#amazon lily

Garling was not a man accustomed to regret. He had always gotten what he wanted. If something caught his interest, sooner or later he ended up getting it. But there was one thing he had never fully come to terms with: letting Shakuyaku slip away.

Even after so many years, the memory still gnawed at him from within. Shakuyaku had been perfect. Beautiful to the point of absurdity, proud, intelligent—a woman worthy of standing by his side. Garling was willing to overlook the fact that she had been a pirate, even when she caused his men too many problems. None of that really mattered to him.

That’s why he was so determined to win that year’s hunt. He had it practically in the bag. Shakuyaku was going to become his wife, the future mother of his children. A former Amazonian Empress Lily was a worthy trophy for someone like him.

But then Silver Rayleigh appeared. That damned pirate not only helped her escape, but Shakuyaku also chose him.

At that moment, he couldn't go after them; his injuries were still too severe, and there were more pressing matters to attend to after the disaster in the Valley of the Gods, so he left Saint Sommers in charge of monitoring the situation. It was a mistake.

Sommers couldn't be trusted with anything important, and by the time Garling had fully recovered and discovered they were both gone, rage nearly drove him to kill Sommers right there.

But it wasn't Sommers he truly hated. It was Rayleigh. That wretch who had stolen something he considered his own. From that moment on, he swore that one day he would have his revenge.

One day he would find a way to strike him where it hurt most, without warning and with no chance of escape.As he reviewed the new bounties issued by the Navy, an image caught his eye. The new Empress of Amazon Lily. That bastard's daughter.

And then she appeared.

Garling smiled the moment he saw her. All those years of waiting had been worth it. He didn't care that she was a pirate. He didn't care that she was Rayleigh's daughter either. If he couldn't have Shakuyaku, he would have her offspring. And through her, in a twisted way, he would still possess a part of the woman he had once lost.

But Garling was no longer young, and though the idea of taking revenge on Rayleigh still gnawed at him, the thought of taking another wife also wore him down. Because he knew exactly what she would be like.

With that blood running through her veins, she would never stay still. She wouldn’t be submissive; she wouldn’t bow her head or agree to obey him in silence. He could put a collar on her, lock her up, and force her to stay by his side, but even that was starting to seem exhausting. He no longer had the patience to deal with someone like that every day.

He had fulfilled part of the mission he had been given as a young man; he had fathered children, established his family’s name, and dedicated his life to serving the King. By that point, spending his final years watching over a rebellious woman seemed more like a burden than a desire. But beyond that, he knew that every time he looked at her, he would end up seeing Rayleigh’s eyes reflected in hers.

But Garling was not a man to give up on getting what he wanted. If he couldn’t possess directly what he desired, then he would find another way to do so.

The sound of the massive doors opening snapped him out of his thoughts. Garling looked up just as his twin sons entered the hall.

The two were identical from head to toe. The same red hair that had once caught that woman’s eye, the same sharp features, and the same intense gaze. Yet, even so, they were both different in their own way.

Garling discovered the existence of his sons during the hunt in God Valley. For a moment, he even felt grateful that the woman with whom he’d had an affair had given him offspring, even if she was a woman he considered inferior to himself. At that moment, it didn’t matter much to him. According to his plans, in a few hours he would have a new wife, and those children would grow up under his name.

But in the end, he lost one of his sons.

For years he tried to get him back. He sent men to infiltrate, to snatch him from that pirate’s ship, far from Roger and, above all, far from Rayleigh. Garling couldn’t allow a man like that to raise someone of his blood. He didn’t feel genuine affection for his sons, not the way other men did, but he understood perfectly what a Fingarland’s place in the world was.

To serve the King.

That was what he had done all his life, and that was what he expected of his sons.

That’s why, when Shanks decided to return on his own after Roger’s execution, Garling confirmed that it didn’t matter how many years someone lived among the trash of the underworld. If you discovered you were a descendant of a Celestial Dragon, sooner or later you would claim the place that was rightfully yours.

For Shanks, his first month in Mary Geoise was exhausting.

