s certainly useless now.”

Saint Roswald and Saint Shalria.

Names she hadn’t dared to speak for years. Yet here they were, standing before her once again, as if fate itself was laughing at her futile attempts to outrun the past.

Her stomach churned. Her breath hitched. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to move, to run, to fight, but she was frozen. Paralyzed by the echoes of chains rattling against marble floors, by the phantom grip of hands she had long escaped but never truly forgotten.

“So you meet your end wailing for people to save you?” Saint Roswald wrinkled his nose in disgust before raising his gun, leveling it at the unmoving body. The trigger clicked, and a deafening shot rang out, sending another bullet into the corpse. A final, unnecessary act of cruelty.

“Frankly, it sickens me.”

The gunshot echoed, reverberating in her skull like a long-buried nightmare dragged back to life. The scent of gunpowder mixed with the stench of blood, an all-too-familiar combination that sent ice through her veins.

Luffy’s body tensed beside her, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He moved before he could think, pure, unfiltered rage fueling his every step. But Hatchan grabbed his wrist, yanking him back with desperate force.

“Wait, you promised!!” the fish-man hissed, voice trembling with urgency.

Luffy struggled, his body vibrating with restrained fury. His eyes, usually so bright with reckless joy, darkened into something dangerous. Something lethal.

“I think I would like a giant for my next slave,” Saint Shalria mused, her tone disturbingly casual, as if picking a trinket from a store.

Her father chuckled, low and indulgent. “You should start with a mere human child first.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “And have it be like Charlos’ slave? No, thank you.”

Her breath hitched sharply.

Her blood turned to ice.

No. No, no, no.

Even after all these years. Even after she had clawed her way out of the abyss they had thrown her into—

They still remembered.

Her fists clenched at her sides, fingernails digging so deep into her palms that warm blood pooled in the creases of her skin. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out everything but the ghosts of her past.

She remembers how Saint Charlos had favored her.

Favored her a bit too well.

A ghostly touch slithered down her spine, suffocating, inescapable. The mangrove trees surrounding her were replaced with towering marble halls, with golden chandeliers casting twisted shadows against the floors she had scrubbed raw with her own hands. A memory of a man she was forced to touch every day.

She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, desperate—desperate—to keep herself from spiraling.

“I’m sure that pirate could’ve fought the weak-looking girl and an old man!” Chopper said, frustration evident in his voice.

“But if you wound a Celestial Dragon, an Admiral will most likely hunt you down,” Pappag informed them, his tone weary.

“Huh?! Like Aokiji?!” Luffy blurted, his anger momentarily giving way to shock.

Brook and Chopper flinched, mirroring his disbelief. But one of them remained silent, Luffy noticed that one of his crewmates had been eerily silent for a while. 

Luffy tilted his head, frowning. His gaze shifted, searching—and then he saw her.

Kneeling.

Shaking.

She barely registered his voice the first time.

“Oi…?”

It was softer now, no longer the brash, careless tone he usually carried. It was gentler. Concerned.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

She couldn’t breathe.

She had spent years searching for the meaning of freedom—not just the kind spoken of in grand tales, but the kind she could feel in her bones, in the wind against her skin, in the laughter shared over meals that weren’t rationed by someone else’s hand. 

She had found a glimpse of it in Luffy’s unwavering spirit, in Ace’s reckless grin, in the way they carried themselves like they had never been shackled.

Through them, she had found purpose, a reason to keep moving forward. They gave her more than just the illusion of freedom, they gave her a reason to believe in it.

And yet, her journey hadn’t been a willing one. She hadn’t chosen to be a pirate; Luffy had forced her hand, had backed her into a corner until the only way was intertwining her path with his. Not once did she ever regret her decision to give in to Luffy, to carve out a space for herself where no one could ever chain her again.

But standing here, in the shadow of those who had once chained her, she wondered if she had ever truly escaped at all.

Comfort. That was what Luffy was. Even as the world threatened to pull her under, the sound of his voice was an anchor.

“Luffy. . .” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

He noticed it, of course. Luffy wasn’t dumb, not in the ways that mattered. He had seen her act strangely from the moment they set foot on this island.

He crouched beside her, searching her face, his usual unshakable energy replaced by something softer. Something understanding.

“Hey. . . what’s wrong?”

She forced a smile, her fingers brushing against his shoulder in reassurance. A weak attempt to pretend she was fine.

“Nothing,” she lied, her voice steady even as her hands trembled. “I’m just as shocked as you are.”

Hatchan from afar had a strange look in his eyes, he didn’t believe her, neither did Luffy.

Because she was still trembling, even as she gripped onto Luffy’s sleeve like a lifeline.

Her fingers tightened against Luffy’s shoulder, gripping onto him as if he were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Because right now, in the presence of those who had once owned her, who had stripped her of dignity, of freedom—she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t shatter.

‘ Not in front of Luffy .’ Her heart whispered,

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

She was no older than five years old when she was sold at an auction house, right here, in Sabaody Archipelago. The bright lights blinded her, and the room felt suffocating, filled with people shouting numbers that she couldn’t comprehend. Her tiny hands trembled as thick iron shackles bit into her wrists, too heavy for her small frame to bear. 

Fear clawed at her throat, but her mind kept wandering back to home—to the familiar fields of Lvneel Kingdom in North Blue. So close to Mariejois, yet so far from Sabaody. How did it all happen so fast?

She remembered it so vividly—It had been just an ordinary day— she was helping her mother in the field, the air thick with the scent of fresh crops. 

Her parents were farmers, simple and humble farmers in Lvneel. Her mother was exhausted from working under the scorching sun, so they opted to rest. She laid down on the dirt as she gently touched her mother’s arm with glowing fingertips, allowing warmth and relief to seep into her mother’s aching muscles. 

She loved her power—her devil fruit was like magic that made people feel good. It made her happy when they smiled at her with gratitude.

But that day, she wasn’t the only one who noticed her powers. A few men wearing a gaudy, extravagant helmet—shiny and shaped like a bubble—walked through the field, followed closely by tall, imposing guards in black suits and dark sunglasses. 

She didn’t understand why everyone in the village suddenly dropped to their knees, faces pressed into the dirt. Why did they look so terrified?

One of the guards approached, his heavy footsteps making the ground tremble. He looked down at her, his face emotionless, yet somehow intimidating. Her mother and father didn’t move, paralyzed by fear. The guard’s voice was like gravel as he asked.

“Is that power from a devil fruit?”

She was just a child, bright-eyed and blissfully naive. A wide grin stretched across her face as she nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah!” she chirped, as if proud that someone noticed her gift. “I don’t know what it’s called, but I call it the Tender-Tender Fruit! I can make people feel things I want!” She let go of her mother and stepped forward to show the big man her glowing fingers. 

“Look! I can make them feel happy or calm, anything that I want them to feel! As long as I can feel it too!”

The guard hummed thoughtfully, his cold gaze flickering back to the noble behind him. The man leaned down to whisper something in the noble’s ear, and the bubble-helmeted figure gave a faint nod. She didn’t know what they were talking about, but her excitement slowly faded as she noticed the uneasy looks her parents gave each other.

Then, without warning, the guard grabbed her arm and pulled her away from her mother. She stumbled, almost falling, but he didn’t slow down. Panic set in as her parents stayed frozen, not fighting, not yelling—just standing there, rooted to the spot with pale faces and wide, empty eyes.

“Hey, mister,” she asked, her voice soft and confused, “Hey, where am I going?” She didn’t resist, too shocked and dazed to understand. 

“We’d like you to use your powers for other people,” the guard answered flatly, not even looking at her.

She blinked up at him, trying to process it. Helping people? That was okay, wasn’t it? She liked helping. She glanced back over her shoulder and waved with a beaming smile. 

“Bye-bye, Mom! Dad!” she called cheerfully. But her parents didn’t wave back. They just watched with an expression that is quite hollow, defeated.

There were three World Nobles present that day, each of them from different families, adorned in their grotesque bubble helmets and luxurious garments, surrounded by a swarm of armed guards. By some twisted coincidence, they had decided to visit the countryside together, perhaps to flaunt their power or indulge in the exotic simplicity of rural life. 

The villagers had scattered at the mere sight of them, heads bowed low, faces pressed into the dirt. Nobody dared to breathe too loudly, fearful of attracting unwanted attention.

“Oi, that one’s mine,” he snarled, glaring at his companions. “I found her first.” A blush forming, “The immeasurable pleasure she could give me,” Slight drool escaped his lips.

The second noble, a slim, snake-like figure, scoffed and waved a lazy hand.

“You? Don’t be absurd,” he drawled. “A power like that deserves refinement,” He waved his hand in dismissal, “She’ll be my personal healer. Imagine it, never needing a doctor, always having someone to soothe away the aches of travel and pleasure.”

The third noble, a woman, clicked her tongue in annoyance.

“You men are insufferable,” she sneered. “A delicate thing like that should be kept as a pet—a precious little doll to amuse me and calm my nerves whenever I wish.”

The tension between them was thick and palpable, and their guards stood on edge, unsure whether to intervene or let the argument unfold. None of them wanted to upset their respective masters, but they couldn’t help but exchange nervous glances. World Nobles fighting amongst themselves was a dangerous affair, one that could end in death if not resolved carefully.

Finally, the first noble huffed and straightened his posture, casting a sideways glance at the small girl.

“There’s only one way to settle this fairly,” he proposed, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “We put her up for auction. Whoever pays the most can take her.”

“Fine,” the second world noble grunted. “But you better have the pockets to keep up.”

The woman merely shrugged with a bored expression, already calculating how much she was willing to spend. The three of them nodded, signaling their agreement, and one of the guards pulled her roughly dragging her toward the ship that would take her to Sabaody.

The nobles continued to bicker as they followed behind, already discussing strategies to outbid each other. To them, it was nothing more than a game, a twisted competition to see who could flaunt their wealth the most. 

The girl, meanwhile, was too stunned to fully comprehend what was happening, looking back at her parents with wide, questioning eyes. Her parents could do nothing but watch, paralyzed by fear and resignation, aware that any resistance would mean their immediate execution.

That night, she found herself in the belly of a dark ship, crammed into a small cage with chains around her wrists and neck. She didn’t understand why—why she wasn’t going home, why her parents didn’t come to get her, why everyone else around her looked so defeated and lifeless.

When they reached Sabaody, her world twisted even more. She was cleaned up, dressed in a thin, uncomfortable gown that exposed her bare shoulders, and led into the grand hall of an auction house. The stage was big and intimidating, and bright lights shone down on her like cruel eyes. People filled the room—rich, loud, and greedy—staring at her like she was nothing but an object.

The bidding started, and it was chaotic, numbers being thrown around like it was a game. People kept shouting higher and higher, but the ones she heard the loudest were the three Celestial Dragons—she had learned their proper name from the whispers of the auction house— the same ones who had been in her village that day. They were arguing with each other, each demanding to take her, fighting over her like she was a prized possession. She didn’t understand why they wanted her so badly.

Her first heartbreak came when she realized what it really meant to help these people. It wasn’t like tending to her mother’s tired muscles or making her father laugh after a hard day’s work. It wasn’t gentle or kind. It was nothing like what she imagined.

She realized, in the crushing silence of the backstage cage, that her parents hadn’t fought for her. That they hadn’t chased after her or begged for her return. They had let her go, knowing full well what awaited her at the end of that journey. Maybe they were powerless, maybe they were terrified, but the pain of betrayal cut deep, searing through her chest like a brand.

And when the final gavel hit the podium, her fate was sealed. Saint Charlos, one of the Celestial Dragons, had won the bidding war, purchasing her for an obscene amount of money. She didn’t understand why, or how, or what she’d done to deserve this fate.

That was the first time she truly understood what it meant to be powerless.

She was dragged off the stage, tears finally streaming down her cheeks as the reality of her fate settled in. The dream of helping people had turned into a nightmare, and her innocent heart could no longer bear the weight of hopelessness.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

It started as a whisper. At first, she thought it was just another cruel joke—another sneer or mocking nickname thrown her way by the guards or the other slaves. 

It wasn’t uncommon for them to pick on her, especially when she was relatively new and still had that glimmer of hope in her eyes.

But when she was dragged before Saint Charlos for the first time—still trembling, still holding back the sobs that had been clawing at her throat—she heard it for real. The noble looked at her with that grotesque, wide-mouthed grin of his, his cheeks flushed red from either excitement or the wine he’d been drinking. 

He clapped his hands together like a child presented with a new toy and sauntered closer, his guards holding her in place as she struggled to keep her chin up.

“Ohhhh, my own Pleasure Doll!” he cooed in that sickeningly childish tone, bending down to peer into her wide, fearful eyes. “I’ve been waiting to see you up close. Make me feel pleasure now!”

She didn’t respond, not immediately. Her hands were shaking, and she was trying to remember how to breathe without drawing attention to the fear clawing at her ribs. One of the guards nudged her hard in the side, making her stumble forward.

“She’s a bit stubborn, my lord,” the guard apologized quickly, yanking her by the hair to force her to bow. “But she’s got the power you wanted. Just say the word. . .”

Charlos didn’t seem bothered by the lack of response. In fact, he seemed to find it amusing, his laughter bubbling up like a spoiled child’s giggle. He reached out, pinching her cheek between his gloved fingers, yanking her face up so that their eyes met.

“What’s the matter, Pleasure Doll? Not gonna smile for me?” he teased, his breath hot and rancid against her face. “You’re mine now. You’re gonna make me feel happy every day, aren’t you?”

She swallowed thickly, forcing herself not to pull away despite the sharp pain in her scalp. Her lips quivered, and she barely managed a nod, her voice coming out strained and tiny.

“Yes, my lord,” she whispered, willing her power to work through the pain and terror. Her fingers tingle faintly, and the comforting warmth washed over Charlos, making him sigh with satisfaction.

“See? Good little Pleasure Doll,” he crooned, patting her head like she was a pet. “Now make me feel pleasure .”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir.” One of the guards spoke up, interrupting her from using her Devil Fruit, “It is claimed that she can only give feelings she has felt before, I doubt a girl her age would know what pleasure means.”

“Oh~?” Saint Charlos drawled, eyes gleaming with a depraved curiosity, a flush rising on his cheeks.

She didn’t understand what the guard meant. Not entirely. Not yet.

But Saint Charlos’ laugh—low, perverse, and far too delighted—told her enough. There was something in that sound that made her skin crawl, something that made her fingers stop glowing.

Later that night, when the doors locked and the lights dimmed, she learned the true meaning of “Pleasure Doll.”

Not through words. But through silence. Through the way her body froze and her spirit fled somewhere far away.

She wasn’t old enough to name what happened. But she felt it—screaming in her bones, bleeding behind her eyes, trembling in her fingers. She couldn’t summon anything after that. Not joy, not calm, not even a trace of her power. It had retreated into her, too frightened to show itself.

From then on, every time he called her that name— Pleasure Doll —something inside her cracked.

It wasn’t a title, it wasn’t affection. It was ownership. A curse disguised as praise and she had to wear it every day, smiling when told, trembling when alone, whispering apologies to herself for not knowing what to do.

The nickname spread like wildfire after that. The other Celestial Dragons picked up on it, snickering and jeering whenever they passed her in Mariejois. Charlos’ Pleasure Doll —a twisted, affectionate name meant to reduce her to nothing but a tool for their comfort and pleasure.

And every time they called her that, they expected a smile, as if the name itself was something sweet and precious rather than a chain around her throat. She hated it—hated the way it clung to her like a second skin, reminding her of how powerless she was. But she forced herself to smile through it because not smiling would lead to punishment.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

It was only later—years later—that she told Ace about her God awful nickname, the first thing the young boy did was insult her. 

“Pleasure Doll?” He repeated, his face scrunching up as if trying to piece it together. Then, almost on instinct, he barked out a laugh. “Pleasure? You?”

Her gaze snapped to him, confused and almost hurt, but he didn’t give her the chance to spiral. He pointed at her, smirking with a faint blush on his cheeks.

 “Are they blind or just stupid? You’re stubborn as hell! Sometimes rude, and way too blunt for your own good!” He was practically cackling now. “Pleasure? You’re the opposite of pleasure!”

Her mouth fell open, and she looked seconds away from punching him, but he just kept going, undeterred.

“And a doll? Really? Look at you!” He gestured up and down. “You’re in the woods with the three of us, dirt on your face and leaves in your hair, looking like some kind of wild animal. If that’s a doll, I’ve been lied to my whole life!”

She couldn’t help it—she snorted out a laugh, and Ace’s grin softened, though his cheeks stayed stubbornly pink.

“You’re such an idiot,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Maybe,” Ace shot back, shrugging, “but at least I’m not the one thinking they’re some fancy doll. You’re just you—wild, stubborn, annoying you.”

She looked at him, eyes still wet but now sparkling with something lighter, something a little more alive.

“That’s better,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re more than whatever they called you. Way more.”

When she smiled—really smiled—he felt something stupid flutter in his chest, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he just tossed a stick at her, making her yelp and snap back at him.

“Oi! What was that for?”

“For thinking dumb things,” he said, more to himself, as he stuck out his tongue. “Can’t let you get away with that.”

And when she lunged at him, ready to tackle him to the ground, he couldn’t help but laugh, because that’s what he wanted—her fire back. Even if it meant a few bruises from her relentless revenge.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The universe truly hated her. That was the only explanation.

She was there when Fisher Tiger raided Mariejois.

She could hear it, chaos unfolding beyond the gilded walls, the sounds of shouting and metal clashing. A glimpse from the corner of her eye revealed the sprawling grandeur of Mariejois crumbling, flames licking at pristine architecture, slaves fleeing in every direction as shackles hit the ground like discarded burdens.

