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Seventy-one steps, six flights of stairs, five floors, and not a single functioning elevator.
"Welcome back to the city," Ann thought, glaring with pure hatred at the path she had fortunately already left behind.
At least she was finally standing in front of the familiar door of apartment 3D2Y. She had even managed to haul her two suitcases and the duffel bag up in one go, sparing herself the burden of facing those stairs a second time.
She hesitated, her hand resting on the tarnished brass handle. From the other side of the wooden door, she heard a dull thud—the sound of a body hitting a wall—followed by a muffled shout and the unmistakable clatter of furniture collapsing. Ann closed her eyes for a moment, gathering the patience she knew she was going to need, and turned the key.
The entryway—if one could call it that—was a narrow hallway cluttered with sneakers of every brand and in every stage of decomposition. It smelled of stale pizza and cheap cologne. She kicked her two rolling suitcases inside and dropped the duffel bag with a sharp, weary thud.
"I’m back," she announced, her voice raspy and slightly dejected by the sight of a mess that promised only more chaos.
The living room was, predictably, a war zone. In the middle of the sagging sofa sat a blond young man wearing an impeccably ironed light blue shirt and a dark vest that looked entirely out of place in that setting. He was typing furiously on a laptop, headphones clamped over his ears. Next to his computer, a tower of empty pizza boxes loomed on the coffee table.
Sabo.
Feeling the draft from the door, Sabo looked up. He slipped off his headphones with an elegant motion and smiled at her—a tired but genuine smile that crinkled the faint scar near his left eye.
"Ann!" he exclaimed happily. "I thought you weren't supposed to be here until later!" He rose from his seat and pulled her into a warm embrace.
"I managed to catch a replacement train," she explained against his shoulder. "I see the decor hasn't changed much since last time," she commented, gesturing with her chin toward a pile of clothes draped over the armchair.
Sabo scratched the back of his neck, looking slightly sheepish. "I think it’s actually gotten worse, honestly. Right now, Luffy is trying to cook for the occasion, and Ace is physically trying to stop him and convince him to just order takeout. Hence the noise."
As if summoned, a boy emerged from the kitchen with messy dark hair, a red tank top stained with tomato sauce, and a smile that could have lit up the entire block.
"ANN!"
Luffy didn't just run toward her; he launched himself. Ann barely had time to plant her feet and brace her core before she was hit by the full force of her younger brother’s hug.
"I missed you! Did you bring food? Sabo says I shouldn't cook if you're around to do it, but I say we should try, everything is edible in the end anyway! Did you get stronger?" The words came out in a rapid-fire burst, devoid of any punctuation.
"Breath, Luffy. I need to breathe," Ann wheezed, patting him on the head to get him to let go. When he finally pulled back, she took him in. He seemed taller—though that was inevitable; it had been two years since she’d last been home for the winter holidays.
"Thirteen hours of flying, two trains... do you really think I could carry anything more than my clothes and books?"
"How boring," Luffy declared, instantly losing interest in the suitcases and turning his ravenous gaze back toward the kitchen.
“Welcome back, little sister.”
The voice came from the kitchen doorway. Ace stood there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, a towel draped around his neck, wearing sweatpants and a black tank top. Looking at him was like looking in a mirror, if the mirror had decided to add a few inches of height, remove the chest, and cut the hair a bit shorter. They shared the same spray of freckles across the bridge of the nose, the same rebellious black hair that defied any comb, the same deep, dark eyes, and even that same faintly mocking curve of the lips.
“Ace,” Ann greeted him, feeling that strange sense of calm she only experienced when the trio was complete. “Is every moment a good excuse to flex your gym progress?”
“It’s just hot in here— try stopping Luffy from breaking into the kitchen and wrecking everything,” he retorted, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward her. Unlike Luffy’s, his hug was brief and solid. “Besides, you look like you’re in good shape too. Did you keep training while you were busy studying those dead languages?”
“Better than you did, probably,” she teased, breaking the embrace and landing a light punch on his shoulder. It felt like solid rock.