In addition to faking the reasons he was there, he had to get used to the new schedules, the heavy silence of the corridors, and the invisible rules that governed every corner of the Holy Land. He also had to bear the truth. His father was a Celestial Dragon, and so was a twin brother.

When he discovered it, Shanks was still sailing. He had already assembled his own crew. He was young, full of dreams, hopes, and ideals passed down by the man he truly considered his father. But everything changed the day he found that familiar emblem in the middle of the vast ocean.

That was when he met his father and his brother, Shamrock.

It was strange at first. Shanks didn’t remember him; he didn’t even know he existed. Shamrock, on the other hand, had always known about him.

The awkwardness between them didn’t last long. Shanks eventually came to understand that, behind the arrogance and impeccable composure, Shamrock just seemed to need someone who truly loved him. Someone who understood the pressure under which he had grown up. After all, for years he had believed himself to be the sole heir of Garling Fingarland, the only son destined to shoulder the expectations of Mary Geoise.

But when Shanks arrived, something changed between them. They grew close faster than anyone could have expected. They discovered similarities—the same tastes, the same favorite books, the same way of reacting to certain things. It was strange.

Shamrock had grown up in that oppressive place, surrounded by cruelty from childhood. On Mary Geoise, it was common to see a nobleman beat a slave until he bled. It was common to hear screams and keep walking as if nothing had happened; yet Shanks had never seen him raise a hand against anyone.

He gave orders, yes. He expected obedience; there was a harshness in him, a coldness learned to survive in that world, but never cruelty. That made Shanks wonder if, deep down, his brother had simply been born in the wrong place.

What would have happened if Shamrock had ended up on Roger’s ship instead of him?

For as long as he could remember, Shanks had lived alongside Roger. No one had ever really explained how he’d ended up there; he only knew fragments of the story. A baby found inside a chest, as if he were a forgotten treasure after the Battle of God Valley.

But even with all the luxuries of Mary Geoise, he couldn’t bring himself to regret that childhood on the Oro Jackson. The constant sound of the sea. The crew’s laughter. The absurd arguments, the nights under the stars, and the freedom.

The years he spent living with Buggy, training to be a pirate, getting into all sorts of trouble that eventually required them to be rescued. The days they would visit the Sabaody Archipelago so Rayleigh could see his family. Days when he no longer just played with Buggy, but also spent hours telling stories of his adventures to a girl who had inherited her mother’s beauty and her father’s cunning.

Those were his best years. That is why, before his execution, and before Roger told him the truth about the world, he promised himself, as his captain drew his last breath, that he would save humanity.

Even if, to achieve it, he had to lose himself in the process.

For that reason, he was there now, walking alongside his twin brother toward the man who had given him life. His footsteps echoed on the polished floor—rhythmic, measured, exactly the same as his brother’s. Both wore the white cloaks of the Holy Knights draped over their shoulders, swords hanging at their sides from their belts, and the same stern expression that Mary Geoise demanded of her warriors.

“My sons,” Garling spoke as soon as the massive doors to the hall finished opening.

Shanks hated that place—the cold silence of its corridors, the cruelty disguised as nobility, and the way everyone seemed to look the other way while the world rotted beneath them. But no matter how much he loathed it, he couldn’t leave.

There was something inside him that kept telling him he had a duty to fulfill. A debt to pay. Roger had entrusted him with the truth about the world before he died. He had placed a burden on his shoulders that was far too heavy for someone his age, and ever since then, Shanks had understood that he could not live only for himself.

By then, he had mastered his role. He had learned when to remain silent, when to lower his gaze, and when to feign indifference. He had patiently built that mask of coldness, forcing himself to harden his face so they would trust him, so they would stop seeing him as the lost son who grew up among pirates.

“Father,” said Shamrock, bowing his head just enough to show respect without appearing submissive.

Shanks did the same a few seconds later. He couldn’t call that man “father.” The word stuck in his throat every time he tried to say it. Because for Shanks, that word had always belonged to someone else. To a man who laughed too loudly, who drank until he fell asleep on the deck, and who was capable of sacrificing everything for his crew.