Hope flickered in her chest, a tiny, fragile thing that dared to dream of freedom. But just as quickly as it sparked, it was crushed by the cold, unyielding grip around her wrist.

Saint Charlos’ greasy fingers dug into her skin, his clammy hand holding hers in a vice-like grip, forcing her to keep her touch on him, keeping him drunk on the fabricated euphoria that she forced herself to feel just to satisfy his demands. 

Her power was a cruel, twisted gift. It couldn’t just conjure emotions out of thin air; it had to come from her own heart, her own soul. So she forced herself to feel the ecstasy he wanted, the ecstasy she had felt from him, because if she didn’t, she knew he’d make her feel pain instead.

She couldn’t even cry. Tears would disrupt the illusion. Instead, she fixed her eyes on the mayhem outside, letting a small, fleeting wish take root. If only she could just break free, if only someone could save her.

A shudder ran through Charlos as he pulled her closer, his face pressing into her neck, his breath hot and rancid against her skin. 

“You’re mine, little slave,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “Your power is the most important thing to me right now. I’ll never let you go. Never. No matter what happens out there, you will never leave my side.”

His grip tightened, his nails biting into her skin, and she forced herself to smile, to play the part of the obedient, adoring servant. A hollow, empty smile that never reached her eyes.

She wanted to scream, to claw at his face, to use her power to force fear or disgust down his throat—but she didn’t dare. She could only glance at the freedom outside and cling to the pitiful, desperate hope that someday— someday —someone would tear her away from this living nightmare.

Years later, though the shackles were long gone, its ghost still haunted her—an unyielding reminder of the past she couldn’t escape, but one day a boy with a straw hat, bright, unbreakable, and relentless, will tear her away from the nightmare that had once consumed her.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

In her years in Mariejois, serving Saint Charlos, there was one guard she had grown close to.

“Machi-san!”

He was her designated guard—the one responsible for making sure she was there when Saint Charlos woke up, there when Saint Charlos needed her, and there when Saint Charlos wanted her. He was the one who led her toward her own personal hell, day after day. Yet, despite being the one who chained her to this torment, Machi himself was. . . kind.

He had been her guard for about a year now, replacing the previous ones who had either been killed or reassigned to another family. Out of all of them, he was by far her favorite.

Unlike the guards before him, Machi let her bathe on her own, affording her a small sliver of privacy. He dressed her modestly—how a child should be dressed—shielding her from the prying eyes of those who saw her as nothing but a tool. He treated her like a human being, as if the “Hoof of the Soaring Dragon” branded onto her stomach was just a meaningless mark instead of a cruel reminder of her enslavement.

When Saint Charlos grew dissatisfied with her powers and forced her to the point of overexertion, her fingers wrinkling and cracking, raw and bleeding from the strain, Machi would carefully tend to her wounds, his touch gentle and deliberate, as though she were something precious and not disposable.

Without realizing it, he had begun caring for her more than he thought possible.

“Pedi-san,” Machi called out softly, his voice carrying a hint of regret as he used the vile nickname the Celestial Dragons had given her, one he despised but was forced to say. Pleasure Doll, P.D., Pedi. He wasn’t allowed to know her real name, after all. 

“Do you know what a vivre card is?”

She shook her head, wiping at her damp cheeks, Saint Charlos had been rough today, much rougher than usual, he got home demanding his Pleasure Doll because the auction house he went to did not have a mermaid slave on sale, she was overwhelmed by his emotions and had a hard time keeping up the feelings he wanted, which caused the tantrum that wounded her immensely. 

Machi pulled out a small piece of blank paper. It moved ever so slightly, as if alive, and she couldn’t help but stare at it in confusion.

“See here?” he said gently, holding the paper between his rough fingers. “This paper will always lead to its owner. Do you trust me?”

She nodded quietly, despite the tears running down her face, her small hands trembling as he pressed the paper into her palm and closed her fingers into a fist.

“I’m giving this to you,” he whispered, keeping his voice low so that no one else would hear. “The vivre card here belongs to Dragon,” He repeated the name slower so that the girl would understand.

“Dr. . . agon?”

“When the time is right, find the owner of this paper. He’ll treat you well. Tell him that Machi sent you, okay?”

“Can’t we go there together?” she asked, her head tilted with that familiar, childlike innocence that refused to fade despite all she had endured.

Machi hesitated, his heart aching at her simple question. He wanted to—oh, how he wanted to. He wanted to take her to Baltigo, to see his comrades again, to laugh and joke like old times. To be free, together. But deep down, he knew that was just a dream. A fragile, fleeting fantasy that would never come true.

He hadn’t always been nice to her, he had followed protocol in fear of being found out and disrupting the whole mission, but when he was hit by Saint Charlos because of something as measly as forgetting to open the door for Saru (their damn dog), and despite still bleeding out from his head, he was still forced to do his job. 

He dragged his aching body through the pristine halls of Mariejois, head pounding and vision blurred, but he didn’t falter. He didn’t dare.

As a personal guard for the slave, his duty was to ensure that she didn’t run or falter, to keep her compliant and at her master’s beck and call. He hated himself for it, for every time he had to look at her frightened eyes and do nothing. But it was his mission—his purpose—to stay undercover, even if it meant dragging this innocent child through hell. 

He thought she was just another pitiful soul caught in the cruel web of power, just another slave who had lost all hope. He never expected her to be the one to shatter his defenses.

But everything crumbled down one day, when he stumbled into her room, already rehearsing the words to tell her to prepare herself for Saint Charlos’ chamber, she looked up with wide, concerned eyes. He froze when she moved toward him, the tiny hands that had been used to soothe monsters now reaching out to him. 

Before he could even protest or tell her to back away, she touched his hand, her small fingers wrapping around his. A surge of warmth spread through him like a gentle tide, washing away the pain and the crushing weight on his soul. His dizziness faded, his heartbeat steadied, and for a fleeting, fragile moment, he felt at peace.

Machi looked down, bewildered, as the little girl gave him a worried frown. “Machi-san, are you okay?” she asked, her voice as soft as a whisper, laced with genuine concern that no one in this hell ever showed him.

He didn’t have the heart to answer, too caught up in the ache blossoming in his chest. Something broke inside him at that moment—a dam of guilt and regret and something horribly tender. 

For the first time in years, he couldn’t hold back the tears burning in his eyes. He was supposed to be strong, supposed to be indifferent and practical, but in the face of this child’s innocent kindness, he crumbled.

He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. He had been trained to be detached, and for the most part, he had succeeded. He watched guards come and go, watched them beat her for the smallest mistakes, watched her try to hide her trembling hands behind her back as if showing weakness would make it worse.

It started off subtle, he never questioned why she was afforded the rare luxury of her own room—nothing more than a cramped and dim space, but a privilege compared to the vast slave quarters crowded with dozens of others. 

Perhaps it was because of her power, or maybe it was because the Celestial Dragon liked to think she was his personal pet, a toy to show off to his peers. Whatever the reason, it gave her a small corner of solitude, and at night, Machi guarded that door with his life.

He knew he was breaking rules when he gave her a slice of bread one evening, after she had spent the entire day in the chamber without food. She looked at it as if she didn’t know what it was, just stared at the stale, hardened crust with wide, unblinking eyes. He almost took it back, thinking it was stupid of him to expect her to eat something so pathetic, but then she grabbed it with both hands and devoured it like a starving animal.

He hadn’t meant to give her more after that, but when he saw how she savored even the smallest scraps, he found himself slipping her bits of dried meat, an apple once in a while, and whatever else he could sneak past the kitchen guards. It was a small comfort—nothing compared to the horrors she faced every day—but it made her smile, just a little, and that was enough to make him forget the gnawing hunger in his own belly.

Sometimes, when he treated her hands after Saint Charlos’ cruel experiments, he would hum softly under his breath, an old tune from the vast seas. He didn’t think she would notice, but one evening, as he wrapped her bandaged fingers, she hummed it back to him, soft and shaky but unmistakably the same melody. He froze, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. She looked up with hesitant eyes, unsure if she had done something wrong.

“That’s. . . a good song,” he managed to choke out, and her face lit up with a shy, fleeting smile, recognizing Bink’s Sake.

That was when he knew he had failed—failed his mission to stay cold and unfeeling, failed to keep himself from caring too much. Somewhere along the line, she had wormed her way past his defenses, and he had let her, selfishly. She wasn’t just another mission. She wasn’t just a slave. She was a little girl who had never known kindness, and he had given her scraps of it without thinking about the consequences.

He tried to justify it to himself, saying that it was better to keep her spirit alive, that the Revolutionaries would need her unbroken when the day finally came. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the truth. He cared about her. He had grown to see her not just as a responsibility, but as a child—his child who deserved better than this hell.

And he knew that one day, it would be his undoing.

“Machi-san?” The young girl called out to him, breaking him from his thoughts of the past.

At that moment, he wasn’t a revolutionary soldier infiltrating enemy territory. He wasn’t a cold-hearted guard following the commands of monsters. 

He was just a man who saw the girl as his daughter. The look she gave him, full of trust and quiet fear, tore through every wall he had ever built around his heart.

He knelt down in front of her, his rough, calloused hands cupping her tiny face with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed. He forced himself to smile, even though his heart was breaking, and wiped away the streak of blood that had dripped onto her forehead.

“Yeah,” he choked out, his voice shaking with something he couldn’t quite name. “We’ll try together.”

And even though he knew that he was lying—knew that he would never make it out of this mission alive—he couldn’t take that tiny spark of hope from her. He couldn’t be the one to snuff it out. So he let her dream, just once more, and swore to himself that he would give her that chance to keep dreaming, even if it cost him everything.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The day came faster than expected

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Machi knelt beside her, his broad shoulders shielding her trembling form from the chaos outside. For once, she got a good look of his eyes behind the sunglasses he wore 24/7, they weren’t cold or calculating—they were gentle, filled with a sadness she didn’t understand. He spoke in a low, urgent whisper, his hand carefully resting on her shoulder.

“You’ve been told your whole life that you belong to them,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his gaze, as he held her between his hands. 

“But listen to me. You were never theirs to own. No matter what they did to you, no matter how they tried to break you—you’re still your own person. You deserve to be free.”

He looked over his shoulder, making sure the coast was clear before slipping a key into  her collar, unlocking them with a soft click .

“Run,” he urged, his voice catching just a little. “Run and don’t look back. Live. Find something to fight for that’s yours. Promise me—you’ll never let anyone chain you down again.”

She stared at him, frozen in disbelief, but he just gave her a soft, bittersweet smile and nudged her toward the door.

“Go.” He said again, much more stern, “Remember that you’re your own person.” He smiled, “And that’s enough to make you keep forward.”

And with that, he stood up, turning back to face the chaos, giving her the one thing she thought she’d never have—a chance at freedom.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“GUARD #23 ! ” Saint Charlos bellowed, not bothering to look the man in the eye. Names were beneath him. Titles were beneath him. Everyone else was beneath him.

‘ Ah. . .’ Machi thought, ‘Dragon-san, sorry for not keeping my promise to come back, but I’m betting my life on the next generation.’ 

He saw Kuma’s gentle smile. Ivankov’s defiant laugh. So many comrades, faces burned into his memory. But it was her—the girl with trembling hands and eyes too bright to belong to a slave—that filled his heart in his final moment.

And now, standing before him, was the embodiment of that oppression, Saint Charlos, red-faced and livid. The Celestial Dragon had struck Machi with the butt of his rifle, screaming for answers, demanding to know where his precious slave had gone.

But Machi didn’t flinch. He had calculated everything.

She should be running down the Red Line right about now, he thought.

Down the very escape path he had carved with his own hands.

He had bet everything on her.

Despite the horrors she had endured under the grotesque and perverse Saint Charlos, despite the bruises, the commands, the trembling, there had been something else in her eyes. A flicker. A spark. Something wild, something free, something that refused to be extinguished.

He had seen it. The way she looked at the world—not just with fear, but with hope buried deep, waiting to bloom.

And so, when the final blow came, Machi fell with a quiet smile etched into his bloodied face.

Peaceful.

Hopeful.

Because he had helped that girl—the one he’d come to love like a daughter—make her escape.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Run. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.

Her lungs burned with every breath, her legs aching as she stumbled down the steep, jagged slopes of the Red Line. Blood slicked her palms, her fingernails cracked and torn from clawing at the stone. She could taste iron in her mouth, not from a hit, not this time, but from biting down hard enough to keep herself silent. She couldn’t risk a scream. Not now. Not when she was still so close.

The wind howled around her, but inside her chest, it was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that came before a storm—or after someone you love has left for good.

Don’t think about him. Don’t you dare think about him.

But she did.

And now, as she ran, scraping her knees, swallowing sobs, that memory clung to her like armor.

She didn’t know what was happening above. She didn’t need to.

She knew .

She knew what Machi had chosen. What he’d gambled. What he’d given up to carve this impossible path just for her.

And she hated it.

She hated that he had believed in her more than she ever had in herself.

A sob finally escaped her lips as her foot slipped. She caught herself—barely. Her hands trembled. Her body shook.

But her eyes?

Still burning.

Still alive.

With grief. With rage.

Because Machi was gone and she was still alive, left behind with nothing but the weight of his sacrifice.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

It took months of sailing and pillaging through random islands, but finally, she made it. The vivre card didn’t flutter so raggedly anymore, a sure sign that the man she was searching for was near.

“Dawn Island?” she muttered, eyeing the map in her hands.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Thank you for everything, but I think I have to g–” 

“ Staaaaay! ”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Hey, who are you?” a kid’s voice rang out, rough and loud against the quiet lapping of water, he ran towards her from the forest.

She froze mid-step, one foot still in her boat, the other just landing on the shore that was near a forest. A boy with a straw hat stood a few meters away, hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he stared directly at her. His face was round with curiosity, but his posture was oddly fearless.

“Did you just come off that tiny boat?” he asked again, squinting.

She didn’t answer.

He took a few bold steps forward, but before he could get too close, another voice barked out from behind him. “Oi! Don’t run off like that, stupid!”

A taller boy emerged from the trees, his brow furrowed, jaw tense. He eyed her like a wild animal sizing up another—wary, guarded.

She shifted uneasily.

A third kid followed, a mop of blonde hair under a worn top hat, watching her with equal caution. His eyes flicked from her boat to her face, then down to her hands. Looking for weapons, maybe.

“I don’t know her,” the boy in the hat muttered under his breath. “She ain’t from here.”

“Obviously,” the tall one replied.

The boy with the straw hat pouted but didn’t back off. “You gonna talk or what? You mute?”

The tall one slapped him lightly on the back of the head. “Idiot. Don’t provoke her.” Another one of the kids, the blonde one, spoke up. “Yeah, that’s rude.”

Their eyes locked with hers. She could see it now—distrust and something else. These weren’t normal kids. They weren’t scared of her, but they weren’t welcoming either.

Good, she thought. Maybe they wouldn’t try to touch her.

She glanced away. “I’m just passing through,” she murmured, gripping the boat’s edge tighter. “I won’t stay long.”

“Good,” the tall one replied immediately.

“My name is Monkey D. Luffy and I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!”

The declaration rang through the clearing like a gunshot.

A second later, two fists came crashing down on his head in perfect sync.

“IDIOT!” the older boys yelled, voices overlapping in frustration. “Don’t carelessly give your name to strangers!”

Luffy stumbled back, clutching his head. “Owww! What was that for?!”

“She could be spying for someone!” the one in the red shirt snapped, eyes flicking to her with caution.

“Or worse, she could be from one of the families!” the one in the top hat added, glancing around like someone might leap from the shadows at any second.

But Luffy—stubborn, bright-eyed Luffy—just beamed at her, completely unfazed by the scolding. “But she looks cool!” he exclaimed. “Look at her scars! She’s strong, I can feel it!”

She flinched. Her eyes dropped to the ground, and her hands curled into fists. Those scars weren’t battle medals. They were remnants of survival. Chains. Branding. Punishment. Nothing worth admiring.

Don’t say that. She wanted to tell him . Don’t look at me like that.

She didn’t.

The two older boys seemed to finally take her in—truly take her in. Their eyes lingered longer now, scanning the rawness of her appearance. Her fingernails were dark with dried blood and grime. The nail beds were inflamed. Her hair clung together in tangled, greasy tufts. Her limbs were covered in scars—some pink and fading, others still red and puckered beneath haphazard bandages.

“Oi.” The red-shirted one called out, voice lower now, but firmer. “Where’d you come from?”

She hesitated. Then, with a voice as soft as the breeze, she replied, “North Blue.”

The boy stiffened. “Huh?! North Blue? Are you crazy?”

The one in the top hat stepped forward, his expression caught between disbelief and concern. “That doesn’t make sense. . . We’re in East Blue.”

She said nothing. Just stood there, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“Who cares?” Luffy chimed in, flopping down onto the grass with the ease of someone who had never known true fear. “A blue is a blue. What’s the difference? East, West, North, South.”

The older two stared at him in silence.

“Luffy. . .” the blond one muttered, sweatdropping, “That’s. . . really not what we’re worried about.”

But Luffy only looked at his brothers with a bored expression, his pinky lifting to casually dig into his nose. With zero shame, he flicked a booger off into the bushes, entirely unbothered by the tension thick in the air. 

“She’s here now. Who cares.”

It was so simple.

She blinked slowly, almost in disbelief at the absurdity of it all—and then, against all odds, a laugh bubbled up in her throat. It started as a hiccup of a sound, escaping her lips before she could stop it. And then it grew, soft and shaky at first, but warm, so warm it startled even her.

