Chapter 1: Chapter 1: The Sea Calls the Dead
Chapter Text
White.
Blinding, endless white.
There was no sea breeze, no sky, no land—just an empty expanse stretching in all directions.
Then, suddenly, people appeared.
Straw Hats. Red Hair Pirates. Whitebeard Pirates. Marines. Revolutionaries.
Confusion spread like wildfire.
Zoro’s hand was already on his sword. Sanji exhaled a long stream of smoke, eyes flicking around warily. Robin observed the unfamiliar space with a calculating gaze, while Usopp’s nervous laughter filled the air.
“What the hell is going on?” Smoker muttered, reaching for his jitte.
Before anyone could answer—
A heavy thud.
Ace had dropped to his knees.
His breath was shallow, his hands clenched into fists on his thighs.
In front of him—
Luffy.
Alive.
Standing.
Ace’s breath hitched. His chest tightened painfully, a mess of emotions crashing into him all at once.
Luffy looked older.
His face had sharpened with time, his frame broader, stronger. But the wide eyes staring at him were the same—bright, full of emotion, brimming with something between disbelief and sheer, desperate hope.
Ace’s throat worked. His fingers curled.
Then—
“Luffy.”
The single word barely escaped his lips before Luffy moved.
A blur of red and gold and straw, and then—
Arms wrapped around him, tight.
Ace’s breath hitched as he felt Luffy’s grip—fierce, unrelenting, desperate, as if he was afraid Ace would slip away if he let go.
“Ace,” Luffy’s voice cracked against his shoulder. “Ace, Ace—”
Ace’s own arms moved before he could think, pulling Luffy in just as tightly.
He felt Luffy shaking. His little brother—no, his grown little brother—was trembling in his grasp, his fingers twisting into the fabric of Ace’s vest, as if trying to ground himself in reality.
Ace squeezed his eyes shut. “Luffy.” His voice wavered.
Luffy’s grip only tightened. “You’re really here,” he whispered, breathless. “I—I saw you die, Ace. I couldn’t—” His voice broke. “I couldn’t do anything.”
Ace swallowed hard, pressing his chin against Luffy’s hair. He could feel the slight dampness against his shoulder, the way Luffy clung to him like he’d never let go again.
Idiot.
“Dummy.” Ace ruffled his hair, his own voice thick. “You’re still crying too much.”
Luffy let out something between a wet chuckle and a sniffle, but his arms didn’t loosen.
Ace exhaled shakily.
This was real.
Luffy was warm and solid in his arms, his heartbeat fast but steady.
He was alive.
And Ace—somehow—was here with him.
For a moment, Ace just held him, soaking in the presence he never thought he’d feel again.
Then—
A sharp inhale.
Ace’s body tensed.
That voice—
His arms around Luffy stiffened slightly as his eyes slowly flickered up.
And there—standing just a few feet away—
Blond hair, bright as ever.
Golden eyes, wide with shock.
Older. Taller. A faint scar across his left eye.
A coat with the symbol of the Revolutionaries draped over his shoulders.
Ace’s breath stopped.
His grip on Luffy slackened slightly as he took in every single detail.
His mind refused to comprehend it at first.
No.
It wasn’t possible.
But—
The way he stood, his weight balanced forward, like he was still a reckless kid ready to throw a punch at any second—
The slight twitch in his fingers, like he was barely holding himself back—
The way his lips trembled, as if trying to form words but failing—
It was him.
It was really—
Ace’s breath came out in a shuddering gasp.
“Sabo?”
Sabo’s mouth opened. A small sound escaped, but no words followed.
Ace barely registered Luffy pulling back slightly, turning toward the blond figure standing in shock.
Ace’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.
His body moved on instinct.
One step.
Then another.
Then he ran.
The impact sent both of them stumbling, but neither cared.
Ace’s arms wrapped around Sabo tight, his grip fierce, his hands fisting into the back of his coat.
Sabo barely had time to react before he was returning the embrace just as fiercely.
His fingers curled into Ace’s shoulder, his breath coming out in rapid, uneven gasps.
Ace buried his face into Sabo’s shoulder, his entire body trembling. “You—you’re alive.” His voice cracked. “You survived.”
Sabo’s grip tightened. His body shook slightly against Ace’s, as if the reality of the moment was finally sinking in.
“Ace,” he choked out. His voice wavered, raw with emotion.
Ace let out a wet laugh, his fingers digging into the fabric of Sabo’s coat. “You bastard,” he muttered. “You were alive all this time?”
Sabo swallowed hard. His arms tightened. “I didn’t remember,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Not for a long time.” His breath hitched. “And then—I searched for you both.”
Ace’s throat tightened painfully.
He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against Sabo’s shoulder.
“…You idiot,” he whispered. “You should’ve come home sooner.”
Sabo let out a shaky chuckle. “I know.”
Luffy’s arms wrapped around both of them.
Ace barely had time to react before he was being crushed into a three-way embrace, Luffy’s grip as desperate as their own.
Ace huffed a breathless laugh. “Oi, Luffy—”
“Shut up,” Luffy muttered. His voice was still thick with emotion, but his hold didn’t loosen. “Just—shut up and stay here for a minute.”
Ace didn’t argue.
Neither did Sabo.
For the first time in what felt like forever—
They were together again.
And for this moment, that was enough.
The air felt wrong.
The Straw Hats stood frozen, their eyes darting across the unfamiliar space.
It was white—an endless, empty expanse with no walls, no ceiling, no horizon. Just nothingness.
Nami’s arms were crossed tightly, her fingers digging into her sleeves. “What is this place…?”
Usopp’s breath was uneven. His eyes darted from face to face, lingering on the people who should not—could not—be here. “This is a dream, right?” His voice cracked slightly. “Tell me this is a dream.”
Franky’s sunglasses slipped down his nose, his usual bravado nowhere to be found.
Brook, a skeleton who had known death more intimately than any of them, was eerily silent.
Robin’s expression remained unreadable, but the way her fingers pressed together betrayed her unease.
Chopper trembled slightly. “This isn’t possible,” he whispered. “It—it doesn’t make sense.”
And Zoro—Zoro, who had stared death in the eye countless times—felt the back of his neck prickle with something unnameable. His grip tightened on his sword. “Tch… this isn’t normal.”
Their captain was still locked in an embrace with his brothers, lost in a world where nothing else mattered.
But for the rest of them—
The weight of the impossible pressed down like a tidal wave.
Then—
A deep, rumbling breath.
The ground beneath them seemed to shift with its force.
Every head turned.
And there—
Towering. Unyielding. Eyes sharp and piercing even in death.
“Pops…”
The whisper came from Marco, barely audible.
The Whitebeard Pirates stood as if turned to stone, their expressions ranging from shock to something dangerously close to hope.
Whitebeard’s massive form cast a shadow over them, his gaze sweeping across the familiar faces—his sons.
Marco’s breath hitched. His fists clenched at his sides.
Then, in a voice rougher than he intended—
“…Is it really you?”
Whitebeard exhaled, a deep sound that rumbled in his chest. “What kind of stupid question is that, Marco?” His lips twitched slightly. “You think the old man wouldn’t recognize his own sons?”
Something in Marco snapped.
In an instant, he was moving—his legs carried him forward before his mind could catch up.
The impact was nothing to Whitebeard, but Marco clung to him tight, his breath shuddering.
The others followed—Vista, Jozu, Izo—one after another, their faces unguarded, raw with emotion.
A reunion they had long since given up on.
Yet here they stood.
Together.
And for now, that was all that mattered.
A few steps away, another ghost from the past stood still.
Roger took in the sight before him, his usually boisterous energy momentarily dimmed.
Then—
A bark of laughter.
“I knew you’d outlive me, Rayleigh!”
The Dark King flinched.
His head turned, his usually calm demeanor cracking—just slightly.
And then he saw him.
The grinning fool who had once dragged him across the seas.
The man he had watched walk toward his execution with that same stupid, fearless smile.
Rayleigh’s fingers twitched.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then, with a long exhale, he took a step forward.
Roger did the same.
And when they met in the middle—
Neither said a word.
Rayleigh’s hand landed heavily on Roger’s shoulder, gripping tight.
Roger grinned, his usual boisterous energy returning in full force. “You didn’t drink too much in my absence, did you?”
Rayleigh huffed a laugh. “You’re one to talk.”
A snort of amusement came from beside them.
Roger turned—
And his grin widened.
“Shanks!”
The Red-Haired Yonko remained still, his expression unreadable.
But Roger wasn’t deterred. He took a step forward, arms crossed. “Look at you—big and strong now, huh? Must’ve been tough without me around.”
Shanks exhaled slowly, his gaze sharp—searching.
Roger expected a grin. Expected laughter. Expected a casual, carefree remark.
Instead—
Shanks’ lips barely parted.
“…Captain.”
Roger’s teasing stopped.
His eyes flickered—just briefly—to the worn edges of Shanks’ coat.
The very same one Roger had once placed on his small shoulders.
And in that moment, he knew.
Shanks had walked through hell.
And somehow, he had made it to the other side. He couldn’t help but hug his son.
Benn Beckman, standing behind Shanks, watched silently. His cigarette smoldered between his fingers, but he said nothing.
The other Red Hair Pirates remained still, their eyes flickering between their captain and the ghost before them.
It was Yasopp who finally broke the silence.
“…Well, I’ll be damned.”
Across the room, a different kind of silence had fallen.
One laced with something heavy.
A man clad in white stood motionless, his golden eyes fixed on the figure before him.
The figure who—years ago—had bled out in his arms.
Corazon swallowed hard.
He had seen many things in his life.
But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for this.
“…Law.”
The name barely left his lips before the boy—no, the man—was in front of him.
Older. Taller.
But those eyes—
Still held the same fire.
Law’s lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.
Then—
A fist clenched into the fabric of Corazon’s coat.
Not letting go.
Not this time.
Corazon exhaled shakily.
And then he moved, arms wrapping around his precious, reckless boy.
“…You grew up,” he muttered against Law’s hair.
Law’s grip on him tightened.
Neither of them let go.
And watching from the sidelines—
His wrists bound in sea stone—
Doflamingo stared, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and rage.
Because this—
This was impossible.
Corazon was dead.
Doflamingo had made sure of it.
And yet—
There he stood.
Whole.
Smiling.
Doflamingo’s fingers twitched, the sea stone digging into his skin.
But for once—
He had nothing to say.
The air was heavy with emotions, a mix of disbelief, shock, and silent acceptance.
Not everyone had moved yet.
Among those still frozen in place were the Heart Pirates.
Bepo shifted uneasily, his ears twitching. “Captain…”
Shachi and Penguin exchanged nervous glances. They had never seen Law like that before.
Their normally cold and composed captain was still standing beside Corazon, his hands curled into fists.
Ikkaku nudged Clione. “This is… unreal.”
No one disagreed.
No one dared interrupt, either.
Not when Law—always so distant—stood there, staring at the man he had lost all those years ago.
The moment stretched, thick with emotion.
Luffy, Ace, and Sabo remained locked in their embrace, as if unwilling to let go, as if afraid that the second they did, one of them would disappear again.
Around them, murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd, disbelief still settling in.
Among those watching, standing just a little apart, was the leader of the Revolutionary Army.
Monkey D. Dragon.
His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, but his sharp gaze remained fixed on Sabo.
His second-in-command.
His trusted right hand.
His son, though neither of them had ever used the word.
Dragon had known Sabo for years. He had watched him grow from a determined boy into a formidable revolutionary. But now, in this moment, he didn’t see the strategist, the commander, the man who had helped reshape the world from the shadows.
He saw something else.
Something that had been missing.
Family.
Sabo’s grip on his brothers didn’t loosen, his knuckles white with how tightly he held onto them.
Dragon exhaled slowly.
“They truly are close,” he murmured.
The familiar, flamboyant voice beside him let out a fuffuffuffu of amusement.
“Close? Close doesn’t even begin to describe it!” Emporio Ivankov crossed his arms, shaking his head. “This is destiny, Dragon! They’ve come back together after everything!” He grinned. “I must admit, I love a good reunion.”
Dragon said nothing, but his gaze lingered on Luffy for a moment longer before shifting.
The scene around them was changing.
And they weren’t the only ones watching.
The Marines’ Side
Tension hung heavy in the air.
Vice Admiral Garp stood rigid, fists clenched at his sides.
His sharp eyes were locked onto the trio embracing in the distance.
His grandsons.
His throat worked, emotions swelling painfully in his chest. He wanted—no, ached—to rush forward, to wrap his arms around them and hold them tight, to feel their warmth and know that, against all odds, they were here.
But he didn’t move.
His jaw tightened. His fingers curled into fists.
They’re safe.
That should be enough.
And yet, his body trembled with the effort to stay still.
Beside him, a deep sigh broke the silence.
“…Tch.”
Garp glanced sideways, where Sengoku stood, arms crossed, brows furrowed deeply.
At first, Sengoku’s expression was unreadable, but then he let out another heavy sigh, rubbing his temple.
“This is a mess,” he muttered. His voice was gruff, carrying the weight of years of responsibility. “All that effort, all those battles, and look where we are now.”
Garp said nothing.
Then—
Sengoku huffed.
“…But I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Garp blinked as his old friend straightened, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.
“I’m retired,” Sengoku reminded himself aloud. His lips quirked in something between exasperation and reluctant amusement. “Not my problem anymore.”
Garp raised a brow. “Is that really how you feel?”
Sengoku clicked his tongue but didn’t answer. His gaze drifted across the gathered people, his sharp eyes landing on a particular figure.
A man with blond hair. A spotted coat.
Donquixote Rosinante.
Sengoku inhaled deeply.
Rosinante was standing in the distance, eyes fixed on a boy—no, a young man—with sharp silver eyes and tattoos crawling up his arms.
Law.
Sengoku exhaled through his nose.
He had thought about Rosinante every day since his death. Had wondered if, perhaps, there had been a way to save him.
And now—
Here he was.
The urge to approach was strong.
But Sengoku stayed put.
For now.
Instead, his eyes flickered to the other Marines gathered around him, each processing the situation in their own way.
Further away, Koby and Helmeppo exchanged nervous glances.
“What… what even is this?” Helmeppo whispered.
Koby swallowed. “I have no idea.”
From the distance, Hina let out a sharp breath. “Unbelievable,” she muttered.
Beside her, Smoker took a long drag of his cigar. “Yeah,” he exhaled, smoke curling into the empty white space. “You’re tellin’ me.”
The Marines were silent after that.
No one disagreed.
Even seasoned Marines, those who had seen the impossible become reality time and time again, found themselves at a loss for words.
Garp let out a heavy breath.
Whatever was happening here—
It was something that defied reason.
But for now, he simply watched.
And for the first time in a long, long time—
He prayed that this moment wouldn’t end too soon.
Meanwhile, chaos was brewing.
“CAPTAIN BUGGY!!!”
The screams of the Buggy Pirates rang through the white void, their eyes darting in every direction.
“We’re surrounded!”
“WHERE THE HELL ARE WE?!”
“IS THIS A TRAP?!”
Alvida pinched the bridge of her nose. “For god’s sake, calm down.”
Moji clutched Richie the lion a little tighter. “But—but look at who’s here!”
Cabaji’s grip tightened on his sword. His gaze flickered toward the Red Hair Pirates, the Marines.....
He swallowed hard.
“…Where’s Captain Buggy?”
Silence.
Then—
“…He was just here.”
A beat.
Then—
A scream.
“WE LOST HIM!”
The Buggy Pirates erupted into chaos once more.
Alvida sighed deeply. Even Alvida seemed momentarily at a loss.
Buggy—of all people—was missing.
And that was never a good sign.
Across the room, two figures stood apart.
A deep chuckle broke the silence.
Golden eyes gleamed under the void’s strange white light.
Dracule Mihawk stood with his arms crossed, observing the unfolding chaos with an unreadable expression.
Beside him, a fur-lined coat shifted as Sir Crocodile exhaled sharply.
His fingers tapped against his arm, sharp gaze flickering toward the various reunions.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
Mihawk arched a brow. “You don’t seem particularly moved.”
Crocodile scoffed. “It’s a damn circus.”
His gaze flickered toward the still-panicking Buggy Pirates.
“And speaking of clowns…”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“…Where the hell is that clown?”
Strangly that sentence seems To be heard by everyone in the void.
Chapter 2: Chapter 2: The Unfinished Journey
Chapter Text
Chapter 2: The Unfinished Journey
The embrace was warm. Grounding.
Ace could feel the steady rise and fall of Luffy’s chest, the strong grip of Sabo’s arms.
For a moment, nothing else mattered.
But then—
A presence.
Ace’s breath hitched.
Something in the air shifted.
A deep, familiar voice rumbled in his memory—"You are my son."
Slowly, almost unwillingly, he lifted his head.
And then he saw him.
The massive figure. The broad chest. The white mustache that had once been a symbol of unshakable strength.
Whitebeard.
Ace’s fingers curled. His heart pounded.
“Old man…” The words escaped in a breathless whisper.
Luffy and Sabo barely had time to react before Ace pulled away.
His feet moved on their own.
Each step forward felt heavier than the last.
His breath was shallow, his vision blurred at the edges.
He was afraid.
Afraid that if he blinked, Whitebeard would disappear.
But he didn’t.
The man who had taken him in, who had called him son, who was ready to die protecting that very belief—
He was here.
Ace stopped just a few steps away, fists clenched.
He opened his mouth, but no words came.
His crew was there too—Marco, Vista, Jozu, Izo—all of them, staring back at him with the same stunned disbelief.
But Ace couldn’t look away from Whitebeard.
Because the last time he had seen him…
There had been blood.
There had been fire.
And there had been nothing he could do.
His throat tightened painfully.
“…Old man,” he choked out again, voice barely above a whisper.
And then—
Whitebeard turned toward him.
Their eyes met.
And for the first time since this strange gathering began—
Whitebeard smiled.
Not the fierce, battle-ready grin Ace remembered from Marineford, nor the tired but proud expression he had worn in his final moments.
This was something different.
Something softer.
“Ace.”
Just his name. No grand speech, no rebuke, no questions.
But that single word shattered the last of Ace’s restraint.
His vision blurred, his throat constricted, and before he could stop himself—
He fell to his knees.
His hands clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms as he gritted his teeth.
“I—” His voice broke. “I failed.”
The weight of everything he had done—everything he couldn’t do—crashed down on him at once.
He had been the one to get captured.
The one who dragged his family into a war they never should have fought.
The one who stood frozen in front of Akainu’s fist, powerless as his father took blow after blow to protect them.
Ace’s shoulders shook.
“I failed you.”
A heavy silence stretched.
Then—
A deep, familiar chuckle.
The same one Ace had heard a thousand times before.
And then—
A hand, large and warm, settled atop his head.
Ace’s breath hitched. His entire body tensed.
Whitebeard’s palm rested gently against his hair, fingers pressing down with the same steady reassurance he had always given.
Ace’s eyes burned.
“Stupid brat,” Whitebeard rumbled. “What nonsense are you spouting?”
Ace’s throat tightened. He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow down the overwhelming emotion surging through him.
“You fought,” Whitebeard continued, voice firm. “You lost"
Ace bit his lip.
“And you were my son.”
Ace let out a sharp breath, a choked, half-broken sound.
The grip on his head tightened, a solid weight anchoring him, grounding him.
Behind Whitebeard, his brothers stood, watching with tearful smiles.
Marco. Vista. Jozu. Izo. Thatch. Haruta. Blamenco. Every single one of them, standing there, waiting.
Marco was the first to move.
“Ace,” he breathed, voice rough with emotion.
Ace barely had time to react before Marco dropped to his knees beside him, gripping his shoulder. His fingers dug in—not painfully, but like he needed to confirm Ace was real.
“You’re—” Marco’s voice cracked. His lips pressed into a tight line before he shook his head. “You idiot. You left us first.”
Ace’s breath hitched.
Of course.
He had died first.
They had grieved him.
And then—
They had followed.
Ace’s throat constricted painfully. His gaze flickered to Marco, to Izo’s shining eyes, to Vista’s proud but trembling smile. To Thatch, who was wiping at his face with a watery grin.
They had lost him first.
And now, they were here.
Marco’s grip tightened. “You dumb little brother.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Do you have any idea how much we—” He exhaled shakily. “How much I—”
Ace’s vision blurred. His breath stuttered in his chest.
His crew. His family.
They had come after him.
And now—
Now they were all together again.
Ace didn’t hesitate.
He moved.
Surging forward, he wrapped his arms around Whitebeard, gripping onto him like a lifeline.
His forehead pressed against the broad chest, and for the first time since his death, he allowed himself to break.
The tears fell freely.
Whitebeard’s arm came around him, large and steady, holding him just as fiercely as he had in life.
Ace clung to him, his fingers curling into the familiar coat, as if afraid he would disappear.
His crew surrounded them, hands settling on his back, his shoulders, grounding him in the warmth of family.
Marco’s head bowed slightly, a quiet exhale leaving him as he pressed a hand against Ace’s back.
Izo squeezed Ace’s arm, his usual elegant demeanor crumbling as emotion shone clear in his eyes.
Thatch ruffled Ace’s hair with a watery chuckle. “Welcome home, firefly.”
Ace bit his lip.
Home.
For the first time in what felt like forever—
He had come home.
The air was thick with emotion.
Even those who weren’t part of Whitebeard’s crew could feel it—the weight of years of loss, love, and longing converging in this impossible moment.
But just as Ace pulled back from Whitebeard’s embrace, trying to process it all—
Another presence made itself known.
A familiar, towering presence.
Ace barely had time to react before Whitebeard let out a booming laugh.
“Gurararara! Looks like I’m not the only old man getting a tearful reunion today!”
Ace froze.
His breath caught in his throat, his entire body locking up as his mind screamed at him to turn.
Slowly—almost painfully so—he lifted his head.
And there, standing just a short distance away—
The Pirate King.
His father.
But Roger wasn’t looking at Ace.
Slowly, Shanks loosened his grip.
Roger pulled back, still grinning, but this time there was something softer in his gaze—something warm, proud, and maybe even a little relieved.
“Damn, look at you,” Roger said, giving Shanks a once-over. “Did you hit a growth spurt after I died? You were definitely shorter.”
Shanks huffed a chuckle. “That’s what happens when you live long enough.”
Roger barked a laugh, about to tease him more—until his gaze flickered downward.
He stopped.
The grin on his face froze in place as his eyes locked onto the empty left sleeve of Shanks’ coat.
For a moment, Roger just stared. Then, slowly, he lifted a hand and waved it through the air where Shanks’ arm should have been.
“…Oi.” His voice was light, but there was a sharp edge behind it. “Did you misplace something?”
Shanks exhaled through his nose, already expecting this reaction. “Not exactly.”
Roger’s gaze snapped back up, a frown tugging at his lips. “You lose a bet?”
Shanks smirked. “Something like that.”
A snort came from behind him.
Roger’s head turned sharply. His gaze landed on a man standing at Shanks’ side—tall, sharp-eyed, with silver streaks in his hair and a cigarette resting between his fingers.
Before Roger could ask, Shanks sighed. “This is Benn Beckman. My first mate.”
Roger’s eyebrows shot up. “First mate, huh?” He whistled. “Guess I really missed a lot.”
Benn took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling before he spoke. “Yeah, I’d say so.”
Roger huffed a laugh. “You always this blunt?”
Benn smirked. “Only when it’s funny.”
Shanks rolled his eyes.
Roger snickered but turned back to him. “Alright, alright. Now, back to the important part.” He waved vaguely at the empty sleeve. “What the hell happened?”
Shanks barely had time to open his mouth before Benn answered.
“Oh, you know,” Benn said, voice casual. “Lost a bet on a rubber kid against a sea king.”
Roger blinked.
Then his head whipped back to Shanks.
“Wait. Wait. You lost your arm—to a sea king—for a kid?!”
Shanks scratched his cheek. “Pretty much.”
There was a long pause.
Then Roger threw his head back and cackled.
“Ohhh, that’s classic!” He slapped his knee, still laughing. “Of all the ways to go down, you just had to pick the stupidest one!”
Shanks sighed. “Thanks for the sympathy, Captain.”
Roger wiped at his eyes, finally catching his breath. “Hahh… I mean, it’s a little tragic, but mostly just stupid.”
Rayleigh, who had been watching with mild amusement, finally stepped in. “To be fair, Roger, you once got stabbed because you refused to dodge.”
Roger waved him off. “Yeah, but that was a fight. He lost his arm to a fish.” He turned back to Shanks, smirking. “Tell me it was at least a big one.”
Shanks just gave him a deadpan look.
Roger whistled. “Damn. You really haven’t changed.”
Benn smirked. “That’s what I keep telling him.”
Roger shook his head with a chuckle. “Well, you’re still standing, so I guess that’s what matters.” His grin widened as he threw an arm around Shanks’ shoulders, pulling him in roughly. “One-armed or not, you’re still my apprentice, Red-Hair!”
Shanks sighed but didn’t push him off. “Haven’t been your apprentice for a long time, Captain.”
Roger just ruffled his hair like he was still that same kid on their ship. “Eh, doesn’t change a thing.”
Shanks huffed, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips.
From behind them, Benn took a slow drag of his cigarette before exhaling. “I dunno, Cap’n. I think it suits him.”
Roger turned back to him. “The missing arm?”
“No, the name.” Benn smirked. “Red-Hair.”
Roger blinked. Then, realization dawned on his face.
“Ohhh.” He turned back to Shanks, looking him up and down. “Wait. That’s what they call you now?”
Shanks raised an eyebrow. “You never heard it before?”
Roger grinned. “What, you think I get newspapers in the afterlife?”
Shanks chuckled. “Guess not.”
Roger shook his head in amusement. “Hahh… well, it’s not bad. Red-Hair Shanks, huh?” He smirked. “Sounds like you actually made a name for yourself.”
Shanks crossed his arms. “I manage.”
Roger’s smirk grew. “Bet you’re famous.”
Shanks shrugged.
Roger’s grin widened.
“…So. You pass on the hat yet?”
Shanks’ expression softened slightly. “Yeah.”
Roger’s eyes twinkled. “Good. They better be strong.”
Shanks just smiled.
Roger huffed. “Guess I’ll find out eventually.”
Roger huffed. “Guess I’ll find out eventually.”
Before anyone could say more—
A voice cut through the air, sharp and irritated.
“And where the hell is that clown?”
The group turned toward the source.
Standing a short distance away, arms crossed and expression as unimpressed as ever, was none other than Crocodile. Beside him, Mihawk stood with his usual unreadable gaze, while Buggy’s crew was gathered just a few steps behind.
Roger blinked.
Then his face lit up.
Shanks barely had time to react before Roger suddenly grinned.
“Ohhh, you mean Buggy?!”
Crocodile’s eye twitched. Mihawk exhaled through his nose, unimpressed.
Shanks sighed.
This was about to be a mess.
Roger barely had time to part his lips before he felt it.
A shift.
It wasn’t sudden, nor loud. There was no explosion, no cry, no flash of light.
But the air changed.
A weight settled over them, heavy and suffocating, pressing against their very bones. It wasn’t just strong—it was overwhelming.
Silence fell.
The atmosphere turned razor-sharp, thick with something that sent shivers down the spines of even the strongest warriors.
Shanks’ fingers twitched near Gryphon’s hilt. His crew shifted almost imperceptibly, their postures adjusting—not quite aggressive, but ready. Benn’s usual calm gaze sharpened, Lucky Roo’s grin faded, and Yasopp exhaled slowly, fingers hovering near his rifle.
Marco’s wings flickered with blue flames, his stance subtly shifting as his sharp gaze scanned the surroundings. Vista’s grip tightened on his swords, while Jozu squared his shoulders. The Whitebeard Pirates, who had just been basking in the impossible joy of Ace’s return, now instinctively edged closer to their father, protective even in the face of the unknown.
Ace felt his breath catch, the weight pressing against his skin like an invisible force. His instincts screamed at him, his gut twisting in alarm. He took a step back toward his family, years of battle-hardening his reflexes into something automatic.
At a short distance, Sabo and Luffy had been standing together, watching Ace with quiet happiness. Now, though, their expressions darkened.
Luffy’s carefree air vanished, his body tensing, fists clenching at his sides. Sabo’s golden eyes narrowed, his fingers curling around his pipe. Neither spoke, but their muscles coiled, ready.
The Straw Hats, too, reacted on instinct.
Zoro’s hand rested on his swords, his stance shifting slightly in front of Luffy. Sanji’s cigarette burned low between his fingers, forgotten, as he subtly moved closer to his captain. Nami’s eyes darted around sharply, instincts screaming danger. Usopp swallowed thickly but stood firm, his slingshot already in his hands. Robin’s fingers hovered just above the ground, her expression unreadable. Franky squared his shoulders, Brook’s usual lighthearted air vanishing, while Chopper’s fur bristled slightly.
The Heart Pirates mirrored the same instinct.
Law’s hand hovered near Kikoku. He wasn’t an overly protective captain, but his crew’s unease made his stance shift just slightly—closer to them, subtly shielding. Bepo’s ears flattened, Shachi and Penguin exchanged wary glances, and Jean Bart’s broad form stiffened.
Dragon’s gaze flickered, his expression unreadable. He didn’t react outwardly, but the shift in his aura was unmistakable. Beside him, Ivankov muttered something under his breath, fingers twitching. Koala and Hack exchanged uncertain glances, their bodies rigid.
Garp clenched his fist at his side. His usual grin was gone, his stance shifting ever so slightly—not aggressive, not afraid, but prepared. A veteran’s instinct honed over decades of war.
Sengoku’s body straightened. He had been stiff before, but now his spine was rigid, his lips pressing into a thin line. He had felt this kind of presence before.
Smoker exhaled a long, slow breath, his grip tightening on his jitte. “What the hell…?” he muttered.
Hina’s eyes flickered with something sharp, her posture shifting ever so slightly.
Coby and Helmeppo felt it in their bones. Coby swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. Helmeppo’s grip on his sword trembled before he forced it still.
Doflamingo’s ever-present grin had vanished. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t speak.
Corazon, who had been standing not far from Law, shifted just slightly, his warm expression momentarily replaced by something far more serious.
Mihawk’s gaze flickered, unreadable. He didn’t move, didn’t react outwardly, but something in his golden eyes assessed.
Crocodile scowled, lowering his cigar slightly.
Buggy’s crew, on the other hand, was already panicking.
Alvida’s grip tightened on her mace. Cabaji and Mohji exchanged frantic looks, and even Richie let out a low growl. The rest of the crew shuffled uneasily, eyes darting around as if expecting an ambush.
Even Rayleigh, who had been standing relaxed before, now had a sharp glint in his eyes.
And still—
The presence only grew stronger.
It didn’t lash out. It didn’t speak.
But it was watching.
And it was here.
A heavy silence hung over the space.
The tension was thick, coiling in the air like an unseen force pressing down on them. The presence was still there—watching.
Then—
Tap.
A single footstep echoed across the white expanse.
It wasn’t loud, but in the absolute silence, it might as well have been a thunderclap.
Tap. Tap.
The sound grew closer, steady and unhurried.
Every muscle in the room tensed.
Luffy’s eyes sharpened, his grip on his hat tightening. Zoro shifted, hand resting on his swords, while Sanji exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his stance subtly adjusting. The Straw Hats instinctively moved closer to their captain, forming a protective front.
Whitebeard’s sons braced themselves, a few stepping forward in preparation, while Marco’s sharp eyes flickered in the direction of the approaching figure. The Red Hair Pirates were equally on guard, Benn’s fingers twitching near his gun, Lucky Roo’s usual carefree expression darkened with caution.
Even the Marines—Garp, Sengoku, Smoker, and Hina—stiffened, their eyes narrowing at the unseen newcomer.
And then—
The figure came into view.
Tall. Towering. A massive seven-foot build that radiated an undeniable presence.
They stepped into the light, yet their face remained eerily absent—featureless, as if obscured by something beyond human comprehension.
The faceless figure exuded an air of confidence, their posture relaxed yet commanding. And then, in a tone both smooth and teasing—
“My, my. What a tense little gathering we have here.”
The words sent another wave of tension through the room, but there was something undeniably playful in the way they spoke.
The host had arrived.
With one hand resting against their massive chest and the other poised elegantly at their side, they bent slightly at the waist—a gesture smooth, deliberate. The kind of bow that spoke of aristocratic refinement, of someone accustomed to grandeur and attention.
A noble’s introduction.
“My name,” the figure drawled, their voice carrying a hint of teasing amusement, “is Love.”
A ripple of reactions spread through the gathered people.
Sabo’s brows furrowed slightly. His posture remained neutral, but the way his fingers twitched betrayed his thoughts. That’s… unmistakably a noble’s greeting. Even after years with the Revolutionaries, certain habits from his childhood were hard to forget. The poise, the deliberate control—it reminded him of something from his past, yet there was an ease to it that most nobles lacked.
Rayleigh’s sharp eyes glinted with intrigue. He’d met all sorts of people in his long life—royals, warlords, revolutionaries, pirates—but this one? Interesting. His lips curled slightly at the edges, though he remained silent, watching.
Roger blinked, then grinned broadly. “Fancy way of saying hello,” he mused, glancing at Rayleigh. “Haven’t seen one of those in a while.” His amusement was clear, but there was something else beneath it—curiosity.
Whitebeard observed the host with quiet scrutiny. Unlike Roger, he didn’t voice his thoughts immediately, but Marco, standing at his side, could sense his intrigue. Whitebeard had seen plenty of self-important fools in his time, yet there was no arrogance in the host’s stance—only confidence.
Garp folded his arms, his usual boisterous nature subdued as he took in the display. “Hmph.” His eyes narrowed slightly. A noble, huh? Or at least, someone who carried themselves like one. He had little patience for royalty, but something about this was different.
Sengoku, ever the strategist, adjusted his glasses. His mind turned, calculating. Nobility and power often went hand in hand, but the way the they carried themselves—controlled, measured, deliberate—wasn’t quite like the World Nobles he despised.
And then—
Doflamingo’s smirk widened. His pink feathered coat shifted slightly as he chuckled under his breath. Well, well. A noble’s mannerisms—refined, poised—but with a twist of something else. Amusing. He tilted his head, letting his grin grow.
On the other side, Corazon’s expression remained carefully unreadable. He had long since left behind the life of nobility, but recognition flickered in his eyes. This person… He shifted slightly, his posture more guarded. Unlike Doflamingo, he wasn’t laughing.
The room remained tense, but now, beneath the caution, something else had settled in—
Curiosity.
Love had their attention.
Luffy blinked. Once. Twice. Then tilted his head.