Garling watched them, his fingers clasped around the hilt of his sword. In the candlelight, his silver hair looked almost white, and his eyes scanned his children with an unbearable coldness, as if he were appraising weapons before a battle.

“I’m glad you came,” Garling said.

His voice conveyed no joy whatsoever. There was something about him that made the air in the hall feel heavier, as if his mere presence crushed everyone else.

“You have duties to fulfill in the coming days,” he continued, “but first I want you to witness something.”

Shanks exchanged a brief glance with Shamrock. His brother seemed as disinterested as ever, almost bored. He had one arm crossed behind his back and the relaxed expression of someone accustomed to the eccentricities of the Celestial Dragons. Shanks, on the other hand, felt an uncomfortable twinge in his chest.

Garling rarely did anything without an ulterior motive. And when he spoke that way, with that almost gentle calm, it usually meant trouble.

“Something important, Father?” Shamrock asked.

Garling smiled. It was a small, elegant, and completely empty smile.

“I have always completed every mission entrusted to me,” he said slowly, as if speaking to himself. “I have always obtained everything I have desired. Everything I have set my sights on has ended up belonging to me.”

Shanks felt a chill run down his spine. He didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the tone of his voice. Or maybe it was the way Garling spoke of people just as other men spoke of objects.

The room fell silent for a few seconds. Then Garling lifted his face slightly.

“But there was one thing that slipped through my fingers.”

“One thing that for years consumed me from within because I didn’t have it.”

Garling’s voice remained calm.

“Do you want us to get it for you?” asked Shanks.

Garling slowly turned his face and smiled faintly, pleased to hear those words come from his son’s mouth. There was a certain satisfaction in his gaze, as if he were finally seeing that, even after growing up among pirates, Shanks had understood the importance of his blood and the place that belonged to him as a Fingarland.

“No… oh, no. I’m too old for certain things now,” he replied calmly. “Besides, I’m bored of having to wait for others to bring me everything. You’re young. Good blood runs through your veins; you deserve to have it all.”

He paused briefly before continuing.

“So allow me to present you with a gift.”

The massive doors to the hall swung open. The sound echoed off the marble columns, and a guard strode in with a firm gait, looking impeccable in his white uniform. He walked to the center of the hall and knelt before the throne, keeping his head bowed.

“Your Excellency, they have brought what you requested.”

Garling gave a slight nod.

“Let them in.”

Shanks kept his face expressionless, though he felt an uncomfortable pressure slowly building in his chest. At his side, Shamrock raised an eyebrow with slight curiosity, clearly intrigued by the spectacle his father had prepared.

Then the guards entered. Two men, weighed down by their armor, advanced through the hall, dragging a third figure between them. A woman.

Her hands were chained in front of her with shackles; her jet-black hair fell in disarray over her face and part of her shoulders, partially obscuring her features. Her dress was covered in dust, with the fabric torn in places and a fresh bruise on her cheekbone. And yet she did not seem defeated.

The guards forced her forward to the center of the hall. One of them dug a hand into her shoulder and shoved her down violently. Her knees struck the marble with a sharp thud.

Shanks recognized her instantly.

It was impossible not to. Even though years had passed. Even though her face had changed over time, becoming more mature and now bearing the marks of a fight.

It was still her.

Shanks felt something heavy tighten inside his chest as he watched her. For a moment, the hall vanished around him. He no longer heard the echo of the chains or the guards’ breathing. His mind dragged him back years, to days when the sea still seemed infinite and life didn’t feel like a burden impossible to bear.

He remembered the little girl running across the deck of the Oro Jackson along side him and Buggy, laughing too loudly every time one of them ended up falling to the ground. He remembered the visits to the Sabaody Archipelago, the endless afternoons at Rayleigh’s house, listening to her talk nonstop while she tried to eavesdrop on conversations that were clearly not meant for children.

She was always there. Following them everywhere, insisting on hearing stories about pirates, adventures, and sea monsters. And every time Shanks exaggerated something just to impress her, she ended up believing it with such earnestness that it made him tease her for days.

They were ridiculous memories. But at that moment, watching as they forced her to remain on her knees in the heart of Mary Geoise, those memories felt unbearably distant.