“You’re funny,” she said, giggling now, brushing at her face as if that could hide the smile breaking through. Her voice sounded strange to her ears. Light. Unburdened, even for just a second.

“Yeah, I like her!” Luffy grinned, instantly brightened by her laughter, his grin stretching so wide it practically split his face in half. He jumped up, arms thrown into the air. “Be in my crew!”

“Huh?” Her head tilted slightly, confusion written all over her face.

“What—Luffy?! You can’t just ask random people that!” the freckled boy in the red shirt snapped, throwing his arms in the air, punching Luffy, yet again. 

“She just got here, dumbass!”

“Ahhh!” Luffy shouted, “Stop hitting me!!”

The one in the top hat, snorted. “Typical Luffy. Offers a place in his imaginary pirate crew before learning someone’s name.” He laughed at Luffy’s antics, unlike Red Shirt who resorted to violence.

But Luffy stood firm, beaming at her like she’d already said yes. “I mean it! You’re cool, I can tell. Be in my crew!”

She blinked again, flustered by the sudden attention. “But you just met me.”

“So?” Luffy asked, as if that was the dumbest excuse in the world.

“And pirates?” She turned her attention towards the other two boys, despite only knowing Luffy what could have been only minutes, she knew he wouldn’t give her the answer she wanted.

“Yeah, all three of us are going to be notorious pirates one day. Don’t let that put you off,” Top Hat added with a half-smile, tone more playful than serious. He crossed his arms and gave her a look, not quite suspicious, but certainly assessing.

“All three of you?” she repeated, eyes darting between them.

“Yeah,” The one in red scoffed, shoving Luffy lightly in the head. “I’m gonna be my own captain. No way I’m lettin’ him boss me around.”

“Same here,” Top Hat said smoothly, smirking. “We’re not joining Luffy’s crew—we’re letting him tag along with ours.”

“Hey! No fair! I said it first!” Luffy whined, arms flailing. “I’m the captain!”

“Keep dreaming, little brother,” Red Shirt muttered, ruffling his hair roughly despite Luffy’s squirming protest.

She watched them with wide eyes, stunned by how normal it all was. Their bickering was loud and chaotic and a little bit wild, but it wasn’t dangerous. It wasn’t cruel. They joked and laughed and shoved each other, but there was no fear in their eyes, no desperation in their voices. It was freedom. It was family.

Her stomach grumbled—loudly.

All three boys paused and turned to look at her. She instantly flushed, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold in the sound. It was embarrassing, but more than that, it made her feel small. 

“Oi, weird girl, you hungry?” the one in red asked, raising an eyebrow. His tone wasn’t exactly gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either, more like a blunt warning. “Just a heads up. . . so girls like you don’t cry or nothin’. we hunt our own food around here. Got it?”

Her blush deepened, and she ducked her head, unsure whether to nod or apologize.

“Oh, come on, Ace,” Luffy chimed in cheerfully, completely unbothered by the tension. He said the name so casually— Ace —and the moment it left his lips, she froze. That name. It struck something inside her. Not the boy in front of her, but the weight of memory it carried. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know. 

“Don’t say my name, idiot!” Ace shouted, shoving Luffy’s face with his palm.

Top Hat—still unnamed—burst out laughing. 

“Too late now, Ace. Damage done.” Top Hat had said as Ace groaned and crossed his arms. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

“Well,” the boy with the hat grinned at her, suddenly offering something softer, something honest. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag. My name’s Sabo. What’s yours?”

She opened her mouth, hesitated—then closed it again.

Her name. It had been so long since anyone had asked. So long since she’d said it without it being barked by an overseer or recorded in a ledger or screamed in pain. Saying it had always been an act of submission.

But not now.

This was different. This time, she wasn’t reciting it as property. She wasn’t forced. She wasn’t tagged or owned. This was her choice.

She looked at Sabo, then at Ace—still frowning—and finally at Luffy, who was picking his nose again and didn’t seem to have a single thought behind his eyes.

And somehow. . . that made her feel safe.

She offered them her name, her voice a little rough from disuse. It felt strange in her mouth, strange but right.

It hung in the air for a beat. Not demanded, not judged. Just accepted.

The boys didn’t react with laughter or scorn. Luffy gave her a grin. Sabo nodded. Ace muttered something about finally having something to call her that wasn’t “weird girl.”

And for the first time in a long time, her name didn’t feel like a shackle.

It felt like hers .

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Because of them, she was healing, slowly, gently, finally starting to feel safe. But in a cruel twist of fate, their paths crossed in a fleeting moment. . . and just like that, with a single glance, her former master recognized her—

and the chains she thought she'd broken clamped back around her soul.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Half the crew had scattered to the nearby stalls, laughing and bickering over ice cream flavors with Hatchan and Pappag trying to mediate. It was a rare moment of lightness, and she had quietly stepped away, drawn not by the sweets, but by the shimmer of the sea and the skyline of Sabaody Park.

She stood outside the gates, just far enough to breathe. The vibrant lights of the amusement park cast long shadows, glimmering across the ocean’s surface. It was beautiful. It was loud and messy and full of life.

She never got to appreciate the view back then—when she was young and caged, when her world had been made of cold walls and muffled screams. But now, standing here in the salt-kissed wind, she tried to let it settle into her. To believe she was truly free.

She closed her eyes, letting the sea breeze kiss her cheeks.

And then the nightmare walked in.

"Is that…?" a voice slithered into her awareness, vile and drenched in obsession.

Saint Charlos.

He was perched atop a massive, trembling slave, parading down the path like a king. His eyes locked onto her, and in an instant, the grotesque recognition contorted his features into a twisted glee.

The dual-colored strands of her hair—light and dark—glinted under the sunlight.

His favorite colors. His fixation. His favorite slave.

His voice cracked in ecstasy.

“My Pleasure Doll!”

Her body froze.

Everything stilled. The world dropped out from beneath her, leaving her floating in a slow-motion haze of dread. Her breath caught in her throat. Her feet couldn’t move. Her fingers twitched by her side.

The commotion around them dimmed. Civilians turned to look. But worst of all, her crew— her family —was close enough to hear.

“Guards!” Charlos barked. “Take a look at her! Behind the neck! See if she has my tattoo on her!”

She felt them approach. The click of boots. The shuffle of leather gloves. Fingers grabbing her hair—wrenching her head back.

She didn’t resist.

Not at first.

The cold rush of humiliation drowned her—her identity stripped from her lips, her body treated like property again. The guards yanked her hair upward, revealing the brand scorched into the back of her neck. P.D.

Pleasure Doll.

The crowd gasped. Some in curiosity. Some in horror.

But before the guards could confirm it, she moved . Swift as a bullet. Her arm shot up, grabbing one guard by the wrist and hurling him off. The other she slammed with her elbow, spinning out of reach before they could respond.

Her breathing was ragged. Her vision blurred at the edges.

“What—” the guards stumbled back, stunned.

“You’re mine!” Charlos screamed, red-faced and pointing like a petulant child denied a toy. “You’re my Pleasure Doll!”

Her fists clenched. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Eyes wide and shimmering. She had been seen. Unmasked.

And yet—somewhere in the back of her mind—she waited. Dread churning in her gut.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

[MONTHS AGO, IN ALABASTA]

The heat was unforgiving. The desert sun bore down on them like it had a grudge, and the city streets of Alabasta buzzed with the bustle of post-war recovery. Even the wind carried heat in it.

She winced as sweat trickled down her temple, her long hair clinging to her neck like a suffocating scarf. With a groan, she pulled it up and twisted it into a lazy bun—anything to survive the sweltering weather.

She didn’t think. She hadn’t in a while. Not about that part of her, not since joining the crew. But the moment the strands lifted, the back of her neck was bare. . . and the brand caught sunlight.

Simple. Small. But unmistakable.

P.D.

A stamp of ownership. A whisper of a past she'd tried so hard to bury beneath laughter, fighting, and dreams of freedom. Her stomach twisted.

And that’s when she heard it.

“Hey, what does P.D. stand for?”

She flinched.

“Huh?” she turned, heartbeat quickening, looking at her right to see Ussop questioning her.

Luffy standing beside her with an ice cream half-melted in his hand and his head tilted in innocent curiosity. His big, round eyes blinked at her like he didn’t just trigger an earthquake under her ribs.

Before she could stutter out an excuse, Luffy’s grin stretched wide—easy and sudden, like always—and he threw an arm around her shoulders.

“It stands for ‘Pretty Dangerous! ’” he declared proudly, puffing his chest out. “Back when we were kids, She once beat Ace in a fight even though I couldn’t!!”

She blinked, while the other crewmates looked at her in awe. Was she stronger than Luffy? (She was not, it was purely luck)

Luffy gave a confident nod, his free hand gesturing wildly. “Yup! It was a secret title. Only cool people get those!”

She stared at him.

She laughed. A breathless, cracked kind of laugh, but it felt good. Like exhaling poison.

Luffy just grinned wider, pleased with himself for making her smile.

She let her hair fall again, covering the brand. Not out of shame, but. . . protection. She wasn’t ready to show it. Not yet. But the panic had passed.

“Eh, not going to tie your hair up?” Nami called from a few steps away, fanning herself with a folded map, her cheeks flushed from the heat. “My hair’s short and I still have to tie it up—you're gonna die at this rate!”

“Nah,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck with a small, absent smile. “It’s fine.”

The brand still burned.

But somehow, today—it burned a little less.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

She stared, wide-eyed and breathless, the world around her turning to static as her mind reeled with disbelief.

No. No, no, no.

She was an idiot—for believing, even for a moment, that she had grown past the horrors of her childhood. That she had escaped them. That her scars had faded into something like strength. She had been foolish enough to think she was free.

But here, under the heavy skies of Sabaody, she realized she had only ever been on borrowed time.

She wasn’t free. She was shackled still.

Saint Charlos pointed his stubby, trembling finger at her, eyes bulging with grotesque delight. “Guards!” he shouted, spit flying from his fat lips. “Put the slave collar on her now!”

His words were knives, each syllable slicing open something she had worked so hard to stitch closed.

Her body stayed still, but her mind screamed, frozen in place like prey caught in the eyes of a predator. The world tilted as boots approached, the clang of metal chains echoing in her ears, too loud, too familiar. Hands grabbed at her—too rough, too forceful—and for a moment, her body flinched in instinctive submission.

But something else took over.

Her reflexes, honed from years of survival in the wild forest with three equally wild boys, ignited like wildfire. With a sharp twist of her body, she slammed her elbow into one guard’s temple. He crumpled. Another reached for her again, and she ducked low, grabbing his wrist and flipping him over her shoulder with a grunt. 

Two more advanced. Her fingers twitched, glowing faintly with a soft luminescence, and as she made contact, their bodies slackened. Sleep crept over them like a wave. They slumped to the ground, dazed and groaning.

She panted, her chest rising and falling rapidly, adrenaline pumping like lightning through her veins. But even as her body moved, her heart was collapsing in on itself. Because she could feel him, his presence slinking in like smoke.

Saint Charlos had not moved an inch from his place atop his hunched-over human transport. But as his guards fell around him, his lips curled into a grin, disgustingly calm. 

And then, before she could react, panic from fear, his pale, stubby fingers lunged forward and grabbed her by the hair.

She gasped, the sharp yank to her scalp jerking her back into place. Pain flared at her roots. The action shocked not only her but also the cowering slave beneath Charlos, who dared not move as his master leaned forward gleefully.

"You think you can run from me again?” he sneered, his bloated face looming close. His breath reeked of rot.

She trembled, not in fear of him, but in fury, in shame, in the horrifying realization that she was back at the beginning. A life she had buried clawed its way out of the ground and wrapped around her like chains.

She remembered Hatchan’s warning. His voice in her mind was like an echo: Don’t fight back.

She remembered what would happen if she resisted. The weight of the consequences. The lives that would be put at risk if she retaliated. The faces of her crew—her family —flickered in her mind.

And yet.

Saint Charlos, frustrated that his men still hadn’t gotten up, kicked one of the groggy guards, cursing under his breath. “Pathetic worms,” he snarled. “Hurry and chain her. She's mine.”

Metal scraped across the ground. She could hear it—the cold, unmistakable clatter of shackles being prepared. Her wrists twitched as her body shook, and her breath hitched.

Chains. Again.

Her knees weakened.

The sound of the clinking metal felt louder than gunfire, more deafening than cannon blasts. As the cuffs clicked around her wrists, her vision blurred.

No longer a crewmate.

At that moment, she was a possession. A plaything.

A doll.

Back to where she started.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

And just like that, Camie and she were taken right out from under the Straw Hats’ watch.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Her and Camie were taken by slave traders!”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

A portion of the Straw Hat crew had stormed into the auction house in Grove 01, fury simmering just beneath the surface. The intel they’d received had led them here, desperate to recover Camie, the kind-hearted mermaid who had been taken right from under their noses, and their crewmate. Their hope had been to arrive before anything irreversible happened.

But they were too late.

Camie was bought. The number 500 million berries echoed in the air like a cannon blast. Gasps and murmurs swept through the crowd as the buyer—none other than a grotesquely gleeful Celestial Dragon—paraded the purchase with pride, his smug face nearly glowing with excitement. A mermaid. A rare treasure. A symbol of power he could abuse however he liked.

But something was missing.

Someone.

Their crewmate—she wasn’t there.

That’s when Nami's gaze flicked sharply to the side.

Her eyes darted past the main stage, beyond the gasping crowd and the grotesque preening of the Celestial Dragon. A movement. Her hair—messy, tangled—and yet unmistakable in color. A band of guards stood around her, one of them gripped a thick chain that led straight to her neck.

Nami's breath caught.

“Sanji. . .” Nami said in horror as she gripped the man’s suit, the man in question startled by her expression. 

“Nami-san, wha–” 

She pointed at Saint Charlos, the world noble who had just walked in, her hand covering her mouth, suppressing a scream. 

Unlike Camie, who stood shackled beneath the blinding lights of the auction stage, paraded like merchandise before a sea of bidding voices, one of the Straw Hat crewmates wasn’t part of the show. She wasn’t for sale—because she had already been chained right behind the Celestial Dragon. 

She stood silently behind the Celestial Dragon who now claimed Camie, her presence unnoticed by the crowd but painfully visible to those who knew her. 

Three guards held her by the arms, though she made no move to resist. There was no fire in her eyes, no spark of mischief, no trace of the warmth she used to carry. She looked hollow. The same girl who once teased Luffy and scolded him for his recklessness now looked like a ghost of herself, swallowed by a nightmare she thought she’d escaped.

“Mufufufu,” Saint Charlos danced on Hatchan’s body, his grotesque laughter echoing through the auction house. “I hit him! I finished off that fish-man!”

Blood splattered the polished floor, pooling around Hatchan’s crumpled form. His pink, spotted limbs sprawled awkwardly as pain wracked his body. Despite it all, he still gripped Luffy’s pants with one trembling hand, his breathing ragged and shallow.

“S-Straw Hat, wait. . !” Hatchan pleaded, choking on the words as blood stained his lips. “You can’t. . . ha. . . mad. This is my fault!”

Luffy’s gaze didn’t waver from Charlos, his eyes dark and unyielding, already dead set on the World Noble a few steps above.

“You promised not to get involved, even if someone was shot in front of you by a Celestial Dragon!” Hatchan gasped, his voice desperate. “I’m a pirate anyway. . . I’ve done bad stuff. . . I’m sorry for getting you guys involved.” Tears mixed with the blood on his face as he continued, his voice cracking. 

“Nami. . . I wanted to make it up to her. . . even just a little. Everything I’ve done. . . It's a mistake. I really am useless!”

Luffy’s rage was palpable, rolling off him like waves of suffocating heat.

“Pedi-chan~!” Saint Charlos sang out, oblivious to the danger standing just a few feet away. The whole auction house stayed eerily quiet, too terrified to move or even breathe. She bit her lip, wishing desperately for Camie to be brought out so she could take advantage of the chaos, break the collar and get her to safety while she stayed behind with Saint Charlos. All before Luffy noticed she was there.

“Don’t I deserve a reward? I’m only like this with you.” Charlos’s drool dripped down his chin, his beady eyes fixed on her with a sickening blush spreading across his cheeks. Her stomach twisted into knots, disgust and shame curling together in a nauseating mix. How could he ask for such a thing in front of all these people?

That’s when Luffy noticed her.

His head snapped to the side, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight, the woman he grew up with, his most trusted crewmate, standing right next to that disgusting Celestial Dragon, chained up. Luffy looked in horror before turning it into a glare that was enough to silence half the room, and his voice came out low and venomous.

“Oi.”

She froze, her heart pounding against her ribs. If looks could kill, Charlos would be nothing but dust. Luffy’s face twisted in a mix of confusion and fury. 

Why was his best friend standing behind the disgusting Celestial Dragon? 

“Pedi-chan,” Charlos cooed, his irritation leaking through his voice. “Do you know him?”

Her lips pressed into a tight line, her gaze dropping to the floor as shame burned through her. She couldn’t look at the Straw Hats, especially Luffy.

“Pedi-chan,” Charlos snapped, stomping closer and gripping her cheek with rough fingers. He squeezed hard enough to leave bruises, forcing her face toward him.  

“I asked you a question.” He let go of her face, opting to yank her hair instead. She heard a very familiar horror-filled gasp from one of her crewmates, despite the rough act, she didn’t let out a sound of discomfort.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to tremble. Her mind raced, trying to find a way to get Camie out, to diffuse the situation, to do anything to stop Luffy from making the worst mistake of his life.

But it was too late.