“Impossible. You’re talking to an official personal trainer at Whitebeard’s now; Jinbe is working me to the bone to keep me in peak condition,” Ace smiled, full of pride. “By the way, are you coming tonight? I’m on shift, but we can get a session in beforehand. You need to blow off some steam from the trip.”
Ann looked at her suitcases, then her gaze drifted over the chaos of the apartment. If she stayed there, she’d spend the afternoon either cleaning or screaming at Luffy. The idea of hitting a punching bag sounded much more therapeutic.
“Not a bad idea, but I have to stop by the faculty first. I have a class with Professor Jaguar in a few hours since he moved his first lecture up to today, and I still need to pick up my new ID from the registrar.”
“Literature and Classical Studies…” Ace shook his head as if it were an alien concept. “I’ll never understand how you can sit still for hours reading old stuff.”
“That’s because you and Luffy have the attention span of a drunk hamster, Ace,” Sabo interjected from the sofa, never stopping his typing. “Anyway, watch your step, Ann. Last year they moved the Literature building near the Law department, and they’re supposed to start classes today too.”
“I’ll be careful. After all, it can’t be that different from the university I attended last year,” Ann assured them, grabbing her Classical Linguistics book and her laptop and stuffing them into a bag. “It should only take me a few hours, then I’ll be back to settle in. Maybe you guys could tidy up in the meantime. And Ace, get ready, because I’m going to kick your ass at the gym.”
She headed out before they could complain about her giving orders the second she walked through the door, closing it behind her and inhaling the stale air of the stairwell. She was back. Despite everything, that familiar chaos was reassuring, in a way.
As she hurried down all seventy-one steps of the building, somewhere on campus, the air smelled of anything but the stale pizza lingering in apartment 3D2Y.
Boa Hancock walked along the main boulevard connecting the Faculty of Law to the Central Library. Every step was measured and rhythmic, the stiletto heels of her designer shoes clicking against the white stone pavement. She wore a crimson tailored suit that clung perfectly to her curves, balancing academic professionalism with a sensuality so blatantly bold that it was almost intimidating. Her long black hair swayed behind her like a cloak.
First-year students hurriedly stepped aside, casting their eyes downward or staring open-mouthed, petrified by her beauty; however, it was common knowledge that behind that face hid one of the most ruthless teaching assistants in the entire department.
"...and so Professor Bartholomew asked me if I could take his place at the 'Legal Ethics and Religious Influence' seminar," she was saying, her voice melodic yet thick with irritation. "...and all because his daughter had a school play this morning! As if Canon Law were even my field, for that matter!"
Beside her was Viola. A fourth-year dance student from the Liberal Arts department and a long-time friend of Hancock’s, she tried to offer a justification. "The year has barely started and most of the assistants haven't even returned yet. Besides, Professor Bartholomew trusts you, you know that—he wouldn't have asked if he didn't. And he’s always so rigid."
The other woman huffed—a sound that would have been ungraceful on anyone else, but which she made elegant. "It’s frustrating regardless. There are seminars far more stimulating than one about religion and its repercussions on law."
"It’s the burden of being a TA," Viola teased gently. "You could have refused when they offered you the position, Han-chan."
Then she added, "By the way, do you know who was in the cafeteria this morning? That first-year student from Sports Science... the one with the funny hat."
Hancock stopped for a micro-second, her heart skipping a beat in an entirely irrational way. "I don’t care who frequents the cafeteria, Viola. You know I avoid places crowded with too many people."
"Sure, sure. Anyway, I heard him complaining about the fact that no meat was served for breakfast. What a strange guy. To think that even my niece Rebecca goes to the same high school he attended, and they still talk about how he would eat anything at any hour..." then a lopsided, insinuating smile formed on her face. "There’s no doubt that the easiest way to his heart is through his stomach."
Hancock blushed violently, averting her gaze toward the colonnade of the Literature Department. "I have no idea what you are trying to insinuate, Viola. I made a single compliment about that boy and now you continue to pester me about it." But her mind was already processing complex plans that put the newly received information to use.
