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Plot: Newly named Emperor Shanks visits the Moby Dick to honor a childhood promise
The Moby Dick went quiet the moment Red-Haired Shanks stepped onto the deck.
Shanks had come alone.
He crossed the gangplank with one hand resting at his side, his mouth curved in that lazy, infuriating smile.
Marco was the first to move.
He stepped into Shanks’s path, arms folded over his chest. “You lost?”
Shanks looked around the deck, taking in the familiar white sails, the division commanders, the younger men staring too openly, the older ones who remembered too much.
“No,” he said. “Still looks about the same.”
“That wasn’t an invitation to reminisce.”
Shanks laughed under his breath. “Good to see you too, Marco.”
From the upper deck, Whitebeard’s laugh rolled down like thunder.
“Gurararara. Let him through.”
Shanks walked forward like he had every right to be there. Men moved out of his path. A few hands stayed near weapons. He did not spare them a glance. His gaze lifted to Whitebeard, seated in his great chair.
“Newgate.”
Whitebeard’s eyes narrowed slightly beneath the crescent of his mustache.
“Red-Hair.”
A few of the younger pirates shifted at the title. It was still new enough to taste strange in the air.
Yonko. Emperor.
Shanks only smiled wider.
Whitebeard reached for his sake. “You’ve got nerve walking onto my ship without your crew.”
“I figured if I brought them, you’d think I came for a fight.”
“And if you come alone, I’m supposed to think you came for tea?”
“I was hoping for sake.”
Someone snorted.
Marco did not.
Whitebeard drank, then lowered the bottle. “Say what you came to say.”
Shanks’s smile softened into something almost polite.
“I came to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
The deck went dead.
Then all at once, it erupted.
“What?”
“Did he say marriage?”
“Is he drunk?”
“He looks sober.”
Marco’s head turned slowly toward him. “You want to repeat that?”
Shanks glanced at him. “Sure. I came to ask—”
“No,” Marco said. “Don’t.”
Whitebeard did not move.
For one long moment, he simply stared at Shanks.
Then his grin widened.
“Gurararara.”
The laugh shook the deck.
A few men relaxed.
A few did not.
Shanks stood there patiently, one hand resting on the hilt at his hip, looking pleased with himself.
You had been halfway down from the aft stairs when the words reached you.
Your hand tightened around the railing.
That smug bastard.
You descended the rest of the steps with enough force that three nearby pirates wisely moved aside before you reached the main deck.
Shanks saw you coming.
His face lit up.
That was the worst part. Not the title. Not the arrogance.
It was the way he smiled at you.
Like he had been waiting for this.
“There’s my girl,” Shanks said warmly.
You stopped several feet from him. “No.”
Shanks looked pleased to see you angry. “I wondered how fast you would come down.”
“Fast enough to stop you.”
“You’re a little late for that.”
“You asked my father before asking me.”
“I did.”
“In front of everyone.”
His smile softened at the edges. “I wanted witnesses.”
Your face heated. “You wanted an audience.”
His eyes moved over your face, and your stomach tightened before you could stop it. You hated that too. Hated that he could still look at you like the boy who used to lean too close just to see if you would shove him.
He looked different now. Broader through the shoulders. Stronger. The boyish charm had not disappeared; it had gotten worse. Sharper at the edges. Harder to ignore.
But his eyes were the same.
Bright. Wicked. Patient.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Whitebeard leaned back in his chair, watching you both with open amusement.
“My daughter says no.”
Shanks did not look away from you. “I haven’t asked her yet.”
“You asked me,” Whitebeard said.
“Tradition.”
“You care about tradition now?” you snapped.
Shanks placed a hand over his heart. “I have always respected sacred promises.”
Marco made a sound of disgust.
Shanks’s attention returned to you at once. “You remember what you promised me.”
You went still.
“You were twelve.”
“And deeply committed.”
Someone near the mast choked on a laugh.
Your face heated. “Do not encourage him.”