Luffy was already moving, his footsteps slow but purposeful, and his eyes promised devastation.

If she answered, then everything she had tried to bury, every secret she had stuffed down and pretended didn’t exist, would come spilling out into the open. The past she fought so hard to keep hidden would be laid bare for everyone in the room to see.

Her eyes darted around, catching glimpses of other pirate crews, their curiosity piqued by the tension crackling in the air. 

If she let the truth slip out, she would be branded—the Straw Hat who was once a slave—a label that would stick until they reached the last island, and maybe even after that.

“Why is she with you?” Luffy had asked the Celestial Dragon, but he paid the lowly pirate no attention. His was captivated by his newly returned slave.

“Oi, what are you doing there?” Luffy called out again, his voice tighter than before, now aimed towards his childhood friend, and yet again, she didn’t answer. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, the eyes of the man she swore her life to, the one she called her captain. 

Did she even have the right to call him that anymore?

But she didn’t want to answer Saint Charlos either—not in front of them. Not in front of everybody.

“Pedi-chaan~” Charlos’ voice slithered into her ears like poison as he tightened his grip on her hair, forcing her eyes to widen from the uncomfortableness. “Even if you are my favorite, my Pleasure Doll,” He cooed, her crude nickname out in the open, “I have my patience.”

“The hell did he call you?” Luffy’s eyes were dark, still couldn’t comprehend the scene unfolding in front of him. 

“Oi,” He called out for the third time, “Answer your captain.”

Her heart pounded, breath hitching as she forced the words out, keeping her voice steady, void of any trembling that could make her more vulnerable than she already is.

“No. . . I don’t know them,” She swallowed, “ My Lord. . .” She blatantly ignored Luffy and answered Saint Charlos.

“Fufufu,” Saint Charlos laughed, his revolting chuckle sounding more like a gurgle. “You sound so mature since the last time I saw you as a child.”

Child.

Child.

Child. . ?

The word echoed in their mind. Heat rushed to her face, and a suffocating wave of humiliation wrapped around her like chains. She didn’t dare open her eyes, didn’t want to see their reactions, her crewmates, her friends. She didn’t want to face them. Not now. Maybe not ever.

She could feel their realization settling in like ice creeping down her spine. It wasn’t just a coincidence, it wasn't just a whim that Charlos had taken notice of her. He knew her. He had a past with her. And they didn’t want to imagine what that entailed. 

Sanji clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, and Nami’s expression twisted with shock and a glimmer of guilt, as if she blamed herself for not knowing sooner.

But Luffy—Luffy didn’t say a word. His eyes darkened, shadowed by the brim of his hat, he took another step forward, silent and menacing.

She wanted to scream, to throw herself in his path and tell him it wasn’t worth it, because if he punched Charlos, everything would be over. An Admiral would come. The crew would be annihilated.

But the words wouldn’t come. They were stuck in her throat, and all she could do was watch as Luffy strode forward, completely undeterred, completely unyielding, his fury aimed straight at the man who had once owned her.

And for the first time since she joined his crew, she was terrified, not of the consequences, not of the Celestial Dragons, but of Luffy’s wrath.

Because nothing—not reason, not fear, not even her pleading—could stop him now.

Her chest tightened painfully as Luffy reached Charlos, the Celestial Dragon too arrogant to recognize the danger hurtling toward him. And then—

The punch landed with a sickening, satisfying crunch, and Charlos was sent flying across the room, crashing through rows of seats and leaving stunned silence in his wake.

Luffy stood there, unwavering, as if daring anyone to challenge him. And she could only watch, heart torn between terror and pride.

Because that was Luffy—stupidly brave and beautifully reckless. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, she couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—that was why he captivated her so completely.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Chaos ensues

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

They were back at Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar, but the atmosphere was suffocating. Two of their crew were gone—their captain and his beloved childhood friend. The silence stretched on, heavy and unforgiving, as the remaining Straw Hats huddled around the bar, each lost in their own thoughts. No one dared to speak.

Not after that.

Nami was the first to break the quiet, her voice small and uncertain. “She. . . was a slave?”

The words hung in the air, spoken but not truly processed. It didn’t feel real, how could it be? How could someone as strong as her, someone who had fought beside them and kept them together, have carried a burden so immense and never once let it show?

“I still don’t get it,” Usopp muttered, rubbing his face in frustration. “She never said anything. Not once.”

“Why would she?” Robin’s voice was calm, but there was something dark and simmering in her gaze, a fury barely held at bay. “Would you?”

The others fell silent. No one had an answer to that.

“It didn’t seem that Luffy knew either,” Franky rumbled, the usual brightness in his voice replaced by a grim seriousness. “He’s just as in the dark as we are.”

Chopper’s ears drooped, his tiny body trembling with guilt. “But we’re her crew,” he whispered, voice cracking. “She didn’t have to go through this alone. We could’ve—” His lip quivered. “We could’ve helped. . .”

“We didn’t know,” Franky muttered, clenching his fists so tightly that his metallic joints creaked. “Damn it, we didn’t even see the signs.”

Were there signs to begin with? Robin’s mind wandered back to Water 7, when she had opened up to them—barely— about how her Devil Fruit gave her control over emotions, how she was freely able to manipulate how she felt and how it kept her grounded. Was that a sign? Or just another mask she wore to keep them from seeing how broken she really was?

She had always been so good at hiding what she truly felt. She was their anchor, the one who could calm down Luffy and Usopp, take care of Chopper, random chats with Nami and Robin, and listen to Sanji’s ridiculous romantic gestures with a laugh. People confided in her. They sought her out for comfort. She made everyone feel safe.

But the minute they stepped onto Sabaody Archipelago, she’d been. . . different. Withdrawn. Restless. Robin should have noticed it sooner, the way she’d stayed on high alert, like prey sensing a predator.

“It makes sense now,” Brook said, his usual joviality replaced by a solemn stillness. “Why she looked at that Celestial Dragon like she had seen a ghost.”

Sanji gritted his teeth, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “That bastard called her his ‘Pleasure Doll’,” he spat, his voice low and venomous. “What the hell did he do to her?”

No one answered.

No one wanted to.

The thought alone made Sanji’s blood boil, rage settling into his bones and refusing to leave. He had seen countless acts of cruelty on the seas, but this—this was something else. The idea of someone owning her, of someone stripping away her pride, her strength, her freedom—it was sickening.

“I’m going to find her,” Sanji declared, pushing himself up from the bar. “She shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“No.” Zoro’s voice cut through the room, firm and unyielding. “It’s none of our business.”

Sanji whirled on him, disbelief contorting his features. “The hell are you talking about, mosshead?”

Zoro didn’t flinch, eyes dark and serious. “This is between her and Luffy. We’ll just make it worse by barging in without knowing anything.”

“Aargh, you’re so insensitive, mosshead!” Sanji barked.

“Yeah! We should be there to support her, you brute!” Nami added, glaring.

“Three-sword style,” Chopper muttered bitterly, earning a confused glance from Usopp.

“Chopper, you don’t have to use Luffy’s insults when he’s not here—and that’s not even an insult,” Usopp said, sweatdropping.

“I agree,” Robin spoke up, surprisingly siding with Zoro despite the pained look on her face. “As much as it hurts to just sit here, this is something Luffy needs to handle. We have to give them space to talk it out.”

Sanji grumbled something under his breath but didn’t argue. Nami folded her arms tightly around herself, trying to ignore the sting in her chest.

“I can’t help but feel supeeeer bad for what she’s been through,” Franky said, wiping his eyes with his massive hands. “She didn’t deserve any of that.”

“She didn’t,” Robin agreed,softness in her voice. “But she didn’t want us to know. We have to respect that, at least until she’s ready to talk.”

Nami bit her lip, her voice almost a whisper. “I just hope Luffy can bring her back.”

They fell into silence once more, the heaviness returning to crush them under its weight. None of them knew what to say or how to feel. Guilt mixed with anger, helplessness mixed with regret. They wanted to be there for her, to protect her like she had always protected them.

But for now, all they could do was wait.

And hope that Luffy could somehow break through the walls she had built to protect herself.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“The epitome of freedom, that’s who you are.”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The minute the fight ended, she had run. Not toward Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar like the others, but in the opposite direction. Her feet moved on instinct, quickly carrying her to the Thousand Sunny without a second thought.

She sat on the ship’s railing, staring at the waves below. The salty wind brushed against her skin, but she felt none of it. The vastness of the sea seemed to mock her, open and unbound, while she remained trapped, the metal collar still on her neck.

She had run.

Like a coward.

She had run because she didn’t want to know what the aftermath was like. how the crew would react, how different they’d treat her after knowing something as gruesome as that. The moment Charlos called her his, there was no escaping it. The truth had been laid bare, staining her like filth that would never wash away.

Her fingers traced the old scars hidden beneath her sleeves, the ones she never spoke of. They were rough and uneven, reminders of her past that never quite faded. Her hand drifted lower to the brand on her stomach, now exposed for the world to see, the same mark she had tried to scrape off countless times. 

The skin there was raw, marred with jagged lines of failed erasure, a permanent reminder that she had once been owned.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

You’re free.

That was what she told herself every day, to drown out the voices that whispered otherwise. She had sailed across the Grand Line, battled monsters, laughed with her crew, chased dreams, she had lived. But when she knelt before them again, when her body remembered what it meant to be powerless, it felt like she had never left that cage.

And now they knew.

Now he knew.

Luffy—who had always been freedom itself.

From the moment they were kids, he had been untamed. Wild, reckless, laughing like the world could never hold him down. Even when he stumbled, he only got up stronger. He chose his path, always, never shackled by anything or anyone.

And she. . .

She was nothing but tainted and chained. Forced to be caged by her past.

Her wrists still ached with chains. The bells still rang in her ears. No matter how far she ran, no matter how much she thought she had grown, she could still feel hands on her skin, forcing her to—

“You’re thinking too much again.”

The words struck her like a whisper wrapped in thunder.

She flinched.

Her breath caught in her throat, heavy and sharp, and she didn’t turn around. Not yet. Her body froze—half in disbelief, half in dread. Of course he’d come. Of course he’d find her.

He always did.

“Found you!”

His voice rang out behind her, unmistakable, full of life and warmth and something unshakably Luffy . He called out her name with that wild, boyish grin plastered across his face, as if nothing had happened, as if nothing could ever be too heavy to bear.

“Now come on,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “The crew’s waiting!”

His footsteps echoed on the stone floor, loud in the silence she had wrapped around herself. She didn’t move. Her back stayed turned to him, eyes locked on some invisible point far ahead, like if she just stared hard enough, maybe the past would unravel and let her go.

But she felt him draw closer anyway, his presence impossible to ignore, loud and quiet all at once, disruptive and comforting in the way only he could be.

“Luffy,” she started out, still not looking back at her captain, ashamed. “I’m not coming back.”

He didn’t reply immediately, and that silence felt heavier than anything else.

Finally, his voice came, steady and determined. “As your captain, I order you to come back.”

She let out a bitter laugh, fingers trembling as they gripped the fabric of her pants. “I won’t,” she whispered, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“Will do.” 

“Will not!” 

“Will do!” 

“Will not!”

“Why not?!” His tone was louder, but there was that childishness that never seems to disappear whenever he’s with her and vice versa. She could hear his footsteps approaching but not too close.

Her chest tightened painfully. “Saint Charlos likes me enough to forgive you all if I ask him nicely.” Her voice wavered, and she grimaced at the thought, knowing what ‘nicely’ truly meant when it came to the World Nobles. “It’s safer this way, Luffy.”

She didn’t notice when he moved, but suddenly he was beside her, sitting on the railing like it was the most natural thing in the world. His shoulder brushed against hers, but he didn’t force her to look at him.

“I don’t care.”

Her breath caught again.

Luffy leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. He wasn’t looking at her, just gazing out at the sea like he was waiting for the next adventure.

“I don’t care about an admiral coming out to get us,” he said. “I don’t care about the Celestial Dragons.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he kept talking, his tone unwavering.

“I don’t care if the whole world comes after us. You’re my friend. My nakama. I’m not leaving you behind.”

Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t help the tremor in her voice. “You don’t get it. . . It’s not just about me. It’s about you guys.” Anger was evident in her voice. “Don’t you remember what Aokiji did to the crew? it’ll hurt everyone. It’ll hurt you.”

Luffy glanced at her, and there was something uncharacteristically serious in his gaze. 

“I don’t care about getting hurt.”

“Luffy,” she said sternly, her voice uncharacteristically serious. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot, idiot!” Luffy shouted back. 

“I’m just a ticking bomb in your crew! I’m not a top-tier, talented navigator like Nami, or someone as smart as Robin who can read Poneglyphs.” Her hands clenched around the fabric of her pants, knuckles going white.

“Sanji’s the best cook I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen the best of the best, Luffy.” Her voice shook when she thought about the opulent feasts she’d witnessed at the Holy Land. “Zoro’s going to be the greatest swordsman to ever live. Franky’s mentor built the ship of the Pirate King! Ace’s dad—the King of the Pirates himself!”

Her voice broke slightly, but she forced herself to keep going. “Chopper’s a doctor, someone we’d all die without. Usopp’s got aim like no one else, and his dad is on a Yonko’s ship! Brook is the musician you wanted from the very beginning of the journey. Everyone has something—everyone’s amazing!”

She choked back a sob, trying to be stern as she glares down at her trembling hands. “And me? I’m not anything, Lu.” 

Luffy stared at her, his mouth set in a firm line. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, too busy digging her nails into her palms to stop herself from falling apart completely.

The silence was killing her. 

“So just leave m–”

A fist came down on her head, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to get her attention. She yelped, yet still not looking at his direction..

Luffy’s lips twisted into a frown, and his brows furrowed. “You’re so stupid,” he said bluntly, his tone blunt and a little annoyed. “You think I pick people for my crew because they’re useful?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

“You think I wanted a navigator because she’s the best? Or a swordsman because he’s the strongest?” Luffy crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. “I pick people because I like them and think they’re cool!” Her chest tightened at his words, and she clenched her fists. 

“You’re saying that ’cause I’m having a crisis over here,” she snapped, glaring at the hardwood of the Thousand Sunny. “I’m just the girl you felt bad leaving back in Mount Colubo.”

Luffy looked ready to protest, but she didn’t give him the chance.

“I never wanted to be a pirate anyway,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “You’re the one who manhandled me and dragged me to your small boat when I was just on the shore with Makino and the others, so do me a favor and let me be.”

Yes, he did, he dragged her into this grand adventure, but she loved Luffy, never had she once hated being a part of a crew like The Straw Hat Pirates. 

She had to lie, she had to convince Luffy that she hated this, that he should just leave her be.

Luffy didn’t say anything, just watched her with that same unwavering gaze. It made her chest feel tight, made the truth dig its way to the surface, scraping her raw.

He never made her feel like she had to fight. Never made her feel like she had to be stronger, or better, or worth something. It was never about that with him. He just wanted to be around her, in that simple, unshakeable way that was just so. . . Luffy.

She bit her lip hard, trying to stop the trembling. Luffy had shown her how fun it was being a pirate. It wasn’t about piracy and pillaging—it was about what grand adventure they could have next. Never looting or power. To be a pirate—the pirate, The Pirate King—was to be the freest person on the sea, chasing dreams without restraint.

She got a taste of that freedom. She loved that freedom. She loved Luffy.

She waited for Luffy’s back talk, but what she felt instead was his fist. A solid punch straight to her face—so sudden and forceful that it sent her flying and knocked her sideways, blood trickling from her nose.

“What are you—” She shouted, her hand coming up to her face in disbelief.

“Tell me what you want,” Luffy demanded, his voice uncharacteristically firm.

“I told you already!” she spat back, wiping the blood onto her shirt. “I hate being a pira—”

“NO!” Luffy’s shout cut her off, loud and raw, vibrating with an intensity that made her heart lurch. He wasn’t looking at her with pity or worry or anything soft like that. Instead, his eyes were blazing, fierce and unyielding, like he was daring her to lie to him again.

“Tell me what you want,” he repeated, and it wasn’t just an order—it was a challenge. A call to face herself.

Her hands trembled in her lap, fingers clenching. Her vision blurred as tears finally broke free, rolling down her cheeks despite how tightly she tried to hold them back. 

She finally looked up, but still couldn’t look at him, not directly, so she kept her face angled away, even though she knew he could see her crying.

“I. . .” Her voice cracked, barely a breath above silence. The words sat heavy in her chest, too full of ache to push through. But she had to say it, she needed to say it.

“I wanna be free.”

Luffy didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just watched her, like he always did when someone was trying to find the words. His eyes weren’t demanding or impatient—they were just there , wide and steady, offering her space, warmth, and the quiet comfort to keep going.

“I want to eat Sanji’s cooking. . .” she said at last, soft and trembling.

“Yeah,” Luffy nodded, voice just as soft. “Sanji’s cooking is the best.”

“I want to know what Robin’s reading,” she continued, the dam finally breaking, “and hear her weird little morbid facts. . .”

“She’s always reading weird stuff,” he laughed lightly, eyes closed, as if the thought warmed him too.

“I want to see Nami yell at you about how much meat you ate last night.”

“Whaaat? That’s what you remember?” Luffy pouted, but he was smiling. “You’re weird.”

“I want to hear Usopp’s stories—see how crazy they get. I want to see Chopper panic over a papercut, and get shy when someone calls him a great doctor.” Her voice wobbled, tears blurring her vision. 

“I want to see Franky build something unnecessarily huge and completely impractical. I want to hear Brook’s songs at night and see you laugh so hard your hat falls off.”