“Huh?” He scratched his cheek. “Why are they standing all weird?”
Zoro crossed his arms, nodding sagely. “It’s obviously some kind of ancient warrior stance.”
Sanji snorted, exhaling a puff of smoke. “You dumbass, that’s clearly a noble’s greeting.”
Zoro scowled. “Oh yeah? And how would you know?”
“Because I actually read books and don’t just swing swords all day, moss-brain.”
“Say that again, curly-brows—”
Meanwhile, Nami, Usopp, and Chopper huddled together, whispering.
“Is this person dangerous?” Chopper asked in a hushed voice, eyes wide.
“They’re huge,” Usopp gulped. “What if they eat people?”
Nami flicked Usopp’s forehead. “Idiot, they introduced themselves politely! Probably some weird aristocrat.”
Brook, standing nearby, let out a laugh. “Ooooh! A noble? I wonder if they’d let me see their underwear—ah, but I have no eyes to see, yohohoho!”
Nami’s fist cracked as she raised it.
Brook quickly shut up.
Robin suddenly smiled. “Maybe they’re a noble who enjoys… collecting people.” Her voice was smooth, almost amused. “Taking new guests and making sure they never leave.”
Usopp and Chopper screamed.
Franky whistled, crossing his arms. “Damn, Robin, that was cold.”
Jinbe let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple. “I fear the crew’s habit of stirring chaos will be the end of us one day.”
Suddenly more like Unexpected or expected by some people
Luffy blinked, staring up at the massive figure before him.
Then, in the most serious voice imaginable, he asked—
“Oi, can you poop?”
Silence.
Utter, absolute silence.
The air felt heavy with sheer disbelief.
The host, mid-pose, froze. One hand still elegantly resting on their chest, the other on their side—completely still, as if their brain had short-circuited.
Every noble present gave a visible twitch.
Dragon, watching from the side, looked stunned. His eye twitched. Then, slowly, he closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose—like a man who had long since given up on understanding his own son.
Sabo visibly cringed, pressing his fingers to his temples. “Luffy…”
From the Whitebeard Pirates, Marco just stared, a slow blink the only sign of life. Vista stroked his mustache in what could only be described as bewilderment.
Ace, mid-reunion with his family, snapped his head around so fast it cracked. “LUFFY!?”
Whitebeard himself let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head in amusement. “Gurarara… as blunt as ever, I see.”
On the Red Hair side, Benn paused mid-smoke, looking genuinely lost for words. Lucky Roux blinked, then grinned. “That’s a new one.”
Shanks opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. No words came out. He looked at Rayleigh.
Rayleigh was rubbing his chin. “Now that’s a hell of a first question…”
Roger, however—
“PUHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
He burst out laughing, clutching his stomach. “THAT’S—HAHA—THAT’S THE FIRST THING YOU ASK!? KID, YOU’RE AMAZING!”
Rayleigh sighed, shaking his head. “Of course, you would find this funny.”
The Marines, for their part, were no better.
Garp, the Hero of the Marines, openly gawked. “What kind of question—”
Sengoku visibly aged ten more years, gripping his forehead. “This brat… this brat caused me so much stress…”
Even Akainu—Akainu—was thrown off for a second before scowling.
Smoker exhaled a cloud of smoke, rubbing his forehead. “This kid is gonna kill me one day…”
Hina clicked her tongue. “This situation is already unbelievable. Now this.”
The Revolutionary Army?
Ivankov just sputtered, before bursting into wheezing laughter. Koala turned to Hack, who only shook his head like he had already given up.
Doflamingo’s grin twitched. “What kind of idiot—”
Corazon, standing beside Law, choked. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it with shaking hands, took a deep drag—then stared at it like it wasn’t strong enough to deal with this nonsense.
Crocodile rubbed his temples. “Of all the things to ask…”
Mihawk, arms crossed, simply sighed.
The Heart Pirates were no better.
Bepo’s ears twitched. Penguin and Shachi exchanged looks. Law, standing beside them, visibly clenched his jaw. “…I should’ve expected this.”
Meanwhile, the Straw Hats were dying.
Usopp and Chopper were on the verge of passing out.
“LUFFY—YOU CAN’T JUST ASK THAT!” Usopp shrieked, shaking him by the shoulders.
Chopper was practically vibrating in second-hand embarrassment. “That’s not something you say to someone you just met!”
Sanji palmed his face. “This dumbass…”
Zoro, ever the supportive first mate, just nodded. “Good question.”
Sanji kicked him.
Franky let out a low whistle. “That was bold, even for captain.”
Jinbe simply sighed again, rubbing his temple harder. “I should’ve known something like this would happen.”
Brook let out a laugh. “Yohoho! It is an interesting question, now that I think about it! Ah, but I have no stomach to digest food myself—so I suppose I wouldn’t know!”
Nami clenched her fists, taking a deep, deep breath. “LUFFY!!!”
Robin, smirking, gave the host a knowing look. “Oh? Does that mean you’ll answer his question?”
The host, finally recovering, let out a slow exhale.
“Well,” they purred, a brow slightly raised, “that’s certainly a first.”
They chuckled, looking down at Luffy with something between amusement and disbelief.
“Perhaps,” they mused, “but I think I’d rather let you all wonder.”
Luffy pouted. “Awww.”
Then, after a pause, the host added—
“After all, I’m not a young woman like I used to be… someone who wouldn’t mind anyone seeing her naken.”
A second wave of silence crashed over the battlefield.
Every single person present froze again.
Dumbfounded.
Absolutely. Dumbfounded.
Roger’s jaw dropped. “Wait. WHAT!?”
Shanks choked on nothing.
Rayleigh coughed into his hand, looking the host up and down. “Well, that explains a few things…”
Doflamingo tilted his head, his usual grin flickering. “Oi, oi, oi… interesting.”
Corazon, still recovering from Luffy’s question, whipped his head around so fast his coat nearly flew off.
Crocodile narrowed his eyes, suddenly studying the host more closely.
Mihawk… simply raised a brow.
The Straw Hats?
Nami froze, then slowly turned to Robin. “D-Did she just say—?”
Robin smiled, her eyes gleaming. “Fufu~ How fascinating.”
Usopp, Chopper, and Brook were all slack-jawed.
Franky blinked. “Wait, so you were a lady before?!”
Zoro and Sanji just looked at each other, for once completely in sync in their confusion.
Luffy tilted his head. “Oh. So you can poop?”
Jinbe just sighed.
The host chuckled, waving a hand. “Now, now. No need to be so shocked~”
The conversation had officially spiraled out of control.
Dragon, standing off to the side, had never known this much second-hand embarrassment in his life.
Sabo was now rubbing his face like he had a migraine.
Meanwhile, Roger was still stuck on the reveal.
“WAIT, WAIT, WAIT—WHO WERE YOU!?”
The host simply smirked. “Now, where’s the fun in telling you that so soon?”
The host let out a soft, amused hum as she placed one hand beneath her chest, making it stand out, while the other gracefully tucked a strand of her black hair behind her ear. Her posture was effortless, yet deliberate—her waist bent ever so slightly, eyes filled with mischief, as if she were seducing them all without even trying.
"Mine, mine," she purred, voice smooth as silk. "To see such beautiful people looking at me… I wouldn’t mind sleeping with you all. But please understand—at this age, sex isn’t attractive anymore."
Silence. Again
A stunned, dead silence.
Then—
A sudden, choked sound broke through the tension, followed by a sputtered, "WHAT!?!"
Ace physically recoiled, face burning. “I DIDN’T NEED TO HEAR THAT!!”
A deep, rumbling chuckle followed from Whitebeard, who shook his head. “Gurarara… what an interesting one.”
Marco sighed, rubbing his temples. “Seriously, this day just keeps getting weirder.”
Vista let out an amused hum, stroking his mustache. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen someone say that so boldly.”
Not far off, Shanks blinked slowly, as if his brain was trying to restart. “…I have no idea how to respond to that.”
Benn took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling lazily. “…I don’t even want to respond to that.”
Lucky Roux snorted, still grinning. “Gotta admit, that was a hell of a line.”
Rayleigh chuckled under his breath, adjusting his glasses. “Now that’s a bold one.”
And then—laughter. Loud, uninhibited, and absolutely delighted.
Roger howled with laughter, slapping his knee. “PUHAHAHAHA! THAT WAS AMAZING!” He wiped a tear from his eye. “WHO EVEN SAYS SOMETHING LIKE THAT!?”
Garp choked so hard he nearly fell over. “W-WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY!?”
Sengoku, looking like he aged another decade, dragged a hand down his face. “This is… this is just getting worse.”
A long, drawn-out exhale came from Smoker, followed by a cloud of smoke. “…I really hate this place.”
Tashigi, standing beside him, looked like she had short-circuited.
Hina crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. “Hina approves of this kind of confidence.”
A heavy sigh came from Dragon, his expression unreadable. “…I should have expected this.”
Sabo muttered something under his breath, massaging his temples. “I knew this would be a mess, but this is too much…”
Ivankov, however, sparkled. “FUFUFUFU~! SUCH CONFIDENCE! I LOVE IT!”
Koala, standing beside him, just covered her face with her hands.
Hack exhaled deeply. “This is exhausting.”
Further away, Crocodile’s brow twitched. “What kind of lunatic…”
Doflamingo’s smirk only grew wider, an amused chuckle slipping past his lips. “Fufufufu… now that’s entertaining.”
Mihawk, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke. “Unexpected.”
Law closed his eyes briefly before exhaling. “I really don’t want to be here anymore.”
Bepo blinked. “That was… bold.”
Shachi and Penguin, looking at each other, just grinned. “Respect.”
The Straw Hats, on the other hand, had a… variety of reactions.
Nami buried her face in her hands. “I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS!”
Robin smirked, eyes glinting. “Oh? A woman who plays with seduction but isn’t interested? How fascinating.”
Zoro, arms crossed, let out a huff. “Bold words.”
Sanji, however, gasped, gripping his heart dramatically. “M-Mellorine… but… WAIT, WHAT DO YOU MEAN SEX ISN’T ATTRACTIVE ANYMORE!?”
Usopp, Chopper, and Brook stood completely frozen in horror.
Brook was the first to recover. “Ah… so that means I wouldn’t be able to see your—”
Sanji kicked him.
Franky let out a low whistle, crossing his arms. “Damn. Now that’s confidence.”
Jinbe, sighing, rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I think I need a drink.”
Then—
“…Oh.”
All eyes turned to Luffy.
The captain tilted his head slightly before asking, completely serious—
“So you can poop”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Every single person present was struck speechless. Your still there?!?!?!
Dragon’s eye twitched violently. He closed his eyes, exhaled sharply.
Ivankov cackled. “I KNEW IT! I KNEW HE’D not let that go"
Roger fell over laughing. “PUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Law, done beyond belief, muttered, “Kill me.”
Doflamingo’s shoulders shook as he laughed to himself.
Robin simply smirked. “Well, that is an important question.”
Franky snorted. “I mean, now that he asked, I kinda wanna know.”
Jinbe sighed deeply.
The host, however, simply chuckled—low, rich, and full of amusement.
"My, my~" she purred, tilting her head with a teasing smile. "If anyone is that interested in the answer, you're free to come find me alone later… I might just consider telling you."
She punctuated her words by lightly running her fingers through her hair, effortlessly exuding confidence, her presence commanding their attention.
That—
That was enough to make several people suddenly decide they did not want to know the answer after all.
The battlefield, once again, was thrown into utter chaos.
Chapter Text
Chapter 3: The Name That Stirs the Sea
Love let out a soft, almost sultry hum, a teasing smile playing at her lips.
“My, my… I would have loved to talk more, to share more about myself—” She lifted a hand gracefully, fingers brushing against her collarbone as if considering the thought.
Then, her expression shifted.
The warmth in her voice faded, replaced by something colder, sharper.
“—but now, we must get to our main purpose.”
The air around them changed.
A chill crept through the space, seeping into their skin like an unseen force pressing down on them. It wasn’t an overwhelming burst of power, but rather a suffocating shift—unnatural in its intensity.
Luffy, who had been entirely carefree just moments ago, blinked in confusion as he felt the shift. His instincts screamed at him, but he couldn't place why.
Zoro’s grip on his sword tightened instinctively, his body tensing as his sharp senses immediately picked up the shift. “Tch,” he muttered, eyes narrowing.
Sanji exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his usual nonchalant posture stiffening as his eyes darkened. “That’s one hell of a mood swing, lady…” he murmured under his breath.
Nami felt a shiver run down her spine. “Why does it suddenly feel freezing?” she muttered, rubbing her arms.
Usopp swallowed, his face paling. “Wait, wait, wait—why does this feel so bad? This is bad, right? This has to be bad!”
Chopper’s fur stood on end, his ears twitching. “Her whole presence just changed…!”
Robin’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a knowing glint in her eyes. “What an interesting woman…” she mused, though even she wasn’t unaffected by the sudden chill.
Franky crossed his arms, his usual bravado dimming just slightly. “Oof. That’s some serious heavy atmosphere… Even I can feel it.”
Jinbe, ever composed, let out a slow breath. “This presence… it’s not haki. It’s something else.”
The Whitebeard Pirates felt the weight too. Marco frowned, his sharp eyes flickering with recognition. “Damn…” he muttered. “That’s not normal.”
Vista, always lighthearted, felt his usual ease waver. “I’d say this is impressive, but…” He exhaled sharply. “It’s also unsettling.”
Ace, who had felt his fair share of overwhelming presences, instinctively squared his shoulders, his flames sparking just faintly at his fingertips.
Shanks’ usual grin was gone, replaced with a sharper gaze. His crew subtly shifted, moving closer, not in fear but in calculated readiness.
Rayleigh, ever observant, narrowed his eyes slightly. “…Now that’s intriguing.”
Roger’s grin didn’t fade, but his expression carried a hint of something deeper—curiosity mixed with a rare, almost imperceptible caution.
Garp, arms crossed, let out a low grunt. He had felt enough strong presences in his life to recognize when something wasn’t ordinary.
Sengoku adjusted his glasses, feeling an unshakable weight settle in his gut. “This is not something to take lightly…”
Smoker took a sharp drag from his cigar, exhaling through his nose. “Great,” he muttered. “As if this day wasn’t weird enough.”
Doflamingo, who had been lounging with that ever-present smirk, sat up slightly, his fingers tapping against his knee. “Oh?” His grin widened.
Corazon, who had been tense since the beginning, felt his heartbeat quicken. His grip on his coat tightened, but he said nothing.
Sabo, who had been keeping his eye on Love from the beginning, felt something in his gut twist. His hands curled into fists.
Mihawk, ever unreadable, observed quietly, his golden eyes narrowing slightly.
Crocodile exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze—wariness, perhaps.
Dragon, who had remained silent for most of this, finally let out a slow breath. His sharp gaze settled on Love, unreadable.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
The shift in the air had settled deep in their bones.
Something was coming.
The tension in the air was suffocating, pressing down on every person present.
Then—
Love suddenly let out a soft hum, breaking the silence.
“Well,” she began, her voice carrying a knowing lilt, “I had thought of letting you all enjoy your lovely reunions a little longer…”
She tilted her head, her dark hair shifting over her shoulder as she cast her gaze over the gathered pirates, marines, and revolutionaries.
“But since one of you so kindly mentioned our protagonist’s name,” she continued, a chuckle slipping from her lips, “I can’t help but speed things along.”
As she spoke, the overwhelming pressure that had settled over them began to lighten—not entirely disappearing, but shifting.
It was no longer suffocating. No longer cold.
Instead, it changed into something… warmer.
Love’s voice softened, losing its sharp edge, and her expression changed.
Her flirty amusement remained, but now, her eyes held something different—something unmistakable.
Adoration.
It was a gaze that could only be described as fond, filled with something deep and unreadable, a stark contrast to the suffocating presence she had exuded just moments ago.
It was as if she had just been reminded of something—or someone—that she cared for beyond words.
And though no one spoke, they could all feel it.
The shift in her presence.
The meaning behind it.
Whoever she was about to speak of…
They were important to her.
A hush fell over the gathering. The shift in Love’s demeanor was palpable, her once-playful tone replaced by something far more deliberate.
Rayleigh’s sharp gaze flickered with recognition. “So, that’s how it is.” He didn’t elaborate, but the weight in his voice was clear.
Roger, never one to let tension sit for long, rubbed his chin with a grin. “Ohhh? That’s quite a look you’re giving. Got someone special in mind, huh?” His voice was light, but there was genuine curiosity behind it.
Shanks, for once, didn’t smile. He watched her carefully, the change in her expression making him more aware of the importance of whatever was about to be said.
Whitebeard remained still, his piercing gaze steady. He had seen countless expressions over the years, and this one carried something real. It wasn’t mere sentimentality—it was devotion.
Garp, arms folded tightly, let out a low huff. He didn’t speak, but his jaw clenched slightly. He didn’t like things he couldn’t predict, and this woman was proving to be too unpredictable.
Sengoku adjusted his glasses with a tired sigh. “Hmph. So, what now?” He had lived long enough to recognize when things were about to get complicated.
Doflamingo chuckled, tilting his head. “Now that’s a look I didn’t expect. Care to share what’s got you so sentimental?” His smirk widened, but his tone was laced with something closer to intrigue than amusement.
Corazon, arms crossed, was unreadable. But deep inside, something about Love’s expression struck a chord. It reminded him of… something—or someone.
Sabo’s brows furrowed slightly. The way she spoke, the way her expression softened—it wasn’t malice. It was something closer to… admiration? But for who?
Luffy, ever direct, just blinked at her. “Huh? You kinda look like Makino when she talks about me!” His bright grin remained, completely missing the tension in the air.
Zoro remained unfazed, though his grip on his swords shifted slightly. “Tch. If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”
Sanji exhaled a puff of smoke, watching her closely. “That’s one hell of a shift.” He didn’t know what to make of it yet.
Nami and Usopp exchanged glances, a shared understanding passing between them—whatever was about to happen, it wasn’t small. Chopper huddled a little closer to Usopp. “Why does this feel big?”
Robin smirked slightly. “A woman with many layers… How fascinating.” Her tone was light, but her eyes were calculating.
Franky let out a low whistle. “This is turning into something real.”
Jinbe sighed deeply. “A shift in tone like that… This is no ordinary person.”
Mihawk, ever the observer, remained silent. But his golden eyes stayed locked on Love, his own conclusions forming.
Crocodile scoffed. “Enough playing around. Say what you mean.”
Smoker blew out a long stream of smoke. “Great. Another cryptic one.”
Helmeppo and Coby could only gulp, unsure what to expect next.
Luffy tilted his head, frowning slightly. “So… who’s that?”
Silence.
Everyone who had been bracing for whatever Love was about to reveal—froze.
Love, who had been radiating an almost reverent air just moments ago, visibly blinked, caught completely off guard.
“…Seriously?”
Love’s stunned expression didn’t last long. She sighed, shaking her head with a fond, almost wistful smile.
“That,” she said, her voice dripping with adoration, “is my beloved—my Buggy.”
Silence fell once again.
But this time, it was different.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, as Love’s words settled in, the expected reactions came.
"Buggy?" Luffy blinked in confusion. "Why him?"
"Wait... that Buggy?" Nami’s eyes widened before she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh, this is gonna be a headache."
"That damn clown?" Zoro muttered, unimpressed. "What does she see in him?"
Usopp looked between everyone, then sighed. "I mean… I guess someone had to?"
Law, arms crossed, scowled. "Of all people, it had to be him?"
Hina, who had been watching the scene with crossed arms, let out a sigh. "Why do I even bother expecting sense?"
Smoker exhaled a long puff of smoke. "Buggy the Clown? What a joke."
"Buggy..." Mihawk finally spoke, his voice holding something unreadable. "Hmph."
Doflamingo, who had been grinning this whole time, let out a low chuckle. “Now this just went all down. " looking as if lost interest.
Crocodile, arms crossed and face unreadable, let out a scoff. "Tch. Figures."
Brook, always one to follow the mood, scratched his skull. “Ah... is it too late to play dead?”
As Love’s words yet to settled in the air, the reactions varied from disbelief to sheer confusion.
“Buggy?” Whitebeard’s brow arched slightly. He had seen many strange things in his lifetime, but this was not what he expected.
Sengoku, who had already been twitching, now rubbed his temples. “That Buggy? The same one from Roger’s crew? Unbelievable…”
Garp, however, stiffened. His usually carefree demeanor cracked for a moment as his jaw clenched. His eyes widened slightly before narrowing. “What…?” His voice was lower than usual, almost uncertain. He swallowed, his fists tightening as if holding back some kind of reaction.
Rayleigh, ever the composed figure, narrowed his eyes slightly. “This… is unexpected.” His voice was calm, but there was a flicker of something else—calculation, perhaps?
Roger, for the first time since his return, didn’t immediately react with his usual loud amusement. Instead, his expression shifted ever so slightly. His arms crossed, and he tilted his head. “Buggy, huh?” His voice lacked his usual booming laughter, replaced with something more thoughtful.
Doflamingo, who had been watching with amusement, suddenly burst into a sharp laugh. “Fufufu… I gotta say, of all the names I expected to hear today, that one wasn’t even on the list.” He adjusted his glasses, a smirk widening across his face. “The hell did that clown do to get someone like you calling him beloved?”
While everyone else was processing Love’s words,
Shanks' fingers twitched at his side as he stared at Love. Mine Buggy?
The words echoed in his head, each syllable sitting uneasily with him. There was an unmistakable warmth in the way she said it, a quiet certainty that spoke of something far deeper than just casual acquaintance. It wasn’t the playful teasing of an old friend, nor was it the grudging respect of a rival. No, this was something else entirely.
His jaw tightened slightly. He knew Buggy better than most—had spent years by his side, seen him at his weakest and strongest, knew every stubborn, ridiculous, and strangely endearing part of him. But this? This was new.
His eyes flickered over Love, taking in her confident stance, the way she spoke with such ease, as if there was no doubt in her mind that Buggy belonged to her in some way. His fingers curled into a loose fist before relaxing again. What exactly was their relationship?
Shanks remained silent, watching, waiting. He needed to hear more.
Roger’s lips curled into a smile, but there was something else behind it—something sharp, something questioning. He cocked his head, arms still crossed over his chest as he spoke, his voice light yet carrying an unmistakable weight.
"So, tell me—how do you expect me to believe that my boy is your beloved?" His smile widened, but his tone held a distinct edge. "You didn’t just think I’d believe everything you said just because you were able to make an old man walk the earth again, did you?"
The words rang through the air, and for a moment, the weight of the situation pressed down on everyone.
There were dead people standing among the living.
Roger. Whitebeard. Ace. Corazon.
Their presence had been an overwhelming shock, but amidst the chaos of reunions and emotions, no one had truly stopped to ask—how?
The silence stretched, filled only by the rustling of the wind.
Some reacted with quiet realization. Others, with unease.
Marco’s wings twitched slightly, his sharp eyes narrowing as he exhaled. "Yeah… we never did get an explanation, did we?" His voice was calm, but his fingers flexed as if preparing for something.
Ace clenched his fists at his sides, glancing at his own hands—as solid as they had ever been. He wasn’t an illusion. He wasn’t a ghost. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, heart beating strong. But the question lingered—why was he here?
Whitebeard let out a deep hum, his towering presence commanding attention without effort. "Gurarara… I was so focused on my son, I didn’t think to ask." His sharp eyes bore into Love, scrutinizing her without hostility, but with expectation.
Rayleigh let out a low whistle, shifting his weight. "So, we finally ask the right question."
Others had their own thoughts.
Garp’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight. The weight of loss had nearly crushed him once, and now? Now he stood among the very people he had mourned. It didn’t sit right with him. Not yet.
Sengoku remained silent, arms crossed as his gaze remained unreadable. He had spent his life making sense of the world, but this? This was something that defied reason.
Robin, ever observant, smiled slightly. "Now this is truly ominous."
Franky adjusted his shades, nodding. "Yeah… and kinda freaky."
Jimbei let out a deep sigh, shaking his head.
The Straw Hats, despite their usual chaotic nature, were quiet—each of them taking in the weight of the moment in their own way.
Zoro, arms crossed, exhaled through his nose. "Tch. Should’ve figured something was off."
Sanji lit a cigarette, the flame briefly flickering against the tension in the air. "Yeah? And what gave it away, mosshead?"
Chopper’s hooves fidgeted. "So they really… came back from the dead?"
Brook, despite having lived (or rather, not lived) through something similar, still found himself gripping his cane tightly. "Yohoho… This is quite the mystery."
And then, there was Shanks.
His brows furrowed slightly, fingers flexing at his sides. His initial surprise had settled into something sharper, something he couldn’t quite name. His gaze flickered between Love and Roger, but his focus remained locked on her.
Mine Buggy.
She had said it so naturally, so easily, as if it was an undeniable truth.
It wasn’t the name itself that made his stomach tighten—it was the way she had said it. With certainty. With weight. With something that he couldn’t quite place.
His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning Love as if she would suddenly offer an explanation.
And yet, she did nothing of the sort. She simply stood there, calm and composed, as if the claim itself was enough.
Shanks scoffed lightly, crossing his arms. "You sure have a lot to say, but that doesn’t explain much." His tone was easy, casual—but his sharp eyes betrayed his curiosity.
A quiet beat passed.
Love tilted her head.
And then—
She smiled.
Love’s smile didn’t waver as she placed a hand over her chest, tilting her head ever so slightly. Her voice was smooth, lighthearted—but beneath it, there was an undeniable weight.
"Well, since I was able to bring some dead people and some alive people into such a void… you should at least have some confidence in me to have a few more tricks up my sleeve."
The words hung in the air, thick with implication.
For those strong enough to recognize the sheer impossibility of the situation, their reactions came almost instantly.
Eyes narrowed. Postures tensed.
Rayleigh’s easygoing demeanor barely shifted, but the glint in his eye sharpened. "Hoh… now that’s quite the statement." He tapped a finger against his chin, unreadable.
Garp’s teeth ground together. He wasn’t a man of deep thought, but something about this—about her—rubbed him the wrong way.
Whitebeard’s fingers flexed slightly around his bisento. "Gurarara… quite the claim, woman."
Sengoku’s frown deepened, his mind already racing through possibilities.
Even Mihawk’s eyes glowed with something unreadable beneath the brim of his hat.
Marco’s wings shifted again. "That’s not something just anyone can say, yoi."
Others took it differently.
Franky let out a low whistle. "Man, that’s some serious confidence."
Brook, despite his usual humor, tapped his cane lightly. "A trickster, perhaps? Yohoho…"
Jimbei simply exhaled, his sharp gaze steady.
But two people in particular didn’t take it well.
Roger’s smile twitched at the edges, the glint in his eye losing some of its mirth. He had played along, entertained by her confidence up until now—but this? This was different. It wasn’t just cockiness. It was certainty.
A certainty he didn’t like.
His arms unfolded, his stance shifting just slightly—an almost imperceptible sign of wariness, but it was there. "Tch. I don’t like that tone."
And Shanks?
His jaw clenched, his fingers curling into a loose fist. The weight of the situation, of her, was beginning to press on him in a way he didn’t appreciate. It wasn’t just about Buggy anymore—there was something off about her, and he wasn’t sure if he liked what it meant.
His voice was quieter than Roger’s, but just as pointed. "Neither do I."
Love?
She simply smiled.
Love’s smile didn’t falter, but something in her eyes gleamed—something unreadable, something knowing.
Then—she clapped her hands.
The sound rang through the void like a ripple, impossibly loud, as if it carried more than just the force of her palms meeting.
The air shifted.
It wasn’t just a breeze or a slight disturbance—it was pressure, something thick and unseen pressing against every single person present.
Instincts flared.
Zoro’s fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword, his muscles tensing as his body moved on its own, prepared to draw—
Sanji’s leg lifted slightly, weight shifting as his cigarette burned low between his fingers, a dangerous glint in his eyes—
Nami’s grip tightened on her Clima-Tact, static crackling along its length—
Usopp’s hands shot into his bag, fingers closing around a Pop Green, mind racing—
Chopper’s hooves flexed, his body instinctively bracing to transform—
Franky’s mechanical fingers whirred, shifting as his arms prepared to snap into battle mode—
Robin’s fingers twitched, hands subtly shifting to summon her ability—
Brook’s cane-sword glowed faintly with eerie blue fire, his skeletal hands tightening around it—
Jimbei’s stance widened, his body shifting into a defensive position, instincts screaming at him to be ready—
Luffy’s hand twitched, but he didn’t move, his eyes locked onto Love with something unreadable.
The Whitebeard Pirates reacted just as fast.
Marco’s wings flared slightly, talons flexing as embers flickered along his arms—
Ace’s fists clenched, heat building around them, small flames flickering in warning—
Whitebeard’s massive hand shifted just slightly on his bisento, his sharp gaze locking onto Love—
Shanks’ fingers curled into fists, his entire stance shifting as his sharp eyes darkened—
Benn’s rifle was already half-lifted, his fingers flexing over the trigger—
Rayleigh’s hand moved toward his sword, body shifting into battle mode—
Garp’s fists clenched, the air crackling faintly with restrained power—
Sengoku’s expression tightened, gaze unreadable as his muscles coiled, ready—
Smoker’s hand hovered over his jitte, smoke curling from his fingers—
Hina’s gaze sharpened, her fingers flexing slightly as if already preparing her Devil Fruit ability—
Coby stiffened, his breath catching, but his body moved instinctively, shifting into a defensive stance—
Helmeppo’s fingers twitched near his swords, his pulse hammering in his ears—
Mihawk’s fingers brushed the hilt of Yoru, his golden eyes narrowing slightly—
Crocodile’s sand stirred faintly, a silent warning—
Sabo’s grip tightened on his pipe, a faint heat rising around it—
Doflamingo’s fingers twitched, the subtlest motion hinting at invisible threads ready to snap—
Corazon shifted ever so slightly, as if preparing for something—
Law’s fingers curled, his stance subtly shifting, “Room—” already forming on his lips—
And Dragon—
Dragon’s cloak billowed slightly from the unnatural shift in the air. His sharp eyes narrowed, his fingers barely moving—but a storm was building.
Lightning crackled faintly in the void around him. The tension in his posture was subtle, but his presence alone spoke volumes. He was a man who did not like unknowns, and this situation was far beyond the realm of the explainable.
And finally, Roger—
His smile remained, but his body moved. His arms uncrossed, stance adjusting, his hand twitching toward his sword—
But before any of them could act—
Before fingers could close around hilts, before abilities could spark to life—
The void itself changed.
The very space around them warped in an instant, as if the air itself had bent to Love’s will.
Rows of seats—long, pristine, royal-looking white sofas—emerged from nothing.
It happened so suddenly, so seamlessly, that even the most experienced warriors were caught off guard. One second, the void had been empty—the next, the sofas stood there, solid, tangible, untouched by the unnatural abyss surrounding them.
The sheer contrast between the grand, luxurious furniture and the eerie emptiness of the void made it all the more unsettling.
A silence followed, thick with tension.
For once, no one moved. No one spoke.
Because everyone had felt it.
Not just the shift in the air—but something else.
Something that made even the strongest among them pause.
And at the center of it all, standing gracefully as if she had done nothing more than straighten a tablecloth—
Love smiled.
For long moment no one moved
Luffy did try to jump on it was dragged back by Sabo and his crewmates.
Love let out a slow, exaggerated sigh, stretching her arms above her head before lazily sinking onto the nearest sofa. The motion was deliberate—fluid, confident, seductive.
The fabric of her clothes clung tighter in certain places, the shift drawing attention whether they wanted it to or not.
And, just to twist the knife a little further, she draped herself along the cushions like she belonged there. Like she had all the time in the world.
"You know," she mused, tapping a finger against her chin, "the more time you waste questioning things, the longer you stay here."
A simple statement. A casual one. But the weight behind it was undeniable.
And yet—
The moment she settled in, there were really interesting reactions.
Some immediate. Some delayed.
Some very obvious.
The younger ones—those under twenty-five—reacted first, even if they tried not to.
Coby, poor Coby, turned an instant shade of red, his brain very clearly short-circuiting as he made a choked sound in the back of his throat. His hands shot up, as if physically trying to block his vision. "Ah—! Uh—!"
Helmeppo, standing next to him, had the same reaction but tried to play it off. He cleared his throat and very pointedly looked anywhere but at Love. "Ahem—uh—yes, right, wasting time, got it—"
Sanji, predictably, was frozen. His cigarette nearly dropped from his lips, and for a moment, it looked like he had completely short-circuited. A faint trail of blood ran from his nose, but he swiftly turned his head, coughing into his fist and struggling to keep his composure.
"A-Ahem—well, uh—!" He cleared his throat again. "You certainly have a way of… getting attention." His voice cracked slightly at the end, and he hated it.
Usopp visibly gulped, his fingers twitching as he tried to process the scene before him. "I—uh—wow, okay, that’s—uh—" He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if that would help. "Y-you know what? Not looking. Not looking."
Robin, though mostly composed, let out a soft hum as she crossed her arms. "Interesting tactic."
Nami, on the other hand, rolled her eyes but had the faintest dusting of pink on her cheeks. "Oh, for the love of—can you not?"
Law, despite his usual composure, let out an exhale that sounded just a little too forced. He dragged a hand down his face and muttered something under his breath. "This is absurd."
Marco—ever cool, ever collected—arched a brow but looked mildly amused. "Well… that’s one way to make a point, yoi."
Ace, on the other hand, visibly twitched. His eye briefly flickered to Love before he very aggressively shoved his hat down over his face, muttering something under his breath.
Sabo, standing beside him, rubbed the bridge of his nose like he had an incoming headache. "Okay. That’s enough of that."
Zoro, for his part, looked away almost immediately. His expression didn’t change much, but his shoulders tensed slightly. "Tch. Great. Just great."
Luffy, meanwhile, blinked. "Huh?" He tilted his head. "What’s everyone getting weird about?"
The older ones had varying reactions.
Shanks—who had already been watching Love closely—narrowed his eyes slightly. His jaw tensed for just a second before he scoffed, shaking his head. "Real subtle."
Rayleigh let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Now that’s just unfair."
Roger, on the other hand, let out a sharp exhale and dragged a hand down his face. "Oh, for fuck’s sake."
Whitebeard… simply sighed. "Gurarara… Just get on with it."
Garp hated that he even noticed what was happening and grumbled under his breath, crossing his arms. "Damn kids."
Doflamingo, however—Doflamingo just grinned, his head tilting slightly. "Well, well, well… this is intense."
Corazon, standing next to him, exhaled sharply and very pointedly looked at the ceiling. "Nope. Not acknowledging this."