Because she didn’t belong there. No one like her could belong there.

Shanks kept his face impassive, forcing himself not to react. By then he had learned to control every gesture, every glance, every breath. In Mary Geoise, showing emotion was dangerous, especially in front of Garling.

What was she doing there?

The question struck Shanks’s mind as he continued to watch her. He couldn’t understand how she had ended up in Mary Geoise, chained as if she were a war trophy.

She was supposed to be in Sabaody with her mother. Rayleigh had lived as a pirate practically his entire life, but he would never have allowed his daughter to grow up in that world. She was his princess. Everyone who knew Rayleigh knew that. He always treated her as something too precious to drag out to sea and make her a target for the Government or other pirates. Even Roger used to tease him about how overprotective he was.

She was always there. Following them everywhere, insisting on hearing stories about pirates, adventures, and sea monsters. And every time Shanks exaggerated something just to impress her, she ended up believing it with such earnestness that it made him tease her for days.

They were ridiculous memories. But at that moment, watching as they forced her to remain on her knees in the heart of Mary Geoise, those memories felt unbearably distant.

Because she didn’t belong there. No one like her could belong there.

Shanks kept his face impassive, forcing himself not to react. By then he had learned to control every gesture, every glance, every breath. In Mary Geoise, showing emotion was dangerous, especially in front of Garling.

Shanks never heard any rumors about her sailing, or about a crew, or about bounties. After the Roger Pirates disbanded, she simply vanished from his life along with the rest of them.

The last time he saw her was years ago, during the Oro Jackson’s final voyage. Roger was already ill by then. The crew was sailing toward Laugh Tale, and the atmosphere had changed. Even as a young man, Shanks could feel the strange weight the adults carried, as if they all knew the end was near and none of them wanted to say it out loud.

She had run after him before they left; Shanks could still remember how she had complained that he felt “too old” to spend time with her and Buggy like he used to. And now she was kneeling before the Celestial Dragons.

Shanks felt an uncomfortable pang welling up inside his chest. Because he knew exactly what she must be thinking as she looked at him.

Anyone from the old crew would have tried to understand. They would have asked questions. They would have stared at him for hours before jumping to conclusions. Even Buggy would have ended up demanding explanations amid insults and shouts.

But she wouldn’t look for reasons or try to listen to what he had to say. In her eyes, he had simply chosen that place. He had abandoned everything Roger stood for to don the white cloak of the Holy Knights and walk alongside men like Garling.

Garling began to approach; his footsteps echoed through the enormous hall. She didn’t look up; her eyes remained fixed on the floor, her jaw tense, her back straight. Even kneeling and bound by the Kairoseki shackles, she refused to look defeated.

Garling stopped in front of her and watched her for a few seconds in silence.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

His words hung in the air, heavy with authority, with years of absolute power. Faced with anyone else, it would have been enough to make them bow their head. But she remained motionless.

Shamrock watched the scene with growing interest, amused by that small display of defiance. Shanks, on the other hand, felt his chest tighten, as if something inside him refused to breathe.

Garling raised a hand; his fingers, long and pale as claws, closed around the woman’s jaw and forced her to lift her face abruptly. His nails dug slightly into her skin as he pulled her upward, forcing her to look at him.

The face before him was Shakuyaku’s. The same beauty that had obsessed him years ago in God Valley. The same high cheekbones, the same wild elegance in her features, the same curve of her lips that had once made him believe that woman would end up belonging to him. Even beaten, covered in dust, and chained to the floor, she still had something hypnotic about her.

But her eyes were Rayleigh’s. That cold, steely gaze that seemed to defy the whole world without saying a word. The same unbearable intensity that pirate had whenever anyone tried to break him. A look that could intimidate even the bravest knight.

Garling felt something stir inside his chest. For a moment, he said nothing. He just watched her, clenching his jaw as if trying to swallow all the memories that look had just brought back.

“You’re just like your mother,” he murmured finally, and his voice came out lower than he intended. “The same beauty… damn it, the same beauty…”

His fingers tightened a little more around her jaw, forcing her to remain still before him.

“But you have the same look as that bastard.”