Luffy’s expression softened, but he still didn’t say anything. He just let her speak.

“I want to see Zoro get lost ten steps from the ship. I want to see him and Sanji argue over nothing. . . and you just sitting there, ignoring them while you stuff your face.”

“Mhmm! that’s important stuff,” he said with a grin. “Meat waits for no one.” As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her voice wavered, but she didn’t stop. “I want to see you become King of the Pirates!”

“Is that so?” Luffy asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up just slightly.

She wiped her face roughly with the back of her hand. “So that you can achieve your crazy dream.”

“I’ll do it!” Luffy declared, his grin now stretching wide and fearless.

“I wanna be with you guys!” She shouted, the words leaving her in a desperate rush.

She finally looked at him, and he gave her that familiar grin, wide and fierce, she felt like crying more, that damned smile that always gives her comfort, oh how she would want to give back to Luffy someday. 

“Luffy,” she finally whispered, her voice shaking, “I’m. . . scared. Scared that one day you’ll realize I’m not worth it. That I’m just a burden. That I’m too useless to be part of your dream.”

Luffy’s face softened, and he stepped forward, poking her forehead with his knuckles, just hard enough to make her wince.

“Stop being an idiot,” he said with the brightest smile she had ever seen. “I decided a long time ago that you’re my friend. You’re stuck with me now. Doesn’t matter if you’re broken or scared or whatever. You’re here, and that’s enough.”

She stared at him, disbelief and hope warring in her expression.

“And you know what?” Luffy added, a hint of determination in his tone. “If you’re scared, then just rely on me. I’ll fight anything that tries to take you away—even your own doubts. ’Cause that’s what a captain does. I’m gonna be the Pirate King, and that means keeping my friends safe—even from themselves.”

Her throat closed up, and tears burned in her eyes. Luffy didn’t falter, just kept grinning at her like he had never doubted a word he said.

“Luffy. . .” She whimpered. Her hands trembled in her lap, and her vision blurred. “This isn’t like Enies Lobby, You don’t understand—”

He cut her off, his voice unwavering. “Yeah, I don’t.”

She froze.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” he said, his tone softer now. “You don’t have to keep running away. I’m your captain, what I say goes. That means I’m not letting you leave. I’m not letting anyone take you. Ever.”

His words tore through the walls she had built around herself, crumbling her defenses to dust. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. It wasn’t just the fear or the shame, it was the helplessness of being loved despite everything. Despite being broken and scarred and stained.

Luffy didn’t move to comfort her or force her to speak. He just stayed beside her, his presence solid and unwavering. That’s how he always was—like the sun, stubbornly bright, never letting darkness linger.

“I thought I was free,” she finally whispered, voice cracked and raw, she reached her hand out, towards the sky, towards nothing. “But seeing him again. . . Knowing he’s been searching for me, moving some strings to catch me, I felt weak and useless and—”

“You’re not weak.” Luffy’s voice was fierce, cutting through her spiraling thoughts. 

“You’re strong. You’re one of my nakama. You fight with us. You laugh with us. You’re strong enough to keep going, no matter how hard it gets. That’s why you’re on my crew.”

She didn’t have words for that. She didn’t know how to respond to someone who looked at her scars and didn’t see damage but survival. Someone who would fight the whole world just to keep her safe.

Luffy leaned back, staring up at the sky. “You don’t have to be okay right now. But you don’t have to be alone, either.”

She let out a shaky breath, her heart aching, but for the first time, it wasn’t from fear or regret. She wiped her eyes, looking at him through blurred vision. 

"That’s easy for you to say, Luffy." Her voice came out strained, like something fragile on the verge of breaking. "You don’t know what it’s like. . . to be treated like you’re less than human."

A shadow crossed his face, and for a moment, his eyes turned distant—thoughtful in a way she rarely saw.

"You’re right." His voice was quiet, but steady.

She froze.

"But I know you."

Her heart lurched painfully, caught between disbelief and something that felt a little too much like hope.

"You’re not just ‘someone who was owned.’" Luffy took a step closer, his tone firm, almost defiant. "You’re not ‘tainted.’ You’re not ‘chained.’"

She looked away, fists trembling as she tried to rein in the flood of memories—days when pain was all she knew, and survival was the only instinct left.

But he didn’t let up.

“You’re you.” His voice was warm, gentle—like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. She finally looked up, and there he was, grinning so wide it made her stomach lurch.  “And that’s enough for me.”

Her breath caught, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he could say that so easily, like he wasn’t talking about someone who had been broken beyond recognition. Someone who had clawed her way to freedom only to find herself drowning in guilt and self-loathing.

Something inside her cracked, a hairline fracture in the armor she had worn for so long. A fleeting memory surfaced, back when she had felt the first taste of hope.

“Go.” He said again, much more stern, “Remember that you’re your own person.” He smiled, “And that’s enough to make you keep forward.”

She forced herself to look at him once more, searching for any sign of doubt. But his eyes—so open and unguarded—held nothing but certainty.

A sob caught in her throat, tears stinging her eyes as she tried to make sense of it all.

She had spent years convincing herself that she was broken—that being owned and used had left her too damaged to ever belong anywhere. She had buried her feelings so deep that even she couldn’t find them anymore. But Luffy—Luffy saw straight through her walls, like they didn’t exist at all.

It didn’t make sense. Why did he care so much? 

Her parents hadn’t thought she was worth it. The people she’d begged for help from hadn’t thought she was worth it. No one ever did.

But Luffy—

He didn’t see her that way at all.

He just grinned, wide and sure, like he had never doubted it for a second.

"You’re one of us."

His words landed gently, but they shook her to the bone.

Before she could respond, before she could even blink, he stepped forward and reached up, placing his hands gently on either side of her head. The gesture wasn’t rough or forceful. It was careful. Delicate, in a way she wasn’t used to.

She flinched slightly at the contact, out of habit more than fear, but he didn’t waver. In his fingers, he held the small set of keys they’d fought so hard to get. The ones meant to unlock chains that should never have existed.

He found the lock behind her neck without fumbling.

And with a soft, almost imperceptible click— The collar fell away.

And just like that—

The weight crushing her chest lifted, just a little. It wasn’t gone, but it didn’t suffocate her like before.

And when she looked up, Luffy was still standing there, smiling, bright and unwavering. "Come back. Everyone’s waiting. They’re worried about you."

A weak, trembling smile pulled at her lips, and she finally nodded. "Okay."

Luffy hopped down from the railing, holding his hand out without a moment’s hesitation. And she took it, fingers curling around his, feeling something warm seep into her frozen heart.

He pulled her to her feet, and as they made their way back to the others, she couldn’t help but glance at him, wondering how someone like him could exist in a world so cruel as she let him pull her back to the crew, back to the family she never knew she needed.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

One day, in a land where samurais were born, she would look upon her captain—the boy she had followed across the endless sea—and see him laughing, his body moving with an untamed rhythm, a grin stretched wide that it seemed humanely impossible. And in that moment, something deep within her would shatter.

The wild, flowing hair, so different from the messy strands she had always known. The billowing clothes, the way his form stretched and twisted like a figure pulled from a dream. The eyes, burning, radiant, a different color than it should be.

She recognized him.

Back when her wrists were bound and her voice was nothing more than a whisper between cracks of a whip, she had begged for salvation. For a god who would break her chains—not with fire and fury, but with laughter so vast it swallowed the cruelty of the world whole. The stories whispered in the dark, the legends passed from slave to slave—of a god who danced and laughed even in the face of suffering.

Joyboy.Sun God Nika.The Warrior of Liberation.

And he had answered. Not from the heavens, not as an untouchable deity—but as a reckless boy with a straw hat and an impossible dream. A boy who had never cared where she came from, only that she was free to go wherever she wanted.

Her hands trembled as she watched him move, the very embodiment of the legend she had clung to in the darkest corners of her past.

Her salvation hadn’t come from some distant god.

[POST ALABASTA]

Luffy sat at the very tip of the Going Merry’s bowsprit, right on top of her head, staring out at the endless horizon. His eyes still glistened with the remnants of tears as they sailed away from Alabasta, leaving Vivi behind. She climbed up to join him, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she plopped down next to him. Without even thinking, Luffy’s fingers tangled with hers, his grip surprisingly gentle despite his usual carefree nature.

“Hey, crybaby,” she teased, giving him a playful nudge with her shoulder. It was an old nickname from their wild days as kids, one that Ace had loved to taunt him with, and one she’d picked up on.

Luffy’s pout was instant, his lower lip jutting out as he glared at her, clearly not over being called that. “Oi! Don’t call me that!” he grumbled, though he didn’t pull his hand away from hers.

She couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “We’ll see Vivi again,” she reassured him softly, squeezing his hand.

Luffy just grunted in response, still sulking from the nickname. She tilted her head to get a better look at him, making sure he wasn’t hurt. “Hey, I never got to ask,” she said, her tone softening, “You’re okay, right? The fight with Crocodile must’ve been insane.”

Luffy huffed, almost indignant. “Nah! I’m fine!” His hand instinctively went to his hat, tugging it down as a grin broke across his face. “It was my fight! You had your own, and besides, in the end—” He flashed her that big, bright, infectious smile. “I won!”

Her heart fluttered despite herself. She leaned against him, and without missing a beat, Luffy leaned even further into her, practically draping himself over her shoulder. She stifled a laugh, used to his clinginess, but it still made her feel warm inside.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, nudging his knee with hers. “You’ve gotten really strong. I’m proud of you.”

Luffy’s face lit up, and he scooted even closer, practically pressing his head to her shoulder. “Really? You think so?” he asked, his voice brimming with excitement.

She smiled, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “Mhmm!”

A beat passed, and then she broke the comfortable silence. 

“So. . . How did it feel seeing Ace again after so long?”

Luffy immediately perked up, the sparkle in his eyes reminding her of the little boy who used to idolize his older brother. “He’s strong!” he declared proudly. “But I’m stronger now! I could totally beat him!”

She snorted, trying not to laugh too loud. “Oi, beat me first, then we’ll talk,” she challenged, shooting him a playful grin, remembering the times where she beat him only because she always had a stash of meat somewhere. 

Luffy cocked his head to the side, looking at her like she just said something ridiculous. “Nah! I can already beat you!” he declared with that signature confidence, her fingers glowed and proceeded to touch him, making him sleepy. 

“That’s. . . unfair. . .”

She couldn’t hold back her laughter this time, shaking her head at his stubbornness. “Whatever you say, captain,” she teased, ruffling his messy hair. He just hummed contentedly, clearly pleased with the praise and the attention, and didn’t make a single move to pull away from her.

“How about you?” Luffy asked, his dark eyes bright with curiosity. “How did it feel to meet Ace after a while?”

She hesitated, a soft, fond smile tugging at her lips. “I missed him,” she admitted, her voice gentle as memories washed over her. “He looks happy. . . a bit different from back then.” Her gaze softened as she thought about how much he’d grown, not just in strength but in spirit.

Luffy gave a loud huff, squeezing her hand tighter. “You’re my crew, got it? Not Ace’s!” He pouted, leaning in closer, almost like he was afraid she’d slip away.

A laugh bubbled out of her at his possessiveness, and she ruffled his hair with her free hand. “Yeah, yeah. I know, Captain,” she teased, flashing him a bright smile. “You’re stuck with me.”

Luffy grinned, his earlier pout completely forgotten, and scooted even closer—if that was even possible, letting his head fall against her shoulder. “Good!” he chirped, his voice muffled by her shirt.

His clinginess was endearing, and despite herself, she couldn’t help but feel her heart skip a beat. If Luffy noticed, he didn’t say anything, too content just being by her side, claiming her as his own without a second thought.

Despite everything—despite the past that clawed at her mind like an old, festering wound, despite the scars that marked her soul from years of being treated as nothing but property—being claimed by Luffy felt different. It wasn’t suffocating or demeaning. It wasn’t possessive or twisted. It was just. . . endearing.

He wasn’t trying to own her. He was just saying it like he always did—as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be his, not as something to take, but as something to cherish. It made her heart swell with warmth, chasing away the bitter memories and replacing them with something gentler, something sweeter.

Luffy’s grip on her hand tightened slightly, and she couldn’t help but smile. To him, she was just. . . herself. And that was enough.

Meanwhile, the rest of the crew, who had been watching from the deck, couldn’t help but take notice of how ridiculously clingy Luffy was being with her.

Usopp was the first to break the silence, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “Wait a minute. . . Are they always like that?”

Nami raised an eyebrow, a sly smirk forming on her lips. “Now that I think about it. . . Yeah, they’re practically glued to each other.”

Sanji, still clutching a basket of freshly picked tangerines, looked absolutely livid. “What the hell is that idiot doing? Clinging to a lady like that—so shameless!”

Zoro just scoffed, though a faint smirk tugged at his lips. “He’s always been like that with her. It’s nothing new.”

Usopp nodded knowingly, despite not really knowing anything. “Yeah, you remember what that guy ‘Ace’ said? Childhood friends, huh? That’s gotta be it. They’re just. . . y’know, close.”

Nami crossed her arms and gave the pair a long, thoughtful look. “Close doesn’t even cover it. I’ve never seen Luffy so clingy with anyone else. It’s like he’s drawn to her.”

As if on cue, Luffy leaned even more into her side, practically half-asleep against her shoulder. She just smiled softly, adjusting her position to make him more comfortable. The crew couldn’t help but exchange knowing glances, each silently making a mental note to tease Luffy about it later.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

she was always surprising the rest of the crew

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“So. . . you grew up with Luffy?” Usopp asked, leaning forward with obvious curiosity. The crew had just left for Alabasta, fresh off their encounter with Ace. Meeting Luffy’s older brother had already been shocking enough, but what had thrown them for a loop was the way Ace had so casually greeted her. As if they had known each other for years.

She barely spared Usopp a glance as she reclined against the railing, arms crossed, staring out at the sea. The ocean breeze tousled her hair as she exhaled slowly.

“Yeah,” she drawled. “Didn’t think it was that important, to be fair.” 

“You grew up with our monster captain!” Nami screeched, though there was affection in her voice. “I can’t not be curious! Growing up with Luffy of all people. . . what was he like?”

A slow, almost melancholic smile curled at her lips as distant memories surfaced in her mind—chasing after Luffy, pulling him out of trouble, his endless, unshakable determination.

“I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!”

She huffed a small laugh. “I can tell you he hasn't changed at all since he was a kid.” Her voice softened with warmth. “Always hungry, always reckless, always saying dumb things with a straight face.”

“And you also grew up with someone who happened to be the Second Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates,” Sanji said, shaking his head as he exhaled a puff of smoke. 

“Portgas D. Ace,” His name left a stir in her heart, “Who would’ve thought you grew up with a couple of beasts, mademoiselle?” 

“To be fair,” she drawled out, forcing a smirk, “I didn’t know he was a commander. Last I knew, he was just the captain of his own ship, the Spade Pirates.

A memory stirred in the back of her mind, pulling her into the murky past she tried so desperately to forget. Cards. She hated cards. Ace. Joker. King. Queen. They were nothing but symbols of ownership to her. 

The Celestial Dragons liked to play games with them, their sick little way of turning lives into entertainment. Pick a card, pick your fate. The way they would laugh when she pulled the Joker—the fool . Or how they would force her to serve the one who drew the Ace—because the Ace was the best , the chosen . The one who held power over others.

She never wanted to hear those words again. Didn’t want to feel the bile rise in her throat when someone uttered “Ace” with admiration. But she couldn’t forget the day he found out about it—the day she let it slip, just barely, in a moment of weakness.

She remembered how Ace’s face softened when she’d offhandedly mentioned how she was familiar with card games, her voice unsteady, eyes distant. He had sensed it immediately—how her guard dropped, how her shoulders tensed as if bracing for some unspoken threat. She’d expected him to mock her, to brush it off, but instead, he looked at her with that boyish grin, determination flickering in his eyes.

“ Guess I can’t change my name ,” he had said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly, “ but I can change what it means to you .”

She had blinked at him, confused and unsure.

He leaned forward, a spark of fire dancing in his gaze, and pointed to his chest proudly. “ One day, when you hear the word ‘Ace,’ I want you to think of me. Not those bastards. Not the way they twisted it. Just me. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll give you something to look forward to. Something worth smiling about. ”

She had scoffed, tried to brush it off as one of his usual reckless promises, but the words stuck with her. Slowly, bit by bit, he made good on it. He made sure to shout his name loud and proud whenever he did something impressive, or even when he just wanted to make her laugh. 

Every time he defeated a strong opponent, whether it was a stray beast or a pirate, he’d grin at her and declare, “ That’s your Ace! ” Whenever he cooked something edible, a rare miracle, he’d set it down with a flourish and say, “See? The best, just like the name!”

And overtime, against her own will, she started to believe it. The word Ace no longer twisted her stomach in knots. It didn’t make her feel like a possession. It became something she wanted to hear, something warm and hopeful.

He turned a word that once symbolized her nightmares into something that made her heart race for entirely different reasons. He had made her want to smile when she heard his name.

When they met again in Alabasta, albeit just a short amount of time, she couldn't help but smile widely when he introduced himself as ‘Her Ace’, but he wasn’t here now, he had his own adventure. And her? She was voyaging through the seas with Luffy and his crew, a crew she would soon call her family.

“You seemed really close to him,” Nami said, suspicion laced in her tone as her eyes narrowed. “You guys together or something?”

Her face flushed crimson almost immediately, and she sputtered in response, desperately trying to play it cool. “No, no, no! Nothing like that! We just grew up together, that’s all. That’s why we’re close!”