Mihawk barely reacted.
His golden eyes flickered once—just once—before he calmly returned his gaze to something far more interesting. Like the empty space in front of him. He didn’t say a word, didn’t move an inch.
But the sharpest observers might have caught the slight press of his lips, the barest twitch of a brow.
Smoker, on the other hand, was not so composed.
The moment Love stretched out, his cigar nearly snapped between his teeth. His jaw tightened, and with an irritated grunt, he ripped the cigar from his mouth, exhaling sharply. "Tch. What a damn joke."
But the slight stiffness in his posture said otherwise.
And still, Love remained where she was—relaxed, perfectly content, as if she had done nothing out of the ordinary.
Like she wasn’t currently throwing half of them off their game.
Like she wasn’t having fun with it.
And she definitely was.
Mihawk lowered himself onto one of the pristine sofas, his movements fluid, precise—controlled. His long coat shifted as he settled, Yoru resting against the seat beside him, the blade as much a presence as the man himself.
His golden eyes flickered across the gathered figures, taking in the slow, deliberate way crews were arranging themselves.
Roger took a seat with Rayleigh at his side, Shanks on the other. Behind them, Shanks' crew settled in loose formation, expressions ranging from guarded to amused.
To their right, Whitebeard’s massive form settled down, his commanders naturally falling in place beside and behind him. Ace had taken a spot near his other family, positioned beside Luffy and Sabo, with the Straw Hats grouped together.
Further across the space, the Marines had found their own section, keeping a cautious distance from the pirates, though they were clearly aware of how outnumbered they were. The Revolutionaries, seated just behind the pirates, watched with an unreadable patience.
Somewhere in that divide, Law and Corazon had taken their own corner—separate, yet not isolated.
And then there was Buggy’s crew. A strange presence among the rest, unpredictable and difficult to categorize.
Yet, despite everyone finding their places, one particular area remained untouched.
No one sat near the sofa where Love lay.
It wasn’t intentional—at least, not openly. But there was an unspoken agreement, a natural distance left between her and the rest, as if instinct warned against getting too close.
Some stole glances, watching her with a mix of wariness and curiosity. Others pointedly avoided looking in her direction at all.
Mihawk noted this in passing before letting his gaze drift further.
And then—
His eyes landed on Crocodile.
The man was still standing.
Not a word. Not a movement.
Just standing exactly where he had been before.
Mihawk observed him for a long moment.
Crocodile’s arms were crossed, his coat shifting subtly with the unseen weight of his presence. His gaze was unreadable, sharp, but he had yet to say anything.
A strange silence lingered between them, unspoken yet heavy.
Mihawk didn’t speak either.
But for the first time in a while, his fingers briefly drummed against Yoru’s hilt.
And still—Crocodile remained where he was.
As everyone settled into their places, a heavy silence fell over the void.
For a moment, it was as if the very air had stilled, thick with unspoken thoughts and unreadable tensions.
Love, still sprawled lazily on her sofa, shifted ever so slightly. Though faceless, her unseen gaze turned toward one particular figure—as if she were narrowing her eyes.
At Crocodile.
And then—
As if breaking some unspoken taboo, his voice cut through the quiet.
"You know how ridiculous this sounds?" His words were slow, deliberate, laced with scorn. "Watching Buggy? Seeing that clown?"
A faint sneer curled on his lips, his tone dipping lower—meaner.
"That pathetic excuse of a pirate—what, you think he's someone important?"
The words hung in the air, but Crocodile wasn’t done.
"The same fool who lucked his way through every damn thing in life? The weak, sniveling idiot who’s only ever survived by clinging to someone stronger?"
His voice sharpened, colder now.
"He couldn’t even cut it on Roger’s ship. Couldn’t handle lowkey pirate, Couldn’t even keep his own damn crew in check without fumbling like the joke he is."
His sneer deepened.
"And that’s the man you expect us to take seriously?"
Silence.
A silence that now felt dangerous.
The weight of his words sank like a stone, and in the next breath—
Roger’s expression barely shifted, but the air around him did. His grin had vanished—not faded, not softened, but simply ceased to exist. What remained was a look of quiet amusement, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. The kind that promised something Crocodile wouldn’t like.
Rayleigh exhaled slowly, adjusting his glasses. But behind them, his gaze had sharpened—focused.
Shanks.
Shanks, who had been watching closely from the start, now fully turned his attention to Crocodile. His single eye darkened, something unreadable flickering within it. His fingers twitched once against the arm of the sofa—just once.
The kind of shift that meant trouble.
Even Mihawk, from where he sat, let his gaze settle on Crocodile for a moment longer than necessary. A slow, assessing glance—one that, for a man of his silence, spoke volumes.
Corazon, standing near Law, tensed ever so slightly. The relaxed air he had carried before had stiffened, his fingers curling just a little.
Crocodile had spoken as if it meant nothing.
But to those who knew better?
To Roger. To Rayleigh. To Shanks.
Crocodile had just dug himself a grave.
Before any of them could act—before even the first flicker of movement—
Love simply moved her fingers.
It was effortless. Unrushed. A mere flick of her hand.
And yet—
Crocodile was forced into his seat.
It wasn’t violent. There was no struggle, no resistance—just an undeniable force pushing him down with a weight that couldn’t be fought.
His sneer faltered—just slightly.
The shift was immediate.
A chill rolled through the void, thick and suffocating, settling into the bones of everyone present.
It wasn’t haki. It wasn’t something they could define.
But it was there.
Love’s voice, when it came, was colder than ever.
"You ain't worth my answer."
Simple words.
Spoken softly.
And yet, the weight of them pressed down—heavy, suffocating, crushing.
Even though the pressure wasn’t directed at anyone else—
Even though it wasn’t meant for them—
They felt it.
Their breath hitched. Muscles tensed.
Even the strongest among them—those who had stood in the face of death, who had faced the world itself—felt their bodies shaking.
A silent, instinctive understanding settled in.
This wasn’t just power.
It was something else entirely.
The void before them moved.
Notes:
Shanks: He’s mine, not yours. 😡
In the eyes of love: 👶
Keeps smiling 😈
Love has been around for almost 500 years, but she stopped counting when it lost its spark. Her dress is almost see-through, clinging to her body when she lies down... if you know, you know.
Chapter 4: Chapter 4: The Clown Who Reached One Piece’s Residence
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Darkness melted away, replaced by the vast, open ocean at night. The waves were calm, lapping softly against a lone, small boat drifting toward the shore of an unfamiliar island. The boat itself was unremarkable—small, simple, with only a cabinet for storage. But what caught everyone's attention was the figure moving on its deck.
Boots stepped onto the worn wood, moving toward the bow. Then, as the image shifted, the figure’s legs came into view—tall, lean, dressed in familiar pirate garb. Slowly, the scene panned up, revealing broad shoulders, a straight back, and finally—
A head of messy, blurred blue hair.
Gasps broke the silence.
Buggy.
He looked young—seventeen, maybe eighteen. His face wasn’t yet lined with age or experience, his expression stripped bare of the arrogance they all knew so well.
Instead, disbelief flickered in his eyes.
Happiness.
Uncertainty.
A fragile, cautious hope, as if he couldn’t quite believe the land before him was real.
The emotions on his face struck differently than any of them expected. It was raw—so vulnerable that it was almost unsettling.
“Tch.” Crocodile scoffed, arms crossed tightly. “Pathetic.”
“He looks… different.” Marco muttered, frowning slightly.
Even Shanks, who had remained silent, narrowed his eyes, watching the scene unfold with unsettling intensity.
Then, in an instant—the moment changed.
Buggy’s tentative steps faltered. His hopeful expression shattered into wide-eyed horror.
From the shadows of the island, a figure emerged.
Tall. Looming. Dressed in flowing white.
Love.
But this was not the same Love who lounged on the sofa before them.
This Love was different. Colder.
She walked with a slow, deliberate grace, her faceless visage tilted slightly downward—as if regarding something beneath her notice.
Buggy’s entire body locked up. He trembled, breath hitching, his boots sinking slightly into the damp sand.
And then, her voice—smooth and merciless.
"To think you found the residence of the One Piece."
A violent, visceral reaction rippled through the watching crowd.
Eyes widened.
Breath hitched.
The residence of the One Piece?
Roger's easy-going expression vanished. His fingers dug into the arm of his seat, his jaw clenched.
Rayleigh’s eyes sharpened, his grip tightening on his knee. “What…?”
Shanks exhaled slowly, but his posture stiffened. That wording. That single phrase meant something.
Even Mihawk, whose composure rarely wavered, narrowed his eyes.
The Marines weren’t immune to the shock, either.
Sengoku’s head snapped toward Garp, his brows furrowed in alarm.
Akainu, who had remained impassive, scowled deeper. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Dragon didn’t speak, but his eyes gleamed with sharp understanding.
For Law and Corazon, it was different.
Law’s lips parted slightly, something unreadable flashing in his expression. "That wording…" He muttered under his breath.
Corazon didn’t look away from the scene. His usual slouched posture was gone, replaced by something rigid, alert.
Buggy, still trembling, seemed to force himself to breathe.
But Love wasn’t done.
Her head tilted ever so slightly, as if amused by his horror.
“How admirable,” she murmured, voice thick with mockery. “But sadly, you are not qualified for it.”
Buggy froze.
Then—his knees buckled.
He hit the sand hard, body trembling, his face paling by the second.
The watching crowd barely had a moment to process before the room itself shocked.
Shanks’ fingers twitched against his armrest. “Tch.” His expression darkened, his teeth gritted as his lips pressed into a thin line.
Roger’s entire body tensed. His eyes burned with something dangerous.
Rayleigh didn’t move, but his energy shifted. His presence grew heavier, his fingers twitching against the seat.
The sharpest shift, however, came from Mihawk.
His golden eyes flicked to Crocodile, who had yet to react.
And Crocodile… was gritting his teeth.
His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. His usual arrogance was gone—replaced by something darker.
But it wasn’t just the pirates.
Sengoku frowned deeply, his arms crossing. "Unqualified?"
Garp let out a slow breath, staring at the image with a rare, unreadable expression.
Akainu didn’t speak, but his scowl deepened.
Even Kizaru, usually detached, hummed lightly, his head tilting. “Mmm… now that’s something.”
Law let out a slow breath, staring.
Corazon’s expression was obscured by his coat, but his shoulders were tense.
The Revolutionaries were silent, but Koala whispered something under her breath, exchanging a quick glance with Dragon.
As for the younger generation—
Sanji’s cigarette burned between his fingers, forgotten.
Zoro, who had been watching with mild disinterest, now fully focused.
Nami’s brows were furrowed, fingers digging into her arms.
Usopp looked uneasy.
And Luffy…
Luffy was frowning.
His fingers curled into his shorts, his lips pressing into a small pout.
Then—
"That's unfair," Luffy muttered, expression set in something oddly serious.
His words, quiet as they were, cut through the air.
Everyone turned.
Some, like Zoro and Sanji, looked at him in mild surprise. Others, like Shanks and Rayleigh, observed him with knowing expressions.
Because Luffy wasn’t saying it as a joke.
He meant it.
And whether they wanted to admit it or not—
That meant something.
The vision stretched out, dragging them into a reality too raw to ignore.
Buggy sat still—too still—his back hunched, his shoulders curved inward, as if trying to make himself smaller against the weight of the night.
The dandan, if it could be called that, didn’t look at him directly.
It moved. Deliberate. Slow.
Toward the cabinet.
A wooden door, worn at the edges, splintered in places, creaked as it was pushed open.
Inside—
It wasn’t chaos.
It wasn’t order, either.
It was desperation.
Shanks’ breath hitched. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. He didn’t blink. Couldn’t. He knew that kind of desperation. The kind that swallowed you whole, made you forget how to breathe. “Buggy…” The name left his lips without meaning to, like it might reach him somehow.
The floor—littered with crumpled pages, the kind of mess left behind by someone who had poured over each word so many times that they had lost all meaning.
Rayleigh’s brows furrowed, his jaw tight. The web of information, the frantic, desperate search—it wasn’t just work. It was an obsession. “This… he’s been doing this for a long time.” His voice was quiet, unreadable.
Too quiet.
Robin’s eyes darkened. She had seen this before. Desperate hands searching for something that refused to be found. The ink, the notes, the silent agony—it looked too much like her past.
Franky’s lips thinned, his usual bravado gone. A man who spent his life chasing a dream that never came true… That was the kind of thing that broke people.
Maps—some intact, others torn along the edges, pinned against the walls with shaking, ink-stained hands.
Zoro exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening on his swords. He had seen men push themselves past the point of no return. Buggy looked like he had already crossed that line.
Sanji let out a slow breath, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. It tasted bitter. Like something he couldn’t name. Buggy wasn’t supposed to look like that.
Usopp swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably. He had seen Buggy before, heard stories about him. But this? This wasn’t the same man.
Chopper’s ears drooped. His hooves clenched at his sides. “He needs help,” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.
Jinbei’s gaze was heavy. Not with pity. Not with judgment. But with understanding. “A man drowning in himself,” he murmured, voice deep and quiet.
Brook’s usual cheer was gone. He stood still, unnaturally quiet for once. “Yohoho… loneliness can eat away at a person’s soul.”
Ink streaked across locations, smearing paths, circling names, marking places that led to nowhere.
Ropes.
Knotted between the walls, tying together what had once been a sea of possibilities.
Now—just tangled strings in a web of futility.
Roger’s usual fire dimmed. The wild grin, the easy confidence—gone. He stared at the mess of maps and notes, at the frantic attempts to piece something together. “That’s…” He didn’t finish. Didn’t know how to. It reminded him too much of himself. Of searching for something too big to hold.
In the dim light, between all the frantic scribbles and fractured notes, there was one singular, undeniable truth:
It had never been enough.
The image shifted—turning.
Buggy’s profile came into view.
And it was like looking at a stranger.
Mihawk’s golden eyes sharpened. His grip on his sword tightened, though there was no battle to fight. Yet his fingers ached for one. The way Buggy sat there—hollowed out, emptied of all color—was more unsettling than any battlefield Mihawk had ever stood on.
His face, always hidden beneath paint, was bare.
The absence of color only made the paleness of his skin more stark, more haunting.
So pale that the blue veins beneath his flesh stood out in eerie contrast.
Garp exhaled sharply, shoulders stiff. That wasn’t the face of the loud, arrogant pirate he’d dismissed before. That was the face of a man who had lost everything. And for some reason, that sat like a stone in his gut.
Sengoku frowned, arms crossed. The strategist in him saw the signs—obsession, desperation, exhaustion. The man in him saw something worse.
Smoker’s jaw tightened. He took a slow drag of his cigar, but the taste was stale. This wasn’t what he expected from the so-called “clown.”
Corazon’s shoulders slumped slightly. The quiet pain in Buggy’s face—he recognized it. He had worn it once.
A man who had spent his life chasing a dream that kept slipping through his fingers.
His lips—red. Chapped. Torn at the edges from thoughtless biting.
Benn took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke through his nose. His expression didn’t change, but his hand tightened ever so slightly around the hilt of his gun. This wasn’t something he could fix. And that sat wrong with him.
His hands, so thin now, trembled as he raised them into the light.
And there—
The black ink stains.
Dried into the grooves of his fingers, trapped beneath his nails, smudged over raw skin.
Scratches crisscrossed his palms—wounds left behind by his own frantic grip on the pen, on the pages, on the answers that had never come.
Nami’s breath caught. A sharp, sudden inhale—like something had just slammed into her chest. Her fingers twitched at her sides, itching to curl into fists. She had felt that pain before. The sting of broken skin, the burn of ink-stained fingers gripping too hard, writing, rewriting, trying to find something—anything—to make it stop. Maps, numbers, endless calculations. She had bled onto her own pages once. And now, so had he.
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
She hated this. Hated that she understood it.
That quiet, desperate agony of someone who had nothing left but ink and fading hope.
He just stared at it
Until his hands were wet with something he couldn't stop.
His breath hitched, the sharp inhale barely contained, barely controlled.
But control—what control was left?
Rayleigh let out a slow breath, fingers pressing into his forehead. Guilt sat heavy in his chest, weighing down his breath. "I left him," he murmured. "Left him to fend for himself." His hands curled into fists. "I should’ve stayed. I should’ve—" But it was too late for ‘should haves’ now.
Shanks swallowed hard. His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach out, to fix something that was long past broken. "I thought he was fine," he whispered. "I thought… he was fine." But was he ever?
He clenched his hands into fists, desperate, desperate to stop the shaking, to hold onto something, anything. But when he opened them again, all he saw was the same thing he'd been staring at his whole life—empty hands.
Not enough. Never enough.
Roger’s fingers dragged through his hair, his usual energy drained. His chest ached, a dull, gnawing pain that wouldn't leave. "What happened?" he whispered. "What happened to my boy?" His voice was raw, thick with something he hadn't felt in a long time. "I should’ve been here." But he wasn’t. He had left them all behind.
Whitebeard exhaled slowly, watching the broken mess before him. This boy… was not his, not one of his sons, but that didn't change the ache in his chest. "What kind of world," he muttered, "makes a kid like this?" His grip on his bisento tightened. "What kind of world did we build?"
His vision blurred, eyelashes damp with unshed tears, and for a second—just a second—he thought maybe if he blinked, maybe if he breathed deep enough, it would all go away.
But it didn’t.
Robin’s gaze was distant, yet heavy. "History," she murmured, "repeats itself." Her fingers brushed against her arms, a ghost of memories past. "The world never gives second chances to people like us."
Instead, the first real sob slipped past his lips.
Quiet.
So painfully quiet.
Like he still thought he had to keep it in. Like he still thought he could swallow the ache down and bury it under something else.
Sanji exhaled a slow stream of smoke, but his hands trembled as he did. "This world doesn't leave room for people like him," he muttered, voice bitter. "Not unless they fight tooth and nail for it."
Law’s face was unreadable, but his hands curled into tight fists. "People don’t break like this for no reason," he said, voice flat, but his eyes were sharp with something deeper. "Somebody failed him."
But he couldn’t.
His fingers twitched, moving of their own accord, rising to press against his face—hiding.
As if that could erase the expression on it.
Garp exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "I saw him," he admitted, voice low, rough. "Spent time with him." His fingers clenched. "But I never tried to stop him." His voice dipped lower, almost too quiet to hear. "Why didn’t I?"
Sengoku frowned, watching the scene unfold. He had never spared much thought for Buggy beyond his association with Roger, but seeing him now, like this… A slow exhale left his lips. "What a waste," he muttered. "What an absolute waste."
Jinbei studied the man curled in on himself. He was no stranger to loss, to suffering, but this? "The weight of one's past," he murmured, "can be heavier than the sea itself."
As if that could stop the tears that fell faster now, trailing from his eyes, down his jaw, slipping off his chin and onto his shaking hands, streaking his arms like silent proof of everything he had lost.
His shoulders trembled.
Zoro closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling sharply through his nose. "This kind of pain," he muttered, "doesn't just go away." His grip on his swords tightened. "It eats at you until there's nothing left."
His body curled inward, instinctive, trying to protect itself from a wound too deep to see.
Franky turned away, pressing the back of his hand against his face. "A man ain't supposed to cry alone," he whispered.
Another sob. Louder this time.
Brook let out a quiet sigh.
And then another.
And then another.
Usopp wiped at his face, sniffling slightly. "Damn it," he muttered, voice thick. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"
It was quiet, but it hurt.
Chopper trembled, pressing his hooves to his chest. "He needs help," he whispered again. "But who’s gonna help him now?"
A sound full of something that had been building, growing, festering for so long that it had no choice but to spill out all at once.
Benn exhaled smoke through his nose, his grip on his gun tightening. "This world breaks people," he muttered. "And it sure as hell broke him."
Luffy’s expression was unreadable, his usual energy gone. His fingers clenched into fists. "Buggy…" His voice was quiet. "What happened to you?" He thought back to the man he’d met, the man who laughed, who raged, who never seemed to stop moving. How much of that was real? How much was just a mask?
Tears dripped onto his wrists, rolling down to his elbows, soaking into the sleeves of his coat.
Mihawk said nothing, his golden eyes locked on Buggy, sharp, calculating. But the corners of his mouth pressed downward, an almost imperceptible frown.
Doflamingo let out a breathless chuckle, but there was no amusement in it. "Tch. The world does this," he muttered. "Tears people apart, piece by piece." His smirk faded slightly. "Some of us just hide it better."
Smoker exhaled, his cigar barely smoldering in his fingers. "Damn fool," he muttered. "But I guess…" He let out a slow breath. "We’re all fools in the end."
Sabo watched, hands tightening into fists. "This world," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "This world eats people alive."
Dragon’s eyes were unreadable, cold and distant. "The weak get swallowed," he said simply. "And nobody stops to pull them out."
Crocodile exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Pathetic," he muttered, but his gaze lingered. The weight of something unspoken sat heavy in his expression, buried under layers of old wounds. "The world doesn’t care who it breaks," he said, quieter this time. "It never did."
And he couldn’t stop.
Corazon's shoulders slumped, fingers tightening around the edges of his coat. "Too late," he muttered. "It's always too damn late."
He pressed his forehead against his arms, his breath shuddering, his lips parted as if he wanted to say something—anything.
But there was nothing left to say.
So instead, he just sat there.
Alone.
And as they watched him—shaking, curled in on himself, breaking under the weight of something none of them could reach—an unbearable truth settled in their chests.
For all their power, all their presence, all the eyes that now bore witness to his pain…
He wasn’t the only one who felt alone.
At that moment, surrounded by the silence of what should have been comfort, they, too, felt it.
The hollow, aching kind of loneliness that no amount of people could ever fill.
In the dim glow of the moonlight.
With nothing but the sound of his own heartbreaking, over and over and over again.
Somehow in void with absence of moonlight they all still felt that they had lived with the man in the moment at that time.
Notes:
I read all the comments
Love u so much 💓 💗
Chapter 5: Chapter 5: The Weight of Silence**
Chapter Text
Chapter 5: The Weight of the Past and the Silence of the Present
The final image faded.
And yet, no one moved.
The silence that followed was suffocating—thick, heavy, pressing down on everyone present. It wasn't the quiet of relief or contemplation. It was the kind of silence that came when the weight of truth became too much to process all at once.
Luffy's fingers curled against his knees, his face shadowed beneath his hat. His usual boundless energy had been completely drained, leaving behind something unrecognizable. His knuckles turned white as he clutched at his shorts, his breathing uneven. It was rare for him to remain this quiet. But what could he say?
Ace sat stiffly, his breath slow and controlled—but only because he forced it to be. His fists trembled against his thighs, the emotions boiling inside him barely restrained. He hadn't been ready for this. He had already accepted death, had come to terms with the regrets that haunted him. But seeing this—seeing the things he had never known, never understood, never even considered—it left a bitter, burning feeling in his chest.
The idea of Buggy—that loud, ridiculous, impossible man—being the one to reach that place first? It didn’t make sense.
But that wasn’t what unsettled him the most.
It was the feeling in his gut that told him Buggy’s journey hadn’t been some lucky accident. That there was more to him than any of them had ever seen.
A bitter chuckle escaped him, though it was humorless. "Damn clown..." he muttered under his breath.
Yet, beneath the disbelief, there was something else. A quiet thought he couldn’t shake. If Buggy had reached this point, what had his journey truly been like?
Sabo clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching. He had witnessed countless atrocities in his time with the Revolutionaries, but nothing had prepared him for this. He wanted to say something to Luffy—to Ace—but the words never formed.
The Straw Hats were no different.
Nami sat hunched forward, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her breathing was steady, but only because she forced it to be. The image of Buggy’s ruined hands refused to leave her mind. She had seen hands like that before—had felt hands like that before—and the sickening familiarity of it made her nauseous.
Robin remained unnervingly still, her fingers laced together. Her mind pieced together what she had seen, stitching the fragments into a narrative far uglier than anything she could have imagined. She had spent her life deciphering the truths hidden in history, but this was one she wished she could unlearn.
Sanji's cigarette had burned down to the filter, yet he hadn't noticed. His fingers trembled slightly as he tapped the ash away, his lips pressing into a thin line. How much had Buggy gone through to reach this point?
Zoro exhaled slowly, his grip tightening over his swords. He had seen cruelty, he had endured his own share of pain, but something about this sat wrong in his gut.
Franky sat rigidly, his sunglasses unable to hide the tension in his expression. Usopp swallowed hard, gripping his slingshot with clammy hands. Brook, usually one to break even the heaviest of silences, remained eerily quiet.
Jinbei crossed his arms, his gaze unreadable.
And then there was Law.
He had stayed silent throughout the entire thing, his hands resting on his knees, fingers flexing every so often. His sharp eyes were dark with calculation, but also something else—something he refused to name. He knew pain. He had lived pain. But this?
It felt too familiar. Too close.
The Marines, despite everything, were shaken as well.
Sengoku pinched the bridge of his nose, his thoughts unreadable beneath his furrowed brows.
Garp… Garp hadn't moved. He sat there, his fists resting on his knees, his shoulders hunched. His expression remained hidden, but the air around him was heavy.
Smoker exhaled smoke through gritted teeth, his arms crossed so tightly his muscles strained. Coby's fingers twitched at his sides, his wide eyes darting toward Garp, then back to the ground.
Crocodile's lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers tapping idly against his forearm. Doflamingo leaned back, but there was a sharpness to his smirk—a flicker of something unreadable beneath the usual arrogance. Even he was disturbed.
And Corazon?
He had spent his life trying to save a child from a fate like this.
And yet, here was another—too broken, too lost, too far gone.
His hands clenched into fists, his heart aching in a way he couldn't explain.
But more than that—
There was a lingering feeling, something he couldn't shake.
He had met Buggy before.
Only once.
It should have been forgettable. It should have meant nothing.
And yet, it hadn’t.
It had left an impression, one that even now, years later, refused to fade.
Rayleigh’s usual composure was nowhere to be found. His lips were slightly parted, but he didn't speak. He had seen so much, had lived so much, and yet...
Roger, normally so loud, so full of life, sat frozen. His fingers twitched, drumming idly against his knee, but there was no mischief in his expression—only turmoil.
Shanks sat with his arms crossed, his head slightly tilted downward. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but Benn could see through it. His fingers had tightened over his sleeve. The rest of the crew remained quiet, watching their captain for guidance, yet none came.
The Whitebeard Pirates had yet to move.
Marco stared at the empty space where the image had been, his brows furrowed. Thatch let out a slow, shuddering breath, rubbing the back of his neck. Vista closed his eyes for a moment before exhaling.
And then—
A shift.
A presence.
Love, who had been lounging on the sofa with effortless grace, finally stood.
She stretched, her every movement fluid, elegant—almost detached. She had watched the same thing as them, yet she showed no reaction.
She wasn't affected.
Not like them.
Not like those who had lived it.
Her lips curled into a knowing smile. "Since you all have so much to think about," she mused, her voice playful yet undeniably commanding, "I'll give you some time."
The room remained steeped in silence.
Love’s departure had gone unnoticed, her absence barely registering as those left behind remained locked within their own minds. Too much had been shown. Too much had been forced into the light.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
The weight of realization sat heavy on their chests. Some clenched their fists, others kept their heads lowered, and a few simply stared at nothing, as if looking too closely would break something inside them.
The tension in the air didn’t lessen. If anything, it grew heavier, sinking into their very bones.
It was some moments later—how many, no one knew—before Rayleigh finally moved.
He exhaled slowly, bracing himself before stepping forward. His hesitation was unlike him, but today, hesitation felt necessary. He wasn’t just approaching his captain.
He was approaching a man burdened by a regret too deep to put into words.
Roger sat hunched forward, elbows braced against his knees, his hands covering his face. His fingers dragged down slightly, just enough to reveal his expression—one that looked as if he had lost everything.
Rayleigh’s heart twisted at the sight.
His captain—the man who once laughed in the face of death itself—looked utterly defeated.
Still, he pressed forward.
He placed a firm but gentle hand on Roger’s shoulder.
“Roger,” he said, quietly, carefully.
Roger didn’t startle, but his fingers tensed against his face. His breath came slow, uneven. For a long moment, he didn’t respond.
Then, finally, he dragged his hands down, tilting his head slightly to glance at Rayleigh from the corner of his eye. His usual fire, his relentless energy—it was gone.
And in its place?
Guilt.
A deep, gnawing guilt that even he couldn’t shake.
Rayleigh met his gaze, and in that silent exchange, something passed between them—an understanding, a shared regret, an ache neither could put into words.
When Roger finally spoke, his voice was hoarse.
“…I thought I gave him everything I could.”
Rayleigh’s fingers curled against his shoulder.
“And yet, it wasn’t enough.”
Silence stretched again, but this time, it wasn’t the suffocating weight of before. It was the kind of silence that comes when two people share a burden too heavy to carry alone.
And for the first time in a long, long while—
Roger looked lost.
Benn hesitated for only a moment before shifting closer.
His captain hadn’t moved—hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even breathed too deeply since the image faded.
Shanks sat rigid, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely interlocked. Too still.
His head was slightly bowed, his red hair casting a shadow over his face, hiding his expression.
But Benn could feel it—the unnatural coldness in the air around him, the weight of something unsaid pressing down like an anchor.
If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, Benn might have questioned whether his captain was even conscious.
He lowered himself beside him, slow, deliberate.
And then, carefully—quietly—he placed a hand on Shanks’ shoulder.
A small touch, but it was enough.
Shanks' breath hitched, his muscles tensed, and for a moment, Benn thought he might jerk away. Instead, Shanks let out a sharp, unsteady exhale—like a man suddenly remembering how to breathe after drowning for too long.
Then, it all broke.
At first, it was just a choked exhale, a quiet tremor in his shoulders. But then the words spilled out—not controlled, not measured, not carefully hidden behind an easy grin like they usually were. This wasn’t the Shanks the world saw. This was just a man.
A man drowning in his own regret, guilt, and shame.
“I should’ve done something,” Shanks muttered, his voice hoarse, low—barely above a whisper. “I should’ve stopped him from walking that path.”
Benn said nothing. He simply listened.
“I always thought he’d be fine. That he was just… Buggy. Loud, angry, stubborn—always acting like he hated me more than anything. But—” Shanks sucked in a shaky breath, his fingers digging into his knees. “That wasn’t hate, was it?”
His voice cracked slightly.
“It was hurt.”
Benn’s fingers tightened slightly on his shoulder, but he still didn’t speak.
“I should’ve seen it,” Shanks whispered, shaking his head. “I should’ve—should’ve noticed something was wrong. He was always ranting, always getting in my face, but he never—” His breath shuddered. “He never wanted to be alone with me, did he?”
A bitter chuckle.
“Every time I tried to talk to him alone, he’d make an excuse, pick a fight, or just—leave. And I let him.”
His voice grew harsher, words tumbling out faster.
“I let him. I told myself he’d come around. That one day, he’d stop hating me so much, and we’d laugh about it over drinks.”
His nails dug into his palms.
“I was so fucking stupid.”
Benn’s expression didn’t change. But inwardly, he felt it—that sharp sting of knowing.
Because he had always known.
He had seen the way Shanks watched Buggy from a distance, how he never truly pushed back when Buggy lashed out at him. How he always laughed it off, always hoped it was just a matter of time.
He had known Shanks cared. More than he let on.
And now, that hope had shattered into something unrecognizable.
Shanks suddenly let out a shaky, uneven breath—his fingers clenching tighter.
“… He left me.”
Benn’s brows furrowed slightly, but he remained silent.
Shanks' voice was quieter now, yet heavier—thick with something unspoken.
“Roger’s execution.”
Benn’s fingers twitched slightly, but Shanks kept talking.
“That day… I stood there, watching. And Buggy—” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “He didn’t.”
The memory burned through his mind like an old wound reopening.
Buggy had turned away.
Had walked away.
And Shanks hadn’t stopped him.
“I thought…” Shanks’ voice faltered, his hands trembling. “I thought he’d come back.”
He let out a breathless, bitter laugh—one that held no amusement, only self-loathing.
“I waited. I kept waiting. Even after I set sail, even after I became a captain—I told myself, one day, I’d run into him, and it’d be the same.”
His grip on his knees tightened.
“But it wasn’t, was it?”
Benn finally spoke, his voice calm, steady.
“No.”
Shanks closed his eyes.
“He never came back.”
Silence stretched between them. Heavy, suffocating.
Benn watched him, taking in every subtle shift in his expression—the regret, the sorrow, the quiet, suffocating pain.
Shanks never cried. But this—this was something deeper.
Because Buggy hadn’t just left him that day.
He had walked away and never looked back.
And Shanks had spent years convincing himself that someday, someday, Buggy would.
But the truth was clear now.
Buggy had left him behind a long, long time ago.
And Shanks had been too much of a fool to chase after him.
A heavy silence still hung in the air, though its weight had begun to shift—from raw shock to something deeper.
Across from him, Whitebeard finally spoke, his voice steady but low. "Did you know the brat?"
Marco, still staring at the empty space where the image had been, took a moment before answering. "Met 'im a few times," he admitted, his tone thoughtful. "Back when our crews clashed. He was just... loud. Annoying. Didn't seem like there was much more to 'im than that."
A pause.
"And when you met again?" Whitebeard prompted.
Marco exhaled through his nose. "Same thing. Didn't change a bit. Loud. Flashy. Always running his mouth."
There was a long moment of quiet between them.
Then, Whitebeard chuckled, though there was no real humor in it. "Guess you never really know a man without knowing him." His gaze lingered on the place where the image had vanished. "Their pain... it's what makes 'em who they are. But people never get to look at it."
Marco said nothing, but his grip tightened slightly over his knee.
Maybe, just maybe, if he had looked closer, he would have noticed.
Ace had been sitting nearby, lost in his own thoughts, when he caught Whitebeard’s words.
"Their pain… it's what makes 'em who they are. But people never get to look at it."
The words struck deeper than he expected.
He clenched his fists against his thighs, his nails digging into his skin. Wasn’t it the same for him?
People saw the surface—the son of the Pirate King, the hotheaded commander, the reckless fool who smiled and fought like he had nothing to lose. They never saw what lay beneath. The anger, the doubts, the overwhelming question that had haunted him since birth: Should I have even been born?
Buggy…
Ace had never given him much thought before. He was just another loud pirate, another name in the endless sea of faces he had encountered. But now, after everything he had just seen—he understood.
He understood what it was like to build yourself up from nothing, to fight tooth and nail for an identity that didn’t feel like it belonged to you. To laugh louder, fight harder, pretend like the world couldn’t touch you—because the moment you stopped, the weight of it all would crush you.