"A compliment for someone is far more than what you grant 99.9% of the population on a good day, Han-chan. If your grandmother weren't friends with my father, I don't even know if we would have gotten along in another universe," the other girl justified.
They resumed walking. Hancock checked the watch on her wrist. She was almost on time for her study session in the library, but she first had to stop by the department office to drop off those cursed law codes and notes for the seminar she had been asked to attend. Her arms ached slightly from the weight of books, codes, and her tablet. Perhaps she could have asked a student to carry them; there were lines of students ready to volunteer, ranging from those who wanted to impress her because of her looks to those simply looking for a leg up on their exam grades.
She rounded the corner of the marble colonnade with confidence, her mind drifting between plans to win over a certain person's heart and legal clauses she needed to memorize for some of her courses. She was so distracted that she didn't see the dark shadow running in the opposite direction until it was too late.
The collision was inevitable.
Hancock felt the air knocked out of her lungs. The impact threw her backward, off-balance. Her stilettos, which until that morning had seemed perfect for commanding presence, were now nothing but a liability for her precarious equilibrium. She fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
The world seemed to stop. The sound of her precious books falling, splaying open messily and scattering handwritten pages everywhere, echoed through the air. Her tablet slid away, but at the very least, there was no sound of a crack to signal the glass shattering.
For a second, there was only silence. Hancock remained on the ground, her legs sprawled out awkwardly, her eyes wide with shock. Then, rage surged within her like a burning tide. Who was the imbecile who had decided to run through campus without looking where they were going? And who had decided, even more stupidly, to crash into her of all people?
She looked up, ready to strike the culprit down with a glare, expecting to see someone already on their knees, trembling, ready to soak the floor with tears of apology.
The person who had run into her had stumbled but hadn't fallen. She had planted her feet—heavy black boots, Hancock noted with disgust—and had absorbed the impact with an irritating stability. At least she hadn't landed on top of her.
It was a girl. She was wearing loose, slightly worn black jeans, a gray hoodie left unzipped over a tight black thermal shirt, and a bag that looked like it had seen better days. Her shoulder-length, wavy black hair framed a face with regular features, devoid of makeup, which held nothing exceptional except for a dusting of freckles and an expression of slight annoyance. Not panic. Annoyance.
Ann ran a hand through her hair, quickly checking the clock on her phone. Three minutes until Jaguar's lecture started. Damn it. She had spent too much time at the registrar's office; if only Kokoro hadn't started telling her all the ordeals of her granddaughter and her rabbit and had just handed over the ID immediately, she might already be in the classroom.
She looked down at the woman on the ground. She wondered briefly why anyone felt the need to dress so elegantly just to attend class. In the end, they are just lectures: you sit down, hope it ends soon, take notes, and leave.
"Sorry," Ann said. Her voice was flat, distracted, and lacked any of the sincerity that Hancock associated with an apology. "I didn't realize anyone was coming from the opposite direction."
Hancock opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Sorry? Just sorry? She expected far more than that. She expected terror.
Ann leaned down and, with swift, efficient movements, began gathering the books. She closed the volumes with care, straightened the stack of scattered pages, and retrieved the tablet, briefly checking the screen. "It doesn't look broken," she murmured, placing the pile next to Hancock's hand, which was still braced against the ground for support.
Their eyes met for the first time. Hancock’s were deep blue, stormy, and incredulous. Ann’s were black, calm, and unreadable.
The younger woman looked at her for a second too long, as if she were analyzing her, then gave a brief nod. "Can you get up?" she asked, offering her hand with a practical gesture.
Hancock brushed the hand away as if she had been burned. Indignancy finally restored her voice. "You... do you have any idea what you’ve just done?!" she hissed, her voice trembling with cold fury. "You nearly killed me! Look at my notes! They're ruined!"
Ann looked at the notes. They were a bit messy, but legible. "They're just papers; they don't get ruined when they hit the ground. And you seem plenty alive to me," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. She straightened up, adjusting her bag. "I have to go. I have a class. You should watch where you're going too, next time."