“Woah,” Nami muttered, “This is the first time I see her so improper. . .” She said in awe, looking at Ms. Childhood Friend who was always prim and proper. Ussop nodded in agreement. 

“You’re right,” He answered with the same amount of awe, “I think this is the first time we ever hear her stutter.”

Despite her best efforts to sound convincing, her voice wavered, and her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her coat. She forced a laugh, trying to wave off the uncomfortable knot forming in her stomach. Nami didn’t look entirely convinced, and neither did the others.

But what could she say? That once upon a time, in the wild and reckless days of their childhood, she might have thought of it—just once, maybe twice—but shoved it down because it was safer to never let herself think that way? 

She felt the feeling from both of the boys she grew up with (one she regrettably couldn’t), she couldn’t decipher the difference of love, she was just happy to even receive it! After years of believing she wasn’t worth being loved for, being wanted.

She grimaced at her own thoughts, guilt coiling in her chest. As much as she admired Ace, she couldn’t forget the bitter truth. Unlike Luffy, Ace knew, at least a little, about her past. It was a slight slip-up on her part, but he hadn’t pried. He just listened, watched her with those dark eyes that always burned with understanding.

And that was why it would never work. She didn’t want him to carry her burdens. She didn’t want him to feel responsible for the way her heart ached whenever he smiled at her like she was something special. Someone worth saving.

Nami raised an eyebrow, still unconvinced. “I don’t see Luffy calling himself ‘Your Luffy’ or anything,” she shot back, earning a startled screech from Usopp.

The entire crew seemed to eye her up and down, curiosity practically radiating from them. Even Sanji had paused mid-spin with the basket of tangerines, eyes gleaming with intrigue. Zoro, on the other hand, merely grunted, clearly uninterested in whatever romantic nonsense they were conjuring up.

She hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. They wouldn’t understand , she thought. That name—“Her Ace”—it wasn’t what it sounded like. It wasn’t romantic (At least, she thought it wasn’t) It wasn’t something he said to be possessive or flirtatious. It was something that was meant to be comforting. Healing.

“It’s not. . . It’s not like that,” she mumbled, trying to convince the other crewmates. “It’s just teasing. An inside joke from when we were little.”

The excuse was flimsy at best, but it was all she could manage. Besides, how could she explain to them that it wasn’t about love or romance? It was about survival. About giving her something to look forward to. 

Nami wasn’t buying it, and neither were the others, but she forced herself to meet their eyes, trying to shift the topic. “Uh, but. . . Luffy is. . .” She trailed off, racking her brain for anything that would distract them. “Luffy is more. . . touchy with me?”

It came out as more of a question than a statement, but the whole crew—aside from Zoro—nodded in unison.

“You’re right,” The crew answered in unison. 

“You were getting chummy on Merry’s head, y’know?” Nami mentioned, recalling the scene before her eyes.

“He does cling to you a lot!” Chopper nodded.

Sanji, with a cigarette dangling from his lips, shot her a half-serious glare. “Oi, Luffy better not be getting fresh with a lady,” he grumbled.

She quickly waved her hands. “No! It’s not like that! It’s just. . . subtle things. We just grew up really close with each other, that’s all. We kinda did grow up in a jungle, haha. . .”

She forced a laugh, hoping it would mask the truth. They couldn’t know how it wasn’t just childhood closeness. How it was Luffy constantly pulling her out of her own nightmares without even realizing it. How it was him dragging her into wild adventures just to remind her that she wasn’t stuck anymore.

Zoro glanced at her with a half-lidded gaze, sensing the tension behind her lighthearted words, but he didn’t push. He never did. Maybe he understood—maybe he didn’t—but he let it drop all the same, returning to his nap against the Merry.

She let out a quiet breath, grateful that the conversation was shifting. But even as they moved on to lighter topics, she couldn’t help but think about Ace. About how he made the word “Ace” mean something different—something that didn’t suffocate her.

Luffy however—

“Hey, Zoro! Did you know she grew up with Luffy?” Usopp screeched, pointing an accusatory finger at the crewmate who has only been yawning the whole time, not even trying to participate in the interrogation. 

Zoro, lounging with his arms crossed, barely opened one eye before yawning. “Yeah, of course I do. I was the first mate.”

“Um, aren’t you technically second?” Nami asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, she joined right after me,” Zoro shrugged lazily. “I said yes before she did.”

“But didn’t you sail out with Luffy first?” Usopp pressed, his brow furrowing in confusion.

She didn’t make eye contact, stretching out her arms with an exaggerated groan. “Yeeaah,” she drawled out, “It’s a long story. . .”

The crew exchanged glances but decided not to push further. If it was something worth knowing, she’d tell them eventually. Or maybe, like Luffy, she just didn’t think it was all that important.

“Still,” Chopper beamed, his little hooves tapping against the deck, “That’s so cool! Being pirates with someone you grew up with!”

A soft smile settled on her face as she glanced down at him, knowing Chopper's own struggles with finding a place to belong and his father figure. Gently, she reached out and patted his head, ruffling his fur.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Luffy, oblivious to the conversation, suddenly perked up. “Oi! What are we talking about?” he asked through a mouthful of meat.

Nami sighed, shaking her head. “We’re talking about your childhood, dummy.”

“Oh!” Luffy grinned widely. “It was awesome! She’s the best! I don’t even know how many times she’s saved me from getting killed by wild beasts and Ace!”

She rolled her eyes. “If I weren’t there, you wouldn’t be our captain, captain..”

“Yeah, but I turned out fine!” Luffy declared proudly.

The entire crew, almost in unison, shouted, “Debatable!”

Luffy just laughed, and she shook her head, a quiet chuckle escaping her lips. It was chaotic, ridiculous, and messy, but this—being here, with him and his crew—felt warm, was this what home felt like?— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

"You made me live, when I wanted to die."

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

"Hey, guys, we should stop at the nearest island for resources,” Nami called out to the crew, glancing at her log pose.

“Robin-san, was it?” She smiled, taking a good look at the older woman. She had just been interrogated by Usopp, who had failed miserably, everyone else had already been captured by Robin’s charm, aside from herself and Zoro.

“Nico Robin,” Robin replied, nodding with a faint smile.

“Would you like to walk together?” She offered, her tone casual but curious.

“Sure.”

As the Going Merry settled ashore, the crew dispersed to gather supplies. She kept her stride alongside Robin, wanting to get to know their newest and most unexpected crewmate—the woman who had already wrapped the whole crew around her finger. Despite her reservations, She trusted Luffy, if he said Robin wasn’t a bad person, she wasn’t. Still, curiosity nagged at her.

“What are we searching for, Childhood friend-san?” Robin teased, amusement glinting in her eyes. Her cheeks flushed at the nickname, and she offered Robin her name and a sheepish smile.

“Feel free to call me that and not. . . whatever that was,” she mumbled.

Robin chuckled, not missing the embarrassed look. “Nothing important,” She said, shrugging it off. “I don’t really have a role on this crew.” The words came out sounding almost self-deprecating, and Robin gave her a curious glance. “But I thought I’d buy some inventory and look for some scents for Merry. Our crew’s... kinda stinky.”

Robin laughed softly, clearly not disagreeing.

“So, you were childhood friends with Luffy?” Robin asked, her tone conversational. “I heard the commotion earlier, but I didn’t catch the whole story.”

She hummed, glancing at the ground as they walked. “Yeah, I stumbled onto his island when I was a kid.”

“Stumbled?” Robin echoed, raising an eyebrow. As someone who had spent her life fleeing from island to island, Robin could easily tell that the word didn’t quite fit.

She just gave a soft smile, deliberately steering away from that topic. “I just wanted to tell you that Luffy is. . . well, Luffy. Now that you’re his nakama, he’s not gonna let you go.”

Robin observed her carefully, There was something both protective and wistful in her expression. “So don’t go doing anything crazy, alright, Robin-san?”

Robin hummed thoughtfully, giving her a knowing look. “You seem to know something that I’m unaware of. Personal experience?”

She giggled, the sound unexpectedly light. “Luffy. . . He’s the type of person who leaves a piece of himself to everyone he meets. And that piece stays with you, even if you don’t want it to.”

There was a quiet strength in her words, a deep-rooted faith that Robin couldn’t quite fathom yet. Her gaze softened, and despite her usual guarded demeanor, her eyes were warm and welcoming.

“So don’t bother fighting it,” she said, giving Robin a reassuring smile. “Welcome to the Straw Hat Pirates!”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Y’know—”

“Heeeey! Big Sis!” Nami’s voice cut through as she marched toward them, still half-distracted by the glittering jewels Robin had gifted her earlier. “Oh!” she called out her name, waving excitedly. “You guys wanna shop for clothes? This island’s perfect for cute summer fits!”

“Oii—!” Luffy called out, her name leaving his mouth just before his arms stretched unnaturally forward and yoinked her toward him. He wasn’t even paying attention, just a spontaneous Luffy impulse, and the two of them crashed to the ground with a loud thud .

She grunted, rolled over, and smacked him on the head.

“Ow!” he cried, holding his head as if she’d hit him with a cannonball.

Nami blinked, eyebrows shooting up at the sight. “I’ll never get used to how casual you are about Luffy just. . . manhandling you like that,” she said, half-laughing. “Even Zoro would’ve stayed down and twitched for a while.”

She shrugged with a crooked grin, brushing dust off her pants. “What can I say? You get used to it if you grow up with him.”

Luffy was already standing, spinning in a lazy circle, gaze locked onto the blooming floras and massive fruit trees around them, eyes sparkling with curiosity. She grabbed his arm before he could wander again.

“Oi, Luffy, what are you doing?”

He looked at her like he’d only just remembered she existed, lips parting into a grin. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“Hey! We wanted to look at clothes first,” Nami protested immediately, puffing up as she placed a possessive hand on the bag of jewels Robin gifted her from Crocodile’s stash. “You can’t eat every second!”

And just like that, they were bickering, Luffy shouting “Meat is more important than sandals!” while Nami threatened to dock his allowance for the next month.

Robin, trailing behind with a gentle smile, chuckled. “Is the crew always this lively?” she asked, her eyes glinting as she glanced at the two chaos gremlins arguing in front of her.

The girl watched the scene for a moment before smiling herself, softly, genuinely.

“Yeah,” she said, voice quiet but warm. “It’s definitely never quiet here.”

Luffy was now rubbing a rapidly growing bump on his head, courtesy of Nami’s fist. She stepped closer, reaching up to gently pat him on the same spot.

“Nami, it’s okay. Let’s eat first,” she said, her voice calm but firm, patting Luffy’s bump-ful head. “He is our captain, after all.”

Nami looked between them, sighed dramatically, then rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. But after that, we’re going shopping—and you’re carrying my bags, Luffy!”

“ Ehhh?! ” Luffy groaned, already slouching like she’d told him to lift the Going Merry. 

“Nami,” she called out, catching up as they strolled past a row of vibrant market stalls. The orange-haired girl turned, already mid-giggle from something Robin had whispered.

“Who’s with Merry?”

“A-Okay!” Nami gave her a thumbs-up, fingers forming a ring. “I asked Sanji to stay back and watch her, he practically volunteered.” She tilted her head toward the ship's direction.

From across the planes, they could just make out Sanji on the dock, dramatically swooning.

“Have fun, mademoiselles!!! ” he bellowed, hearts spilling out of his eyes like a cartoon waterfall. “Oi, Luffy! You better guard those ladies with your life!! ”

“Okay. Let’s get something to eat,” Luffy responded flatly, already walking toward the nearest restaurant, like that was the only message he’d heard.

They sat under the shade of a big leaf umbrella, tropical drinks in hand, plates of grilled skewers and fried fruits already starting to disappear thanks to Luffy’s bottomless stomach, but Nami hadn’t been paying attention, hers were on his childhood friend. 

“Y’know,” Nami said between sips, elbow on the table, her cheek lazily resting against her knuckles. “You usually talk so proper. . . Where did you say you grew up again?”

She didn’t pause. “I grew up with Luffy.” Then added, a little quieter, “My parents were farmers, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

Nami blinked. “Heeeeh?” she drawled, leaning back for a better look at her. “Wouldn’t have guessed you were a farm girl. You’ve got this. . . noble, serious vibe. Like someone who used to smack rich brats with a ruler or something.”

She snorted. “Thanks, I guess.” Not even commenting just how close, yet so far her assumption was.

“But y’know—” Nami twirled her straw thoughtfully, eyes narrowing like she was piecing together a puzzle. “Even with how proper you act sometimes. . . you’re wild. Like, Luffy -level wild.”

That made her sit up straighter, eyebrows raised. “Huh?”

“Not your stupidity! ” Nami rushed to clarify, hands waving. “You’re definitely smarter than him, no offense—”

“None taken,” Luffy said mid-chew, not even looking up.

“—but the recklessness ?” Nami jabbed a finger toward her. “The way you just throw yourself into danger without blinking? That’s Luffy wild. And the fact you don’t even realize you’re doing it kinda makes you scarier.”

She blinked, deadpan.

Robin giggled into her drink. “I quite enjoy watching the chaos unfold.”

Her lips twitched upward, but she looked away with a small hum, pretending to study the flower arrangements in the nearby vendor’s stall.

“Y’know what,” she murmured after a moment, voice softer, changing the uncomfortable subject on her part. “I kind of miss farming.”

Nami blinked. That, she hadn’t expected.

“The smell of earth, working with your hands, watching something grow. . .” she trailed off, tapping her fingers against her glass. “I might buy some seeds. Start a garden on Merry. It’d be nice to have something that’s just mine, y’know?”

Luffy popped his head up from his plate. “We can grow meat?”

“No, Luffy.”

“Why not?”

“That’s not how meat works.”

“It could be,” he mumbled, suspiciously defensive. 

Nami blinked once.

Then twice.

Then rubbed her eyes like she wasn’t sure if the mountain she was looking at was real.

“Wait. . . wait, wait, wait—” she straightened, her voice slowly rising in pitch, “—how many plates did you just finish?!”

The table groaned beneath the weight of Luffy’s leftovers. Plate after plate was stacked to the heavens, leaning precariously to the side like a teetering tower ready to topple over at the slightest breeze. Chicken bones, fish tails, skewers, half-chewed garnish, and crumpled napkins were crammed into every crevice of the leaning pile. Some plates even had teeth marks on them. Literal teeth marks.

Nami’s eye twitched.

“LUFFY!”

The shriek echoed across the open plaza of the seaside restaurant, startling a flock of seagulls into the sky. Several patrons turned their heads, forks frozen mid-bite, as the Straw Hat navigator officially lost her mind.

“Stop eating! We don’t even know how much this place charges—what if it’s tourist pricing?! What if they scam us per plate ?!”

Luffy looked up, blinking. His cheeks were puffed like a squirrel's, stuffed full of some kind of grilled meat bun, grease shining on his lips. Despite the glare she was giving him, his hands hadn’t stopped, they were still moving like clockwork, picking up another skewer, dunking it in sauce, then shoving it toward his mouth.

“Heeeeh?” he mumbled with a full mouth, then swallowed with a loud gulp. “But it’s so gooood, Nami!”

Nami looked seconds away from a heart attack.

“We can’t pay for this!”

At that moment, she placed her hand over Nami’s arm, calm as the sea after a storm. “It’s alright, Nami. Let him eat. I think I have enough to cover it.”

Nami turned her head slowly, eyes wide. “. . .What?”

“I’ve got money,” she repeated with a small shrug, as if it were no big deal.

Nami’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What do you mean you have money? How much money?”

She scratched her cheek, a sheepish look settling onto her face. “Robin isn’t the only one who stole from Crocodile’s stash.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!”

“I was saving it. For emergencies.”

“THIS IS NOT AN EMERGENCY!” Nami gestured wildly at the avalanche of dishes like it was the end of the world. “Luffy’s eating habits is never an emergency.” Nami emphasized, hoping it would get through her thick skull, knowing how she has a bad habit of going soft for Luffy.

“Come ooon,” she giggled, bumping her shoulder gently against Nami’s. “Loosen up a little. I’ve got enough to feed Luffy and still go on a shopping spree with you. Let me pay.”

Nami froze again, lips twitching.

Then, without warning, her face crumpled into exaggerated tears. She lunged toward her and wrapped her in a dramatic hug, cheek pressed against her shoulder.

“You’re an angel,” Nami sniffled, clutching her like salvation. “A radiant goddess of fortune. My beautiful, rich savior.”

Before she could reply, a shadow loomed over them.

“Oiii!” Luffy’s voice rang out, bright and oblivious. He called her name, eyes sparkling, before lobbing a hot skewer directly into her face.

“Eat it, eat it! It’s delicious!”

The skewer slapped her cheek with a sizzling sound. She yelped in pain but instinctively bit into it anyway , teeth sinking into the smoky, juicy meat.

“Luffy!” she growled, walking towards the disaster that was their captain. “You could’ve taken my eye out!”

“But you ate it! ” he grinned, bouncing in place like he was proud of himself.

“Because it hit me in the mouth! ” she shouted between chews, “It’s hot! ”

Still, she kept eating it. Huffing every few seconds from the heat, lips puffed and reddened, but chewing through it like a trooper. Her eyes narrowed at him like she was planning to kick him under the table later.

Nami watched them with an odd look on her face, one eyebrow arched in disbelief. Her gaze drifted between the two, Luffy practically beaming, and her, flustered and furious, but not pulling away.

“Y’know. . .” Nami started, her voice quieter now, thoughtful, “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen Luffy share his food with anyone.”

Robin, sitting beside them with her hands delicately folded over her lap, tilted her head toward the scene. Her eyes were calm, but glittered with curiosity.