How many times had people looked at him and only seen Roger’s son? How many times had they looked at Buggy and only seen a fool?
His jaw tightened.
"Guess you never really know a man without knowing him."
Ace had been lucky. He had found people who bothered to look deeper. People who saw him, not as Roger’s son, but as Ace.
Buggy…
Had anyone ever done the same for him?
Sanji's cigarette had long since burned out, but he hadn't moved to light another. His eyes flicked toward their captain, sitting motionless, his hat casting a shadow over his expression.
Luffy hadn’t said a word since the image ended.
And that wasn’t right.
Luffy was always loud, always moving, always filled with a relentless energy that nothing could kill. But now?
Sanji had seen him silent before—when he had been angry, when he had been hurting—but this was something different.
Luffy sat too still.
And that—that—was what unsettled Sanji the most.
He took a slow breath before exhaling through his nose. Then, without looking, he nudged Zoro’s shoulder with his foot.
"Go," he muttered, voice low.
Zoro didn't react at first, his arms crossed as he watched their captain carefully.
"You don’t need to remind me," he finally said, voice just as quiet.
But neither of them moved.
Because the truth was—none of them wanted to be the one to step forward first.
They had always followed an unspoken order, the natural flow of their crew. Luffy led, and they followed. When one of them fell, the others picked them up.
But they had never seen Luffy like this before.
And none of them knew what to do.
It was a strange feeling—this quiet, heavy hesitation that none of them wanted to acknowledge.
So they pushed it onto Zoro.
Because he was the first mate.
Because if anyone should step forward, it had to be him.
Zoro knew that.
And even though he hated being pushed, even though he could feel the weight of their silent expectations pressing against him, he didn't fight it.
Because he understood.
Because he was the first mate.
And because even if he hadn’t been—
He still would have stepped forward.
So he took a slow breath, straightened his shoulders, and moved.
"Luffy."
His voice was steady, firm—but not harsh.
Luffy didn't respond.
Zoro’s jaw tensed.
He stepped closer, just enough to see Luffy’s hands curled into tight fists against his knees.
"Luffy," he tried again, voice quieter.
Still, nothing.
Zoro exhaled sharply before finally stepping in front of him, standing in his captain’s direct line of sight.
Luffy didn’t look up.
Zoro clenched his fists.
This wasn’t right.
This wasn’t Luffy.
He had never seen their captain like this.
Not when they lost to Kuma.
Not when Ace died.
Not when Marineford fell apart around them.
And that was what made this so damn frustrating.
"Luffy," he said one last time, louder now, sharper—because he refused to let this continue.
And finally—
Luffy moved.
His fingers unclenched, his shoulders shifting. His hat dipped lower, his hair shadowing his face.
And then, slowly—so slowly—he lifted his head.
Zoro met his eyes.
And what he saw—
Made his chest tighten.
Because he had expected anger, grief, maybe even rage.
But Luffy’s eyes weren’t filled with anger.
They were filled with something else entirely.
Something raw, something unspoken, something that even Zoro—who had spent years understanding Luffy’s every move, every glance, every damn shift in energy—couldn’t name.
And that—
That was the worst part of all.
Sengoku exhaled slowly, fingers tightening against his arms. His thoughts were unsettled—an unfamiliar, unwelcome feeling. He had faced legends, commanded wars, led the Marines through the era of Roger, Whitebeard, and countless other monsters.
Yet this…
This was different.
His gaze shifted toward the man beside him.
Garp.
Sengoku had known him for decades—longer than anyone else in this damn room. And if he had failed to notice something this big about his closest friend, then he would have never been fit to lead the Marines.
From the moment Buggy’s name was first uttered, something in Garp had changed. A shift so small, so carefully contained, that no one but Sengoku would have caught it. At first, he had dismissed it as irritation, but the more he watched, the more uneasy he became.
Now, as silence blanketed the room, that unease only grew heavier.
Buggy. A fool. A weakling. A pirate unworthy of notice—or so Sengoku had always thought. But the way Garp sat there, frozen, said otherwise.
Sengoku hated not knowing.
“…Garp.”
His voice was low, firm—not as an admiral, but as a friend.
No response.
Garp’s posture remained unchanged, hunched forward slightly, his fists resting against his knees. His head was bowed But Sengoku could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled just a fraction tighter.
That was enough.
“…Garp.”
Still, nothing.
Sengoku clenched his jaw.
No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t figure out the connection. Buggy was Roger’s crew, a loudmouthed idiot with zero significance to the Marine Hero. And yet—
A bad feeling settled in Sengoku’s gut.
Something wasn’t right.
“…GARP.”
At last, a reaction.
A twitch in Garp’s fingers. A slow inhale—too slow.
Finally—
“…Don’t.”
A single word. Rough. Heavy. Final.
Garp still didn’t look at him. Still sat there, locked in a silence that didn’t belong to him. His mind was elsewhere—buried in a past he refused to acknowledge.
Sengoku felt his chest tighten.
Whatever this was, he hated it.
And Garp hated it more.
Because he knew.
He knew what Sengoku didn’t. Knew what lay beneath that fool’s makeup, laughter, and theatrics.
He knew the person.
And he knew the truth.
The truth that had haunted him for decades.
That no matter what Buggy had become—pirate, clown, emperor, fool—
He had never wanted this life.
And that was something Garp could never—would never—admit.
Sabo sat motionless, his gloved hands clenched tightly against his knees. His sharp eyes flickered between Luffy and Ace, both trapped in their own silent struggles. A part of him ached to go to them—to put a reassuring hand on Luffy’s shoulder or offer Ace the support of a brother. But another part of him… hesitated.
He had never felt this uncertain before.
His chest felt too tight, weighed down by something he couldn’t shake off. Watching Buggy’s breakdown had left him with a storm of emotions he wasn’t ready to face. It was an unraveling—a complete shattering of a person before their eyes. And the worst part?
He understood it.
Even if the circumstances were different, even if Buggy’s pain was something unique to him, Sabo couldn’t deny the familiarity in it.
A past forgotten.
A self lost.
A desperate longing for something you couldn’t remember, only to have it all come crashing down once the truth was known.
Sabo had lived that. He had been that.
For years, he had wandered without a past, unaware of the hole in his very being. He hadn't understood that longing, that strange ache that came when he looked at the vast sea, as if something important was missing. It had followed him in the shadows, lingering at the edges of his soul, whispering that he had forgotten something he was never meant to lose.
And then he remembered.
He remembered Ace. He remembered Luffy. He remembered the love he had for them, the home they had shared, the promises made under the stars. And in that moment, he had finally understood the longing—it had been for them.
But Buggy…
Buggy had never been given that moment.
He had been forced to keep going, forced to survive with a gaping wound in his soul that had never healed. The way he had broken, the way he had screamed—it was too raw, too painful. It wasn’t the grief of someone simply losing something dear.
It was the grief of someone who had never been allowed to grieve in the first place.
And Sabo…
Sabo didn’t know what to do with that.
He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching. He wanted to stand, to move, to do anything—but he couldn’t. His body refused.
Because for the first time in a long time, Sabo felt truly helpless.
Dragon seat in silence, his sharp eyes watching Sabo as the younger man sat frozen, his emotions tangled in an unseen storm. The slight tremble in his fingers, the way his jaw was clenched just a little too tightly—Dragon recognized it.
Because he felt the same.
Without a word, he stepped forward, placing a firm yet steady hand on Sabo’s shoulder. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a silent reassurance, a quiet understanding. A comfort he couldn’t give to Luffy, but could at least offer to Sabo.
Because Dragon knew.
He knew what it meant to leave behind something precious. To walk away from what could have been a future filled with warmth. To sacrifice love for a cause. To watch from a distance as the people he should have protected grew up without him.
He had left Luffy.
Buggy had left Roger.
But had they really chosen to?
Or had the weight of the world forced them to?
Dragon’s fingers twitched slightly as the thought ran through his mind. He wasn’t a man prone to regrets—he couldn’t afford to be. But watching Buggy crumble, seeing that kind of pain laid bare for all to witness…
It was too familiar.
He had never known Buggy. Never had reason to think about the clown beyond his reputation. But now, watching Sabo struggle, feeling the echoes of his own past claw at the edges of his mind…
Dragon understood.
Because in another time, another life, he could have been him.
Law sat there, his fingers interlocked, golden eyes staring blankly at the ground. His mind, however, refused to be still.
He had seen death. He had been ready to embrace it. He had given up—lost everything, lost himself.
But he was saved.
Someone had pulled him out of that darkness, given him a hand when he didn’t even ask for it. When he had been drowning, when he had believed there was no future for him, someone had chosen to see him.
And because of that one hand, he was here now.
Alive. Breathing. Living.
But Buggy—
Buggy had no hand to hold.
No one reached for him.
No one saw him.
No one saved him.
That was the difference.
That was the unbearable, suffocating truth that settled heavy in Law’s chest.
Buggy was broken because no one had given him a reason not to break.
Law exhaled through his nose, his hands tightening, nails pressing into his palms. The weight of that truth—it made something ugly curl in his gut.
Then, soft voices reached his ears.
He glanced to the side.
His crew.
They sat close, their postures tense, unusually quiet. It was rare—his crew was always loud, bickering, teasing. But now, the weight of what they had seen was settling on them too.
“I didn’t think…” Shachi trailed off, looking at his hands, his usual easygoing expression nowhere to be found. “I mean—he was just some loud, crazy clown, right? I never thought…”
“That he was suffering?” Penguin muttered, arms crossed over his chest. His foot tapped against the floor, a nervous habit he rarely showed.
Bepo sat hunched forward, his large paws resting on his knees. His ears were pressed flat, his eyes distant. “I thought it was normal,” he admitted. “Acting happy even when you’re not.”
“That’s because it was normal,” another crewmember murmured. “For us, too.”
The words made the group fall into another heavy silence.
Because it was true.
Some of them had been there. Some of them had felt that same despair.
Buggy wasn’t just some random pirate to them now.
He was something painfully, terribly familiar.
Law let his eyes linger on them for a moment before his gaze shifted—drawn, without meaning to, to him.
To Corazon.
And Law felt something cold settle into his bones.
Corazon was sitting too still.
His posture was always relaxed, careless, almost lazy—but this was different. This wasn’t ease.
This was the stillness of a dead man.
Law’s breath slowed.
He had seen Corazon in pain before. He had seen him bleed, suffer, choke back agony. He had even seen him ready to face death itself.
But even then—even when dying—Corazon had been alive.
He had never looked like this.
Like something inside him had shattered so violently that there was nothing left to hold.
Law's fingers curled into fists.
He was a smart man. He noticed things. He put together pieces that others ignored.
And he saw it now.
There was something between them. Something deep. Something unspoken.
And yet—
That wasn’t what disturbed him the most.
What disturbed him was the way Corazon had looked at that final image.
Not just shock. Not just grief.
But devastation.
Why?
Law’s heart beat louder in his ears.
What the hell happened between them?
What did Buggy mean to him?
And more than that—
What did Corazon see that made him look like he had lost everything?
Law sat beside Corazon, his eyes shadowed with something unreadable. He wasn’t a child anymore.
He wasn’t the same kid who cried and clung to this man, seeking warmth and safety. He had grown. He had become someone who could stand on his own.
But even so—
This was Corazon.
The man who had saved him. The man who had given him everything.
And right now, that man was suffering.
Law’s gaze dropped to Corazon’s hand—clenched into a white-knuckled fist on his knee. The tension in his body, the way his shoulders locked tight, the way his breath was steady but too controlled—
It was agony.
Law recognized it.
So, silently, he moved.
He wasn’t a kid anymore, but beside Corazon’s sheer size, he still looked like one.
But he wasn’t.
And now, he wanted to give back.
So, without a word, Law placed his hand over Corazon’s.
The larger man flinched.
Just slightly.
But he didn’t pull away.
Law’s fingers pressed down gently, steadily. He wasn’t here to pry or demand answers. He wasn’t here to force Corazon to speak.
He was here to stay.
To let him know that he wasn’t alone.
Corazon swallowed, staring ahead, silent.
He understood what Law was doing.
He understood that Law was trying to comfort him, trying to give him space to speak—to share, to unburden himself.
But he couldn’t.
He couldn’t.
What would he even say?
That he had met a man once and fallen in love? That despite decades passing, despite never seeing him again, despite everything—
He had never let go?
That seeing him again—seeing him suffering—
Had crushed him?
That everything he had buried had come flooding back, drowning him, mocking him for ever believing he could forget?
His throat clenched.
It wasn’t just that.
It wasn’t just his feelings.
It was that Buggy—
The man who had once laughed so freely, so loudly, so brightly—
Was now someone who had screamed in agony until his voice broke.
The image of Buggy wailing, sobbing, breaking apart before their eyes—
It made Corazon’s chest feel tight.
Like something inside was shattering.
Like something inside was screaming.
Like his organs were being squeezed apart.
Like if this pain went on any longer, something would break.
And then—
He would bleed.
His breath was steady, his face unreadable, but inside—
Inside, he was breaking apart.
But he couldn’t share it.
He wouldn’t.
Even if it killed him, this pain—this suffering—
Was his to carry alone.
For a long moment, the silence stretched between them.
Law’s hand remained.
Corazon said nothing.
But even so—
Law understood.
He didn’t know the details. He didn’t know what happened between them.
But he understood one thing.
Corazon couldn’t share it.
And so, Law stayed.
Sitting beside him.
His hand still resting on Corazon’s.
Not pushing, not demanding.
Just letting him know he wasn’t alone.
For now that is all he could do for him.
Doflamingo sat apart from them, his usual smirk in place, but his sharp eyes watching every little movement.
He couldn’t hear them.
But he didn’t need to.
His brother was easy to read. That idiot had always been an open book when it came to his emotions.
Corazon was in agony.
And Law?
That brat was doing what Corazon had once done for him—offering a hand.
Doflamingo clicked his tongue, finding the whole scene irritating.
Not because he cared.
He didn’t give a damn about Corazon’s suffering.
No, what really bothered him was something else entirely.
Buggy.
That stupid, loud, ridiculous clown.
His breakdown—it was too damn familiar.
Too much like his own past.
The way the world had crushed him. The way he had been left to rot.
Doflamingo hated it.
Because it meant something he would never admit.
That he understood.
And that understanding? It made his skin crawl.
He scoffed, leaning back slightly.
Tch.
Still, watching Corazon in such visible agony—seeing his brother, who always acted so self-righteous, now gripping his own knees like a man barely holding himself together—
That part?
That was kind of nice.
Not in a cruel way. Not entirely.
It was just… interesting.
And the more he watched, the more curious he became.
Just what was Corazon’s connection to that clown?
His brother wasn’t the type to get so shaken over just anyone.
Whatever it was—
Doflamingo smirked.
He was looking forward to finding out.
Mihawk was not familiar with Buggy.
He had first met the clown at Marineford, but even then, he had barely paid him any attention.
Before that, he had only ever heard his name once.
From Shanks’ lips.
But Shanks had been so drunk out of his mind at the time that Mihawk hadn’t thought much of it.
It had been just another name in a drunken ramble.
One that Shanks never spoke of when he was sober.
And that had always been the thing that nagged at Mihawk’s mind.
Why had Shanks only ever said that name when he was too drunk to hold his tongue?
Why had it slipped past his lips like something that wasn’t meant to be spoken?
And why, when he was sober, did he never speak of it at all?
Shanks talked too much. That was a fact.
He could go on for hours about things that interested him.
He was a man who wore his emotions openly, who carried his past with pride.
So why was this the one thing he had never spoken of?
Why did that name pass his lips only when he was too drunk to stop it?
Mihawk never questioned it back then.
But now?
Now, he could see it.
Something was hidden beneath the surface.
Something that Shanks had never said.
And Mihawk, for the first time, was beginning to understand why.
—
Even at Marineford, Buggy had been nothing.
Mihawk had barely spared him a glance.
The only thing that had even mildly surprised him was the man’s Devil Fruit—
The way he had been able to avoid Mihawk’s slash.
But even then, Mihawk had not been interested in Buggy.
Only the fruit.
Buggy, as a person, had been irrelevant.
—
Then came their so-called partnership.
Mihawk had met Buggy again, this time alongside Crocodile.
And his impression of the man?
Pathetic.
A cowardly, weak, loud fool.
And once again, Mihawk had wondered—
Why?
Why did Shanks guard that name so much?
What could he see that Mihawk could not?
But now—after seeing the image…
Everything had changed.
Buggy.
That pathetic man.
That crying, broken man.
The same man who had knelt before One Piece’s residence?
Mihawk did not question the possibility.
He had seen the cabinet.
He had seen Buggy’s hand.
And that hand—
Mihawk recognized it.
Not as Buggy’s hand.
But as his own.
Because he had once had the same grip.
The same desperation.
The same unyielding determination.
The first time Mihawk had held a sword, he had gripped it so tightly, with such fierce, desperate will, that he had been unable to let go of it for a full week.
Because the moment he had held it, he had known.
He had finally found his missing limb.
And now—seeing Buggy’s hand?
Mihawk knew.
Buggy had held that brush the same way.
With no intention of letting go.
With no choice but to keep holding on.
It was the kind of grip that came from desperation.
From clinging to something like a lifeline.
And Mihawk—
Mihawk respect that.
—
But then—
Then he saw Buggy’s expression.
The way he looked at his own hands.
And Mihawk felt something ugly twist in his gut.
Because that expression—
That was not the face of a man who had worked tirelessly and finally achieved something.
It was not the face of someone who had earned pride.
It was not the face of someone who had found what they had been looking for.
It was agony.
Pure, soul-deep agony.
And Mihawk—
He hated it.
Buggy, like Mihawk himself, was supposed to have pride in his effort.
He was supposed to have satisfaction in what he had done.
But that face—
That wasn’t pride.
That wasn’t satisfaction.
That was grief.
That was regret.
That was self-hatred.
And Mihawk, for the first time in his life—
Felt bad for someone.
Someone he had just respected a moment ago.
And then suddenly, that respect turned to pity.
And he hated it.
Because he realized—
There was nothing he could do.
And for the first time—
Mihawk felt something he had never felt before.
Like he was not enough.
Mihawk sat in silence, his thoughts still heavy, when he heard it—
A mutter.
Voices.
Low, hushed.
Coming from the Buggy Pirates.
They weren’t speaking loudly—perhaps they thought no one would hear them.
But Mihawk’s hearing was keen.
And their whispers were enough for him to catch.
—
“…Captain…”
The voice was small. Shaken.
It was Mohji.
Cabaji’s voice, usually snide and indifferent, was subdued.
“He never said anything.”
“He always acts like—” another crew member muttered, voice strained. “Like everything’s fine. Like he’s just—”
“A joke?” Alvida’s voice was sharper.
Colder.
And Mihawk could tell she was angry.
Not at Buggy.
But at herself.
Because she had thought the same.
She had seen Buggy the same way everyone else had.
And now—
Now she was realizing how wrong she had been.
—
Mihawk did not turn to look at them.
He listened.
Because for the first time—
He was curious.
—
“…I don’t understand,” Mohji murmured.
“He was—he was with Roger, right? So why—”
“I don’t know,” Cabaji admitted.
His hands were clenched into fists.
“…I thought he was just lucky. That he just—weaseled his way through things. But…”
He exhaled.
“…That’s not it, is it?”
No one answered.
Because they all knew the truth now.
It had never been luck.
It had never been just theatrics.
Buggy had fought.
He had bled.
And he had done it alone.
Because no one had helped him.
Because no one had ever offered.
Because he had never let them see.
Because no one had ever thought to look.
And now—
Now they could see.
And they felt sick.
—
“…I think he’s always been scared.”
It was Mr.3 who had spoken this time.
His voice was soft.
Strained.
As if he himself couldn’t believe the words leaving his mouth.
“…I think he never let us see it. Because if he did, we would have left.”
Another silence.
Then—
“…I wouldn’t have.”
Mohji’s voice shook.
“But—he thought we would.”
And that was what hurt the most.
—
Mihawk’s gaze lowered slightly.
His thoughts were a mess.
Mihawk had never cared much for emotion.
But even he could recognize what that face had meant.
Buggy had never been proud.
Not of anything he had done.
Not even once.
And Mihawk, against all reason, felt something deep in his chest.
An ugly, bitter feeling.
Something he was not familiar with.
And he did not like it.
Mihawk had heard enough.
The murmurs of the Buggy Pirates faded into background noise as his sharp gaze shifted—slow, measured, deliberate.
He had spent the last few minutes listening. Observing. Taking in every trembling voice, every muttered regret, every quiet sob that slipped through the walls those men had likely spent years building.
But he was done listening.
He turned his attention elsewhere.
And the first thing he saw was how still Crocodile was.
It was an unnatural kind of stillness.
The kind that only came when someone was too lost in their own mind to remember to move.
Crocodile was seated, one elbow braced against his knee, fingers lightly pressing against his lips—an unconscious habit, perhaps, or a desperate attempt to keep something from slipping out.
His shoulders, normally squared and rigid with authority, were drawn in ever so slightly, the weight of something Mihawk could not yet name pressing down on them.
His golden hook rested against his thigh, motionless.
Mihawk did not like it.
Crocodile was not a man of hesitation. He was not a man of regret. He was not a man who let his body betray his mind.
And yet, as Mihawk’s gaze trailed over him, he could see it.
The tension in his jaw.
The barely noticeable tremor in his fingers before he forced them still.
The way his lips pressed together as if he was physically stopping himself from saying something.
It was unlike him.
And that was what made Mihawk pay closer attention.
Because it was not just sorrow.
It was not just frustration.
It was something buried.
Something Mihawk knew too well.
Something unspoken.
And that made it worse.
—
Mihawk did not ask.
He would not ask.
Not because he wasn’t curious.
But because Crocodile was not the type of man to entertain questions.
And Mihawk?
He was not the type of man to offer comfort.
Even if he had wanted to—which he didn’t—he would not have known how.
Because that was not who he was.
He had spent his life mastering the blade, not emotions.
And he was not about to start now.
Crocodile hated this.
Hated how he had been reduced to sitting here, dwelling on things he had no business caring about. Hated the sick twist in his gut.
Hated that he understood.
He couldn’t believe it—
That he, of all people, had fallen for it.
Fallen for the same deception he had once despised in others.
The kind of people who would look at him, knowing nothing about him, knowing nothing about what he had been through—yet still assume.
Still judge.
Still pretend to know him.
And yet, here he was—
Doing the same damn thing.
He had seen Buggy the Clown.
A loud, idiotic, weakling of a man who paraded himself as something larger than life.
A man whose very existence was built on luck, bluster, and blind arrogance.
That was what he had thought.
That was what Buggy had wanted him to think.
And Crocodile had let himself believe it.
How could he not?
Buggy was good at it.
Too good.
The way he laughed, the way he boasted, the way he bumbled through life as if nothing mattered—
It was perfect.
Flawless.
A performance so well-rehearsed that even Crocodile, who had built his empire on deception, had not seen past it.
And yet—
That image.
That damn image.
It had ripped through every illusion, every pretense, every carefully crafted façade—
And revealed something real.
Something raw.
Something he knew too well.
Because Buggy hadn’t just been pretending.
He had been living his own lie.
Wearing it.
Burying himself in it so deeply that even he must have forgotten where the act ended and where he began.
Crocodile knew what that felt like.
Knew exactly what that felt like.
Because he had done the same damn thing.
He had spent years—no, his entire life— convincing himself that he didn’t need anyone.
That he was strong enough on his own.
That he could handle anything.
That weakness—attachment—meant death.
That the only way to survive was to bury everything.
So deep that no one—not even himself—could find it again.
And where had that gotten him?
Sitting here.
With a sick feeling in his chest.
Because he understood.
Because he saw himself in that image.
And he hated it.
He hated that damn clown.
Hated that he could understand him.
Hated that—just for a moment—he could feel something other than contempt.
And he hated himself even more for it.
The room was heavy.
Not with noise—no, there was barely any of that.
But with weight.
A weight that pressed down on them all, a suffocating, unseen force that no one could push away.
They were all trapped in it.
Some sat in silence, lost in the depths of their own thoughts, their expressions dark and unreadable.
Some whispered quietly, hushed voices blending into the void, their words nothing but distant murmurs that barely reached beyond their own small circles.
Some sat with their heads lowered, hands clenched, as if trying to grasp onto something—**anything—**that could ground them.
Some still lingered in their own pain, their own regrets, their own helplessness.
And yet, despite the silence, despite the stillness—
It wasn’t peaceful.
It was suffocating.
As if they were all sitting in a fragile bubble—
Each of them trapped inside their own space, their own emotions, their own private storms.
No one dared to break it.
No one could.
Until—
Pop.
As if a needle had pricked the silence, snapping the invisible thread that held everything together—
A voice fell into the void.
Not loud.
Not soft.
Just enough—
Enough to slice through the thick air.
Enough to pull every mind, every heart, every gaze toward it.
Enough to force them all to look.
"That's not fair."
The words weren’t shouted.
They weren’t whispered.
But they landed—
Like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples that reached them all.
And in that moment—
The weight shifted.
Chapter 6: Chapter 6: Fractured Truths and Unseen Wounds
Chapter Text
Chapter 6: "That’s Not Fair"
"That’s not fair."
The words slipped into the silence like a needle piercing a bubble, snapping the heavy stillness that had settled over them. It wasn’t loud, nor was it whispered—but it was enough.
Everyone turned.
Even Zoro, still lost in his thoughts, felt his body react before his mind could catch up. Eyes moved, necks turned, and all at once, the room seemed to shift.
Luffy sat among them, just as he had been before, but now all eyes were on him. His face was shadowed, his hat tilted just enough to hide part of his expression, but his voice had already given it away.
They had heard this before.
How many times? No one could remember.
And yet, this time, something was different.
Luffy wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even demanding answers.
He was just… there. Staring ahead, his voice carrying something heavier than anyone wanted to name.
And for the first time, no one knew what to say.
Luffy’s voice rang out again, steady yet filled with something none of them could ignore.
"That’s just… not fair."
His words didn’t need to be loud. They didn’t need to be explained. The weight in them was enough.
Zoro stood in front of him, the first to turn, his single eye locking onto his captain. Luffy’s posture was rigid, his fists clenched at his sides. His hat cast a shadow over his eyes, but there was no mistaking the emotion in his voice.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The air was thick with the tension of everything left unspoken, of everything they had just witnessed. It was like Luffy alone had voiced the very thing weighing on all of them.
Zoro’s brows furrowed slightly. His arms remained crossed, but his grip tightened over his own forearm. He wasn’t the type to dwell on emotions, but Luffy’s words struck something inside him—something sharp, something real.
Sanji, still leaning against the sofa. exhaled a slow breath, his cigarette nearly burnt to the filter. His gaze flickered toward Luffy, unreadable but heavy with understanding.
Robin watched silently, her fingers lightly interlocked in her lap. She had spent a lifetime witnessing injustice, suffering through it herself. But this…
This was a different kind of unfairness.
Franky, usually loud and energetic, was uncharacteristically quiet. His hands were balled into loose fists at his sides, his jaw set.
Even Brook, who had faced death itself, remained still, his usual lighthearted demeanor absent.
Chopper sat with his ears slightly lowered, his small hands gripping his knees. He didn’t know what to say, but he felt it too—that ache in his chest, the heaviness of it all.
Usopp swallowed, his own hands trembling slightly as they rested on his legs. He had always feared being weak, of not being able to stand tall like the others. But seeing what they had seen, hearing Luffy’s voice crack with something almost unfamiliar—it made him feel small again.
Luffy was always the one who moved forward. Who stood tall no matter what.
And yet, here he was, seating beside them, his body tense, his voice filled with something none of them had ever truly heard from him before.
It wasn’t anger.
It wasn’t sadness.
It was something deeper.
Something that resonated with all of them.
Zoro was the first to break the silence, his voice gruff, uncertain.
"Luffy…"
But he didn’t know what to say.
Because, deep down, he already knew.
The silence following Luffy’s words was suffocating.
Everyone was still, as if the world had stopped moving.
And then—
"Love."
A single word.
A single name.
It broke through the tension like a dagger, sharp and unyielding.
For a moment, no one reacted.
It was like they hadn’t even processed it.
But then—
Love appeared.
The same as before.
Relaxed.
Flirty.
Unbothered.
Like she hadn’t just made them witness something that ripped them apart from the inside out.
Like she hadn’t just forced them to see what they had spent years ignoring.
She tilted her head, a playful smile on her lips. "I heard someone missed me."
The words were light.
Almost teasing.
But they cut through the heavy atmosphere like a whip, because no one—absolutely no one—was in the mood for games.
Least of all Luffy.
His stare was unwavering.
Cold.
Unmoving.
And for the first time, he wasn’t looking at her with curiosity or confusion.
He was looking at her like she was something in his way.
Something that needed to answer to him.
"Answer."
One word.
A demand.
And this time, everyone felt it.
The weight of his presence.
The undeniable force behind his will.
The quiet, simmering rage in his voice.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t aggressive.
But it commanded.
It demanded.
And it sent a chill down the backs of everyone watching.
Even the strongest among them—Whitebeard, Rayleigh , Roger, Mihawk, Dragon—felt a shift in the air.
This wasn’t just Luffy speaking.
This was something far greater.
A force they could all feel pressing against them, heavy and unrelenting.
Smoker, ever the skeptic, gritted his teeth, his grip tightening around his arms. He knew Luffy was strong. He knew he had seen things most wouldn’t believe.
But this?
This was different.
Sabo and Ace exchanged glances, their instincts screaming at them.
Luffy wasn’t just upset.
Luffy wasn’t just angry.
This was something deeper.
And they didn’t know if it was better or worse that they could all feel it.
Garp’s jaw locked, his hands twitching at his sides.
He had seen this side of Luffy before.
Not often.
Not in ways most people noticed.
But he had seen it
.
And he knew—he knew—
That whatever was about to happen next…
Wasn’t going to be pretty.
Love, however, only chuckled.
As if she wasn’t standing in front of someone who could split the sky in half with his emotions alone.
"Such a demanding little thing, aren’t you?" she mused, her voice honeyed and light. "I do love a man who knows what he wants."
Luffy didn’t blink.
Didn’t waver.
Didn’t react.
He only spoke, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"What right do you have?"
The amusement in Love’s face flickered—just for a second.
Luffy’s voice didn’t rise.
It didn’t need to.
It carried through the air, forcing everyone to feel the weight of his words.
"What right do you have," he repeated, "to decide if he’s qualified or not?"
A sharp inhale.
A slow exhale.
The tension stretched thin—so thin, it might snap at any second.
And no one knew what would happen when it did.
A heavy silence settled over them, thick like storm clouds before rainfall. Love’s words echoed in their minds, mocking in their simplicity.
"Well, to know, you must watch. I have brought you here to watch. You will get every answer in the void."
The casual way she said it, as if they weren’t already on the verge of breaking, only made it worse.
A sharp breath was the first sound to break the tension. Zoro’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides. His grip on his swords tightened instinctively, the callouses on his palms pressing hard against the hilts. His patience was thin enough as it was. Being toyed with like this? It set his blood on fire.
Sanji let out a slow exhale, the ember of his cigarette glowing dimly before he flicked it away. The smoke curled in the air between them, vanishing into nothing. "That’s convenient," he muttered, his voice deceptively calm, but the sharpness in his eyes gave away his irritation. He despised games like this—especially when they played with people’s pain.
Across from him, Usopp’s fists were trembling. His breath came in uneven gasps, his throat tight. "That’s… that’s just messed up!" The crack in his voice betrayed the fear beneath his anger. How much worse could it get?
Nami’s arms were crossed so tightly over her chest, her nails dug into her skin. She wasn’t even sure if she was holding back her frustration or holding herself together. Being forced to watch someone suffer while powerless to stop it—she knew that feeling. Too well. "So that’s it?" she muttered, voice laced with bitterness. "No meaning, no reason, just… watch?"
Robin, ever composed, had a look in her eyes that wasn’t quite anger but something dangerously close. "You talk as if you already know how this will end," she murmured, each word deliberate.
A muscle in Franky’s jaw twitched. He wasn’t usually the type to let emotions overwhelm him, but his large hands were clenched into tight fists against his knees. "This ain't some damn show," he muttered, voice unusually rough.
Brook, normally the one to lighten the mood, was silent. His fingers were folded over his cane, his posture unusually stiff. "Even the dead deserve truth," he finally murmured, his voice hollow.
Shanks straightened from his relaxed stance, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the situation.
Roger, watching carefully, let out a humorless chuckle. "Figures," he muttered. But the tension in his shoulders betrayed his frustration.
Rayleigh sighed, rubbing his temples, his own guilt pressing down on him like an iron weight. "So we’re supposed to piece it together ourselves, then?" His voice was tired.
Whitebeard, unmoving, finally exhaled deeply. "You’re testing patience that’s already running thin, woman," he rumbled, his voice low and warning. It was rare for him to sound so sharp.
Beside him, Ace gritted his teeth, his breath uneven. "What more is there to see?" His hands curled into fists.
Sabo’s fingers twitched against his knee. "So we just sit here and take it?" His voice was eerily calm, but the tightness in his grip told another story.
Dragon, who had barely spoken, finally let out a slow exhale. "She’s keeping information just out of reach," he said. "Which means she wants us to get there on our own."
Garp dragged a hand down his face, looking older than usual. "So we’re just gonna sit here and watch until someone finally snaps?" His voice held a bitterness that no one missed.
Corazon, who had been staring at the ground, finally clenched his jaw. "How much worse does it get?" he murmured. His voice was rough, as if the words physically hurt to say.
Mihawk, sharp and unreadable as always, finally broke his silence. "She’s leading us toward something specific."
Even Crocodile, usually composed, exhaled through his nose. "Feels like a damn trap," he muttered, arms crossed.
Doflamingo’s fingers twitched at his sides. He hated being played with. He hated not being the one pulling the strings. "You enjoy dragging this out, don’t you?"
Smoker’s lips curled slightly, but there was no amusement in it. "This is all just a big joke to you, huh?"
Sengoku’s hands tightened into fists. "No real answers yet," he muttered under his breath. "Only more waiting."
Tension rippled through the room like a sudden drop in temperature. The pressure of emotions, of frustration, of helplessness was suffocating.
And still—Love only smiled.
Unbothered. Relaxed.
As if none of it mattered.
And that—more than anything else—was what made it unbearable.
Love remained as relaxed as ever, her posture effortless, her expression playful—almost amused. She tilted her head slightly, lips curving into something dangerously close to a smirk before she spoke.
"Seeing you all this shaken after just watching the trailer, I wonder if you can handle the real thing."
Her voice was smooth, almost mocking, but there was something else beneath it—something unreadable.