And with that, the young woman turned and resumed running, rounding the corner and disappearing from sight as quickly as she had appeared.
Hancock remained there, sitting on the ground, her mouth slightly agape. Fortunately, there was no one else around except for Viola, who had stayed a short distance away observing the scene with an expression hovering between shock and pure amusement.
"And just like that, she’s gone..." Viola murmured, helping her friend up.
Hancock snapped to her feet, dusting off her suit with irritated gestures. Her heart was racing with rage. "That... that rude girl..." Hancock stammered, her cheeks burning. "She barely even looked at me! She treated me like... like an obstacle!"
"Well, technically, you were," Viola dared to say, picking up the last book remaining on the ground. "And she seemed to be in a hurry, Han-chan."
Hancock clenched her fists at her sides. The feeling was new, unpleasant, and... electrifying. This stranger’s indifference burned more than any insult. "She dared to tell me to watch where I'm going. The nerve!"
Hancock resumed walking, grumbling, with a resigned Viola in tow. It would have been better if that stranger didn't show her face around here anytime soon.
🕱🕱🕱
If the university campus was the place where minds were forged through diverse paths of study, the Whitebeard Gym had also long since become an institution for those wishing to temper themselves through physical training. Located in a converted old industrial warehouse just a ten-minute walk from the student housing, the gym had been founded by Edward Newgate, a legendary local boxing figure now retired, who had entrusted the daily management to his many "godsons."
Ann pushed open the heavy glass door, immediately hit by the familiar scent of rubber, cold iron, and deodorant. It had been over two years since she had set foot there, and she could already feel her skin vibrating with the urge to test herself against a punching bag, or perhaps a real opponent.
“Look who’s back to pay us a visit,” a drawling, amused voice greeted her from the reception desk.
Behind the counter, sipping an pineapple-colored isotonic drink, was Marco. Blond, with the look of someone who hasn’t slept in three days but is still sharper than anyone else around, Marco was a sports medicine graduate who managed the gym along with the owner's other godsons.
“Hey, Marco,” Ann said, dropping her duffel bag on the floor. “It’s good to see you haven't lost the dark circles you had when you were studying for your thesis.”
“They're a trademark by now,” Marco chuckled. “Your brother is already in the free weights area with Jozu. He’s trying to beat his deadlift personal best. Again. Go stop him before he snaps his back and I have to act as his free physical therapist.”
Ann nodded and headed toward the locker room. The atmosphere at Whitebeard’s was fairly calm for the time of day, with only a few people working out hard.
She found Ace exactly where Marco had said. The barbell was loaded with a quantity of plates that defied physics. Ace, sweating with the veins in his neck bulging, grunted as he completed the final rep, then let the weight drop with a roar that made the floor tremble.
“Horrible technique,” Ann commented, crossing her arms. “You’re pulling entirely with your back.”
Ace turned around, a wide smile lighting up his flushed face. “Look who’s talking! Does Miss 'I study dead languages' still remember how to lift a weight?”
His twin sister ignored him, immediately starting her bodyweight warm-up routine. Between one exercise and the next, she noticed a strange movement in a bare, empty corner of the gym. There was a guy with very short green hair—a decidedly unnatural color—wielding a bamboo kendo sword.
“Ace... isn't that Zoro?” Ann asked, lowering her voice. “Luffy’s friend from high school? The one who wants to win the Kendo world championships?”
“Yeah,” Ace replied, wiping sweat away with a towel. “He got lost at the university this morning and missed his training at the university Dojo. So he came here and asked if he could make it up. He’s been shadowboxing with that shinai for half an hour now.”
Ann shook her head, incredulous. "How does he even survive?"
"A mystery. But he's a beast. I saw him doing squats with Jinbe on his shoulders for a bet."
His twin laughed, finally feeling the day's tension melt away. It was good to be back. There, amidst the clanking of metal, the grunts of exertion, and the absurdity of her brothers and their friends, the world seemed to regain its logic.