“Oh?” she asked, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Nami nodded slowly. “He guards his food like a dragon . Even Zoro got punched once for trying to steal a dumpling. But with her. . .” her eyes softened. “He just gives it away.”

Robin chuckled behind her hand, the sound low and amused. 

“Isn’t that interesting?”

Across the table, Luffy had now stuck a second skewer between her lips, grinning wider with every bite she took. She swatted at him, annoyed, but her expression was gentle, fond even, like this chaos was something she’d memorized long ago.

And for a second, just a second, the two girls watched as the captain and his childhood best friend bickered and shared food like the rest of the world didn’t matter.

But it mattered to Nami.

Because money, was still Money.

No matter how sentimental the moment looked, no matter how heartwarming it was to see their captain being a semi-decent human for once.

Money was sacred.

And this “emergency stash” was about to be swallowed bite by bite by the bottomless pit that was Monkey D. Luffy.

Nami then slammed her hands on the table, rattling the plates and utensils, and screeched:

“STOP. EATING!!!”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The truth seeped through in the littlest ways

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

[JAYA]

Nami picked up the worn-out book, flipping it around in her hands as she examined its faded cover. The title, though smudged, was still legible in its large, bold print.

“A picture book?” she mused aloud, bringing it closer to her face to inspect the details. The edges were slightly frayed, and the pages had yellowed over time. “A pretty old one at that.”

“Liar Noland?”

“Oh!” Usopp let out an excited huff, leaning forward with interest. “I like the sound of that, sounds cool!”

“Liar Noland?” Her and Sanji echoed at the same time, their voices overlapping in surprise. They both turned to face each other with raised eyebrows before sharing a look of mutual bewilderment.

“Huh?” Nami furrowed her brows. “You guys know it? It says here it was published in the North Blue, though.”

“Didn’t I tell you guys?” Sanji took a casual drag from his cigarette, exhaling before flashing them a smirk. “I was born in the North Blue.”

“You too?!” The words slipped out before she could stop herself. It was too fast, too unguarded. Her shoulders stiffened the moment she realized her mistake, her expression freezing for just a fraction of a second. If someone were paying close enough attention, they might have noticed the way she winced, just slightly, before she quickly turned her attention back to the book.

Sanji, mid-exhale, pulled the cigarette away from his lips and looked at her with curiosity. “You were from the North, too?”

“Uh, yeah.” She shifted her gaze away, she didn’t want to be asked more questions, but curiously piled up in her stomach, something terrible must have happened to Sanji if he could allocate himself from the North to the East.

“That’s a shock!” Usopp jumped in, effectively breaking the growing tension. “I thought you guys were East people, like us!”

Sanji shrugged, resting his hands in his pockets. “I was born in the North,” he explained, a nostalgic smile tugging at his lips, “but I grew up in the East.”

“You told me your parents were farmers,” Nami spoke up, “But I thought they were farmers in Luffy’s island. . .” She pondered for a moment.

Usopp whistled. “That’s crazy! So wait, does that mean you guys might have known each other as kids? What if you were childhood besties and don’t even remember?”

“I bet my whole life that could never happen.”

“Wouldn’t forget a face as pretty as hers,” Sanji added smoothly, flashing his usual flirty grin.

She rolled her eyes, but there was something else behind her expression, a flicker of something unspoken, something careful.

Sanji and her locked eyes, and for a moment, the chatter around them faded into the background. There was something unspoken lingering between them, an understanding that neither of them had ever put into words. It wasn’t just the casual flirtation he often threw her way or the way she would roll her eyes at his over-the-top chivalry. No, it was something quieter, deeper.

He wasn’t just looking at her like he usually did, like a lady to be wooed or a pretty face to admire. There was something solemn in his gaze, something that weighed heavy on his shoulders despite his usual carefree demeanor. She met his eyes, searching for the root of it, and it clicked.

A person born in the North but raised in the East. They had both crossed the Red Line at some point, whether through the Grand Line itself or some other means of transportation.

And crossing the Red Line as a child wasn’t something most people did willingly. It wasn’t a voyage of adventure or curiosity. It was more likely survival, desperation, being dragged away from everything familiar to somewhere foreign and unforgiving.

There was a flicker of something like sympathy in Sanji’s gaze, and she didn’t know whether to feel comforted or exposed. It was the kind of look that said, I get it. The kind of look that didn’t need words to convey how messy and twisted the past could be.

She wondered how much he had been through, how many sleepless nights or bitter memories haunted him when no one was looking. For all his flirtatious charm and gentlemanly theatrics, there was a sadness in his eyes that never quite left.

He knew. Maybe not the details, but he knew the feeling. Of being uprooted, forced to adapt, to survive against odds stacked so heavily against you that you weren’t sure how you made it out alive.

The smallest of smiles tugged at her lips, and she nodded at him, almost imperceptibly. Sanji just gave a half-smile back, something softer than his usual flamboyant grins. It wasn’t flirtation. It wasn’t some exaggerated declaration of love. It was a simple acknowledgment, an unspoken pact between survivors.

Maybe, just maybe, they understood each other a little better now.

Robin, who had been quietly flipping through a book nearby, finally spoke up. “It’s interesting, isn’t it?” she mused, her voice calm and thoughtful. “The world is vast, and yet, sometimes paths cross in unexpected ways.”

“Yeah, yeah, poetic and all that,” Usopp waved a hand dismissively. “But the real question is, why is this Noland guy called a liar? I mean, that’s kinda harsh, don’t you think?”

She found herself flipping through the pages again, lingering on the old illustrations of a man pointing toward the horizon, speaking of a place no one else believed in. A liar or a dreamer?

Maybe there wasn’t much of a difference between the two.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

"I want to live!"

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

[POST ENIES LOBBY]

She had been right.

Robin cared so little for her own life that she was willing to sacrifice herself for the crew. The events of Enies Lobby had hit them like a truck, they got Robin back, they lost Merry, and now they were opposing the World Government.

She knew Luffy would go to great lengths for his crewmates, but to oppose the World Government? A small voice at the back of her mind whispered that Luffy would defend her just as fiercely—that he would even attack a Celestial Dragon if he could. She shook her head, forcing the thought away.

No. Nonsense. Luffy isn’t that self-righteous, she told herself. She was in denial, opposing the World Government was one thing, but openly opposing a Celestial Dragon was another. She would rather die than let Luffy be that idiotic, but at the same time, she couldn’t believe he would go that far. And that was okay. She didn’t want him to.

The person in question was currently sleeping.

While eating.

“Geh,” Sanji grimaced, setting plates of food on the table. “That’s. . . different.”

“What’s different?” Kokoro asked, raising a curious brow.

“Luffy hates missing meals after a fight,” the girl who grew up with him remarked, a soft fondness coloring her voice. “So I guess. . . he adapted?”

“He’s sleeping like that?!”

“Pirate bro is amazing. . .”

“Nya?!”

Everyone stared in awe as Luffy continued eating despite being completely fast asleep, his cheeks comically puffed out with food, snores mixing with the sound of slurping and chewing as if nothing in the world could interrupt his dream, or his appetite.

Then suddenly—

CRASH!

Wood splintered, dust flew, and the walls of the house practically exploded inward. A tall man in a Marine uniform stomped through the rubble, wearing a dog mask and radiating authority like a storm.

Everyone jumped into action, but she didn't move because the moment he stepped through that hole, she knew . Even if it had been years, even if he looked a little older, a little grayer.

A smile crept across her face before she even realized it

“You’re the Straw Hat Pirates, aren’t ya?” the man boomed, arms crossed. “I brought someone who’d like to meet you, Monkey D. Luffy.”

No one had time to react before the man charged forward and—

BAM!

—punched Luffy right in the head mid-bite.

“LUFFY!” he shouted. “WAKE UP!”

“GAAAHHHH!!!” Luffy bolted upright in a panic, rice and meat flying. “OUCH?!” he screamed in pain, clutching his head.

Sanji blinked in confusion, nearly dropping his cigarette. “ Ouch?! You’re made of rubber, that’s not supposed to hu—"

“I heard you’ve been doing a lot of reckless stuff,” the stranger growled, reaching up and removing his mask with a grin. “Luffy!”

Luffy’s jaw dropped.

“G-G-G-GRANDPA?!”

The entire room echoed the word, wide-eyed and stunned.

“ GRANDPA?! ”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Garp-san,” She greeted the man in front of them, “I see you’re as lively as ever.”

“I told you to call me Gramps,” Garp furrowed his eyebrows, his hand flying everywhere, “Gr-a-mps!” He emphasized each syllable, as if talking to a toddler. 

“Garp-san.”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Can’t believe Luffy forced you to become a pirate!” Garp scowled, his voice booming loud enough to rattle the deck. The other Straw Hats stayed silent, exchanging uneasy glances as they watched the interaction. “I thought I was shaping you into a great Marine!”

She gave him an eerie smile, the kind that made even Garp pause for a second. “Garp-san. . . I hate Marines.”

“Huh?! But you like me, right?!” Garp barked, letting go of Luffy to grab her by the shoulders, his massive hands practically engulfing her.

“Yes, yes, you’re an exception.” She patted him on the arm, doing her best to comfort the giant man who looked uncharacteristically deflated.

“Hehe!” A blush crept over his cheeks as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his head, looking oddly bashful for a man of his stature.

The whole crew shared a collective thought, eyes darting between Garp and Luffy.

'He’s just like Luffy!'

Sanji leaned towards Nami, whispering, “Is it just me, or does Luffy actually take after his grandpa?”

Nami glanced at the two with wide eyes. “They’re practically the same person! No wonder he’s so reckless!”

As Garp went back to hammering down on the house, Luffy tilted his head and plopped down on the floor, completely unfazed. She let out a long sigh, feeling the tension leave her shoulders. Maybe she could finally relax now—

“By the way, Luffy,” Garp stopped hammering and turned back around, his pinky digging into his nose. “I heard you met your dad.”

Luffy’s head snapped up, eyes wide and clueless. “Huh?”

She couldn’t help but stare, just as bewildered as the rest of the crew. Luffy’s dad? She’d never heard anything about him, and considering Luffy never brought him up, she had always assumed he was out of the picture—maybe dead, like Ace’s.

“I have a dad?” Luffy asked bluntly.

Garp snorted. “Oh, he didn’t introduce himself? I heard he saw you off at Loguetown.” A smug grin curled his lips as he watched the reactions unfold.

Sanji’s eyebrows raised in mild surprise. “Luffy’s dad was in Loguetown?” 

Nami whipped around to face the childhood friend that’s supposed to know everything about Luffy. “I’m curious to know what kind of person could raise someone like Luffy.” Nami gripped onto her, “Did you know?!” 

She furrowed her brow, trying to recall everyone they had encountered in Loguetown. Tashigi? No. Smoker? No way. Buggy? As if!

“Oi,” Luffy called out to his grandpa, “What’s my dad like?” 

Garp grinned wider, clearly reveling in their confusion. “Your father’s name is Monkey D. Dragon—the Revolutionary.”

The words hit like a thunderclap, and the air seemed to freeze.

The chaos and panic that ensued after Garp’s sudden drop of information fell onto deaf ears, the world around her had gone completely silent. 

Dragon. . . Dragon. . ?

“I’m giving this to you,” he whispered, keeping his voice low so that no one else would hear. “The vivre card here belongs to Dragon,” He repeated the name slower so that the little girl would understand.

“When the time is right, find the owner of this paper. He’ll treat you well. Tell him that Machi sent you, okay?”

Bile rose in her throat as memories she thought she’d buried clawed their way to the surface. Her knees nearly buckled, and she pressed a palm to her forehead, trying to force the nausea back down.

“Hey, why are you guys panicking?” Luffy asked, scratching his head, looking utterly confused as usual.

“Idiot!” Sanji snapped, “Do you not know who Dragon is?!”

“Your dad is a dangerous man, Luffy!” Nami shouted, her face a mix of disbelief and exasperation. Then Nami spun around to face her, noticing how pale she looked. “Hey, why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost? You seriously didn’t know either?!”

The sudden attention jolted her from her trance, and she whipped her head towards Nami, stammering, “How would I know?! Luffy didn’t even know himself!”

Her frantic response only seemed to confuse the crew more, and Nami gave her a scrutinizing look. “Garp-san!” she exclaimed, turning to the old Marine with wide eyes. “Is it true? Dragon-san is Luffy’s father, and he’s from the?” She tilted her head, still trying to wrap her mind around it. “The Revolutionary Army?”

“Huh!” Nami gasped, her jaw dropping. “Waaaait a minute!” Nami grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her like a rag doll, her eyes blazing. “You also don’t know about the Revolutionaries?! Have you guys been living under a rock?!”

Nami was in full demon mode, and if it weren’t for the shock of hearing Dragon’s name, she might have laughed at how unhinged Nami looked.

She was still trying to piece everything together, her mind swimming with thoughts of Machi and the vivre card. Her fingers tightened unconsciously around the fabric of her shirt. “No, I didn’t. I mean, I’ve heard people fighting the world government before, but I really don’t anything about revolutionaries and Drago—”

“Lass.” Garp’s gruff voice cut through the chaos, and she stiffened when he gave her a serious look. “Y’know Dragon?”

“Uhh. . .” She swallowed thickly and gripped her shirt harder, forcing herself to meet Garp’s gaze. “No, it’s. . . just that someone I knew. . . knew him as well.”

Garp hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his chin as his bushy brows furrowed. “Hm. Do I know this person? My networking ain’t bad for an old man, y’know!” He let out a hearty laugh, seemingly oblivious to her internal turmoil.

She waved her hands sheepishly, trying to push away the scrutiny. “Uh, no way, Garp-san! I don’t think you’d know this person!”

“Hey, Robin?” Luffy turned to the most knowledgeable person on the ship, his curious eyes fixed on her.

Robin placed her index finger and thumb on her chin, contemplating how to explain. “How should I put this. . .” she murmured before finally speaking. “Pirates don’t usually engage in direct attacks on the World Government. However, there are organizations out there actively working to overthrow that government. The Revolutionary Army is one such group, and at its zenith stands Dragon.”

Her calm, straightforward explanation seemed to click in everyone’s minds. Even Luffy’s face lit up with vague understanding.

But her heart tugged painfully as her mind lingered on the revelation.

‘ Machi-san. . . was a Revolutionary?’

The thought twisted inside her like a thorny vine. After all these years, she hadn’t allowed herself to think too deeply about Machi’s last words. Now it made sense—why Machi had spoken so cryptically, why she seemed so certain that the Revolutionaries would be a safe haven.

She couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, meeting Luffy was no coincidence. It felt as if fate itself had guided her to the Dawn Island that day when she had been nothing but a wandering child with nowhere to go. It was as if destiny placed her on the same path as Luffy, even if, in some other reality, she had met Dragon instead.

Either way, she knew that both men would have shown her freedom—just in different forms.

“Ack!” Garp suddenly shouted, as if snapping out of a trance. “I shouldn’t have said anything!” His face twisted into a grimace, which only made everyone else feel even more uneasy.

Then, just as abruptly, he burst out laughing, pounding his fist on the deck. “Bwahahaha! Forget I said anything!”

“WHAAAT?!” the whole crew shouted in unison, utterly baffled.

“Lass,” Garp’s gruff voice cut through the air, making her flinch. “Come here for a second.”

His face was serious—far too serious—and it made her stomach twist with unease.

“I’ve never questioned where you came from, have I?” His tone wasn’t questioning at all, more like a statement carved in stone. “And I had no reason to, not when I raised ya.”

She wanted to joke, to tell him that Dadan was the one who really raised her, but something about his tone kept her silent, her fingers unconsciously curling into fists.

“Your name’s been thrown around with the higher-ups,” he said, almost like he didn’t want to admit it himself. She didn’t need to ask who the higher-ups were, and some nagging feeling told her Garp knew more about her past than he let on. “Not even someone of my rank can protect you.”

The way his face twisted—half scowl, half something like regret—made her feel like she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to scream that it wasn’t true, that she could handle it, but the words lodged themselves in her throat.

“Thrown around?” She managed not to stutter.

Garp placed his large hand on her shoulder, and even under his touch, she couldn’t stop shaking. “Be careful out there. Not even Sengoku can hold them back, and he’s the Fleet Admiral.”

A shiver ran down her spine, ice settling in her stomach. “I had a run-in back when I was a kid. . .” She gripped her shirt over the brand on her stomach, hidden beneath the fabric, where no one could see. “But I—”

“I was hopin’ that wasn’t the case,” Garp muttered, his expression torn. The way he shut his eyes made it painfully clear he was fighting his own thoughts, grappling with the grim reality of what she might have gone through.

“Garp-san.” Her voice was stern, and his eyes opened, meeting her gaze full of resolve. “I have no intention of telling Luffy about my past with the Celestial Dragons.”

His expression darkened, ready to protest, but she didn’t let him. “Ever.” Silence grew between them. 

“It’s not good to hold things in, Lass.” Garp adviced, a concerned look adorned his face, “Luffy’s gonna find out sooner or later.”

“I’ll protect Luffy with my life .” She emphasized. 

Garp’s jaw clenched. “That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m talking about your life.”

Her gaze softened as she looked at Luffy, who was trying to decipher her and Garp’s conversation, and the air of curiosity was so obvious on his face.. “Luffy is. . . different. He’s someone.”

Garp followed her gaze, his eyes shadowed with worry.

“He’s—”

“Oi, oi, oi!” Luffy’s voice rang out, cutting through the heavy atmosphere. He bounded over with his trademark grin, curiosity lighting up his face. “Are you guys talking about something fun? I want in!”