And just like that, something inside them snapped.
“Trailer?”
The word cut through the silence like a blade, sending an immediate ripple through the air. It was almost laughable—almost insulting.
Everything they had seen, everything they had felt—the suffering, the agony, the sheer weight of what Buggy had endured—was just a glimpse?
Not the full picture. Not even close.
The air around them became suffocating. It crackled with something unseen, something dangerous.
Haki.
Heavy. Unrestrained. Furious.
Rayleigh’s shoulders tensed, his normally composed face darkening with something far more volatile. His Haki lashed out, an unconscious reaction to the way his gut twisted violently at the implication. His fists clenched at his sides. How much more had he failed to see? How much more had Buggy endured that he, his own mentor, had ignored?
Whitebeard let out a slow, deep breath, but it did nothing to steady the storm brewing beneath his skin. His grip tightened around his naginata, his knuckles turning white. His presence alone sent tremors through the ground, his Haki pressing against the air like a tidal wave. If what they saw was only the surface, then what lay beneath? What depths of suffering had Buggy drowned in?
Roger was motionless—too motionless. His body was stiff, his hands twitching as if itching for a sword to grip, something to hold onto before he lost himself in the emotions raging inside him. His Haki pulsed violently, his instinct screaming at him that this was wrong. So horribly wrong.
Garp sat like a coiled beast, his muscles taut, his breath heavy. His nails dug into his palm, the sharp sting grounding him in a way that did little to suppress the low, rumbling growl deep in his chest. How much more? How much more did he let happen under his watch?
Dragon’s aura was different—colder, heavier, unreadable. His fingers twitched at his sides, his unreadable gaze darkening. He did not know Buggy. He did not need to. But something about the idea of seeing more—of seeing something worse than what had already been shown—made something inside him coil tightly. His Haki spiked, unseen but felt.
Sabo’s fingers curled into his knee, his whole body tense. His flames flickered wildly before he forced them down. He didn’t want to see more. He didn’t want to see what could be worse than what had already left them shaken to their cores. His breath hitched slightly before he steadied it.
Ace—Ace was the first to break.
His Haki exploded outward like wildfire, sending a physical shockwave through the air. His teeth clenched so hard that his jaw ached, his breath ragged, his hands trembling at his sides before curling into fists—too tight, too hard. Blood dripped from his palms, nails cutting deep into his own flesh. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough. How much more suffering was the world going to throw at Buggy before it finally let him breathe?!
Mihawk barely moved, but his fingers tightened around the armrest of his seat. His golden eyes darkened, the sharp glint in them unreadable. His Haki pulsed subtly, but the weight of it was unmistakable. A trailer? His mind reeled. Then what the hell was the full story?
Sengoku inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his own fury into check. But it was impossible to ignore the tremor in his hands, the way his fingers clenched tightly at his sides. He had already felt the weight of guilt sinking into his chest, but now? Now it twisted into something deeper. Something far, far worse.
Smoker let out a slow, sharp exhale, his jaw tight, his fingers gripping his coat in a poor attempt to ground himself. He was a Marine. He had prided himself on seeing through deception, on knowing when someone was truly dangerous. But this? This was beyond anything he had prepared for. His Haki lashed out slightly before he forced it back down.
Even Crocodile, the one who had remained unnervingly silent throughout most of this, let out a slow, sharp exhale. His fingers twitched as he processed Love’s words. His usually unshakable mask cracked just slightly.
Luffy’s breath hitched. His wide eyes, filled with something unreadable, flickered with emotions too tangled to separate. His fists shook, his nails digging into his palms. “A trailer?” His voice was barely a whisper, yet it carried a weight that could shatter mountains. How much more had Buggy suffered? He had laughed, smiled—just like Luffy. But the pain beneath it had been real. Too real. And Luffy had missed it.
The Straw Hats seated frozen. Nami’s fingers gripped the fabric of her shorts, knuckles white. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a sickening knot forming in her stomach. She had known suffering. She had known loss. But what Buggy had gone through? It felt endless. And now, she knew—it wasn’t even the full picture.
Zoro’s jaw tightened, his single eye shadowed. His Haki flared, restrained but lethal. He was no stranger to pain. To survival. But the idea that there was more made his blood burn.
Sanji let out a slow drag of his cigarette, but even that did little to steady him. His hands twitched, aching to do something, anything. Buggy was an idiot, a fool, but no one—no one—deserved what they had seen.
Robin’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her dark eyes held something heavy, something knowing. She had witnessed suffering. She had lived through it. But this? This felt different. More twisted. More wrong.
Chopper trembled, his hooves clenched tightly. “How—how much more?” His voice cracked. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to see it!
Franky’s fists slammed together, metal screeching.
Usopp swallowed hard, his usual bravado shattered.
Brook’s skeletal hands tightened around his cane, the air around him unusually quiet.
Law exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers flexing. He had seen enough suffering to last lifetimes. He had survived the worst of humanity. And yet, the idea of more made something inside him burn.
Corazon’s cigarette slipped from his fingers, forgotten. His throat was dry. His hands trembled slightly as he clenched his coat. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” His voice was low, hoarse. How much more had Buggy endured?
Doflamingo let out a humorless chuckle, but his fingers twitched. His sunglasses couldn’t hide the way his jaw clenched. A trailer? He didn’t know why that word dug into his skin, but it did.
Marco exhaled deeply, shaking his head. His wings twitched, his Haki pressing against the room. “Tch… This ain’t right,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. How much more pain had Buggy carried?
This was nothing.
They had seen nothing.
And that thought alone was infuriating.
It was terrifying.
And the worst part?
None of them could do a damn thing about it.
The suffocating weight of their own emotions still clung to them like a second skin, pressing down on their chests with a force that refused to ease. The room, or rather, the void they sat in, still crackled with the remnants of unleashed Haki, the air thick and charged, almost hard to breathe through.
They were still trapped—trapped in their own thoughts, their own regrets, their own guilt. Their own anger.
But just as the tension seemed ready to pull them all under, just as they were left to drown in the storm of emotions raging inside them—
"Now, shall we continue?"
The voice, light and playful as ever, cut through the moment like a blade.
It was almost mocking.
Almost cruel.
Their heads snapped toward her, their eyes burning with something raw, something close to hatred.
Love stood there, unbothered, smiling as if she hadn't just shattered them all moments ago. As if she hadn't just thrown their hearts into the abyss and watched them struggle for air.
Her posture was relaxed, effortless—arms loosely crossed, weight shifted slightly to one side, head tilted just enough to show amusement. It was infuriating. She was infuriating.
Not one of them could stop the bitter, boiling thought from rising in their minds.
They hated her.
They hated how carefree she was. How untouched, how detached, how amused she seemed by all of this.
Even Luffy, who was often the most easygoing among them, narrowed his eyes at her. His usual bright expression darkened, lips pressing into something that wasn’t quite a frown but wasn’t far from it either. His fingers twitched, and his body, always loose and relaxed, was now tense, coiled, unsettled.
Zoro’s hand hovered near his swords. It was instinct—one he had no control over. He had faced many enemies in his life, had stood before monsters in human form, but something about this woman, about the way she spoke with such casual cruelty, grated against his very being. His sharp gaze didn’t waver, but his jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his temple.
Sanji, normally one to flirt with any beautiful woman he saw, felt nothing but disdain for her in this moment. The way she toyed with emotions, the way she dangled answers just out of reach—it was unbearable. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, his usual charm and poise nowhere to be found.
Nami felt the sting of frustration burning in her chest, her nails digging into her palms. She wasn’t as visibly shaken as the others, but her mind raced, trying to make sense of what kind of person could be this way. Who could be so... heartless?
Usopp swallowed hard, but his hands trembled at his sides. He didn’t want to look at her. He didn’t want to acknowledge her. The weight of the emotions crashing into him from all sides was overwhelming enough—she just made it worse.
Robin, for all her knowledge and experience with cruel people, found herself watching Love carefully. There was something in her that felt familiar, something that unsettled her. But the way she spoke—as if everything was entertainment, as if they were mere spectators—that was what made Robin’s expression harden.
Franky’s usually loud presence was eerily silent, his lips drawn into a thin line, his shoulders stiff.
Chopper’s small frame trembled beside them. He had felt the agony in that image—felt it deep in his heart. And now, this woman stood there, completely unbothered, acting as if nothing had happened.
Law had been staring at the ground, his hand clenched so tightly around the fabric of his coat that his knuckles had turned white. His head lifted at her words, and his glare was sharp—cold, calculating, furious. She was toying with them, he knew that much. But that didn’t stop the rage simmering beneath his skin, didn’t stop the hatred curling in his gut.
Corazon, always the one to keep his emotions close to his chest, was barely breathing. His shoulders were hunched, his expression dark. His chest ached—not just for himself, but for Buggy. For what was to come. And yet, even as he seethed, even as his own Haki pulsed in silent fury, he said nothing.
Doflamingo’s teeth ground together. He hated this feeling—hated being manipulated, hated being left in the dark, hated not knowing. And most of all, he hated how much this woman reminded him of himself.
Marco let out a slow, sharp breath, but it did little to steady him. He had seen a lot. Lived through more than most. But this? This was different. And she—this woman—was rubbing salt into wounds that hadn’t even finished bleeding.
Rayleigh’s fingers flexed slightly, his Haki still pressing against the air. She knew how shaken they were. She saw it. And still, she played this game.
Whitebeard was silent, but his aura was suffocating. The ground beneath them trembled slightly. His fingers curled around his weapon, his jaw tightening. He did not speak, because he did not trust what would come out if he did.
Roger had closed his eyes for a brief moment, steadying himself, forcing himself to think before he acted. But it didn’t change the fact that he wanted to throw his sword at her feet and demand answers.
Garp’s breath was slow and heavy. His head dipped slightly, but his eyes burned. If he opened his mouth now, he was certain he wouldn’t be able to control himself.
Dragon, for all his unreadable expressions, was visibly tense. His fingers curled ever so slightly, his body wound tight.
Sabo’s flames flickered at his fingertips again before he crushed them in his palm.
Ace’s fury was barely contained. His body was hot, too hot.
Mihawk exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly, his golden eyes sharp.
Sengoku adjusted his glasses, but his fingers trembled slightly as he did.
Smoker bit down on his cigar, exhaling a sharp breath.
Crocodile didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. But the sharp inhale he took gave him away.
They all felt the same thing.
Hate.
For the woman who stood before them.
For the way she spoke.
For the way she acted.
For the way she held all the answers in the palm of her hand and refused to let them see.
And yet—
They were completely at her mercy.
Chapter Text
A vast emptiness.
A complete void—pitch black, silent, suffocating. There was nothing.
The sudden, unnatural shift into absolute darkness sent a wave of unease through them all.
“W-WHAT HAPPENED?!” Usopp yelped, latching onto Chopper in blind panic. “IS THIS SOME KIND OF TRAP?!”
“GYAAAAH! I CAN’T SEE ANYTHING!” Chopper wailed, clinging back just as tightly.
“I-I don’t like this…” Helmeppo’s voice shook, his hands gripping the hilt of his sword though he wasn’t sure what good it would do.
Brook let out a nervous chuckle. “I appear to have gone blind… again! Yohohoho—though this time, it’s much less amusing…”
Nami’s fingers clutched her Clima-Tact. “I swear, if this is some sick trick—”
“Damn it, what is this?!” One of Buggy’s crew members shouted, shifting uneasily.
“It’s unnatural, even for this place!” Mohji gulped, holding onto Richie, who whimpered beside him.
Koala took a step closer to Sabo, her arms instinctively wrapping around herself. “I—I don’t like this at all…”
Coby swallowed hard, his fists clenching. Even as a Marine, this kind of sudden emptiness, this absolute void, was terrifying in a way he couldn’t describe.
Even Smoker tensed, exhaling sharply through his nose. He wasn’t the type to spook easily, but something about this felt wrong.
But before anyone could process further—
A voice, smooth yet laced with venom, dripped into the silence like poison.
"Pirates are evil? The Marines are righteous?"
The realization was instant.
Law’s entire body tensed. His fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to summon his blade.
Crocodile’s eyes narrowed slightly, the scarred corner of his lip twitching.
Luffy blinked once, then twice—his usual confusion shifting into realization.
“…That voice…” Corazon whispered, his entire frame locking up as if struck.
Doflamingo’s lips curled. The amusement was there, but even he was taken aback to hear his own voice echoing through the void.
The black screen flickered—
A towering figure stands on the battlefield, his massive frame shielding a fragile island behind him. Whitebeard, the strongest man in the world, standing like an unbreakable wall to protect Fishman Island.
Jinbei inhaled sharply. His fists tightened. “Whitebeard…” His voice was low, thick with emotion. “This—this was the moment he saved us.”
Marco exhaled slowly, pride swelling in his chest. “Yoi… That’s Pops.”
“He was always like that.” Vista smiled faintly. “A monster to the world… a father to us.”
“Tch.” Ace scoffed but smirked, crossing his arms. “He wouldn’t be able to live with himself otherwise.”
Izo nodded in agreement. “That was the man we followed.”
Luffy watched silently, his expression unreadable.
But in the next instant, the scene shatters.
A sky painted red with flames, Ohara engulfed in hellfire as the Buster Call rains destruction upon an entire civilization. Marines, their expressions cold, execute orders without hesitation. Innocents scream, their voices drowned beneath the thunderous roar of cannon fire.
Robin stiffened. Even after all these years, the image still clawed at her, still sent that cold, paralyzing fear through her veins.
Chopper noticed immediately, his concern overriding the horror in his own eyes. He shuffled closer, his small hoof resting gently against her arm. “Robin…” he whispered.
Nami took one look at her face and instinctively pulled her into a half-embrace. “You don’t have to watch.”
But Robin didn’t look away. She couldn’t.
Sengoku exhaled through his nose, his hands curling into fists. His gaze fell downward, an unreadable storm passing through his eyes.
Garp didn’t speak, but his fingers clenched tightly against his crossed arms.
A few of the gathered Marines—Coby, Smoker, Tashigi—looked away, their jaws clenched, their eyes heavy with guilt.
Koala covered her mouth, horror flashing across her face. “They—they just wiped them all out…”
Sabo exhaled, his eyes dark. “No mercy.”
Dragon’s face remained unreadable, but the air around him shifted, heavy and suffocating.
Both images flash, clashing against each other—the protector and the executioners.
No one spoke.
Not even the most talkative of them could find words.
Franky’s hands curled into shaking fists. “…Bastards.”
Sabo’s gaze flickered, his fingers curling into his gloves.
Dragon, too, said nothing. But his sharp eyes burned with quiet, simmering fury.
"These terms have always changed throughout the course of history!"
The contrast is sickening.
A child trembling beneath corpses.
A young boy, his small frame swallowed by the mountain of bodies around him. Blood pools beneath him, the scent thick, suffocating. The lifeless stares of the people he once knew haunt him. A Marine stands above the carnage, gun in hand, unmoved.
Law’s crew audibly sucked in a breath.
Bepo’s ears flattened, his fur bristling. “Captain…” His voice was barely above a whisper.
Corazon stiffened, his body instinctively shifting closer to Law. The horror on his face was raw, unfiltered.
They knew Law’s past. They had all heard the story.
But seeing it—
Seeing him there, that small and helpless, drowning in a sea of death—
It was something else entirely.
Law’s expression was unreadable beneath the shadow of his hat.
Sabo clenched his fists, his heart sinking.
Koala looked away, unable to bear it.
Coby felt his stomach turn. He had trained to become a Marine to protect, but this… this was something else.
Smoker sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face.
A tiny girl sits alone in a boat, her sobs shaking her fragile form. O’Hara burns behind her, the last remnants of her home crumbling into ash. The scholars, her mother—gone. The world deemed their knowledge a crime, and now, she is the last one left to carry their burden.
Nami instinctively tightened her embrace around Robin.
The Straw Hats—so often playful, so often loud—were utterly silent.
Sabo’s throat tightened. His memories of the past swirled in his mind—of his own lost home, of the feeling of helplessness as everything burned.
Koala’s lip trembled. “She was… just a child.”
Dragon exhaled sharply. His fists were locked at his sides.
Roger, having watched in silence, turned toward Rayleigh in horror. His wide eyes spoke for him—Did you know? Did you see this?
Rayleigh met his gaze, his features tight. “…I knew about the girl” he admitted softly. “Not the boy.”
Roger’s hands clenched, his expression darkening.
"Kids who have never seen peace and kids who have never seen war have different values!"
The room remained tense.
The old era—Garp, Rayleigh, Whitebeard’s remnants, even Sengoku—could not help but agree.
Tsuru, nodded solemnly.
Others, like Roger and Whitebeard, simply sighed.
It was the truth.
Another boy, older than them, sits behind thick metal bars.
The sight of thick metal bars sent a ripple through the room.
It was a simple image—cold, unfeeling iron. A cage. And yet, it made even the strongest among them tense.
For some, it was immediate, visceral, buried deep in their bones. For others, it was a slow, creeping dread, the kind that settled in the gut and refused to leave. Because cages like these never meant anything good.
Rayleigh stilled, his breath caught somewhere in his chest. How many times had he seen bars like these? On ships, in Marine bases, in dark corners of the world where freedom was a mere illusion. They had always held the same thing—people. Pirates. Survivors. The damned.
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. There was no need. The past never truly left him, and in that moment, it had wrapped itself around his throat like a noose.
Beside him, Shanks’ fingers curled into a fist, the ghost of a memory flickering in his eyes. He had grown up in a world where bars like these were everywhere. Some were made of metal, others of power, of status, of things beyond a child's understanding. He had fought his whole life to stay free. To make sure his crew was free. But not everyone got that choice.
Whitebeard let out a slow breath, heavy and knowing. A cage. A child behind it. The world repeated itself like a cruel joke. He had seen it too many times, in too many faces, and he had grown sick of it long ago. It was always the young. The ones who hadn’t even had the chance to live before they were swallowed whole.
Roger’s usual grin was nowhere to be found. His eyes, sharp and piercing, stayed locked on the image. Prisons, cages—he had spent his entire life laughing in the face of them. Even when he had been shackled in chains, even when death loomed over him, he had never let it break him. But this… this was different.
A kid. Behind bars.
His lips pressed into a tight line. No one should be caged before they even had the chance to fly.
Across from them, Sengoku remained silent, his expression unreadable. He had spent his life believing cages were necessary. That they were justice. But justice was never clean. It was never simple. And sometimes, the wrong people ended up behind those bars.
Garp sat rigid, hands clasped together. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. But his stomach twisted violently. He had seen too many cages in his time, had locked too many people behind them. Some had deserved it. Some hadn’t.
And some… some still haunted him.
Dragon’s eyes narrowed slightly. It was an image he had vowed to destroy. Cages. Chains. A system that decided who was allowed to exist and who was not. He had spent decades tearing them down. But for every one he broke, another took its place.
Sabo inhaled sharply. His fingers twitched. The sight hit him like a punch to the gut. A cage. A child behind it. How many times had he seen this before? How many times had he fought to free those trapped inside?
Koala flinched, her hands instinctively tightening into fists. Even after all these years, even after everything, she could still feel the cold bite of shackles against her wrists
Her body had long since healed. But some scars never faded.
Doflamingo scoffed, though there was no amusement in his voice. He had lived behind bars once. Not the kind made of metal, but it had been a cage all the same. A world that rejected him, a world that wanted him to suffer. Cages were made for the weak. And if there was one thing he had learned, it was that the weak were meant to be crushed.
Corazon barely breathed. The sight was too familiar. Too real. His chest ached, but he couldn’t look away. How many children had he seen like this? How many had he tried to save?
And how many had he failed?
Crocodile stood still, his gaze unreadable. Cages. Chains. Power. The weak got locked away, the strong walked free. That was how the world worked. That was how it had always worked.
And yet… his fingers twitched.
Mihawk observed in silence. His sharp, calculating eyes didn’t miss a single detail. Captivity was weakness. But bars like these? They were more than that. They were control. They were power. Someone had decided these bars belonged here. Someone had decided another life would be left behind them.
Luffy’s face darkened. His hands clenched at his sides. He didn’t like cages. Didn’t like the idea of being trapped. Didn’t like the idea of anyone being trapped.
Because freedom was everything. And bars like these? They were the enemy.
Zoro’s fingers twitched toward his swords. Cages pissed him off. Freedom was something worth fighting for. Worth dying for. If someone was behind those bars, then someone had put them there. And that was reason enough to break them.
Nami wrapped her arms around herself, a cold shiver running down her spine. She knew what it felt like to be trapped. To be caged. Even if her bars had been invisible, they had been there all the same. And they had taken years to break.
Usopp swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry. Cages meant no escape. No way out. No second chances. Just a long, endless wait for someone to come.
Sanji let out a slow, quiet breath. He had spent his childhood in a different kind of prison. One built from expectations, from control. But cages were cages. And no child should ever be behind them.
Robin’s eyes darkened. She had been here before. Trapped. Hunted. Marked as something unworthy of freedom. There were no words for the kind of fear that came with knowing you had nowhere to run.
Franky gritted his teeth, his mechanical fingers flexing. Bars like those meant someone had already given up. That they had already decided who was worth saving and who wasn’t.
Brook’s usual smile was gone. He had spent years locked in a prison of loneliness, adrift on an empty sea. The worst part of cages wasn’t the bars. It was the waiting. And never coming hope.
Jinbei remained still. He had fought alongside Fisher Tiger, had seen what Mary Geoise did to those behind bars. The moment a person was caged, the world no longer saw them as human.
Smoker scowled, arms crossed. Cages weren’t always justice. Sometimes, they were just a convenient way to forget someone existed.
Coby shifted uncomfortably. He had spent his life believing in the Marines, believing in justice. But justice wasn’t always clean.
Helmeppo swallowed hard, the sight unsettling him. He had lived his life under the protection of power. But power wasn’t always right.
The image remained. Unmoving. Unyielding.
For those who had suffered, who had been trapped before—it was a reminder of something they had fought to escape.
For those who had put people behind them—it was a reminder of the lives they had stolen.
And for those who had never been in a cage—it was a glimpse into a world they had never known.
But no matter what side they stood on, the truth was the same—
Behind bars, a person stopped being a person.
They became forgotten.
His hands, once so eager to grasp adventure, are bound. His face, which should be full of mischief, is hollow with desperation. Sixteen. Maybe fifteen
The moment the image shifted, revealing bound hands and a hollow, desperate eyes, something in the air changed.
A child. A boy who should have been chasing dreams, not shackled in chains.
Rayleigh exhaled slowly, his shoulders tensing. He had seen too many young eyes like this. Too many boys who had once laughed at the sea, only to have the world steal that laughter away.
Roger had been like that, in a way—always looking ahead, always eager to chase the impossible. This boy… he had been like that once too. Until someone had stolen it from him.
Shanks’ fingers twitched at his sides. Sixteen. Maybe fifteen. The age when the sea should have been calling, when the world should have been wide and open, not closing in like a cage. Hadn’t he been the same once? Hadn’t Buggy? Full of mischief, full of adventure, ready to take on anything. But this kid? He had already lost that light.
Whitebeard’s grip on his chair tightened. Damn this world. Damn the ones who thought they could steal the fire of youth and call it justice. He had seen too many young ones burn out before their time. Fifteen or sixteen—still just a damn kid.
Roger’s jaw clenched. This was why he had never followed their rules. This was why he had chosen his own way. Adventure was meant to be lived, to be chased with a grin and an unbreakable will. No child should have that stolen from them.
Garp’s expression was unreadable, but his fists were trembling. A boy. A kid. Bound and hollow-eyed. He didn’t want to think about it—didn’t want to remember the times he had seen faces like this, the times he had looked the other way.
Sengoku didn’t move, but something flickered in his eyes. Fifteen. Sixteen. The age when the world started to decide what you were worth.
Dragon’s face was like stone, but beneath it, his blood boiled. This was exactly why he had turned his back on the system. The world didn’t care how young you were—it only cared whether you were useful.
Sabo’s breath hitched, his hands curling into fists. That could have been him. That had been him. If Dragon hadn’t saved him, if fate had turned just a little differently, would he have ended up just like this? Bound. Hollow. Waiting for someone who would never come.
Koala’s stomach twisted. She knew that look. The look of someone who had already been broken. She had seen it in the mirror once.
Doflamingo sneered, but there was no amusement in his eyes. A boy. A child. He had been younger than this when his world was ripped apart. And when the world chewed you up, you either died or became something worse.
Corazon’s fingers twitched toward his coat, a deep, suffocating ache settling in his chest. Too young. No one that young should look like that. He had spent his life trying to stop this. Trying to save them. But he had never saved enough.
Crocodile exhaled, slow and measured. A kid with nothing left. He had seen it before, in others. In himself. The moment when hope flickered out.
Mihawk’s eyes darkened, his expression unreadable. Sixteen. Maybe fifteen. Young enough to still believe in dreams. Old enough to have them ripped away.
Luffy’s face was shadowed, his fists clenched. That wasn’t how a kid was supposed to look. A kid was supposed to have fire in their eyes, not… this.
Zoro scowled, his grip tightening on his swords. Fifteen or sixteen—just a damn kid. But the world never cared about age. It only cared about strength.
Nami’s breath caught. He was too young. Too young to look like that. She had been young too, once. Too young to bear the weight she had carried.
Usopp swallowed hard. He was just a kid. A kid who should have been laughing, running, dreaming—not sitting there, bound, like his life had already been decided for him.
Sanji exhaled sharply, the sight making his stomach twist. That wasn’t how a kid should look. Not at fifteen. Not at sixteen. Not ever.
Robin didn’t move, but her hands curled tightly in her lap. She had been younger than that when the world decided she was a threat. When it had taken everything from her.
Franky’s jaw tightened. A kid should be building something, chasing something, dreaming of something— not sitting there, empty, like the world had already written him off.
Brook’s usual cheer was gone. He had seen too many young faces fade before their time. The hardest part was always the silence they left behind.
Jinbei’s chest felt heavy. Sixteen. Maybe fifteen. The world had no mercy for the young.
Smoker’s lips pressed into a thin line. He had arrested criminals younger than this. Had sent kids to prisons that would eat them alive. He had told himself it was justice. Looking at this, he wasn’t so sure anymore.
Coby’s throat was dry. That could have been him. That could have been anyone.
Helmeppo shifted uncomfortably. He had never had to fight for his freedom. He had never had to wonder if someone would come for him.
And yet, the image before them remained—a boy, too young, too lost, too broken.
Fifteen. Sixteen.
Already forgotten.
His blue hair is dirty, his clothes torn.
He watches the world beyond the bars, his heart pounding in fear.
A ripple broke through the void of the room, like a stone shattering the surface of still water. For a moment, no one breathed.
Then, the it hit all at once.
A collective, stunned gasp echoed across the space, but some—some could not keep their voices in at all.
Usopp choked, his hand slamming over his mouth. “N-No way…” His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried, shaking. Impossible.
Nami’s breath caught in her throat, her fingers trembling against her own skin. That face. That hair. The sight of him, looking like that—it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Chopper’s hooves gripped his own hat tightly, his small body trembling. “B-Buggy?!” He couldn’t understand it. His brain refused to process it. How?
Koala let out a small, broken sound. A strangled exhale that barely formed a word. Her legs felt weak, her chest too tight to breathe. “T-That’s… no…”
Coby’s wide, terrified eyes locked onto the screen, and his entire body flinched. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t supposed to happen. His stomach churned violently, his heart pounding against his ribs.
Helmeppo was pale, his lips parting, but no sound came out. He couldn’t even comprehend it. His mind simply refused to believe what was in front of him.
And then—
Horror.
Pure, unfiltered horror.
Roger's world tilted. His chair scraped against the floor as he shot to his feet, his instincts screaming at him to move. To do something. To save him. But his hand—his hand never made it. Midway through the motion, the truth crashed down, and he froze, his outstretched fingers trembling. It wasn’t real. But his body refused to accept that.
Rayleigh wasn’t any better. The moment he saw that expression—the sheer, raw desperation in Buggy’s face—his heart clenched so violently it felt like it would tear in two. His mind knew it was just an image. His body did not. He had already moved to act, only to stop halfway, muscles locking as he remembered. Remembered that he couldn’t help. That this had already happened.
Shanks staggered. His breath left him in a silent exhale, his entire body stiff. His heart pounded so fast he could barely hear past it. His hand had gripped the edge of the sofa as if grounding himself in reality. Because for a second—a single, agonizing second—he was ready to fight. To tear the world apart if it meant reaching Buggy before that look ever crossed his face.
Garp… Garp’s body simply went limp. His usually unshakable form collapsed against his chair, powerless. The control he had fought to maintain over himself, over his emotions, shattered. He had imagined this scenario more times than he could count. He had feared it—but fear had nothing on reality.
Mihawk, for the first time in anyone’s memory, let go of his composure. His hand, usually steady against his chest, loosened in the air—not knowing whether it wanted to reach for his sword or something else entirely.
Crocodile’s cigarette crushed between his fingers, the embers dying instantly. His jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even notice. All he could do was stare. What the hell had happened?
Sanji’s own cigarette met the same fate, fingers pressing it out before he had even realized he had moved. His leg twitched as if ready to move, to fight, to break something—because seating still was unbearable.
Corazon visibly lost color. His breath came shallow, his hands pressing against his coat, fingers gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Buggy. That was Buggy. But it didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. And yet, the sight of him—that face, that expression—
Doflamingo’s signature smirk was gone. His face was unreadable, blank in a way that was almost unnatural. His fingers twitched at his sides, hands clenching and unclenching as if searching for something to hold onto.
Robin, always the one to anticipate things, closed her eyes. But it didn’t matter. The image was burned into her mind now. She had thought of this possibility—but she had wanted to be wrong.
Law’s fingers dug into his arm, his nails pressing into skin. He had predicted this. He had suspected it. But knowing was different than seeing. And seeing made him want to rip the image apart and burn it to ash.
Zoro’s one open eye widened, disbelief flashing across his face before his features darkened. His grip tightened around his swords, his knuckles white as he muttered under his breath, voice low with something between fury and denial—"Oi… seriously now…?”
Whitebeard’s heart ached. Another child broken by this damn world. And then his gaze shifted—to Ace.
Ace’s hands moved instinctively, gripping at his own hair, fingers pressing against his temples like he could force his thoughts to make sense. He shook his head, muttering something beneath his breath—something no one could hear. But when his hands trembled slightly from the force he applied, Whitebeard knew. He knew exactly what he was thinking.
"Give the man a break…”
Luffy’s breath hitched. His eyes were wide, his entire body tense, shoulders stiff and unmoving. He had seen that expression before. He had seen it every time he reached out his hand to help someone. But this time… he couldn’t reach. He couldn’t do anything.
Benn’s sharp eyes flickered over the image, his cigarette resting against his fingers, forgotten. He didn’t know Buggy personally, but he knew Shanks—and Shanks’ reaction told him everything. His eyes lowered slightly, unreadable, but the way his fingers tightened was enough. This was bad.
Dragon’s gaze darkened, his fingers interlocking beneath his chin. He had seen countless images of suffering, of children being crushed beneath the weight of this world. But this time, it wasn’t just a nameless face. His stomach twisted. How much had the government buried?
Ivankov’s large hands trembled slightly. “This… this isn’t just history. This is what they do. Over and over again.” His voice was low, uncharacteristically serious. His heart ached at the sight of another child caught in chains—one they should have saved.
Sengoku’s breath was steady, but his fists were white-knuckled at his sides. Buggy. His mind raced, memories flooding back. Was this happening right under his nose? His lips pressed into a thin line, but his body betrayed him—a slight tremor running through his fingers.
Smoker exhaled sharply through his nose, tension rolling off him. This world was rotten. He had always known that. But it never stopped making him sick.
Coby’s stomach twisted. His hands were clammy, sweat slicking his palms, his breath unsteady. Buggy. That was Buggy.
Helmeppo’s fingers trembled against his knee. There was nothing they could do.
Sabo swallowed, hard, his hands pressing against the arms of his chair. Buggy. A kid. A lost, desperate kid. How many times had he seen this before? How many times would he have to see it again?
And the image remained.
A boy, sitting in the dark. Dirty hair. Torn clothes. A look of silent, desperate pleading—pleading for help that never came.
And they—they could do nothing but watch.
The words carved through them like a blade, slow and merciless.
No one is coming. No one is looking for him. A boy forgotten.
It was a crushing weight, pressing down on them with an unforgiving grip.
The room was **silent—**not the stillness of shock, but of something far worse.
Something breaking.
Because it was not just an image. Not just words.
It was a mockery. A raw, undeniable truth.
The boy in the image—he could see them.
That empty, desperate gaze met theirs, piercing through the walls of time and space, and they felt it. Felt his fear, his loneliness. Felt their own failure.
Because it didn’t matter who they were—Pirates. Marines. Revolutionaries. Kings. Warlords. Legends.
Not a single one of them had been there.
And now, the realization settled into their bones, unrelenting.
For some, it was disbelief.
Usopp’s breath hitched, his fingers twitching at his sides. "That... that has to be a lie, right?" He knew the answer, but saying it—**begging for it to be untrue—**was the only thing keeping his chest from caving in.
Chopper trembled, his hooves gripping his hat so tightly it might tear. No one had come for him. The very idea made his stomach churn. He had been saved. Robin had been saved. Why hadn’t Buggy?
Koala’s nails dug into her palms, her shoulders shaking. The same story, over and over again. Another child left behind. Another life thrown away.
Coby’s eyes burned. It was too close, too familiar. How different would his own fate have been? If Luffy had never come? If he had been left on that ship, waiting for a help that never arrived?
Helmeppo swallowed hard, his usual bravado stripped away. There was nothing he could say to make this better. Nothing at all.
Helmeppo sat stiff, his throat dry, his mind racing in frantic denial. Why? How? Why hadn’t anyone—
For some, it was grief.
Nami shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. That loneliness—she knew it. She had lived it. The nights spent staring at the sky, waiting for someone to save her, for someone to take her away from that hell. But at least she had had a chance. Buggy hadn’t.
Robin’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers trembled against her knee. A forgotten child. A boy who had lost everything, abandoned to the mercy of a world that had none. She had been that child once. And she would not wish it upon anyone.
Sanji’s cigarette trembled between his fingers before he crushed it out with a sharp flick. His jaw was clenched so tightly it hurt. A kid should never—never—have to feel like that.
Franky lowered his sunglasses, his lips pressing into a thin line. He had once lost everything. He had known abandonment. But he had still had someone. Someone to pull him out before he sank too deep. Buggy… Buggy had been left to drown.