Shanks turned slightly, addressing the watching crew with the casual confidence of a man about to make everything worse. “For the record, she said yes.”
“I was eleven! And I wanted the bracelet.”
Shanks’s smile softened. “I know.”
You remembered the bracelet. Cheap silver, bent slightly at the clasp, much too big for your wrist. Shanks had pressed it into your hand and told you that when he became a great pirate captain, you had to marry him.
You had laughed in his face.
Then you had let him put the bracelet on you anyway.
You had worn it for three days before your father noticed and asked where it came from. You had lied badly. Shanks had lied worse. Roger had laughed so hard he had nearly fallen off a barrel.
Whitebeard’s voice cut through the noise. “Red-Hair.”
Shanks finally looked back at him.
The amusement on Whitebeard’s face remained, but his eyes had sharpened.
“You became an emperor and decided your first act would be to walk onto my ship and ask to marry my daughter?”
Shanks shrugged lightly. “Not my first act.”
“Careful.”
The word cracked across the deck.
The laughter died.
Shanks did not flinch. His smile stayed, but the ease left his face.
“I came because I said I would,” Shanks said.
Your breath caught despite yourself.
Whitebeard watched him.
Shanks continued, voice still easy, but quieter now. “Took longer than I thought.”
You stared at him.
The deck felt too exposed. Too crowded. Every brother, every commander, every curious fool aboard seemed to be listening with their whole body.
You hated him for that too.
For making a spectacle.
For making your heart react before your pride could stop it.
One sentence from him, and there you were again: a red-haired boy grinning at you after you had kissed him behind a stack of crates and shoved him so hard he fell into them.
The woman you were now knew better.
The woman you were now knew Shanks was dangerous in ways the boy had only pretended to be.
So you lifted your chin.
“And what if I refuse?”
Shanks’s eyes warmed.
“Then I’ll ask again later.”
A wave of groans rose from the crew.
You closed your eyes for one second. “Unbelievable.”
Marco stepped between you and Shanks just enough to make a point. “Or you could leave her alone.”
Shanks looked past him at you. “I could.”
“You should,” Marco said.
Shanks’s smile tilted. “That depends on what she says.”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
You stepped forward before he could say anything else. His smile softened when you came near.
Your pulse jumped.
You hated that most of all.
“Private,” you said.
Shanks blinked once. “What?”
“If you came all this way to make a fool of yourself, you can do it without an audience.”
His grin returned. “So there is a conversation.”
“There is a warning.”
“I like warnings.”
“Then listen carefully.”
Marco made another disgusted sound.
You reached out, grabbed the front of Shanks’s cloak, and pulled him down just enough that his smile stopped being quite so easy.
The deck erupted again.
You ignored them.
“You will stop smiling,” you said under your breath, “or I will let Marco throw you overboard.”
Shanks straightened, still watching you. “Lead the way.”
You turned sharply and started toward the aft corridor.
Behind you, Marco muttered, “I don’t like this.”
Whitebeard laughed into his sake.
“She’ll handle him.”
You did not look back.
You already knew Shanks was following.
You could feel his smile at your back the whole way.
——————————
Your room was close enough to the upper deck that you could still hear the muffled noise of the crew outside.
You opened the door, stepped inside, and waited.
Shanks followed you inside.
You shut the door hard enough that the frame rattled.
His gaze moved to the bed.
Then to you.
His smile widened. “I have to admit, this is not where I thought the proposal would take me.”
You picked up the letter opener from your desk.
Shanks glanced at the blade and gave a quiet laugh.
“Fair.”
Shanks leaned back against the closed door.
You tightened your arms around yourself. “Why now?”
Shanks did not answer immediately.
Outside, someone laughed. The sound carried through the door, then faded.
“Because I meant what I said.”
Your throat tightened.
“You don’t know me anymore.”
His answer came quietly.
“No.”
Shanks had not moved from near the door. That alone made you pause.
“I don’t know you the way I used to,” he said. “I know that.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Asking for the chance to know you again.”