Shanks clenched her fists without realizing it. She felt her nails dig into the palms of her hands as she watched Garling hold her like that, speaking of Rayleigh with contempt, as if he were trash, as if that man hadn’t been more honorable than any of the nobles breathing within Mary Geoise. And she hated the way Garling looked at her, as if she were something he could claim simply for having certain blood in her veins.

But she had never been weak. Ever since he’d met her, she’d always found a way to defy everyone, even Rayleigh. She argued, she insisted, and she did exactly what she wanted, even if it meant getting herself into trouble afterward. Shanks could still picture her crossing her arms whenever someone tried to give her an order, looking at them with that pride she’d clearly inherited from both her parents.

But seeing her there, chained in front of Garling, something inside him screamed that he had to protect her. Not just because she was a woman, nor because she was the daughter of his former first mate. It was something deeper. Something that had been buried for years and was now coming back with a vengeance, twisting inside his chest in a way he didn’t know how to describe.

For a moment, he wanted to shatter the mask he had built up over all those years on Mary Geoise. He wanted to go and grab Garling’s wrist, wrench it right there, turn toward her, lift her into his arms, and take her back home. But before his thoughts could turn into actions, she smiled.

It wasn’t a warm smile. It was dangerous. The smile of someone who had learned that words could hurt more than a sword.

“The only bastard in this room,” he said in a clear, firm voice, without a trace of fear, “is you.”

The sound of the slap echoed through the room like a lash. Her head snapped violently to one side, and the impact sent her crashing onto the marble floor. The sharp thud of her body hitting the floor made something inside Shanks tense up immediately. A trickle of blood slowly ran down from the corner of her split lip.

Shanks felt his own fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. He couldn’t do a single thing except stand there, watching, hating himself for it.

“You should be grateful I’m sparing your life,” Garling said.

His voice sounded furious, though he was trying to maintain that calmness that was so characteristic of him. Even when angry, he refused to give others the satisfaction of seeing him lose control. Garling looked down at her with contempt before continuing.

“Your father caused me too many problems in the past. Problems that someone should pay for.”

Shanks felt her stomach churn. All of this was nothing more than revenge, a punishment aimed at Rayleigh through her.

Garling slowly straightened up and calmly smoothed the cuff of his shirt, as if he’d just crushed an annoying insect under the sole of his shoe. Then he turned on his heel and walked back toward his sons.

“I’ve decided you can keep her,” he said with complete nonchalance, as if he were talking about the weather. “A gift from me. Whoever wants her can take her.”

Shamrock walked toward her with slow, relaxed steps, clearly amused by the situation. He stopped right next to her and began to examine her with the same curiosity one might use to inspect a recent purchase.

He walked all the way around her before whistling softly.

“Not bad, Father,” he remarked. “Not bad at all.”

Then he glanced over his shoulder at Shanks, wearing that arrogant half-smile that appeared whenever he thought he had the upper hand.

"What do you say, brother? Shall we share?"

Shanks didn’t answer. His jaw was too tight, and his heart was pounding too hard against his ribs.

Shamrock ended up crouching down in front of her until he was at her eye level. His eyes slowly traced her face, taking in the cut on her lip, the bruise forming on her cheekbone, and the way her black hair framed her features even in that miserable state. But even so, she looked dangerous and utterly beautiful.

“You’re pretty,” Shamrock said, his tone sounding almost surprised. “I didn’t expect that from someone born on the bottom.”

She lifted her face just enough to look at him. Her gaze was cold and calculating—the look of someone who was already sizing him up, searching for weaknesses, and thinking of the best way to strike as soon as she had the chance.

But before he could fully process it, she lunged at him.

The sound of clashing chains echoed violently through the hall. Her hands reached for the redhead’s face, but they only managed to scratch the air as she was stopped by the guards. They grabbed her violently before she could reach him and forced her back down onto the marble floor. She struggled in their grip, trying to break free as the chains of her handcuffs clanked around her wrists. Her clenched teeth, ragged breathing, and a hoarse growl escaping from the back of her throat made her seem more like a cornered beast than a prisoner.