Jinbei closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, deeply. He had seen too many people cast aside like this. But seeing a child suffer always hit differently.
Brook sat in still silence. His skeletal fingers rested lightly on his cane, his usual joviality gone. "A young soul left alone…" His voice was soft, almost inaudible. How cruel.
Zoro breath through his nose, his fingers tightening around his swords. That look. That hopeless, desperate look. It was one thing to see a warrior fall. But this—this was a kid. A kid who should have been free.
For some, it was rage.
Law’s hands fisted at his sides. This was why he despised the world. This was why he fought. Because this? This should never have happened.
Smoker exhaled sharply, the tension in his shoulders visible. The Marines claimed justice, but what justice was this? What kind of world left a kid to rot?
Crocodile’s lips curled slightly—not in amusement, but in disgust. A pirate, a Marine, a revolutionary—it didn’t matter. This was unforgivable.
Doflamingo's expression was unreadable, his fingers twitching against his knee. He should have been indifferent. But he wasn’t. He knew what it was like to be abandoned. To be seen as nothing.
Sabo clenched his fists, his jaw tight. How many times had he seen it? How many times had the world failed its children?
Whitebeard’s fingers tightened around his throne. He had taken in countless sons, given them a place in his family. But this child had had no one. That was something even he could not ignore.
Ace… Ace could not breathe. His hands trembled, fingers gripping his arms as he shook. Because that look—that empty, hollow stare—he had seen it before. He had lived it. And he knew what it felt like to believe, even for a moment, that no one was coming.
And that—that was unbearable.
For some, it was something worse.
Garp’s shoulders had never felt heavier. He had always tried to protect the next generation. But even he had failed to protect this boy. And now, nothing he did would change that.
Mihawk’s usual composure wavered. It was brief—so brief that no one noticed—but in that moment, his fingers twitched, as if reaching for something just out of grasp. A sword could cut down an enemy. But it could not cut through time
his expression was unreadable. He did not know what to do with this feeling.
Dragon’s face remained stone, but his mind was not. The world was cruel. He knew that. He had devoted his life to tearing it apart. But even he—even he could not stomach this.
Sengoku exhaled sharply, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. How many lives had been lost under his watch? How many had he justified? His chest felt impossibly heavy.
Benn… was silent. Seeing a kid—any kid—like that? He had seen the worst of humanity, but somehow, it never stopped hitting.
That desperate gaze, locked beyond the bars, bore into their souls, exposing their powerlessness. Their inability to reach him. To save him. It was as if the universe itself had turned against them, forcing them to watch, to endure, to feel—yet never to act.
they were being mocked.
They all felt it.
The bitter, agonizing truth settled in their chests, suffocating and inescapable. Their hands clenched, their teeth ground together, their bodies tense with the weight of something they could not change.
But none felt it more than Roger and Rayleigh.
For them, it was not just horror—it was guilt. A deep, all-consuming nightmare come to life.
Rayleigh felt like his lungs had collapsed. His chest ached with something unbearable, something worse than pain—regret.
He had been something to that kid. He had watched over him, had seen him grow, had laughed as he bickered, had thought—had believed—that things would be fine. That as long as the adults stepped aside, as long as they paved the way, the kids would be okay. They would live. They would have freedom, adventure, the same reckless joy that he and Roger had once held in their hands.
He had been wrong.
Because the sea did not cradle all its children with the same kindness. And the boy he had watched over—his own boy—had been swallowed whole by it.
He didn't know if he would ever be able to forgive himself.
And Roger—
Roger’s whole world had shattered.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his fingers curling into his palms so tightly that his nails dug into flesh, but he couldn’t feel it. He felt nothing.
Because this was his fault.
He had thought—he had believed—that by surrendering, his crew would be free. That the Marines would have no reason to hunt them. That his children—his sons—would have a chance.
He had thought he was giving them the best start.
He had thought they would have a new chapter, that they would laugh, fight, and live the way he had.
He had thought he had given them everything.
But he had forgotten.
Death does not have the final word over the living.
And now—now he saw the truth.
He had left his kid behind. He had left him to this. And there had been no one—**no one—**to stop it.
His stomach twisted, his head pounding with the weight of it. He had never been afraid of death, never once regretted his choices. But this?
This, he regretted.
Because the boy behind those bars—**his son—**had suffered. Alone.
And Roger did not think he would ever be able to forgive himself.
And for Shanks
If someone had asked a young Shanks how close he was to Buggy, he wouldn’t have hesitated.
He would have thrown his arm over Buggy’s shoulder, grinning wide, eyes sparkling with pure joy as he declared, “Closest!”
And he would have meant it with every fiber of his being.
Because to Shanks, Buggy wasn’t just a friend. Buggy was home.
He had never needed to question it. Never needed to put it into words. From the very moment they met, Buggy had always been there. Complaining, arguing, acting like Shanks was the biggest pain in the ass in the world—but always there.
That was how it was supposed to be.
The two of them, side by side, forever.
Shanks didn’t know when it had started. He wasn’t even sure if there had been a starting point at all.
Maybe it had always been there. That pull.
That deep, unshakable longing to be at Buggy’s side.
More than Roger. More than Rayleigh. More than anyone.
From the very beginning, Buggy had been his favorite person in the world.
Even before he understood what that meant.
At ten years old, he still hadn’t given it a name. But the feeling had always been there, nestled so deep inside him that it simply felt natural.
As natural as breathing. As natural as waking up in the morning and knowing Buggy would be there, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath about how annoying Shanks was.
It was just how things were.
And then—
Then he realized.
They were fourteen. The year without Roger.
The first time they were truly alone.
It was three months before the execution.
Buggy had started tying his hair back in a ponytail. It wasn’t anything special, just a practical way to keep it out of his face.
But Shanks couldn’t stop staring.
At first, he didn’t even realize he was doing it. His eyes would just follow Buggy without him meaning to, lingering longer than they should, watching the way strands of blue slipped free from the tie, the way the sunlight caught the edges of his hair, making it shine—
And then one day, a woman passing by chuckled, looking at him with a knowing smile.
"Oh my, how in love you are."
The words hit him like a bolt of lightning.
Oh.
Oh.
Suddenly, everything clicked.
Not in a way that was jarring. Not in a way that made him feel uncomfortable or confused.
But in a way that felt so obvious that he almost laughed.
Because of course.
Of course.
This was love.
It had always been love.
Shanks had never known a world where he wasn’t in love with Buggy.
He had never needed to think about it.
Never needed to question it. Because it had always been there, as natural as the air in his lungs.
And that day, he made a silent promise to himself.
I’ll give him the best.
The best life. The best adventures. The best of everything.
Because Buggy deserved everything.
And then—
Then they had parted.
That day at Loguetown, when the world ripped them apart.
Shanks didn’t blame Rayleigh.
He didn’t blame Roger.
He blamed himself.
Because he should have been there. He should have stopped Buggy from running. He should have chased after him, held onto him, never let go.
But he hadn’t.
And Buggy had been left alone.
And now…
Now, he was staring at an image of that same boy—**his Buggy—**trapped behind bars, eyes hollow, bruises on his hands, forgotten.
No one is coming. No one is looking for him. A boy forgotten.
Shanks’ breath caught in his throat.
His vision blurred.
His chest ached with something so sharp, so unbearable, it felt like he was being crushed from the inside out.
Because this was Buggy.
His Buggy.
Left alone in the dark, with no one to save him.
No one to hold him.
No one to love him.
Shanks could barely breathe.
I promised.
I promised I’d give him the best.
But he hadn’t.
He had failed him.
He had failed his younger self, the boy who had sworn to protect Buggy, to keep him safe, to make sure he never felt alone.
And now—now the world saw him as a legend. A Yonko. One of the strongest men alive.
But what was the point of it all?
What did any of it mean—
If he couldn’t even protect the one person who had ever truly mattered?
The image never stopped just as time.
— And far away, in a world untouched by pain, noble children laugh, their hands reaching for sweets, their lives untouched by the horrors unfolding beneath them.
"Those who stand at the top determine what's wrong and what's right!"
The laughter of the nobles rang hollow in their ears. It was a sound so detached, so blissfully unaware of the suffering beneath them.
Whitebeard's expression darkened, his grip tightening . "Tch... nothing changes, does it?" His voice was low, dangerous, but carrying a weight of resigned understanding.
Sengoku’s fists clenched. He had served justice for decades, but watching this now—it burned.
Smoker said nothing, but his fists were white-knuckled. He had known—of course he had known—but seeing it laid bare like this made his stomach twist.
Koby and Helmeppo looked sick, their young eyes widening in horror. Koby's voice was barely above a whisper. "This... this can't be right..."
Tashigi swallowed hard. She had fought for justice all her life. But what justice was this?
— A table. Five figures sit in the shadows, their faces cold, their decisions absolute. A single stamp comes down on a document. Ink bleeds into the paper, sealing history with a single motion.
— A bird-human hybrid, Morgans, reads the document. His hands tremble. His beak grits together. He curses under his breath, but the ink is already drying.
— A newspaper is printed: "Garp, the Hero of the Marines, defeats the notorious Rocks Pirates!"
No mention of Roger.
No mention of the truth.
The room reacted instantly.
Whitebeard’s brows furrowed, his expression unreadable. "So, that's how truth was never known..." His voice was low, more reflective than angry. He had known, of course, but to see it outright—to see Roger erased—left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Sengoku flinched slightly but remained silent. He had always known the truth. But knowing it and seeing it displayed were two different things entirely.
Garp didn't react. Not outwardly. But his jaw was tight, his arms crossed. He wasn't proud of that moment. He never had been.
Koby looked at him with wide, questioning eyes, but Garp refused to meet them.
The younger Marines—Koby, Helmeppo, and members of SWORD—looked shaken. "Roger was part of the Rocks incident...?" Koby murmured, trying to process it.
But the scene did not linger.
"Justice will prevail, you say? But of course it will!"
The screen shifted.
— Chains. Broken bodies. Eyes dull with suffering. Slaves in Mary Geoise are dragged through the pristine streets, their cries unheard, their pain invisible to the world above.
— A celestial dragon laughs, raising his hand—and the collar tightens. A life means nothing to them. A person is nothing but a tool, a pet, a thing to be used and discarded.
Corazon stiffened. His breath hitched, and his hands clenched into fists. His past as a celestial dragon—the very thing he had once been—sickened him. He felt bile rise in his throat. He had been one of them.
His voice was hoarse. "This... this is what they do...?" He knew, but knowing and seeing were different.
Doflamingo, in contrast, simply let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Hah... pathetic, isn't it?" His voice carried an edge, a dark familiarity with the scene before him. "A world ruled by weaklings who believe themselves gods."
Law, standing at Corazon’s side, could feel the tension in the older man. He placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "You were never one of them," he muttered, low enough for only Corazon to hear.
"These bastards..." Smoker exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, but it did nothing to clear the weight in his chest.
Koby looked sick. "How... how is this allowed to continue?"
No one had an answer.
Sabo and the Revolutionaries were silent, but the rage in their eyes spoke volumes.
Dragon’s expression didn’t change. He had always known. But to see so many people finally wake up to the truth... that was something else entirely.
And then—
"Whoever wins this war becomes justice!"
The screen darkened. The weight of those words pressed down like a mountain.
And then—light.
A room. An empty, towering throne.
Five figures kneel before it, their heads bowed, the most powerful men in the world submitting like dogs.
Swords surround the seat, a silent warning to all who might dare to challenge it.
And on that seat—
A silhouette.
Unmoving. Unchallenged.
The true ruler of the world.
The final truth.
Silence.
And then—chaos.
"What the hell was that?!" Akainu’s voice was sharp, cutting through the heavy atmosphere. The unwavering justice he prided himself on seemed unsteady, as if shaken by the sheer weight of the truth.
Kizaru tilted his head, his usual amusement absent. "Well now… that’s a bit troubling, isn’t it?" His fingers twitched at his side, betraying his otherwise indifferent tone.
Sengoku exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes shadowed beneath his cap. He had known this. He had always known. But to see it displayed so blatantly, to have the veil ripped away for everyone to witness—that was different.
Garp had already been fighting off the horror of seeing Buggy in that cage, but now, his fists were clenched so tight they trembled. His eyes flickered toward Love, the host of this nightmare. How? How did she have the power to show this?
Hina and Smoker exchanged glances, the weight of their silence heavy. They were young, but not blind. Deep down, they had always known something was wrong. But to see it? To see the Elders kneeling like dogs before an unseen master? Smoker grit his teeth, exhaling smoke through flared nostrils.
Koby and Helmeppo were frozen, their youthful idealism cracking under the sheer weight of what they had witnessed. "This… this is the world we live in?" Helmeppo muttered, looking to Koby.
Koby’s hands trembled. He had thought—he had hoped—that justice meant something. But this… this was nothing like what he had dreamed.
Sword, gathered in their ranks, murmured among themselves, unease gripping them like a vice.
And the Straw Hats—
They were frozen.
Luffy, usually so loud, so brash, had gone eerily silent. His fists shook at his sides, his jaw clenched. "That—that thing, that throne—who sits there?" His voice was low, dangerous. "Who the hell is ruling this world?!"
Zoro’s hand hovered near his swords. He wasn’t the type to care about politics or thrones, but the weight of what they had seen—the sheer corruption—made his blood boil.
Nami’s hands gripped her arms, nails digging into skin. She wasn’t stupid. She had always known the world was unfair. She had lived through it. But this—this—was something else entirely.
Sanji’s cigarette burned to the filter, forgotten. His usual cool expression was gone, replaced with barely contained rage. He thought of Zeff, of the children starving in the world, of how power was hoarded in hands that didn’t care. This is what’s been running everything?
Robin… Robin already knew. She had always known. But to see it—to witness the truth she had spent her whole life searching for—left her stomach cold.
Franky’s jaw was tight, his hands flexing. "So this is the big secret, huh? This is the real enemy?"
Brook, for once, had nothing to say.
Chopper’s ears were pinned back, his small hands clenched at his sides. He was trembling.
Usopp swallowed hard. His bravado was gone. "We... we’ve been fighting against this the whole time?"
And Ace—
Ace was furious.
His teeth ground together, his flames sparking at his fingertips. "And this is the world we’re supposed to just accept?!" His voice cracked with rage. "After everything—after what they did to Pops, to Buggy—this is the truth?!"
Sabo, seating beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, though his own body was tense with barely contained fury. "Now you see it," he murmured. "Now you understand."
Crocodile let out a slow, bitter chuckle. "Hah. Of course." His lips curled in something unreadable, but his eyes glinted with cold fury. "This whole damn system is a joke. What a surprise."
Mihawk’s fingers drummed against the hilt of his blade, his golden eyes unreadable. But for those who knew him, the flicker of interest, the sharp focus, said enough.
Doflamingo was laughing. A low, mocking chuckle that sent a chill through the room. "Well, well, well," he mused, voice thick with amusement and something darker. "So, the puppeteers finally get their moment in the spotlight?" His grin widened, his pink feathers rustling as he leaned back.
No one was surprised that he wasn’t shocked.
Because Doflamingo had always known.
Corazon, however—Corazon stared.
He had once been one of them. A Celestial Dragon by birth. But now, as he looked at that silhouette—at the Five Elders kneeling like dogs—his stomach twisted.
He had escaped that world.
But Buggy—Buggy had suffered beneath it.
His breath came short, his nails digging into his palms. "Monsters." The word escaped in a whisper, but the sheer hatred in his voice made it ring loud.
Law stood at his side, arms crossed tightly, his jaw tense. "So this is the real enemy," he muttered. "The ones pulling the strings."
Through it all, Roger, Rayleigh, Whitebeard, and Dragon remained still.
Because they had always known.
"Finally," Dragon muttered. "Finally, you all see it."
Whitebeard exhaled deeply. "Gurarara… And yet, nothing changes." His grip on his bisento tightened. "This is the world we’ve been fighting against since the beginning."
Shanks' gaze remained locked on the screen, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t surprised. No, he had been raised knowing the truths of the world.
But that didn’t make him hate it any less.
And so…
The room sat in silence, broken only by the heavy weight of reality settling in their chests.
Everything they had ever known—
Everything they had ever fought for—
Had been nothing more than a game played by a shadowed ruler sitting upon an empty throne.
And now, as that truth settled into their bones, one thought consumed them all—
Now that they knew… what would they do?
Notes:
---
Hey everyone,
Sorry I haven’t been keeping up with updates. Looks like my body decided to give up on me—I fell down the stairs 😅
Still not sure how that even happened, honestly.Anyway, just wanted to explain a few things:
---
1. About the reactions (or lack of them)
Other than Buggy’s scene, there hasn’t been much from the others.
It’s not that I don’t want to include them—believe me, I love Robin and Law just as much—but since this is a Buggy-focused fic, I want to keep the main attention on him.
So yeah, I’ll continue giving him the spotlight for now.---
2. Sanji’s reaction might feel a bit off
I get that—it probably should’ve been more intense, especially with his background. But I just can’t picture Sanji as someone who shows sympathy or connects with someone just because they went through something similar.
Hopefully it doesn’t come across as too weird or out of place.---
3. Everyone’s reaction isn’t *just* because it’s Buggy
They’re more upset because he’s a kid.
In *One Piece*, people tend to have a soft spot for kids, so that’s really what’s driving their emotions here.---
Thanks for reading!
I really appreciate all the comments and support—it means a lot. I’ll try to update as much as I can 💛
Thanks again 😊---
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
Chapter Text
"Man, you guys sure are weak-hearted."
Love’s voice rang out, casual and teasing, as if she hadn’t just peeled back the layers of history and laid their world bare.
It was mockery.
Plain and simple.
A sharp sting that jolted them, snapping the threads of suffocating silence and dragging them—whether they wanted it or not—back into the present.
Weak-hearted?
For a moment, the room was eerily still.
And then—
A slow burn ignited in their chests.
Because that word—weak-hearted—was absurd.
It was ridiculous.
Every single person here had suffered. Had been torn apart, broken down, and left bleeding by the very world she had just shown them. Their hearts had been hardened by battle, by betrayal, by losses that could never be undone. Their souls carried scars, some too deep to ever fully heal.
And yet, she dared to say weak-hearted?
A scoff left Crocodile first, dry and bitter, his fingers tightening around his cigar as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Weak-hearted? The words felt like a joke. If Love thought a single glimpse of history’s filth was enough to undo them, then she clearly hadn’t been paying attention. He had known suffering before he even understood what it was—had lost everything before he even had the chance to grasp it.
Mihawk’s golden eyes flickered, unreadable, but beneath that cold gaze, something simmered. Weak-hearted? No. He had walked through death, stood atop battlefields littered with corpses, spent decades chasing the blade’s edge of solitude. Weakness had no place in his existence. But even then, even after carving himself into something untouchable, he understood suffering. Loneliness. The kind that settled into the bones and refused to leave.
Doflamingo… laughed. A low, knowing chuckle that held no humor. Weak-hearted? Love really had no idea, did she? The images she had shown were nothing new. He had been born in the filth of the celestial dragons, had been cast down, had crawled his way back up through sheer, unrelenting will. He had seen the true, pathetic core of the world’s so-called rulers. None of it surprised him. None of it could touch him now.
But Corazon—
Corazon felt sick.
The laughter of the celestial dragons, the sight of slaves, the weight of chains—it was too familiar. A ghost of his past clawing its way back to the surface. He had walked away from that life, had severed his ties with it, but the stench of their cruelty would never truly leave him. He had once been one of them. He had once sat in that gilded cage, blind to the suffering beneath his feet.
And for a moment, just a moment—he felt like that child again.
Trapped.
Suffocating.
Law saw it.
And for the first time, he understood something about Corazon he never had before.
Because Love’s words, as careless as they were, struck a nerve in him too. Weak-hearted? No. He had known suffering before he had even understood what it meant to live. His entire childhood had been ripped from him, stolen by sickness, by war, by the unbearable weight of loss. The burning image of his hometown, the screams, the ashes—they never left him.
He clenched his fists, exhaling slowly through his nose.
Because the truth was, he was still angry.
And Ace—
Ace’s fingers twitched.
Weak-hearted.
Was that what she thought? That they couldn’t handle the truth? He had been living with it for years. He had been breathing it. Every single second of his life had been a battle against the weight of his own existence. The world had told him he shouldn’t be born. That he didn’t deserve to live. That his very blood was a curse, something to be erased, to be forgotten.
And he had believed it.
For a long, long time, he had believed it.
He had lived every day wondering if someone like him even deserved to be born.
And now—now, after everything, after dying and coming back, after clawing his way to something like peace, she dared to call him weak-hearted?
He grit his teeth, his body tense.
Because the truth was, it still hurt.
And the Straw Hats—
They had suffered too.
Each of them, in their own way, had been broken.
Nami’s nails dug into her arms, memories of Arlong Park rushing back like a wave. Chains. Powerlessness. A life stolen and rewritten by the whims of a tyrant. She had spent her childhood trapped, a slave without chains, her every move dictated by cruelty and greed. She knew what it meant to suffer. She knew what it meant to lose. And she knew damn well that weak-hearted had nothing to do with it.
Sanji exhaled through gritted teeth, the ghost of hunger gnawing at his stomach even though it wasn’t real. Weak-hearted? She had no idea what it was like to stare at the endless sea, to feel hunger carve through your body like a knife, to hold a gun in your trembling hands and wonder—**just wonder—**if the suffering would ever end.
Usopp swallowed, fingers twitching. The weight of a sniper’s rifle felt too real in his hands, even though it wasn’t there. Weak-hearted? Maybe. Maybe once, a long time ago, he would have agreed. But not now. Not after standing on battlefields that should have swallowed him whole. Not after choosing to fight, even when everything told him to run.
Robin… Robin simply closed her eyes.
Weak-hearted?
She had spent her entire life running, hiding, surviving. She had watched her home burn, had heard the screams of her people, had been hunted like an animal for the crime of simply existing. She had survived because she had no choice. And now, after everything, after finally finding something worth living for—weak-hearted?
No.
Never.
Franky let out a shaky breath, his mechanical hands flexing. The pain of his past never fully left him. His expression was unreadable, but his fingers tapped against his arm, his mind lost in thoughts of a man who had given everything for the world, only to be erased by it.
Brook’s eyes were shadowed. Weak-hearted? After decades alone, after the crushing weight of nothingness pressing against his very existence? No. He had suffered longer than most, and yet here he was, still standing, still laughing even when it hurt.
Chopper’s hooves curled into fists. The memories of being called a monster, of losing the only person who had ever believed in him, of standing alone in the snow with nowhere to go—they still hurt. Weak-hearted? No. He had learned what it meant to carry loss on his small shoulders.
Zoro… his hand tightened around his sword. Weak-hearted? He had thrown away everything for his dream, had suffered, had almost died for it. He had stood in the face of absolute defeat, had taken pain beyond human limits, and still refused to fall. Weak? He had never been.
Roger… smiled. A small, tired smile. Because he had suffered too. He had walked the path of a pirate, knowing it would end in his execution. He had left behind a child he could never meet, had borne the weight of an era.
He could be anything but weak-hearted.
Rayleigh let out a slow breath, the memories of the past drifting through his mind. The things they had fought for, the things they had lost—weak-hearted? No.
Whitebeard’s fingers twitched, the phantom pain of betrayal pressing against his chest. Weak-hearted? He had lost sons. He had lost everything.
Sabo swallowed, the image of fire licking at his skin flashing behind his eyes. He had suffered, had died, and had crawled his way back to life.
Koala’s hands shook, remembering the taste of saltwater, the chains around her wrists.
Ivankov… exhaled, the weight of battles fought for freedom heavy in their heart.
Dragon was silent. His suffering was not the kind that could be put into words.
Garp’s jaw was tight. He had suffered, but he had chosen that suffering.
Sengoku… Sengoku closed his eyes, the burden of a lifetime of decisions pressing down on his shoulders.
Koby swallowed hard, his fingers clenching. The fear, the loss, the battle scars—he had them too.
And Luffy—
Luffy’s gaze was unreadable.
Because if there was anyone who had suffered, who had lost, who had bled for his dream, it was him.
But even now, even after everything, he simply smiled.
Because suffering didn’t make you weak.
It made you stronger.
And as Love’s words echoed in their minds, as their memories threatened to drag them under, they all came to the same conclusion—
She was wrong.
And she had no idea who she was talking to.
Before anyone could confront her, she spoke again.
"Well, it can’t be helped. I’ll go easy on you for now"
She seemed to be talking to herself, her tone light, almost amused.
Everyone couldn’t help but wonder—why was she trying so hard to piss them off?
And yet, despite their irritation, her words lingered in their minds.
What did she mean by that?
They looked at her in confusion, waiting for an answer.
But she only smiled.
A playful, knowing smile.
"You gotta find out for yourselves."
Now, they were sure of it.
She was messing with them. Every single one of them.
The void before them shifted again.
Some of them tensed, their bodies instinctively bracing for what was to come.
Because with every shift, every flicker of the void, it wasn’t just the past unraveling before them—it was being felt.
Some of them seemed to be struggling more than others.
Usopp. Chopper. Nami. Helmeppo. Buggy’s crew.
They flinched at the change, their minds reacting before they could even process why.
It wasn’t just shock anymore.
It was something deeper.
Trauma.
Because every time the void shifted, it dragged up something raw—something buried.
Chapter Text
The void shifted once more.
A vast ocean of clouds stretched endlessly beneath the golden glow of the setting sun.
Above it all, atop a massive golden bell, stood Luffy.
Gasps rippled through the audience as the image unfolded before them.
First, they had heard Doflamingo’s voice, then they had seen Whitebeard, Morgans, and even the Five Elders. Now, before them, was Luffy—standing proudly atop a legendary relic in the sky.
A dreadful realization dawned upon many. What if they were next?
Even the most composed figures, those who had remained silent before, now exchanged wary glances. If this void could pluck memories from the past so easily, then who knew what would be revealed next?
The Straw Hats who had been there—who had seen this moment firsthand—reacted with awe and nostalgia.
Zoro, arms crossed, let out a low hum. "Isn't that...?"
Sanji, exhaling smoke, gave a small chuckle. "That's the White Sea..."
Nami’s eyes widened as she placed a hand over her mouth. "Skypiea...!"
Usopp blinked before breaking into a huge grin. "Man, it's been such a long time ago!"
Robin smiled, her expression unreadable but warm. "A city of gold resting in the sky... How nostalgic."
Chopper, eyes sparkling, bounced excitedly. "Luffy! That’s when you rang the bell to let everyone know the city existed!"
Luffy, grinning from ear to ear, turned toward Ace, Sabo, and his crew, practically beaming with excitement.
"Look! It's me!" he said, his voice brimming with pride.
Ace and Sabo, unable to help themselves, felt warmth bloom in their chests.
Ace laughed, shaking his head. "You really are always like this, huh?"
Sabo smirked, his eyes shining with fondness. "No matter what happens, you’re still you."
Even the crew couldn’t help but smile—for a moment, amidst all the tension, this was Luffy being Luffy.
And that alone made everything feel a little lighter.
He raised his fist high into the sky, a triumphant grin on his face, and with all his strength, he struck the bell.
CLANG!
The powerful chime rang out, echoing across Skypiea, through the sky, through time itself.
“WE DID IT, NORLAND!!!”
Below, the people of Skypiea and the Shandians stood frozen, their eyes wide, their hearts pounding. The long-forgotten sound of the Golden Bell filled the heavens, proving the truth of the legend they had fought for generations to reclaim.
Far away, across the Blue Sea, Montblanc Cricket gazed upward, tears welling in his eyes. A light had appeared in the sky. The proof he had spent his life searching for.
A stunned silence fell over the crowd watching.
The image of Luffy, standing tall atop the golden bell, his voice ringing with pure, unshakable joy, resonated deeply. The bell’s echo traveled not just through Skypiea but through the hearts of those witnessing this moment.
Shock and awe rippled through the room.
Some of the younger generation couldn’t help but question what they were seeing.
Helmeppo, wide-eyed, leaned forward. "It exists...? I thought it was just a story."
Beside him, Koby, his breath caught in his throat, stared at the screen, his hands trembling slightly. "The City of Gold... it's real."
Hearing them, Roger chuckled, his voice rich with amusement and certainty.
"Of course it exists."
He said it so simply, so confidently, as if it was the most natural truth in the world—because, to him, it was.
Then his eyes landed on Luffy seating and smiling to his crew. He can't help but think 'That's the one huh....'
Law, arms crossed, narrowed his eyes slightly. "So some legends really do turn out to be true, huh?"
Crocodile, watching with an unreadable expression, exhaled slowly. "Hmph. Guess some fairy tales aren't just fairy tales."
Mihawk, ever the observer, remained indifferent.
Doflamingo, amused but unimpressed, only tilted his head with a smirk. "Well, well... ringing a bell. How dramatic."
Some were deeply moved, others thoughtful, and some simply shocked beyond words.
But one thing was clear—this moment, this sound, had reached them all.
The sound of the bell did not stop at Skypiea.
It traveled.
Through the endless sky, past the White Sea, past the storming waters of the Grand Line.
It roared across the heavens, cutting through the thick, churning clouds, descending in waves invisible to the eye but undeniable to the soul.
The sudden, powerful chime rang through the void, its sheer force making some flinch.
"What the hell—?!" Smoker’s cigar nearly slipped from his lips as he turned in the direction of the sound.
"That bell... traveled that far?" Law’s brows furrowed, his analytical mind already racing to understand how.
Koby and Helmeppo were wide-eyed, stunned by the sheer distance the bell had covered.
"It reached all the way down from the sky?! But... how?" Helmeppo muttered, gripping his head.
Even the more seasoned pirates seemed taken aback.
"That’s one hell of a bell," Benn Beckman mused, exhaling a slow stream of smoke.
Mihawk remained silent, his keen gaze following the invisible path the sound had traveled.
Meanwhile, Roger, watching from the void, let out a hearty chuckle. "Of course it traveled that far! A pirate’s voice is meant to reach the world!"
Doflamingo scoffed, tipping his sunglasses up slightly. "Hah... what an annoying sound. But I guess it’s got some weight."
Whitebeard let out a low hum, his massive arms crossed. "That brat really made it ring, huh...?"
Buggy’s crew flinched, some covering their ears, still recovering from the earlier void shifts.
Usopp, Chopper, and Nami, who had been present at Skypiea, could only gape in amazement.
"No way..." Nami whispered.
"I-I knew the bell was loud, but... this is insane!" Chopper stammered.
"Yeah... it really was that powerful," Usopp muttered, a rare tone of awe in his voice.
Luffy, grinning ear to ear, turned to his crew and brothers. "See? That’s me! I really did it!"
Ace and Sabo, watching him proudly, exchanged glances before Ace smirked. "Yeah, you did, Luffy."
The toll of the Golden Bell continued to echo—an unshakable sound that had reached the world.
The New World—
—the vast, untamed ocean where only the strongest dared to sail—
—it, too, heard the bell’s call.
Amid a raging storm, the Red Force cut through the towering waves, its crimson sails fighting against the violent winds. Thunder rolled overhead, the sky splitting with jagged streaks of lightning, casting fleeting glimpses of the ship’s drenched deck.
The sudden sight of the Red Force bursting through the storm sent a ripple of reactions through the onlookers.
"Oi! That’s our ship!" Lucky Roux beamed, stuffing more food into his mouth.
"Heh, you can tell just by looking at it—she’s a beauty," Yasopp grinned, arms crossed with pride. "Holding her ground even in a storm like that."
Benn Beckman took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly as his sharp eyes traced the stormy scene. "Tch. I remember this one. That was one hell of a night."
Some of the others watching couldn’t help but feel impressed.
The Red Force was no ordinary ship—it was the vessel of an Emperor.
Then, a deep, familiar voice rumbled through the air—
"Your boat, huh?"
Roger, seating tall with his arms crossed, grinned at Shanks.
The red-haired man, caught slightly off guard, let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah... this is the Red Force."
Roger’s eyes gleamed as he took a good, long look at the ship slicing through the storm.
A slow grin spread across his face.
"Red, huh?" He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Well, red is your thing."
His gaze softened just a little. "Suits you well, Shanks."
Shanks blinked at him for a moment before his lips curled into a smile—not his usual carefree grin, but something quieter, something warmer.
"Thanks, Captain."
The rain fell in sheets, heavy and relentless, battering the wood, the ropes, the men standing firm against the storm’s wrath.
And yet—
Through the howling wind.
Through the crashing waves.
Through the deafening roar of nature’s fury—
A single, clear note rang out.
Clang.
It was distant, impossibly so, yet it reached through the chaos as if defying the very laws of the world.
Clang.
Steady. Resolute. A sound that carried history within it.
A sound that reached even here.
"Oh, so it was this..." one of the crew muttered, realization dawning in his voice.
"See?! I told you I heard something! I told you!" one of the younger crewmates huffed, crossing his arms as if demanding acknowledgment.
"Yeah, yeah, my bad," another grumbled, rubbing the back of his head. "Didn’t think a damn bell could reach all the way out here."
Shanks’ head turned.
Slowly, his rain-soaked hair clinging to his face, he turned toward the source of the sound.
—"The brat looks serious," Rayleigh observed, his sharp eyes catching the subtle shift in Shanks' stance.
—"He ain't a brat anymore," Roger chuckled, his grin widening with pride. "Look at him… that's a captain right there."
Slowly, his rain-soaked hair clinging to his face, he turned toward the source of the sound.
The Red Force swayed beneath him, battered by the unrelenting sea, but he stood firm.
—"Tch, of course not," Yasopp smirked. "You think a little wind and rain could shake Shanks?"
—"He’s always been stubborn,"benn grumbled, though there was no real bite in his words.
The corners of his lips curled upward. A slow, knowing grin stretched across his face.
—"Ohh? That look… he's up to something," Marco muttered, intrigued.
His fingers flexed at his side, the weight of his sword familiar against his hip.
—Mihawk’s eyes narrowed. "He's expecting something. Or someone."
—"Maybe it's just instinct," Crocodile mused, though his gaze lingered on the screen with interest.
—"A swordsman’s instinct is never wrong," Zoro remarked, arms crossed.
—Sanji scoffed, lighting a cigarette. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. He just looks like he's enjoying himself."
“Someone finally found it, huh… in that vast white sea.”
His voice was barely above a murmur, nearly lost to the wind—
—"The golden bell…" Law muttered, piecing things together. "He’s talking about Skypiea."
—"Took ‘em long enough," Roger laughed. "I bet he’s been waiting for this moment!"
—"Sounds like something big," Jimbei grumbled, watching intently.
—Franky nodded. "He respects whoever found it."
—but the grin on his face held something unspoken.