He said it plainly. No grin. No joke tucked behind the words.
That was harder to fight.
“You really expect me to believe you came all this way because of something we said as children?”
“No.”
That answer stopped you.
Shanks looked at you. “I came because I never stopped thinking about you.”
You looked away first, furious with yourself for needing the second it took to recover.
“You’re assuming there’s something left to find.”
“I’m hoping.”
The quiet honesty of it took some of the fight out of you, and you hated him for that too.
Shanks’s eyes stayed on yours. For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Shanks reached into the inside of his cloak.
You stiffened.
He paused, brow lifting. “If I were going to draw a weapon in your bedroom, I’d be doing this much worse.”
“You are very close to being hit.”
“I did assume that was still on the table.”
He pulled out a small box.
You stared at it.
Shanks glanced down at the box, then back at you. “Before you accuse me of stealing it, I paid for this one.”
Then he opened the box.
The bracelet inside was not cheap silver. It was gold, delicate but solid, worked in a pattern of small linked waves. A single red stone sat at the clasp.
It was beautiful.
That irritated you immediately.
Shanks looked down at it with a small, almost self-conscious smile.
“An upgrade,” he said.
You looked up at him.
The humor had not left his face completely, but it had softened into something quieter.
“I don’t remember the old one being this nice,” he said.
“It wasn’t.”
The answer slipped out too quickly.
Shanks’s eyes lifted to yours.
You realized your mistake a second too late.
His smile changed.
“You kept it.”
You looked away.
He did not say it like a victory. He said it like he remembered the day he had given it to you.
You folded your arms tighter, but it did nothing to help. “It was ugly.”
“It nearly fell off twice before lunch.”
“You noticed?”
Shanks’s smile warmed. “I was twelve. You wearing it was the most important thing that had ever happened to me.”
You had no sharp answer ready.
Shanks looked back down at the new bracelet. His thumb brushed the edge of the box.
“Last time, I gave you something cheap and acted like it was enough because I was a kid and I didn’t know better.” He looked at you again. “I know better now.”
The room went quiet.
“You think expensive gold fixes your entrance?”
“No.” The edge of his smile returned. “But it does make me look more prepared.”
A laugh almost escaped you.
He laughed softly, and the sound loosened something in your chest.
Then he closed the box.
“I’ll keep it for now,” he said.
You looked at the box.
Shanks noticed.
His voice lowered. “Unless you want it.”
Your eyes moved to your desk. To the drawer you had not opened in front of him. The drawer where the old bracelet sat, bent clasp and all.
Shanks followed your glance. When he looked back at you, he did not tease.
That was worse.
“You really kept it,” he said.
Your fingers curled at your side. “It was a long time ago.”
“I know.”
You looked at the box again.
Gold. Red stone. Small linked waves.
Beautiful enough to annoy you.
“It does not mean I forgive that entrance.”
You held out your hand.
Shanks did not say something clever. He only placed the box in your palm.
The weight of it was small. The feeling was not. You closed your fingers around it before you could change your mind.
“And if you look pleased with yourself,” you said, “I will throw it overboard.”
Shanks’s mouth twitched.
You narrowed your eyes.
He fought the smile down. Badly. “Understood.”
You looked away first, the box still held tight in your hand.
“You are not getting an answer today,” you said.
“I didn’t expect one.”
“You asked my father.”
“I asked your father because he is your father.” Humor flickered across his face. “And because if I didn’t, he might sink my ship on principle.”
“He still might.”
“I know. That’s why I came alone.”
A reluctant laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
He went quiet at the sound, watching you like that small laugh had been worth crossing the sea for.
Shanks took one more step toward you, then stopped. He was close now. Close enough that if you reached out, you could touch the front of his cloak again.
His voice softened.
“Have dinner with me.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Dinner.” His smile returned, but gently this time. “Not a wedding. Not an answer. Just dinner.”
“On your ship?”
“Unless you’d rather feed me here and let Marco glare at me the whole time.”