Shamrock had leaped back without losing his composure. For a few seconds, he simply looked down at her, as if trying to understand what had just happened. And then he began to laugh. It wasn’t a mocking laugh. It was genuine. The laugh of someone surprised by something new.

“Well… she certainly has spirit,” he murmured as he readjusted his cloak over his shoulders.

The guards were still holding her against the marble, but even so, she continued to struggle as if she still believed she could rip everyone’s throats out. Shamrock watched her for a few more seconds before turning his face toward Shanks.

Shanks’ expression remained cold, controlled—exactly the same impassive mask as always. But Shamrock knew him too well not to realize that something was wrong.

Then he walked over to him and gave him a light nudge on the shoulder, snapping him out of his trance.

“I can tell you like her,” he said with an amused half-smile. “Ever since she walked in, you haven’t been able to take your eyes off her.”

Shanks didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say without giving himself away.

Shamrock smiled a little wider, amused by his brother’s silence.

“You keep her. I have other distractions tonight.”

Shanks blinked. For a moment, the mask of coldness he had built up over the years cracked ever so slightly.

“I…”

“Don’t argue,” Shamrock interrupted him before he could continue.

His tone remained relaxed, almost carefree, as if he truly believed he was doing him a favor. Then he turned to the guards and spoke with the ease of someone accustomed to being obeyed instantly.

“Take her to my brother’s quarters. Have her cleaned up and dressed. Make sure she understands her place, or someone will have to teach it to her in less pleasant ways.”

The guards nodded immediately. One of them grabbed her arm roughly and forced her to her feet. The other took hold of the chain of her shackles and began dragging her toward the exit without the slightest care.

She didn’t protest. She didn’t look back at Garling or Shamrock. But just before she crossed the threshold of the enormous hall, her gaze lifted for just a second, and then her eyes met Shanks’s.

He felt something heavy sink into his chest as he held that gaze he hadn’t seen in years. They were still the same eyes he remembered from Sabaody. The same ones that would light up when listening to absurd stories about the sea. The same ones that would narrow every time he teased her just to see her get angry.

She had recognized him from the start. She had seen the white cloak over his shoulders. The sword at his waist. The place he occupied beside Garling and Shamrock. And now she was trying to understand how the boy who had once sailed alongside Roger had ended up there. How someone like him could stand in that hall doing nothing.

He felt like he couldn't breathe, too many explanations stuck in his throat. Explanations he couldn't give her there, that she probably wouldn't even want to hear. He wanted to tell her it wasn't what it seemed. That he hated that place as much as she did.

That every day inside Mary Geoise felt like slowly rotting from the inside out. That he never forgot Roger, or Oro Jackson, or the people he once called family.

He wanted to tell her he was there for a reason. That Roger had left him with an impossible burden and that he had chosen to go down alone if it meant protecting the world someday. But it all sounded like an excuse.

Because in the end, she was still obeying orders. She was still standing next to the monsters who had just beaten her.

For a moment, Shanks thought he saw disappointment in her eyes. Of all the people in the world, she was one of the last he wanted to look at him that way.

The guards yanked the chains again, and she finally disappeared behind the massive doors of the hall. The metallic echo of shackles scraping across the marble floor lingered for several seconds after she was gone.

Shanks stood motionless, though his heart pounded so hard against his ribs he felt everyone could hear it. Seeing her there had shattered something he had spent years trying to keep intact—what he had built to survive inside Mary Geoise.

Garling turned, beginning to walk away.

“I hope,” she said with a venomous gentleness, “that you will appreciate the gifts I give you.”

Shanks immediately lowered his gaze.

“Yes, Father,” he murmured. The words tasted like poison. He had survived in that place for years thanks to lies, silence, and the mask he had built for himself.

But something inside him was beginning to break.

Because seeing her there had awakened too many things he thought were buried. A desperate need to destroy everything that kept her locked away in that place began to grow.

Shanks slowly clenched his fists, and deep in his mind, a single idea began to burn fiercely. It didn't matter what it cost or if it jeopardized his entire plan. He had to get her out of there.

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I hope it was translated well, thanks for reading.