Challenge.
Recognition.
A flicker of something only those who sought the impossible could understand.
—A moment of silence followed before Whitebeard let out a deep laugh.
"Gurarara! That brat really hasn’t changed!"
—"It's the same as when he was a kid," Rayleigh sighed, shaking his head. "Once a dreamer, always a dreamer."
Nearby, Yasopp stood, his coat soaked through, rain dripping from his hair. He turned, squinting through the downpour, barely catching the movement of his captain’s lips.
“Did you say something, Captain?”
The wind howled.
The sea raged.
And Shanks…
Shanks simply kept smiling.
His grin, for a moment, softened.
Despite the storm raging around him
The way Shanks' expression changed so suddenly in the image surprised everyone.
Those familiar with the Yonko—especially Helmeppo, Koby, Sabo, Koala, and the Buggy Pirates—stared in shock. They had seen his face on bounty posters before, always serious and imposing. They had heard of the Red-Haired Pirates' playful nature, but hearing about it and witnessing it firsthand were two different things.
Yet, two people noticed something different.
Robin and Law both found themselves comparing this moment to something else—the way Love’s expression had changed before. Though their thoughts diverged, they reached the same conclusion. While Law struggled to pinpoint the exact reason, Robin had already made a quiet guess. Somehow, both Love’s and Shanks’ sudden shifts in expression were caused by the same person. A woman’s keen intuition left nothing unseen.
And then there were four others who seemed to understand what Shanks was thinking.
Mihawk’s sharp eyes narrowed. He had seen that expression before—on that same face, directed at that same man. Back then, he hadn’t cared. But now? Now, something about it felt different. Something about it felt... unpleasant. He didn’t know what this feeling meant, but he knew one thing for certain. He didn’t like that expression on Red-Hair—not when he knew the reason behind it.
Benn Beckman, ever the observant second-in-command, exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. He had been by Shanks' side since the man had barely left boyhood. He had watched him grow—not just into a Yonko, but into the legend he was now. And in all those years, Benn had learned one simple truth. There was only one thing in this world that could make Shanks’ expression soften like that.
It wasn’t One Piece.
It wasn’t his favorite sake.
It wasn’t even his favorite archon.
It was him.
Only him.
Benn sighed internally, shaking his head again. His captain was so in love.
And then, there were the two who had raised Shanks from the time he was barely out of diapers—Roger and Rayleigh. They knew this boy, their boy, too well.
They exchanged knowing looks, their quiet chuckles drowned by the void’s expanse. Then, in voices too low for Shanks—who sat beside them—to hear, they muttered:
"Still an open book when it comes to this..."
"All these years, and he hasn’t changed a bit where this is concerned."
Shanks heard them.
But he pretended not to.
—the heavy rain pounding against the deck, the howling winds tearing through the sails, and the sea itself rising in furious waves—his mind drifted.
Back to a time long past.
To his childhood.
Beside him, Benn Beckman watched his captain closely. A rare, almost playful glint—something out of place for a man of his age and usual demeanor—flickered in his eyes as he finally spoke.
“Well… I guess I’ll at least get to know why you were so out of it.”
Shanks stiffened, just a little. A twinge of nervousness creeping into his easygoing grin.
“Ma, ma, Benn… cut me some slack, would you?” he laughed, trying to brush it off.
But Benn wasn’t about to let this slide.
After all, Shanks was usually his headache.
And opportunities like this—where the tables were turned—were far too rare to waste.
Luffy couldn’t help but join Benn in his amusement. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he leaned forward.
“Shanks as a kid??”
He and Benn exchanged a playful glance before Luffy grinned widely and declared, loud enough for everyone to hear—
“Can’t wait to see!”
Shanks groaned.
“Luffy,” he whined, dragging out his name like a petulant child.
Beside him, Roger and Rayleigh chuckled at the sight, their amusement evident.
Garp, however, only grumbled under his breath, arms crossed.
“What’s so interesting about an annoying pirate as a kid?”
Roger smirked, unable to resist the chance to tease.
“Looks like you’re about to lose face in front of your crew, kiddo.”
Shanks let out another whine, turning to his former captain.
“Not you too, Captain!”
But his complaints fell on deaf ears.
Benn, Luffy, and Roger—three troublemakers in their own right—were clearly having far too much fun at his expense.
What they failed to notice was the way the Marines had gone completely silent
For those watching, the easy camaraderie between these three men—Roger, Shanks, and Luffy—was nothing short of stunning.
Three living legends.
Three men who had shaken the world in their time.
Laughing together like it was nothing.
Sengoku exhaled, rubbing his temple, already feeling the headache forming.
More than ever, he was glad for his retirement.
Handling one of them had been bad enough.
Two was unbearable.
But all three together?
Out of the question.
When he was not a captain, not a feared pirate, but just a carefree cabin boy.
Before the weight of responsibility. Before the battles, the losses, and the legends.
Before everything changed.
The crashing storm faded into the background, drowned out by the echo of something distant—something that, for just a fleeting second, felt close enough to touch.
The fire crackled, its golden glow dancing across the faces of pirates lost in celebration.
Laughter roared through the night, voices slurring into shanties, feet stomping against the ground in an unsteady rhythm. Mugs clinked, alcohol spilled, and arms draped over shoulders in drunken camaraderie. Plates piled high with food surrounded the campfire, half-eaten meals momentarily forgotten in favor of merriment.
Beyond the flickering firelight, the ground was uneven, scattered with strange white patches—cloud-like formations that felt out of place beneath their boots.
Seeing the cloud-like ground, the onlookers were stunned once again.
Luffy’s eyes widened in recognition.
“It’s Skypiea!” he exclaimed.
But then, a thought struck him. His brows furrowed as he turned toward Shanks with visible confusion.
“Wait… Shanks has been there before??”
Shanks merely smiled at the now-grown pirate standing before him.
“Well… you can’t find the One Piece without every clue, right?” he teased, his tone light and knowing.
The words sent a shock through the Straw Hats.
They all froze, their minds racing—none more so than Robin.
Her sharp eyes narrowed as pieces clicked together in her head.
No way… The image is about Roger’s—
A flash of memory surfaced. The writing Roger had left behind. The proof that his crew had once stood on this sky-bound land.
Luffy, however, remained completely unfazed. He simply shook his head as if he had already figured it out.
“Ah… that’s how it is.”
But no one paid them any mind. Not here. Not now.
Because tonight, there was only celebration.
And then—
A young voice, breathless with excitement, cut through the chaos.
"Captain!"
"Captain!"
The call rang out, clear and urgent, barely heard over the rowdy cheers of the crew.
Roger turned, already grinning before he even saw the boy.
“What’s up, Red?”
Shanks came into view, weaving through the crowd with the reckless energy of youth, his straw hat bouncing slightly with each step.
At just twelve or thirteen, he was still small, still growing, his limbs not yet built for the strength they would one day hold. His red hair was brighter than it would be in years to come, untouched by time or battle, and his face—smooth, unscarred—was filled with nothing but unfiltered joy.
But the most striking thing?
His eyes.
Wide, eager, brimming with a fire that hadn’t yet been dimmed by the weight of the world.
A silence settled over the void.
No one spoke for a long moment, as if processing what they had just seen.
Then—
Luffy suddenly blurted out, "That’s Shanks???"
His voice carried pure disbelief, as if the thought had never even crossed his mind.
Roger turned back toward the image, studying the younger version of his crewmate. His grin softened, then turned slightly regretful.
“Man… you used to be so cute…” he sighed dramatically.
Rayleigh, arms crossed, gave a slow nod. "Now it’s all gone…" he added with the same regretful tone.
Shanks’ face tinged red, clear embarrassment creeping in as his older crewmates ganged up on him.
Benn, ever the observer, couldn’t help but smirk. “Yeah… he sure was.”
Yasopp and Lucky Roo joined in, their laughter barely contained.
“You guys… stop it,” Shanks grumbled, rubbing the back of his head.
Of course, no one did.
Ace, watching Luffy’s dumbfounded expression, smacked him lightly on the head. “Why are you so surprised?”
Luffy yelped, rubbing the sore spot. “Shanks was always a big guy to me! I never imagined him being young!”
Sabo chuckled, ruffling Luffy’s hair where Ace had hit him. “Luffy, everyone are a kid once. They aren’t born as adults.” His tone was patient, like someone explaining something simple to a child.
On the other side, Whitebeard observed the easy interaction between the three brothers, a rare warmth settling in his chest. His youngest son… alive, laughing. The weight on his heart felt just a little lighter.
Marco, standing beside him, watched Ace’s expression closely and murmured, “Well… doesn’t he look over the moon?” His voice held unmistakable happiness.
The Straw Hats, seeing Luffy so carefree with his brothers, couldn’t help but smile. Their captain, as simple as ever, but in the best way.
Meanwhile, Mihawk, who had been silently watching, studied the image of his former rival’s younger self. His sharp eyes lingered for a moment… then, losing interest, he looked away.
He skidded to a stop before Roger, his breath coming fast, barely able to contain himself.
“Gaban said we’re halfway to finding the One Piece! Is it true?!”
Zoro huffed in amusement. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”
Usopp blinked. “Wait, wait, wait. Are we just ignoring the part where they were already halfway there?! How does that even work?!”
Robin’s sharp mind immediately recalled Roger’s words in Skypiea. The missing pieces were clicking into place. “So they really did get that far…” she murmured, her interest piqued.
Franky crossed his arms. “Oi, oi, so you’re telling me these guys were already halfway before even reaching the last island? That’s some insane navigation.”
Meanwhile, Roger let out a booming laugh, slapping his knee. “Look at you, Red! You couldn’t even stand still!” He turned to present-day Shanks, his grin teasing.
Rayleigh chuckled, shaking his head. “No kidding. I still remember the way you’d run circles around the ship when you got excited.”
Shanks groaned, rubbing his face. “Oh, come on… We don’t need to bring that up.”
Benn smirked, clearly enjoying this rare moment of teasing his captain. “Nah, I think we do.”
Yasopp and Lucky Roux joined in.
Yasopp: “So this is what you looked like when you still had energy, huh?”
Lucky Roux: “Man, you really were a tiny thing!”
Shanks’ shoulders slumped. “You guys are the worst…”
Across the void, Ace and Sabo couldn’t help but chuckle at Luffy’s excitement, the familiarity of it reminding them of their younger days.
Ace nudged Luffy. “You really are just like him, huh?”
Luffy beamed. “Hehe, guess so!”
But Mihawk only glanced at the image briefly before closing his eyes again, indifferent. He had no interest in childhood nostalgia.
In contrast, Law furrowed his brows, deep in thought. Watching this past version of Shanks made him uneasy in a way he couldn’t quite place. He had a feeling this wasn’t just a simple trip down memory lane.
His voice practically trembled with excitement, his entire body vibrating with restless energy.
Roger let out a booming laugh, something warm sparking in his chest at the boy’s enthusiasm.
He reached out, placing a firm hand on top of Shanks’ straw hat, tapping the brim twice.
"Yeah, it’s true."
A wave of curiosity and amusement swept through the void as everyone took in the scene before them.
Rayleigh’s quiet chuckle caught the attention of those around him. His sharp eyes lingered on Shanks, watching the red-haired Yonko shift uncomfortably.
Then, with a knowing smile, he murmured, “So it’s that time, huh?”
Shanks flinched.
Roger, ever oblivious, turned to his first mate, “Huh? What time?”
Rayleigh didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gave Roger a look—one that carried layers of meaning only a lifelong friend could understand.
Roger’s grin widened. A moment later, he burst into laughter. “Ohhh! That time, huh?”
Shanks flinched again.
The two old legends laughed, sharing a private joke between them, leaving the rest of the void in the dark.
Luffy, who had been watching the exchange with growing impatience, finally blurted out, “What time?!”
Rayleigh turned to him, his smirk widening. His gaze flicked to Shanks, who was now visibly sweating.
“You’ll see.”
Then, as if enjoying the suspense, he and Roger resumed laughing.
The reaction was immediate.
Zoro scoffed. “Tch. Great, more old men keeping secrets.”
Sanji lit a cigarette. “I’d bet a bottle of sake that it’s something embarrassing.”
Usopp frowned. “Why do I feel like we’re about to witness something huge?”
Law narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like mysteries, and the way Shanks was reacting only made him more suspicious.
Meanwhile, the Whitebeard Pirates watched on with curiosity.
Marco crossed his arms. “Shanks looking like that? Yeah, this is gonna be good.”
Ace grinned at Luffy. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and see, huh?”
But the most telling reaction came from Benn. He exhaled slowly, looking at his captain with something between exasperation and amusement.
Shanks’ eyes snapped to him. “Benn—”
Too late. The teasing had begun, and there was no stopping it now.
For a split second, Shanks froze.
And then—
Pure, unrestrained joy exploded from him.
“I gotta tell Buggs!”
The moment Buggy’s name left Shanks’ lips, the atmosphere in the void shifted.
For a fraction of a second, something unspoken passed through the air. It wasn’t dramatic—just a small shift, a flicker of something that came and went too quickly to be grasped.
But the people in the void weren’t ordinary.
They noticed.
Even so, they hid it well.
Mihawk’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable flashing across his face before he masked it. His arms remained crossed, his posture relaxed—but those who knew him well could tell that his attention was razor-sharp.
Crocodile scoffed under his breath, rolling his cigar between his fingers. He said nothing, but there was something almost bitter in the way he exhaled the smoke.
Doflamingo’s smirk twitched. Not quite a frown, but not his usual amusement either. He tilted his head, letting his sunglasses hide whatever expression briefly crossed his face.
Meanwhile, Luffy, as always, was the loudest.
“Buggy?!” His eyes practically lit up with excitement. “Shanks is gonna see Buggy?!”
The others weren’t quite as vocal, but the intrigue was there.
Sanji raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect that from him.”
Zoro sighed. “Now why is he so excited??”
Robin, on the other hand, simply observed. A small, knowing smile played on her lips, as if she were piecing together a puzzle that only she understood.
And, amidst all of it, Shanks—watching his younger self in the image—looked away.
Not obviously. Not in an exaggerated way.
But just enough that Benn noticed.
And that, more than anything, told Benn everything he needed to know.
He was already turning, already running before Roger could say another word, his feet kicking up dust as he bolted in the direction he somehow knew Buggy would be.
Roger watched him go, a soft chuckle escaping him. He leaned back on his hands, eyes flickering with something distant, something warm.
“Ah… to be young.”
Rayleigh exhaled, rubbing his temples. “That kid…”
Gaban let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, he sure can’t keep anything from Blue.”
Roger, arms crossed, grinned proudly as he leaned back.
"Well, of course not," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "After all, they’re Red and Blue."
A pause settled over the void.
For some, Roger’s words seemed simple. For others, they carried weight.
Rayleigh exhaled through his nose, shaking his head with something between amusement and understanding. "Some things really don’t change." He glanced at Shanks, his eyes knowing.
Benn took a slow drag of his cigarette. “So it started from the beginning.” He glanced at Shanks. "Not surprising."
Shanks looked away, scratching his cheek as if suddenly self-conscious.
Mihawk’s golden eyes narrowed. He had never given much thought to those two before, but hearing Roger himself speak of them in such a way... His grip on his sword tightened.
Doflamingo scoffed, pushing up his sunglasses. "Tch. Red and Blue. Like it was fate or something."
Crocodile didn’t say a word, but his sharp gaze flicked toward Shanks, as if re-evaluating something.
Robin’s lips curled slightly, her mind piecing things together. "Ah... so it was always like this.
Law’s brows furrowed slightly. He wasn’t sure why, but something about those words felt significant.
Sabo let out a quiet breath, unreadable. He looked at the image of young Shanks, then at the older one, as if enquiring something.
Marco only chuckled under his breath.
Whitebeard gave a hum, watching Shanks with thoughtful eyes. "To think the bonds of the past are still holding strong."
Garp only grunted, arms crossed. He didn’t comment, but the slight twitch of his brow showed he wasn’t unaffected.
Roger simply grinned wider, crossing his arms. "Well, of course not," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "After all, they’re Red and Blue."
A silence followed.
And then—
Shanks sighed, shaking his head with a small, reluctant smile.
"Yeah, yeah..." He muttered under his breath, as if resigned. "We were always like that."
The night was quiet, the only sounds being the distant crackling of the campfire and the occasional laughter from those still celebrating. But up here, away from the warmth of the fire, away from the noise of the crew, the world felt… different.
A full moon hung in the sky, its pale glow spilling over the ship and the island beyond, casting long, silver shadows. The wind was steady, cool against his skin, rustling the leaves and making the ship’s sails creak softly in the distance.
A moment of stillness filled the void.
The full moon, hanging high in the sky, bathed everything in silver light. It was impossible not to take a moment to admire it. Even those used to the sea and the night sky—seasoned pirates, hardened marines—found their eyes lingering on the image.
Marco let out a low hum. "Huh. Full moon, huh?" His gaze flickered briefly toward Whitebeard, a silent understanding passing between them.
Robin studied the image carefully, her sharp eyes catching details others might have overlooked.
Coby and Helmeppo remained quiet, almost hesitant to interrupt the rare moment of calm.
Buggy’s crew, tense since their captain's appearance, seemed momentarily distracted by the beauty of the scene.
Amid the peaceful moment, two hushed voices murmured between themselves—low, quiet, nearly imperceptible.
"Well, I can't wait to see what he saw that day," Roger said, his voice filled with a familiar eagerness.
Rayleigh exhaled through his nose. "Even after nearly decades, it’s still a mystery to me."
Roger grinned. "Well, not anymore. It’s gonna be revealed soon." The anticipation in his voice was undeniable.
No one in the void heard them.
No one—except Shanks.
Sitting beside them, he remained still, but the more they spoke, the more a cold sweat began to form on his skin. His hands twitched slightly against his knees, his expression unreadable.
For once, he didn’t join in their laughter.
And in the midst of it all, a boy climbed.
Shanks gripped the thick vine tightly, his fingers curling around its rough surface as he pulled himself up, his small frame moving with the ease of someone who had done this before. The climb was nothing new to him—it wasn’t difficult, it wasn’t dangerous, not really.
A stunned silence filled the void as everyone took in the sight before them. The vine stretched impossibly high, thicker than a ship’s mast, disappearing into the sky.
Ace, staring up at the sheer length of it, couldn’t help but blurt out, “The hell is that?!”
Luffy, as cheerful and oblivious as ever, grinned and replied, “It’s a vine.”
As if Luffy had just said the most obvious thing in the world, Ace groaned, rubbing his temples. “Yeah, no kidding.”
Zoro, watching the scene unfold, simply shrugged. “Well… he ain’t wrong.”
Sanji let out a puff of smoke, nodding along. “For once, the mosshead and the idiot are saying something that makes sense.”
Sabo chuckled, arms crossed as he observed the exchange. “A vine like that… It’s hard to believe something like this even exists.”
Marco raised a brow, tilting his head. “That’s a whole damn tree in itself, yoi.”
Whitebeard let out a deep chuckle. “Nature has its own ways of surprising us.”
Meanwhile, Rayleigh smirked as he glanced at Roger. “You remember the first time we saw this?”
Roger let out a hearty laugh. “How could I forget? You nearly fell off trying to climb it!”
Rayleigh snorted. “No, no, that was you.”
Mihawk, watching the image with narrowed eyes, murmured, “It’s impractical… but impressive.”
Law, arms folded, analyzed it carefully. “That vine could support an entire ship’s weight…”
On the Marine side, Sengoku stared in exasperation. “Of course pirates would be amazed by something ridiculous like this.”
Garp, on the other hand, simply grinned. “Looks fun to climb.”
As the reactions settled, everyone turned their attention back to the image—because if a vine like this existed, what kind of place was Shanks climbing toward?
But tonight, the wind was stronger.
A sudden gust hit him, catching the brim of his straw hat and nearly ripping it off his head.
His heart jumped.
At the sight of the hat flying, both Roger and Luffy—the former and current owner of the hat—reacted instantly, hands shooting out as if to grab it.
Only to remember a second later that it was just an image.
They both sighed in relief, slumping back slightly.
Their respective first mates, Rayleigh and Zoro, watched them with deadpan expressions, as if questioning their sanity.
Zoro exhaled through his nose. "You're both idiots."
Rayleigh chuckled, shaking his head. "Some things really don’t change."
Somehow, in those four, a silent understanding formed.
Roger and Luffy—two captains, bound by that same hat.
Rayleigh and Zoro—two swordsmen, watching over reckless fools.
They exchanged glances.
A brief, wordless acknowledgment.
And then, as if nothing happened, the moment passed.
Without thinking, he let go with one hand, reaching up to press the hat down before it could fly away.
But in the process—
His grip slipped.
His body lurched, his other hand barely holding on, the vine.
“Oops,” he muttered to himself, his heart pounding for half a second before he tightened his hold again.
Luffy couldn’t help but shout, "Good save!"
Roger, just as amused, joined in. "Yeah, nice save there, brat!"
Rayleigh sighed, rubbing his temple. "So that's why you slipped… Idiot."
Law scoffed, arms crossed. "To die saving a hat… That’s exactly what I’d expect from Luffy."
Beside him, Corazon, who had just taken a drag of his cigarette, choked violently on the smoke, coughing into his sleeve.
"Are—" cough "Are you serious?!" he wheezed, staring at Law like he couldn’t believe what he just heard.
Law barely glanced at him, completely unbothered. "Yeah."
The Straw Hats, meanwhile, were nodding along in agreement.
"Yeah, that checks out," Usopp muttered.
Sanji exhaled a stream of smoke. "Idiot behavior runs in the family, huh?"
Zoro smirked slightly. "Reckless loyalty. Classic."
The reaction room buzzed with light chuckles, a mix of fond amusement and exasperation.
And through it all, Shanks sat there, face in his hands, pretending he wasn’t listening.
From below, a voice called out.
“Be careful, kid!”
One of the older crewmates, probably watching him from the camp, had noticed.
But Shanks didn’t respond. Didn’t even glance down.
He kept climbing.
Benn exhaled, shaking his head. "Of course, you ignore it…"
Rayleigh let out a short chuckle. "Well, it is his specialty."
The two first mates glanced at each other, an unspoken understanding passing between them.
Zoro, who had been watching, huffed. "Yeah. I get it."
Rayleigh smirked. "I figured you would."
Benn took a sip from his flask. "Guess it’s a first mate thing."
Sanji scoffed, lighting another cigarette. "More like a dumbass thing."
The room rumbled with quiet laughter, but the ones in question didn’t even argue.
Shanks, already bracing himself, sighed. "I feel like I'm gonna regret this whole thing…"
Roger grinned, nudging him. "Too late for that, kiddo."
Because he knew where he was going.
And he knew exactly who would be there.
There was only one place Buggy could be right now.
The place dearest to him.
At those words, the air in the void shifted. Interest sparked in the eyes of those who had remained silent, quietly observing.
Robin's gaze sharpened. A place dearest to him? That kind of wording spoke of deep attachment—something worth noting.
Dragon remained unreadable, but there was a slight narrowing of his eyes, a silent curiosity beneath his stoic exterior.
Mihawk, arms crossed, watched without a word, but there was a certain intensity to his stare, as if evaluating something.
Corazon, who had been listening quietly, tilted his head slightly, something unreadable flickering across his face.
Doflamingo’s smirk twitched wider. “Hoo~? Dearest is it?.” His glasses gleamed, masking his true thoughts.
Sengoku remained still, his sharp eyes studying the unfolding events. A place dearest to Buggy? He didn’t say anything, but his mind was already working through the possibilities.
The tension wasn’t heavy, but it was there—silent intrigue filling the void as they all waited to see what lay ahead.
The climb felt endless.
It had only been ten minutes—maybe less—but to Shanks, it might as well have been ten hours.
If only he were taller. Bigger. Built like Roger or Oden. Then he could have climbed faster. Then he could have reached his friend sooner.
But even if he wasn't as strong as them, he still made it.
Luffy, watching intently, couldn't help but nod. “Yeah! That’s the spirit!”
Ace, arms crossed, raised a brow. “Tch. Kid should’ve just climbed faster.”
Sabo chuckled, patting Ace’s shoulder. “Not everyone’s built like a monster, you know.”
Zoro, arms folded, hummed. “Strength ain't everything. Climbing’s all about endurance.”
Sanji scoffed. “Like you’d know anything about climbing.”
Robin observed quietly, a thoughtful expression on her face. "So even as a child, he was already chasing after someone."
Mihawk barely reacted, simply watching with an unreadable gaze.
Crocodile let out a small huff. “Ridiculous.” But he didn’t look away.
Sengoku, rubbing his temples, sighed. “Why does it always have to be these types of brats…”
Rayleigh chuckled, shaking his head. “He was always impatient.”
Roger, still grinning, leaned forward. “That’s what makes it fun, right?:
Benn let out a rare chuckle. “He never could sit still when it came to him.”
The atmosphere in the void remained charged with anticipation—everyone waiting to see just what, or who, lay at the top of that climb.
His fingers grasped the edge of the ground, his body half-lifting over the top.
But instead of pulling himself up completely or even taking a moment to catch his breath, he didn't move.
His chest heaved, his arms trembled from the strain, dirt smudged across his face—but none of that mattered.
Because the moment he looked up, he smiled.
Bright Carefree. The kind of grin that came so naturally to him.
Luffy, grinning ear to ear, pointed excitedly. “Pfft—Shanks, you look just like me after a good fight!”
Ace crossed his arms, smirking. “Damn, and here I thought Luffy was the messiest idiot around.”
Sabo chuckled. “Seems like it runs in a certain kind of pirate.”
The amused glances lingered on Shanks’ younger self, but more than anything, they were curious. What had made him smile like that?
He opened his mouth, voice full of excitement—
"Bug—!"
But the words never fully left his lips.
Because the scene before him stole them away.
As if he had been struck by lightning, his entire body froze.
Eyes wide. Breath caught.
His bright, eager expression changes —
Shanks’ eyes went wide.
His face froze in pure surprise.
Such a sudden change in expression made people uneasy.
If it had been before they came to this void, they might have dismissed it as a child being overly dramatic.
But not now.
Not after seeing everything these images had revealed.
Not after witnessing things that shook their understanding of the world.
Everyone, every single one of them, had questioned their own beliefs because of these glimpses into the past.
These images had left them tangled in unanswered questions, their thoughts racing in different directions.
But one thing was clear to all—
Nothing in these images was meaningless.
Every moment had a purpose.
Every detail held weight.
And this—this—was a moment too significant to ignore.
Notes:
Too much suspense?????
Well worry not
I will be updating the next chapter after week 😌
And it's going to be a big deal like
🤭 a real big deal
Buckle up 🤗
Chapter 10: Chapter 10
Chapter Text
Before him stood a massive golden bell.
It was made entirely of gold, its surface gleaming under the full moon. In the moonlight, the metal seemed to shine ten times brighter, radiating a glow that made the surrounding clouds shimmer like something out of a dream.
But that wasn’t what caught his eyes.
Such a grand, awe-inspiring bell—yet it wasn’t what stole his breath.
This was the second time this bell had appeared before them.
And yet, even those who had already seen it found themselves in awe once more.
Franky, ever the craftsman, couldn’t help but lean forward, eyes tracing the intricate details carved into the metal. "Man… the workmanship on this thing is insane," he muttered in admiration. But then, his trained eyes caught something else—the difference between this image and the last time they had seen the bell. The subtle signs of time, the way the gold had dulled ever so slightly, the faint wear on its surface.
"Even gold ain’t immune to twenty years of being left alone," he thought with a hint of regret.
And then—
"Ahh, such beauty," Nami sighed dramatically, clasping her hands together as if truly heartbroken. "I can’t believe we left it behind."
Usopp’s head snapped toward her so fast it was a miracle he didn’t strain his neck. "You can’t be serious… How were we supposed to take it with us?!" he asked, as if faced with the hardest question known to mankind.
The absurdity of it made a few people chuckle, but not everyone was focused on their banter.
There were those watching with keen anticipation, waiting for what would come next—Robin, Law, Crocodile, Doflamingo, Corazon, Garp, Sengoku, Mihawk.
Each of them quiet, their gazes sharp, their minds already piecing together the weight of what they were about to witness.
And then, there were Roger and Rayleigh.
They exchanged a look—one filled with understanding, with something almost mischievous glinting in their eyes.
They, too, couldn’t wait to see what was about to appear.
Atop one of its towering support pillars sat Buggy.
Leaning casually against the massive form of a Skypiean northeast bird, its large feathers cushioning him like a throne.
And yet, even that wasn’t what captured his attention.
The moment Buggy appeared, the air in the void shifted.
Despite the ease in his posture, the way he leaned so casually against the massive Skypiean northeast bird, there was something striking about the image. The great bird’s feathers fanned around him, almost like a throne, but that wasn’t what held everyone’s focus.
For a brief moment, silence reigned.
Then, silence broke
Some couldn’t help but stare at the sheer absurdity of the sight.
"Is that... a giant bird cushion?" Franky muttered, squinting.
"Man’s got a whole throne setup," Ace said, sounding half-impressed, half-bewildered.
Sanji exhaled a puff of smoke. "Gotta admit, that’s style in its own way."
But others weren’t focused on that.
Robin observed the image with a knowing gaze, as if searching for the true meaning behind it.
Law remained quiet, his sharp eyes dissecting every detail.
Mihawk’s stare lingered, unreadable, but it was clear he was assessing something beyond the surface.
Crocodile scoffed, but his fingers tapped idly against his arm, betraying his interest.
Doflamingo’s smirk widened ever so slightly, something amused yet curious gleaming in his expression.
Garp and Sengoku, however, were a different story.
The older men narrowed their eyes, a silent understanding passing between them.
Rayleigh, leaning back with his arms crossed, hummed. "So that’s where he was, huh?"
Roger grinned. "He’s always had a knack for finding the best spots."
But through it all, one person remained silent.
Shanks.
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t scoff. He didn’t crack a joke.
He simply stared.
Because none of this mattered.
None of the absurdity, none of the grandeur—none of it was what had stolen his breath away.
And the gathered audience, after all they had seen, after all they had learned, understood one thing:
This moment, this image, held something important.
Buggy’s hat had slipped off, his hair free, swaying in the wind like the waves of the sea itself. Shoulder-length strands moved effortlessly in the night air, catching the glow of moonlight and gold alike.
His eyes were closed, his face serene—so unlike the usual frustration, exasperation, or loud complaints that always accompanied him.
He looked… peaceful.
And somehow, in the cascading moonlight, he shone brighter than the gold surrounding him.
Both the cool silver glow of the moon and the warm golden reflections from the bell danced upon him, blending together in perfect harmony.
A breathtaking harmony.
Even his bright red nose—so often the subject of teasing—seemed to add a different charm to the image.
For the first time, Shanks felt he truly saw him.
And he forgot to breathe.
His lungs locked. His body refused to move.
He didn't make a sound, didn't even blink—afraid that if he closed his eyes, the image before him would vanish forever.
Utter, absolute silence.
Not a single breath, not even the slightest shift. It was as if, all at once, every single one of them had stopped breathing.
They sat frozen, mirroring Shanks—stilled, transfixed.
As if even the smallest movement, the faintest sound, might shatter the fragile, dreamlike moment before them.
Yet stillness did not mean emptiness.
Their bodies may have been unmoving, but their minds raced.
Thoughts tangled, emotions surged, countless unspoken questions and realizations clashing within them.
And not a single one of them could tear their eyes away.
As Corazon stared at the image before him, his breath hitched—caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. His chest burned, his heart pounding so violently it felt as if it would tear free from his ribs. And yet, beneath that overwhelming rush, a deep unease settled within him.
Why? Why was he reacting like this?
Buggy was no longer the boy he had once met—no longer that fleeting presence who had left a mark on him all those years ago. He was a grown man now, a pirate who had carved his own place in the world. And yet… none of that seemed to matter.
Because right now, looking at him bathed in moonlight and gold, Buggy seemed almost untouchable—almost unreal.
And Corazon hated himself for the way his heart betrayed him, for the way it ached so foolishly.
Near him, Doflamingo was unnervingly still, his sharp gaze locked onto the same image. His heart, too, had quickened, but unlike Corazon, he did not fight it. He did not deny it.
He studied the feeling—turned it over in his mind like a treasure he had just unearthed. There was admiration, yes, but there was something else, something far stronger. Something possessive.
Doflamingo was no stranger to his own emotions. He understood power, understood desire. But this? This was different. And he knew why.
A celestial dragon is meant to take. To own. To claim.
And yet here he was, looking at something untouchable, something radiant. And worse—he wasn’t the only one.
His eyes flickered to Corazon, taking in the way his brother’s hands had curled into fists, the barely contained tremor in his fingers.
Ah. So Corazon wasn’t blind to it, after all. He was just weak enough to fear it.
Doflamingo smirked to himself, amusement curling at the edges of his thoughts.
How interesting.
Dragon’s breath was steady, controlled—but his mind was not.
Unlike the others, he did not freeze in disbelief or wonder how such a sight could exist. He had already seen something like this before.
Once.
A moment so rare, so impossible, that even with all the knowledge he had gathered in his lifetime, he could never truly explain it. It was as if the very world itself had stopped—not in silence, not in fear, but in quiet reverence.
His eyes flickered to Luffy.
Yes. He had seen it once, just once, in his own son. That same undeniable presence, the kind that did not demand attention but commanded it all the same. The kind that made the universe seem to bend, as if acknowledging something greater than itself.
Then his gaze shifted back to Buggy.
And something in his mind stirred.
It wasn’t just once.
Not just in Luffy.
Twice.
Long ago—so long that the memory had nearly slipped through the cracks of time—he had met someone like this. A man whose presence had stilled the air, whose very existence felt like something the world itself refused to overlook. It had been brief. A handful of encounters, no more. But even now, he could feel the remnants of it, the shadow of something he could not quite grasp.
And now, staring at Buggy—at the way the moon and gold seemed to merge around him, at the way the very air seemed to acknowledge his presence—Dragon felt that same feeling creeping back in.
But it didn’t make sense.
It was too long ago. The face was blurred in his memory, the voice long since faded. It had been a passing moment, nothing more.
Buggy couldn’t be the same person.
…Right?
Whitebeard had lived a long life on the seas.
A life that spanned generations, stretching through eras of adventure and war. He had seen wonders that most could only dream of—places so breathtaking they could be mistaken for paradise itself.
He had never sought the One Piece. That was never his dream. But in his time, he had witnessed greatness.
He had met them.
Three chosen ones, each belonging to a different generation. Roger. Shanks. Luffy.
From the moment he had laid eyes on them, he had known.