“That does sound enjoyable.”
“I thought you might like that part.”
He waited.
“One dinner,” you said.
His shoulders eased. “One dinner.”
“And if you make one more joke about my bed, I will stab you with the letter opener on my desk.”
Shanks glanced toward the desk, then back at you. “That one looks dull.”
“Would you like to find out?”
He laughed softly, and this time you did not look away fast enough to hide that you liked the sound.
His gaze caught on your face. For a second, the room felt smaller.
Shanks leaned in.
His mouth brushed yours. Soft at first.
You moved closer instead of pulling away.
Shanks paused against your mouth, and you felt him breathe in.
Then he kissed you again.
This time, it was not soft.
His mouth pressed firmly to yours, warm and sure, and kissing him now made your knees less reliable than they had any right to be. His hand rested on your waist.
Your lips parted on a breath.
Shanks made a low sound against your mouth and pulled you closer.
Then you broke the kiss first.
Barely.
Your lips still brushed his when you spoke.
“Dinner,” you said.
His eyes opened.
“Dinner,” he agreed.
Then he stepped back.
Shanks opened the door, but paused before stepping out.
He smiled.
Not smug this time.
Fond.
“I’m glad you kept it.”
The door closed softly behind him.
Outside, Marco said something sharp.
Shanks laughed.
You stood in the middle of your room, staring at the door, unable to stop the small, foolish smile that came after him.
"Ace could have defeated Blackbeeard if he trained his Haki"
Gee, it's almost like a whole portion of the fight happened off screen. There's no reason to believe Ace didn't use Haki against Blackbeard. We didn't see much of their more hand to hand fight but Van Augur's comment when he praises Ace's basic fighting skills seem to support that he did use haki. It just wasn't enough against Blackbeard.
It couldn't have been enough against the man who managed to injure Shanks, who had his guard up. If haki was all it took to defeat Blackbeard, he wouldn't be shaping up to be (one of) the final antagonists.
Ace was very, very strong. Would have gotten even stronger if he'd survived Marineford. But, Blackbeard was much stronger. People just tend(ed) to not see it because he lay low for decades and made himself appear mediocre.
People also like to forget that Teach does not ever fight fair. Ace was trying to fight honourably (for example, the fact that he announced himself and let Teach prepare) against a man who does not care about honour and just wants to win the game. Not only that, but Teach’s crew were ALSO attacking Ace. This was not a 1v1 fight until Teach finally called his crew off (and we don’t really know if they STAYED out of it since like OP mentions, half the fight is off screen. We don’t know what it took to drag Ace all the way to the marines.)
Then there’s Teach’s devil fruit. A lot of people didn’t and still don’t know the insane capabilities of the Yami Yami no mi. Ace was caught off guard by the devil fruits nullification. That, along with the fact that Teach’s devil fruit is the natural enemy of Ace’s. Ace lacked critical information. Meanwhile, Teach had had years to study Ace’s fighting style. It’s implied several times that he and Ace were actually very close and Ace had lots of respect for Teach. He WATCHED Ace train with Thatch. He WATCHED Ace’s fights with Whitebeard.
Teach knew exactly what made Ace tick and what his capabilities were, whereas Ace had NEVER considered attacking his friend before Thatch’s murder.
There is so much nuance to their dynamic that impacted the outcome of the fight that, to be fair, is pretty glossed over, but it’s absolutely there if you care to dissect it. Even more than all the points here!
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no such thing as wasting your 20s your 20s are for recovering from whatever the fuck happened to you as a kid so that youre ready to get weird with it in your 30s
This has been my main argument against "AI" from the very beginning.
OpenAI scraped the entire web. All of which had been a labor of love from humans. Wikipedia is the backbone of a lot of LLMs, and that was volunteer human labor. They stole it and now they're selling it back to us.
And worse, they're trying to destroy the free sources that they stole from. It's destruction of human knowledge on an unprecedented scale. The burning of the library of Alexandria has nothing on this.
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