“Luffy...” Garp raised his fist, trembling with suppressed emotion. “Don’t be rude and cut people off!”

“AAAAKH!”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Hello, Mon Ange, ” Sanji immediately greeted upon her arrival, eyes flicking over her as if to check for any lingering traces of distress. “You not joining them?”

“Nah,” she replied, her tone soft but steady. “It brings back memories, but Luffy was the one who saved Coby.” Her gaze drifted toward the window, where Luffy and Coby were having a civil conversation, sharing stories like old friends.

Robin let out a soft, knowing laugh, and it caught her off guard. “What?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

Robin smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “You answered the same way Zoro did.”

She blinked, genuinely surprised, and glanced at the swordsman who sat slightly apart from the group, his arms crossed and expression as unreadable as ever. “Huh,” she mumbled, half amused and half confused. “Didn’t think I’d be compared to Mosshead today.”

Sanji shot her a look of betrayal, immediately launching into a tirade. “Don’t lump yourself with that muscle-brained mosshead! You’re way too refined and elegant to sound like him!”

She only gave him a bemused smile in response, brushing it off like usual. “Where’s Nami?” she asked, realizing she hadn’t seen the navigator since they arrived.

“Oh, Nami isn’t here either,” Chopper replied, his ears twitching. “I thought she wanted to hear the Marine’s story! I wonder if she changed her mind.”

Robin sipped her drink calmly. “She went to the swimming pool with Kokoro-san and the others. There’s an employee pool right behind this place.”

“EEEEH?” Hearts immediately surrounded Sanji, and his expression brightened like the sun. “Is Nami-swan in her swimsuit?! I’ll bring her drinks right away!”

He faltered, looking back at her with his heart-shaped eyes still pulsating. “ Mon Ange ! Robin-chwan! Would you both like to join Nami in the pool?” His excitement practically dripped from his every word, and it was clear he had ulterior motives.

She shook her head, unfazed. “Nah. I’m not really good with water,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but her fingers unconsciously brushed her forearm..

Robin’s perceptive gaze didn’t miss the small movement, but she kept her tone light and casual. “ Ange -san,” she said, using Sanji’s nickname for her with a hint of playfulness. “I wanted to ask you something.”

She turned her head toward Robin, genuinely curious. “What’s up?”

Robin smiled thoughtfully. “Are you a Devil Fruit user by chance?”

Her expression shifted to mild surprise, and she tilted her head. “Huh? It’s not something I hide. . . did you guys really not know?”

“HUUH?” Sanji and Chopper shouted in unison, eyes wide and jaws practically on the floor.

“E-Eh?! Y-You’re a Devil Fruit user too?!” Chopper’s eyes lit up with curiosity as he tugged on her pants, looking up at her with an almost childlike excitement. “What is it? What’s your power?”

She furrowed her brows, genuinely confused. “Did you guys really not know?”

Sanji was quick to gather himself, looking visibly offended. “Oi, Mosshead!” he called out, his voice dripping with irritation as he glared at Zoro, who was still leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. “Did you know about this too?”

Zoro cracked one eye open, looking more annoyed than surprised. “Yeah. I was the one who hauled her ass with Smoker when we were drowning,” he replied nonchalantly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Sanji’s face immediately morphed into pure rage, and he lunged at the swordsman, kicking out in frustration. “Oi, how dare you touch Ange back in Alabasta! You bastard!”

Zoro blocked the kick easily, pushing back with his sword still in its sheath. “You have some messed-up priorities, Curly Brows!”

“How dare you know something about Ange before me!” Sanji roared, still attacking relentlessly.

“Your priorities are still messed up!”

Their bickering continued, escalating into the usual chaotic exchange of insults and kicks. Chopper sweatdropped, glancing back at her. “You didn’t think to tell us?”

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Didn’t think it was a big deal. I don’t really use it much.”

Robin chuckled. “It seems to be quite the revelation for some,” she teased lightly.

She gave a small smile, almost sheepish. “I guess I just didn’t think it mattered.”

“It does!” Chopper insisted, puffing up his chest. “We’re your crew! We should know these things!”

A soft, grateful warmth filled her chest at his words. “Sorry,” she said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to keep it a secret.”

“Hey, hey!” Chopper called out, bouncing on his hooves with wide, curious eyes. “But what is it? What is it?” His excitement was almost infectious, and she couldn’t help but smile at how endearing he looked—like a child waiting for a story.

She grinned, a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes. “How about I just show you?”

Robin raised an intrigued eyebrow, her usual calm demeanor now tinged with genuine curiosity. “I’d love to see it,” she said, giving a gentle nod of encouragement.

With a confident stride, she approached the duo still locked in their heated brawl. Sanji and Zoro were too caught up in their squabbling to notice her approach, throwing insults and kicks with the usual ferocity. A small puff of dust swirled around them from the force of their movements.

Without warning, she placed a hand on each of their shoulders, her touch feather-light yet purposeful. A faint, soft glow emanated from her fingertips, almost like a soothing pulse.

Immediately, their movements slowed, like gears suddenly coated in thick syrup. Zoro’s punch barely made it halfway before his arm dropped, his posture slackening. Sanji’s kick wavered mid-air, and he nearly toppled over from the unexpected lethargy. Their eyes grew heavy, lids drooping as if sleep had suddenly ambushed them.

“Oi. . . What. . . Did you do?” Zoro muttered, his voice uncharacteristically drowsy.

Sanji, despite looking like he was on the verge of passing out, still managed to swoon. “ Mon Ange . . . is touching me!” he crooned, hearts still pulsing even through his exhaustion.

“You’re messed up.” Zoro commented.

Chopper’s eyes sparkled with awe, practically bouncing on the spot as he let out a squeal of excitement. “Wow! That’s amazing!”

Robin chuckled softly at the sight of the usually combative pair now reduced to lethargic groaning. “It seems quite useful,” she remarked. “Especially when dealing with stubborn men.”

She gave a nonchalant shrug, still grinning, yawning a bit. “I ate the Tender-Tender Fruit,” she explained, “Not sure about the actual name, if I’m being honest.” Looking down at Chopper, whose admiration hadn’t waned. 

“It lets me make people feel whatever I want them to feel, as long as I can feel it too.”

Robin gave her an inquisitive look. “You can feel it too? Does that mean you have to be tired yourself, or do you just think about feeling tired?”

“It’s supposed to be the former,” she replied, scratching her cheek thoughtfully. “But I got good at manipulating my own emotions. I can trick my body into feeling something, and that lets me use the fruit’s power more efficiently. So even if I’m not really tired, I can convince myself I am—then pass that feeling on to others.”

Chopper’s ears drooped, and his eyes shimmered with concern. “T-That sounds sad. . . Like you’re forcing yourself to feel things just to use your powers. . .”

Her grin softened, and she crouched down to Chopper’s level, ruffling his fur affectionately. “It’s only sad if you make it sad, Chopper,” she replied with a gentle smile. To prove her point, she lightly tapped him on the head with her glowing fingers.

Chopper’s ears perked up, and suddenly laughter bubbled out of him, bright and uncontrollable. “Wahahaha! Hey! That tickles!”

She let go, and his laughter gradually died down, leaving him giggling with residual glee. “See?” she said warmly. “I can make people happy, too.”

Chopper’s eyes shone with a mix of relief and amazement. “That’s so cool! You’re amazing!”

Zoro, now half-asleep and leaning against the wall, grumbled under his breath, clearly displeased with how sluggish he felt. “Next time, give us a warning before using that damn power. . .”

Sanji, on the other hand, had managed to prop himself up with one hand, still half in dreamland. “ Mon Ange . . . your touch is. . . so soft. . .”

She snorted in amusement, ignoring Sanji’s lovesick muttering. Robin gave her a sly smile, clearly entertained by the display.

“You really are full of surprises,” Robin commented.

She gave a nonchalant shrug and flashed a grin. “Gotta keep you guys on your toes somehow.”

As the chaos gradually settled, she couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, the tension from earlier melting away with every laugh and every ridiculous comment. Despite everything, being surrounded by these unpredictable, chaotic idiots made her feel like she was home.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

[POST THRILLER BARK]

She had realized that the Straw Hats were filled with self sacrificing idiots as she watched the scene in front of her unfold. 

The battlefield was littered with debris, a grim reminder of the brutal clash that had just taken place. Panting and bloodied, Zoro stood tall before the towering figure of Bartholomew Kuma, his resolve unshaken despite the pain wracking his body.

“I beg of you. . !” Zoro rasped, forcing himself to stay upright. His voice was strained, but his conviction was unyielding. “Let my life exchange for his!”

Kuma remained motionless, his towering presence almost suffocating. Zoro took a shaky breath and continued, “Let mine substitute his. . !”

Kuma stared down at him, his expression unreadable. “If you have such great ambition. . .” he said slowly, as if testing Zoro’s resolve.

Zoro didn’t hesitate. “I’d say exchanging my life for his is an equally good deal!” He clenched his fists, blood dripping from his wounds. “But eventually. . . I will become the world’s number one swordsman. I know my head is not worth much at the moment. . . but if I can’t protect my captain’s dream, then whatever ambition I have is nothing but just talk!”

Kuma was silent, considering the swordsman’s words. “There is already no other way to save the crew.” Zoro muttered, determination burning in his eyes. 

“How will you ever be satisfied?” Kuma questioned, his tone as emotionless as ever.

Zoro lowered his head. “Then by dying for him. . .”

Before Kuma could respond, Sanji’s voice cut through the air. “Hold on a minute, you jerk!” Sanji staggered forward, his own body battered from the battle. “Just ignore this mosshead swordsman. . . If you must kill somebody, then just take my life!”

Kuma stood like an unmovable statue, his gaze shifting between the ragtag group sprawled across the battlefield. Sanji took a shaky drag from his cigarette, glaring through the blood dripping down his face. The cook didn’t waver, even as his knees threatened to buckle.

“Black Leg Sanji,” Kuma acknowledged, his voice deep and unfeeling, but noting the fierce resolve in the cook’s eyes. Sanji didn’t flinch.

“I know the Marines don’t give a damn about me. . . but soon enough, the man who will be most feared by the Marines will be me.”

Sanji’s gaze hardened, his determination unwavering despite his body’s protests. He spared Zoro a sharp look, biting back the surge of fear that threatened to crack his composure.

“What are you going to do if you die, idiot!?” he spat, angry at how easily Zoro seemed willing to throw himself away. “What happened to your dream!?”

But Zoro just gritted his teeth, unmoved. He knew that Luffy’s dream came first. It always did. And for that dream, he would gladly lay down his life.

“Tell everyone I’m sorry,” Sanji whispered, eyes sweeping over his unconscious crewmates. He hesitated when his gaze landed on her—her eyes awake, wide-eyed and struggling to stand.

“ Ange ?” Sanji’s voice softened, as if suddenly realizing just how fragile she looked.

Zoro’s instincts kicked in the moment he sensed Sanji’s hesitation, and with a quick movement, he hit the cook with the hilt of his sword, sending him into unconsciousness. Sanji crumpled to the ground without another word.

Kuma didn’t move, still sizing up the situation as Zoro turned to face him. But before he could take another step forward, she staggered to her feet, swaying slightly as if every breath scraped through her lungs.

“Zoro. . .” Her voice was a rasp, but determined. Trembling hands reached out, fingers sparking with the faint glow of her Devil Fruit power. Zoro didn’t hesitate, he slapped her hand away, scowling.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” he snapped, glaring at her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She looked down at her hand, rubbing the bruise forming from his rough shove, and let out a shuddering breath. “I’m not. . . trying to stop you,” she whispered. “I just—” She took a deep breath.

“You and Sanji. . .” Her eyes flitted between the unconscious cook and the swordsman. “You’re the right and left hands of the next King of the Pirates,” she said, forcing strength into her voice. “Luffy would rather stop being a pirate than have you two die.”

Zoro froze, and for a moment, his usual stoic mask cracked. Kuma watched their exchange with a glint of curiosity—perhaps even endearment—but remained silent.

“And let me be the one to tell him his childhood friend died on my watch?” Zoro scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re a bigger idiot than I thought if you think you matter less in this crew. As if he’d be more okay with you dying.”

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t look away. “Better me than you guys,” she muttered. “I’m just the kid he couldn’t leave behind. The one who should’ve stayed in that damn mountain instead of following him into this mess. I’m not like you, I’m not indispensable.”

“That’s bullshit,” Zoro shot back. “You think Luffy would just accept losing you? You’re his childhood friend—the one person he’d never let go of. Don’t think for a second that just because you’re not holding a sword or steering the ship that you don’t belong here.”

She swallowed hard, fighting the rising panic clawing at her throat. “I’m the one who’s supposed to keep him safe,” she whispered, almost to herself. “What am I on this crew if not for that?”

Zoro’s expression softened, just a fraction. “And you think dying here makes up for that? You’re not gonna fix anything by throwing yourself away.”

She laughed bitterly, her hands clenched into fists. “If I can’t be strong enough to protect him, then what’s the point of me being here at all? Maybe it’s better if it’s me—at least then, no one’s losing their dream because of me.”

Zoro’s eyes narrowed, irritation flickering across his face. “I thought about it a few times, but you’re kind of weird in the head, aren’t ya?” he muttered, almost incredulous. “You act like you’re just some burden that Luffy’s dragging along. But we all know you’re here because he wants you here. He’s not keeping you around out of pity. He’s keeping you because you’re his nakama.”

She furrowed her brows, but Zoro didn’t let up. “You don’t get to decide your life’s worth on your own. Not when you’re part of this crew. If you’re gonna die, at least make it for something that’s worth a damn—not just because you think you’re disposable.”

“It’s not okay for me to die, but it is for you?” She raised an eyebrow in disbelief at the first mate.

“You’re his childhood friend,” Zoro reminded her firmly, completely trying to avoid her previous statement. “You’re not just some sidekick. You’re his nakama too. And if you think he’s gonna be okay with you dying, you really don’t know him at all.”

Zoro’s words cut through her like a sword, sharp and merciless, but not without purpose.

Kuma finally spoke up, his monotone voice breaking the tension. “Is your resolve still unwavering?”

Zoro didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. If it’s my life in exchange for his, it’s a good deal.”

“Zor—” Before she could finish her sentence, Zoro knocked her unconscious.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Nothing Happened.”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The air was thick with dust and echoes of laughter, remnants of a joy long lost to time. The grand hall of the ruined castle stretched high, its cracked walls and shattered windows filtering the dying light. 

Among the scattered debris, a lone figure sat upright, his skeletal fingers gently cradling a conch shell, as if afraid it might shatter under his touch.

Brook let out a soft, wistful chuckle, his bony jaw creaking as his shoulders shook. "Yo-ho ho ho." he laughed quietly, the sound lonely and fragile amidst the ruins. His empty eye sockets fixed on the shell, where faint traces of voices seemed to resonate—familiar, precious voices, frozen in time.

"That song filled with memories. ., . and a party!" the echoes of long-gone friends seemed to cheer. Brook could almost see them—the Rumbar Pirates, gathered around, singing as though their very lives depended on it. Their voices mingled with his in a final, desperate melody, refusing to fade even in the face of death.

Brook squeezed the shell just a little tighter, as if holding on to what remained of his past. "Every single day was painful. . ." he whispered, his voice cracking with unspoken grief. It had been decades of isolation, of searching for a reason to keep moving forward, despite knowing that everyone he once loved was long gone.

“But you know, Luffy-san,” Brook started out. There was hope now, a flicker of light through the man in the straw hat in front of him. News that Laboon was still alive, waiting for him. A reason to survive beyond just enduring the pain. 

Brook's skeletal frame trembled with raw emotion as he lifted his head to the sky.

"I am. . . so glad to be alive!!!"

Luffy’s grin stretched wide.  “Of course you are!” he shouted, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

Brook, though his skeletal face remained unmoving, seemed to exude warmth and relief. For fifty years, he had wandered through the dark, alone and without purpose. Now, there was something to hold on to—a dream, a promise, and new friends to share it with.

Brook’s voice softened. “Would you mind if I become your nakama?”

Luffy barely hesitated, rolling onto his back on the piano as if he’d been waiting to hear those words. “Sounds great!” he replied without missing a beat.

Just like that, Brook had joined the crew.

Some of the Straw Hats erupted in protest, but Luffy didn’t seem to notice. He just laughed and spun around the grand piano, his energy infectious and unstoppable. His wild spirit could be felt pulsing through the room like a heartbeat.

“Oiii!” Luffy called out suddenly, waving towards the dual-haired woman, leaning against the cracked pillar. A soft, tired smile lingered on her lips, and she seemed content to watch from the sidelines.

Without warning, Luffy grabbed her arms, tugging her towards him as the music resumed, louder and livelier. “Come on, come on, it’s your favorite song!” he insisted, twirling her awkwardly despite her protests.

She couldn’t help the light laughter that bubbled up, his enthusiasm relentless and unwavering. “Luffy,” she called out between twirls, finally pulling back enough to look at him.

He paused mid-spin, still grinning. “Hey, hey, hey! We finally got a musician!”

She glanced toward Brook, who gave a courteous bow and a cheerful, “Yo-ho ho ho!” before returning to his piano melody.

“I’m happy for you, but y’know Luffy. . .” She started out, a bit exasperated. “Your crew is full of idiots. . .” she muttered under her breath, thinking about Robin and how she tried to sacrifice her life, thinking about Sanji and Zoro who tried to do the same, but Luffy only cocked his head in confusion.

“Huh?”

Luffy didn’t understand her quiet concern, but he didn’t need to. All that mattered was that they were together, alive, laughing, and welcoming new friends. The music played on, loud and unapologetic.