These were men born with purpose. Men who had been shaped by fate, drawn to a singular path that only they could walk. Each of them carried something—an undeniable presence, a weight upon their very existence. A reason to be. A destiny to fulfill.
But this…
As he stared at the image before him, at Buggy bathed in moonlight and gold, something unfamiliar stirred within him.
It was not the same feeling he had experienced with those chosen men.
No, this was something different. Something he could not place.
For all his years at sea, for all the powerful figures he had met, he had never once felt this exact sensation.
His gaze sharpened, searching the scene, trying to pinpoint the source. The harmony of light and shadow, the way the very air seemed to bend to this moment…
Then, realization crept in.
It was almost as if the world itself was speaking.
As if, through this perfect, impossible balance of moon and gold, the universe was saying something.
Or—no.
Not just saying. Showing off.
It was like a parent presenting their favorite child to the world, letting all creation witness the masterpiece they had brought into existence.
And Whitebeard—who had spent a lifetime understanding the ebb and flow of fate, who had known what it meant to recognize the chosen ones—
Was at a loss for what to feel.
Crocodile stared at the image in front of him, his cigarette long forgotten between his fingers, the embers burning out unnoticed.
A man who had spent his whole life chasing power, wealth, and success. A man who never wavered from his ambitions, never sought anything beyond control.
Even now, as he looked at the scene before him, he tried—desperately—to remind himself of that truth.
Power. That’s all that matters.
It was a thought that had guided him for years, a belief so ingrained in his very being that it should have been effortless to summon. And yet—right now—it felt meaningless.
Because before him, Buggy sat bathed in a light that defied all reason.
The silver glow of the moon wrapped around him like a gentle embrace, blending seamlessly with the golden radiance of the bell behind him. It was breathtaking. A harmony that shouldn’t exist yet did—something beyond wealth, beyond power, beyond anything Crocodile had ever pursued.
His chest tightened. Why?
Why did this sight unsettle him so?
He told himself it was nothing. That it was just an illusion, a trick of the light. That it was meaningless.
But deep down, he knew.
No matter how much he tried to dismiss it—he couldn’t look away.
Law could hear it—the rapid, uneven heartbeat of Corazon. It was impossible not to. Sitting so close, the sound pulsed against the quiet, a raw and uncontrollable reaction.
But he didn’t look at him.
Not because he couldn’t, but because he understood.
Corazon wouldn’t want to be seen right now.
Doflamingo, however, wasn’t as considerate. Law could feel his gaze locked onto Corazon, a sharp, probing look that he chose to ignore. Whatever Doflamingo was thinking, whatever amusement or curiosity flickered in his twisted mind, it wasn’t Law’s concern.
Instead, he kept his focus forward, eyes locked onto the image before him.
Studying. Analyzing.
Trying to understand.
Because for some reason, seeing Buggy like this—bathed in the glow of gold and silver, his expression serene and untouched by the weight of the world—Law felt something. A pull deep in his chest, a weightless but undeniable tug at his very core.
It didn’t make sense.
It was unfamiliar yet… painfully familiar.
So he broke it down, dissecting the feeling like a puzzle, forcing himself to find the root of it.
And when he did, his expression darkened.
The feeling reminded him of her.
Of Lami.
No. Not of her, but of the way he had felt about her.
Adoration.
The desire to protect.
Law felt his teeth clench, a bitter taste rising in the back of his throat.
That wasn’t right.
He wasn’t someone who got attached so easily. He wasn’t weak-hearted enough to feel something just because someone’s suffering reminded him of his own. He wasn’t kind. He wasn’t sentimental.
And yet, the feeling persisted, unwavering.
Why?
Why did he feel this way?
Why did something about this image—this moment—strike such a deep chord within him?
Law’s grip tightened where his hands rested on his knees.
Something was messing with him.
He didn’t like it.
Not even a little bit.
Marco lifted his glasses, not because he couldn't believe what he was seeing, but because he wanted to see it more clearly—without anything dulling his vision.
He had known Buggy as a kid, had seen him countless times with that old beanie pulled snug over his head. It had been such a constant part of him that Marco had never once questioned it. Never once wondered what lay beneath.
But now, with Buggy’s hair free—swaying gently in the wind, catching the light of both moon and gold—Marco felt as though he were looking at something otherworldly.
The strands moved like ocean waves, glistening under the night sky, shifting between hues of silver and gold with every breath of wind. It was wild, untamed, yet elegant in a way Marco had never expected.
How the hell did he hide this all these years?
Something about it unsettled him—not in a bad way, but in the way that made him feel like he was seeing something he was never meant to. Like he was staring at a secret the world itself had kept hidden.
He let out a slow breath, shaking his head in quiet wonder.
…This world sure is full of mysteries.
Sabo was in disbelief.
After witnessing Imu’s existence in Mary Geoise, he had thought nothing else in this world could shake him. That there was no greater revelation, no sight more impossible.
And yet, here he was.
Sitting in a place beyond his understanding, staring at a man he had never met.
His chest tightened, an unfamiliar weight pressing against his ribs. There were no words for what he felt—no logic, no explanation. Just the undeniable truth that something about this image reached deep into him, gripping something primal, something unspoken.
It wasn’t power. It wasn’t fear.
It was recognition.
A recognition that shouldn’t exist.
His fingers twitched against his leg, itching to grasp something real, something grounding. But there was nothing—only the sight before him. Only the man bathed in moonlight and gold, shining like something untouched by time.
He didn’t know him.
And yet—he couldn’t look away.
Brook was certain—without a doubt—that he was the oldest soul in this place.
Fifty years alone on a drifting ship, trapped between life and death, had given him more time than most to understand the world. He had seen beauty in every form: in the rise and fall of the tides, in the laughter of his lost crew, in the bittersweet melodies that carried his sorrow and joy alike.
Music had always been his way of making sense of things.
He could take any image, any fleeting moment, and translate it into a melody that captured its essence.
But as he gazed at the image before him, he felt… uncertain.
The harmony of nature—the way the cool silver of the moonlight danced with the warmth of gold, the way the night breeze carried Buggy’s loose strands like gentle waves—was beyond anything he had ever tried to compose.
Brook’s fingers twitched, an old habit, as if itching to play.
But no melody came to him.
For the first time in fifty years, he doubted himself.
How many years—no, how many lifetimes—would it take to create a song worthy of this sight?
Fifty more? A hundred?
And even then… it would never be enough.
Jinbei had been born in the ocean.
The rhythm of the tides, the shimmer of sunlight on the waves, the endless depths that held both terror and beauty—these were things he had known since the day he opened his eyes.
He had seen the sea in all its forms. The tranquil shallows of his homeland, the crushing darkness of the abyss, the brilliant glow of life that thrived beneath the surface. Natural beauty was not foreign to him.
And yet…
The image before him stirred something he could not name.
There was no ocean here. No waves, no water, no familiar vastness stretching beyond the horizon. Only the sky, the moon, the golden reflections, and the lone figure of a kid bathed in their light.
By all logic, there should have been nothing familiar about it.
And yet, he felt it.
A pull, a recognition, as if he were gazing at the sea itself. As if the vastness of the ocean, its mystery, its quiet yet overwhelming presence, had somehow been captured in this one moment.
It was unnatural. It was impossible.
But Jinbei had spent his life listening to the whispers of the tides, to the way the ocean spoke in ways no words could match.
And right now… the image before him spoke the same language.
Ace was mesmerized.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Looking at the image before him, he felt the overwhelming urge to mock his past self.
How ridiculous.
How utterly foolish he had been to ever compare himself to this man.
When he first saw Buggy’s suffering, he had felt an odd sense of kinship. He had assumed—no, convinced himself—that they were the same. That they were both fighting for recognition, both desperate to carve a place for themselves in a world that refused to see them.
But now?
Now, looking at this scene, he knew how wrong he had been.
Why would Buggy ever need recognition from people…
When nature itself seemed to cherish his existence?
The moonlight bathed him in its glow, as if taking advantage of his slumber to embrace him in a way no human could. The golden light curled around him protectively, framing him like something precious, something beloved.
Ace had spent his whole life longing for something like this.
For a warmth that asked for nothing.
For an embrace that expected nothing in return.
How many times had he wished for it?
How many nights had he curled in on himself, hoping—just once—to feel held, to feel wanted, to feel like he belonged?
Too many.
More than he could count.
And yet…
Looking at Buggy now, he felt no jealousy.
No resentment.
Instead, there was something else.
Something unfamiliar.
Something warm.
It settled deep in his chest, quiet and steady, foreign in a way that made him uneasy.
Ace was not a smart man.
He wasn’t good at recognizing feelings he had never been given the chance to have.
And maybe that was why he didn’t realize…
That for the first time in his life, he was looking at someone not with envy—
But with awe.
Sanji is a ladies' man.
A man well-versed in beauty.
He had seen countless breathtaking women in his life—each unique, each captivating in their own way.
But as he stared at the image before him, he knew…
This was different.
This beauty was not like the ones he had admired before.
It wasn’t the delicate charm of a lady, nor the seductive allure he was so familiar with.
It was something softer.
Something unreal.
Something out of this world.
The boy in the image—because yes, despite everything, he was still just a kid—was beautiful. There was no denying that.
But it wasn’t a feminine beauty, not in the way he usually defined it.
No, this was something else entirely.
Sanji just stared.
He had a rule—beauty was to be appreciated, always.
And beauty, to him, had always meant women.
But just this once…
Just for today…
He would bend that rule.
Chopper is half-human, but before that, he is an animal. His human-human fruit may have changed his form, given him the ability to speak and think like a human, but it had never stripped him of his instincts—the raw, primal understanding of nature that no human could ever truly grasp.
And right now, that instinct was screaming.
Because what he was seeing wasn’t normal.
The others saw beauty, saw harmony, saw an image too perfect to belong to this world. But Chopper saw something else. Something far more intricate. Something no one else here would notice.
He saw the way the giant Skypiean bird had positioned itself—not just as a perch, but as something meant to support. Its thickest, softest feathers cradled Buggy’s body, a natural cushion preventing the boy from resting against anything sharp or uncomfortable. The bird’s head was turned away, beak tilted slightly outward, as if instinctively ensuring that its sharp edges wouldn’t accidentally brush against the sleeping figure.
Then there was the wind.
When Shanks had climbed, the wind had howled, fast and reckless, tearing through his hair as if challenging his presence. But here, it was different. The breeze was slow, deliberate, careful—like a hand smoothing down Buggy’s hair, playful but not disruptive, gentle but not weak. It was as if the air itself had chosen to treat him with a delicacy rarely given to any living being.
And the moon.
A full moon should have been blinding at this height, glaring down with its overbearing glow. Yet, somehow, it wasn’t. Its light was soft, balanced—bright enough to make the boy’s presence ethereal, but never harsh enough to disturb. It simply existed around him, framing him, embracing him, as if proud to cast its glow upon him.
Nature… wasn’t supposed to act like this.
Even animals followed rules. The strong survived, the weak perished. The world was a brutal, indifferent force that granted no special treatment to any one being. And yet, looking at this image, Chopper could see the impossible—see the way nature itself had bent its rules.
This wasn’t coincidence.
This wasn’t chance.
It was intention.
Chopper wasn’t an emotional fool. He was a doctor, a scientist, a creature who had spent years learning how the body and the world functioned. And right now, every instinct, every fiber of his being was telling him something he couldn’t explain.
Nature wasn’t just allowing Buggy to exist within it.
It was cherishing him.
And that realization filled Chopper with an awe he couldn’t put into words.
Rayleigh had always known that Buggy looked different.
The first time he had held the kid in his arms, he had been taken aback—not because he was unfamiliar with unique appearances, but because he had never seen a child with such an unusual combination of features.
Bright blue hair that was unlike anything he had ever seen, striking blue eyes that held an intensity beyond their years, and of course, that red nose, so distinct and bold.
Each of those features alone would have been rare enough, but all of them on one tiny, scrappy kid?
Yet, the strangest thing was that it never looked odd to him.
Because on Buggy’s face, they fit together seamlessly, like the universe had carefully crafted him to be exactly like this.
As if this was how he was always meant to be.
Rayleigh still remembered how small he had been, the way he used to cling to his pant leg when he was nervous, how his tiny hands would ball into fists when Roger teased him too much.
A firecracker from the start, full of energy and attitude, a little menace who stomped around the Oro Jackson like he owned the place.
Man… if little Buggy had ever asked for it, Rayleigh would have burned the world down for him.
(Not that Roger needed to know that.)
Now, looking at the image in front of him, he knew that others might be shocked.
They would look at this and be stunned by the sheer beauty of it—the way the moonlight wove through Buggy’s hair, the way nature itself seemed to embrace him, as if the whole world recognized something special that had always been there.
Rayleigh, however, wasn’t surprised.
He had always known Buggy was beautiful. He had known since the very first day.
After all, he was the one who used to take care of Buggy’s hair, duh.
But that wasn’t what truly caught his attention.
It was something else.
Something about the way the universe seemed to be saying something through this image—whispering a truth just out of reach, as if pointing out something that had been right in front of him all along.
Rayleigh wasn’t sure what it was just yet.
But for now, he would simply take this moment to appreciate the kid he had helped raise.
It seemed like he and the universe were about to have a very interesting conversation.
Robin is a seeker.
Knowledge was her hunger, and books had always been her closest source of nourishment.
Before she met the Straw Hats, books had been her only companions. They had been her solace, her escape, and her only means of grasping the world beyond the cold reality she lived in.
She had read thousands—no, countless books. From the depths of history to the intricacies of folklore, from scientific theories to fictional tales, she had devoured words with an insatiable thirst.
If every book she had read could be stacked together, they could form a library vast enough to rival even the greatest archives of the world.
And that was something she took pride in.
Yet—
Yet, looking at the image before her… she found herself at a loss.
There was no quote, no poem, no passage in any book she had read that could describe this.
Nothing that could truly capture the harmony within this scene.
Nothing that could adequately appreciate it.
This—this was something that transcended worldly language.
Robin exhaled slowly, pushing down the strange feeling swelling in her chest.
She must not allow herself to be swayed by such things.
Beauty was something women, by nature, were weak to.
She refused to be weak.
She steeled her mind, refocusing her gaze on the image, treating it as she would a puzzle—something to be studied, to be understood.
Her eyes traced every delicate detail, her mind analyzing, questioning, unraveling.
How?
How could such a thing exist?
She was a historian. She had dedicated her life to uncovering the truths of the world, to understanding the past.
And never—never—in any record of history had there been a case where the very universe seemed to bend itself around a single man.
Yet, here in this image, she could see it.
It wasn’t a trick of light. It wasn’t mere coincidence.
The universe itself was screaming something.
As if the answer was obvious.
Zoro is a rough man.
Beauty, delicacy, softness—none of those had ever been a part of his life.
His world was forged in steel, built on sweat and blood. Every muscle in his body was earned through relentless training, every scar a testament to his strength.
It wasn’t that he despised such things. He just didn’t understand them.
They had never belonged to him.
And yet—
This image.
It was unlike anything he had ever seen.
The way the moonlight curved around the boy, the way the wind moved with him, rather than against him. The way the world itself seemed to acknowledge him, as if his very existence was woven into the fabric of the universe.
Zoro wasn’t one to get caught up in things he couldn’t explain.
But even he couldn’t deny the way his chest settled—the way his breath evened—just from looking at it.
It was as if the image was making a statement.
What kind of statement?
Zoro didn’t know.
Didn’t need to know.
Because at the end of the day, he was still the same rough man. Not someone who analyzed beauty, not someone who tried to understand what was beyond him.
So he would leave it alone.
Let it be.
And yet—
His single eye never once left the image.
Mihawk’s eyes had remained locked on the image from the moment it appeared.
He had neither blinked nor looked away. Not once.
To an outsider, he might seem unaffected—his face impassive, his posture unshaken. But inside, Mihawk knew better.
He was shaken.
Not outwardly. Not in any way that could be perceived. But deep in the core of his being, something felt off.
He had been staring at this image for too long, yet he could not bring himself to stop.
Not out of curiosity.
Not out of confusion.
But because some invisible force kept him tethered to it.
His heartbeat.
Even in battle, when facing opponents strong enough to threaten his life, his heartbeat had remained steady—always calm, always in control.
Even when standing on the precipice of death, Mihawk had never faltered.
Yet now—it was different.
There was a slight irregularity in his pulse. An imbalance. A minuscule, almost imperceptible shift that only a man like Mihawk would notice.
He took a slow breath, attempting to steady it, but the disruption did not fade.
This is absurd.
Mihawk had only ever felt this kind of disturbance once before—the day he first held a sword.
He had been a child then, his fingers barely able to wrap around the hilt. The weight of it, the sharpness of the edge, the promise of power—it had made his heart race, his blood surge.
That had been the first and only time something had stirred within him like this.
Until now.
And unlike back then, this feeling did not settle.
It did not fade.
It only grew stronger the longer he gazed at the image before him.
His golden eyes traced the details—the way the moonlight cradled him in its silver glow, the way even the wind seemed to flow around him with an unnatural gentleness.
It was not just beautiful.
It was reverent.
Mihawk’s fingers twitched.
The very elements—sky, light, nature—were not simply surrounding him.
They were bowing to him.
A ridiculous thought. One that should not have even crossed his mind.
And yet—it had.
The universe, the forces of nature, the unseen balance of the world—it all seemed to be declaring something.
Worshipping something.
No.
Not something.
Someone.
Mihawk’s grip tightened slightly.
His mind rejected it, but his instincts told him otherwise.
Dracule Mihawk did not believe in gods.
But looking at this image—for the first time, he wondered if he should.
Usopp was stuck.
For a man whose imagination knew no limits, whose mind had spun the wildest of tales since childhood, this was a first.
If anyone in this world could dream up the impossible, it was him.
If anyone could take a fleeting thought and weave it into a grand, unbelievable story, it was him.
But this—this was beyond him.
It was beyond anything his mind had ever conjured.
Usopp had spent years crafting stories to fill the loneliness of his youth, spinning tales so vivid they felt almost real.
But not even in his most exaggerated, most grandiose, most ridiculous lies—had he ever imagined something like this.
His breath hitched. His fingers twitched at his sides.
How was this even real?
It was too perfect. Too unreal. Too much like something pulled from a legend—no, not even legends dared to describe something like this.
It wasn’t just beauty.
It was something else.
Something bigger.
Something he didn’t have words for.
He clenched his fists. Kaya.
He had to tell Kaya about this. He had to describe it to her. She deserved to hear about it.
But how? How could he even begin to explain this?
No story, no painting, no book could ever capture what was before him.
But still—he had to try.
His eyes sharpened, desperately committing every detail to memory.
The way the moonlight clung to Buggy like an embrace.
The way the wind whispered against his hair, moving it as though it was alive.
The way the world itself seemed to bend, soften, and reverence in his presence.
He would remember.
Even if he never found the right words, even if no one would believe him—Kaya would.
And he would make sure, no matter what, that she knew.
Luffy didn’t understand a lot of things.
That included beauty.
While the others were caught in awe, speaking of how mesmerizing, how unreal, how breathtaking the image before them was—Luffy’s focus was elsewhere.
He wasn’t looking at the way the moonlight framed Buggy’s face.
He wasn’t looking at how the wind played with his hair.
He wasn’t even looking at how the world itself seemed to bend around him, like it was handling something precious, something irreplaceable.
No—Luffy’s eyes were fixed on Buggy’s expression.
The rare calm.
The way his face, usually twisted with laughter or rage, was now completely at peace.
The way his breath moved steadily, deep and undisturbed.
Luffy may not be smart, but he wasn’t blind.
He could see it.
Clear as day.
The universe itself was watching over Buggy.
It was in the way the wind didn’t just blow—it soothed.
In the way the moonlight didn’t just shine—it embraced.
In the way everything—everything—seemed to be handling him with the utmost care, like he was something that mattered.
Luffy didn’t understand human words too well, but this?
This wasn’t something you needed words for.
The universe was speaking.
And it was saying—Buggy is precious.
Luffy didn’t know why.
Didn’t know what it meant.
Didn’t really care to think about it either—Robin was better at that kind of stuff.
So instead, he just did what the universe did.
He watched.
And as he did, a warmth spread in his chest.
Soft. Familiar.
Like a sun rising deep inside him.
He didn’t notice it.
Didn’t think about it.
Didn’t question it.
He just let it be.
Nami loved gold.
The way it shined, the way it glittered—it was perfect.
Every tiny coin, every shimmering treasure—adorable, irresistible.
If there was gold in front of her, she wouldn’t hesitate.
She’d stare at it.
She’d take it.
She’d cherish it.
But not this time.
Because in the image before her, there was gold.
A massive, gleaming bell, a treasure beyond value.
And yet—her eyes didn’t go to it.
They were drawn instead to something else.
The light.
The golden reflection that bathed the boy sleeping beneath it.
The way it kissed his skin, wrapped around him—not just like an ordinary glow, but like it was meant for him.
Like the gold itself had found something more precious than itself.
That thought alone made her breath hitch.
Because she—Nami, lover of wealth, lover of gold—agreed.
She had never thought anything could outshine treasure.
And yet, here it was.
But gold wasn’t her only love.
She was a navigator.
A woman who could read the sky, feel the air, sense the wind.
And what she felt now?
It made no sense.
Because the wind was soft.
Not just a breeze.
Not just a current.
It was gentle. Careful.
Caressing.
It moved around him—not in chaotic bursts, not with indifference, but with purpose.
As if the wind itself had chosen to cradle him.
She swallowed.
Impossible.
She had studied winds. She had felt every kind of storm, from gentle to violent.
But this?
She had never heard of wind like this.
She had never heard of nature behaving this way.
She had never seen gold ignore its own beauty to enhance another’s.
Everything about the image was unnatural.
And yet…
She wasn’t scared.
She wasn’t unnerved.
She just… stared.
Stared, as if caught in the current of something beyond her understanding.
As if, just like the wind, just like the gold—
She, too, had no choice but to yield.
Garp wasn’t all that surprised.
At least, not by Buggy’s appearance.
He had known the kid. Had spent time with him when he was a teenager.
And believe him—he had seen it all.
He still remembers the time he had landed his love fist on the boy.
(Just once. The weakest punch of his entire life.)
(Not that he’d ever admit it.)
Buggy had already looked refined back then—his features sharp, his expressions loud, his presence bold.
So, of course, this—this soft, serene look didn’t make Garp go easy on him.
(Oh, it definitely did.)
But Buggy’s face wasn’t what had him staring.
It was everything else.
The things beside him. Around him. The things that shouldn’t have been.
The way the wind moved—not how winds should, not wild, not restless, but gentle—soothing his hair, as if cradling him.
The way the golden light fell—not just shining, but embracing, as if it had chosen him.
Garp had seen many things.
A lifetime at sea had exposed him to mysteries beyond count.
Strange sights, supernatural wonders—things most people would never believe.
But this?
Nothing compared to this.
The feeling this image gave him—it wasn’t normal.
And yet, he didn’t fight it.
Because watching this kid, this boy who had suffered, finally at peace—it made his chest feel lighter.
It made his heart settle.
It made him feel.
Not confusion. Not suspicion.
But awe.
He didn’t know what this image was trying to say.
Didn’t know what it meant.
But it didn’t matter.
Because Garp had always regarded this kid as his own.
And if the universe wanted to do the same—
Well, that was just fine by him.
Sengoku had numbed himself to appearances a long time ago.
In his line of work, a face meant nothing.
He had seen it all—innocent features hiding the cruelest intentions, soft smiles masking unfathomable horrors. A person's face was never the truth.
And yet—
This.
This image.
This boy.
His face was soft, his expression peaceful, his presence almost... untouched.
Sengoku had spent decades reading people, dissecting them down to their very core. He should have known better than to trust something so simple as an expression.
But looking at this kid, lying there as if the world itself was sheltering him—
He couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the most innocent person he had ever seen.
Sengoku inhaled deeply.
Ridiculous.
What the hell was wrong with him? Was age making him sentimental?
The former Fleet Admiral of the Marines—shaken by an image?
The thought made him scoff at himself.
He squared his shoulders, hardened his mind, and looked again—this time, as the strategist he was.
And he saw it.
Sengoku was not a fool. He had spent his entire life in politics, power, and war.
He understood patterns, control, the subtle shifts of influence.
And this image?
It was too perfect.
The way the universe seemed to bend, the way every element pointed to one single truth.
Something blatantly obvious, and yet no one had dared to say it.
How?
How could such a thing exist?
A part of him—the soldier, the leader, the man who had spent a lifetime fighting for order—should have feared what this meant.
Feared what kind of future could be born from something so singularly undeniable.
But he didn’t.
He felt no fear.
As if—whatever this was, whatever this truth was—
It was simply meant to be.
And that, whatever it became,
It would never lead to ruin.
Roger was chosen.
He had always known, somehow, even before he could put it into words.
It wasn’t a hunch, wasn’t some vague intuition—he could hear it.
The voice of all things.
The wind whispered secrets to him.
The ocean sang to him.
The world itself called to him, leading him forward, pulling him toward the truth.
Toward the One Piece.
As if that had always been his purpose. As if he had been born to find it.
But he had never rushed.
Because the voices never urged him to.
Until the day he felt it—his body beginning to fail him.
His time was running out.
For the first time, Roger felt the stirrings of urgency. Not for himself—but for the path he had yet to carve.
So he gathered his crew.
Sailed across the world.
Followed the voices to the end of the road—and there, he found it.
The truth.
That the treasure was not meant for him.
That someone else would come.
The true wielder.
And Roger?
His role had never been to take it.
His role was to pave the way.
He had no resentment, no bitterness—only joy.
That he had been the one to reach the end, to uncover the truth, to prepare the world for what was to come.
His only regret was that he would not be there to see it with his own eyes.
If there was anyone who understood fate—
It was him.
And yet—
This image.
For the first time in a very long time—Roger was surprised.
Not by the boy’s face.
He had held him before—when he was just a tiny thing, small enough to fit in his arms, delicate enough that Roger had never dared to hold him too tight.
He had seen those fine, refined features, the striking contrast of colors, the way his boy stood out even before he could stand.
It had never seemed strange.
It had never felt out of place.
It suited him. Perfectly.
No, what shook Roger wasn’t the boy himself.
It was everything around him.
The moonlight, not just casting a glow, but reaching.
The wind, not just passing through, but caressing.
The universe itself seemed to be watching.
Protecting.
As if it was saying something.
Something so simple.
Something so obvious.
Something Roger had never noticed before.
And that was the most shocking part.
He had always heard.
From the moment he could remember, the voices of the world had spoken to him.
They had guided him.
They had led him to the truth.
But they had never spoken of this.
Not once.
He curled his fingers into a fist, his chest aching with something warm and overwhelming.
Damn it.
His kid looked adorable.
A wide grin stretched across his face, even as his fingers twitched—itching to smooth back that messy hair, to pick him up, to hold him close, to—
Man.
He was so jealous of that damn Northeast bird.
A familiar feeling surged through him, deep and unshakable—love, adoration, pride.
He had always felt this when looking at his boy.
But now—
Now he knew he wasn’t the only one.
Benn just stared.
He couldn’t help but think—what a sign.
When he had first seen the bounty paper of Shanks' love (not that Shanks knew he had), he had been surprised.
Not because the clown was bad-looking.
But that painted face, that ridiculous nose—they were distractions. They pulled attention away from anything deeper. And Benn, like most, hadn’t thought to look past them.
Of course, he had questioned his captain’s taste.
Not that it mattered to him.
Shanks could fall in love with a dog, and Benn wouldn’t give a damn.
But twenty years?
A twenty-year-old crush?
No matter how much he watched, no matter how much he thought about it—he just didn't get it.
But now—looking at this image—
Looking at the way he himself couldn’t take his eyes off it.
Looking at it, even at his age, and still feeling shaken.
He understood.
If he had been younger—if he had been Shanks' age back then—
Maybe he, too, would have spent decades holding on.
Because everything about this image was mesmerizing.
It spoke.
Loudly.
And for once, Benn was listening.
Of course, the abnormalities were there.
And he had spent his life sailing the seas, witnessing all kinds of strange, unexplainable things.
Yet nothing he had ever seen compared to this.
He could tell—it meant something.
Something deep.
But rather than dwell on it—rather than think too hard—
He sighed, deep in his chest, shaking his head.
Feeling just a little sorry for his captain.
Shanks sure had it hard.
Not that Benn could blame him.
Not after seeing this.
Shanks had seen it before.
A long, long time ago.
Yet even now—seeing it again—it was as if time had rewound itself.
As if he were a boy again.
As if he were still standing there, breath caught in his throat, eyes wide with awe.
He had thought that, after so many years, he would have been prepared for it.
He wasn’t.
In his 20 years of life, he had dreamed of it before.
Maybe five times.
Maybe ten.
Maybe more.
Dreams—they came to him like whispers in the dark.
Soft, fleeting, blurred at the edges.
But this?
This was real.
And reality was sharper, heavier—undeniable.
Maybe it was because he had been young back then, too overwhelmed to truly grasp it.
Or maybe the years had dulled his memories, smoothing out the details until they were nothing but a vague impression.
Because what he remembered—what he had dreamed of—was nothing compared to this.
The real thing.
Just like before, his breath lodged in his chest, refusing to move.
A feeling curled in his gut, one he had never quite been able to name.
Awe?
Something deeper?
He had never told anyone about it.
Not even Rayleigh, when the old man had asked.
Even as a child, he had felt possessive over it.
Over this moment.
Over Buggy.
This was his secret.
His alone.
Yet—
Now, everyone had seen it.
The knowledge left an unfamiliar sting behind.
He was grateful that he got to witness it again.
But bitter that he wasn’t the only one anymore.
That something so rare—so precious—had been exposed to eyes that could never understand it the way he did.
And yet…
It couldn’t be helped.
At least he was still the only one who had seen it twice.
Franky stared, arms crossed, sunglasses reflecting the image in front of him.
Damn.
This wasn’t just a picture. It was something bigger, something deeper. Like looking at a masterpiece before knowing why it was one. A shipwright could stare at an incomplete blueprint and still recognize its brilliance—the potential woven into its very foundation. And this? This was just like that. Something carefully constructed, something grand.
He had seen all kinds of things in the world. Craftsmanship beyond belief, materials thought impossible to work with, history carved into the very grain of wood. Yet, nothing—nothing—had ever made him feel like this.
Buggy…
Did that guy even realize? Did he know what was in front of him? What had been captured here? Or was he as blind to it as the rest of them had been, never knowing what he truly carried?
No, no way. No one could just… walk around with this and not realize it.
And yet…
Franky sighed, shifting his stance. Maybe some things just couldn’t be explained.
Koala’s hands tightened into fists at her sides, though she wasn’t even sure why.
What… was this?
There was a weight to it, something that pressed down on her chest, something she couldn’t shake off. It wasn’t just a striking image—it was something else. Something deeper.
A moment frozen in time, but more than that, a truth laid bare.
She had spent years fighting for the truth, for history, for what had been buried. But this? This felt different. Like something ancient, something raw, something untouchable.
Something she wasn’t sure she even had the right to look at.
Her heart pounded, a strange sort of awe creeping up her spine.
Buggy… who are you?
Oho~!
Eyes wide, mouth curled into a knowing grin, Ivankov leaned in, studying every inch of the image like it held the secrets of the world.
And maybe it did.
Destiny worked in mysterious ways, but this? This wasn’t just a simple twist of fate. This was something big. Something monumental. Something that carried meaning far beyond what met the eye.
Buggy-chan… oh, you beautiful mystery.
Did he know? Had he ever realized?
Oh, how delicious! A secret even to its own keeper!
Ivankov chuckled, tilting their head. History had a way of revealing itself in the most unexpected places. And this… this was something that would not be forgotten.
Tch.
Arms crossed, a trail of smoke curling from his lips, Smoker glared at the image.
He didn’t like this.
Didn’t like when things didn’t make sense.
Didn’t like when something made him feel like it should make sense, but didn’t.
No matter how much he looked at it, no matter how much he analyzed every detail, there was something there. Something beyond logic, beyond reason.
And he hated that.
This wasn’t just a damn picture. It was something bigger. Something that made the air feel heavier.
And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why.
Hina felt unsettled.
Not in a bad way, but in a way that made her think.
The weight of this image… it wasn’t just about what was there. It was about why it was there. About what it meant.
Hina had spent years training her mind, sharpening her ability to analyze, to break things down and understand them. But this…
This was beyond her.
There was meaning here, meaning that couldn’t be quantified.
And that was why it unnerved her.
Because if something was beyond understanding, then that meant it was something greater than logic itself.
And that was dangerous.
Coby couldn’t tear his eyes away.
He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like he was standing in the middle of something legendary.
Like he was witnessing history, something far bigger than himself.
It wasn’t just about Buggy. No—this was more than just one person. This was something huge, something that carried weight beyond the moment itself.
He didn’t know what it meant.
Not yet.
But deep down, he had the feeling that one day—maybe years from now—he would look back on this moment and understand.
And that realization sent a shiver down his spine.
Okay.
Okay, what the hell?
Helmeppo blinked, rubbed his eyes, then blinked again.
Nope. Still there. Still looking exactly the same.
Was he losing his damn mind?
Why did it feel like he had just walked straight into the middle of something way, way bigger than him?
Like some kind of cosmic joke that everyone else was in on except him?
He glanced around, watching everyone’s expressions, feeling more and more like he’d accidentally stepped into a moment way above his pay grade.
Yup.
This was definitely above his pay grade.
Alvida smirked, running a finger along her lips as she took in the sight before her.
Well, well…
She had always known there was more to Buggy. Always.
But this?
This was a side of him she had never expected.
And yet, the longer she looked, the more she realized—maybe she should have.
Maybe this had always been there, just waiting for someone to notice.
And for the first time in a long time, she found herself wanting to know more.
Not about the clown.
But about the man.
Tch.
Galdino hated things that didn’t make sense.
And this? This was one of them.
But it wasn’t nonsense. No, that was the frustrating part. It was something deeper, something that carried meaning just beneath the surface.
Something that dared him to figure it out.
And he hated that he couldn’t.
Buggy…
Just what are you?
Cabaji’s grip tightened around his sword.
He had always believed in his captain.
But this?
This was something else.
Something beyond belief.
He had no words for it. Only the deep, overwhelming knowing that whatever he was seeing…
It was real.
And it was important.
Maybe more important than he could ever understand.
Mohji swallowed hard, his lion whimpering at his side.
He didn’t know why, but this image…
It felt like something he wasn’t meant to see.
Like something sacred.
Something huge.
And now that he had seen it, he knew—he knew—he would never be able to forget it.
Ever.