"So," Ace said, turning serious. "Are you ready? Jinbe arrives in ten minutes. He said he wants to see if your trip has made you rusty."
Ann tightened the wraps around her hands, her black gaze sharpening. "I was born ready. And Ace? Try to keep up."
🕱🕱🕱
The following day, lunchtime at NWU confirmed to Ann that some things never changed, even from one university to another. Every cafeteria, even in different states, was the same: a jungle of plastic trays, crowded tables, and boisterous chatter.
With her tray containing a simple meal (rice, chicken, vegetables), she easily spotted her younger brother. It wasn't hard—you just had to look for the spot where the decibel level was dangerously high and where food seemed to vanish into a black hole.
"Ann! Over here! Over here!" Luffy waved a fork with a piece of meat skewered on it, risking blinding the student sitting next to him.
That table, too, was unsurprisingly overcrowded. Ann approached, a tired but amused smile on her lips. She had already met many of them during the holidays when she had returned home; others were new faces or vaguely familiar ones seen in photos Luffy had sent her or glimpsed during their video calls.
"Make way for the big sis!" exclaimed Franky, a third-year Mechanical Engineering student. He wore an open Hawaiian shirt and a pair of dark sunglasses, even though they were indoors. "It’s a SUPER family reunion!"
"Hi, Franky," Ann greeted, sitting in the first available spot she found.
Sanji, a blond guy with a fringe covering one eye and dressed to the nines, offered her a bowl of fresh fruit with a theatrical bow. He studied Gastronomic Sciences and worked part-time at his maternal uncle's restaurant, so he often brought everyone better meals than those served in the cafeteria.
"Mademoiselle Ann," Sanji said in a velvety voice, "it is an honor to have you back among us. I prepared this fruit specifically for the ladies at the table. Luffy, paws off or I’ll break your fingers!"
Luffy pulled his hand back, complaining, "That's not fair, though!"
"Welcome back," greeted an orange-haired girl sitting across from her. "I hope you enjoyed your homecoming."
"I tried, Nami," Ann admitted, stealing a piece of bread from the tray of Ace, who had joined them after his class. "But I spent half the night cleaning up the mess in the house with these two. Everything they didn't spend on rent went into home deliveries; I’ve lost count of the trash bags we threw out."
Nami, a first-year Economics student particularly sensitive to wasting money, huffed and shot a chilly glare at Luffy. Beside her, a guy with a long nose and a pair of goggles on his head was animatedly telling a story to a small student who looked more like a high schooler than a college student.
"...and I’m telling you, Chopper, the smoke machine in the drama class was practically exploding. Who knows what those poor souls would have done if the great Usopp hadn't arrived to save them! Surely someone would have lost their fingers."
Chopper, a first-year medical student prodigy—who, despite his young age, had managed to enter university a year early— of Medicine, had eyes that shimmered with pure admiration. "Really, Usopp? You’re incredible!"
"Yohohoho!" Brook, a long-term student, joined in to listen to Usopp's feats. Tall, incredibly thin, and sporting a large afro, he had been studying at the Conservatory for who knows how many years. Luffy had met him just a few months before starting university and had immediately shared his new friendship with his sister, sending her countless videos of the violinist. He was truly remarkable.
Ann shook her head while eating her rice. It was a madhouse—loud, disorganized, and with a high risk of someone ending up dead.
"By the way," Nami said, "Robin told me that your classes are close to each other this year, Ann."
Nico Robin, sitting at the end of the table, looked up from her book. In Ann's opinion, she was the only person in the world who could keep reading a book in the middle of a hurricane.
"Yes," Robin confirmed with her usual calm smile. "The History Department and the Department of Literature and Classical Studies share the West Wing. I was thinking of heading to the central library after lunch to consult some texts and get a head start on my thesis preparation. Would you like to join me, Ann? I believe Professor Jaguar has already assigned you some work, hasn't he?"
Ann’s face lit up; the central library was a beautiful place, both for its stillness and for the environment itself. "I’d love to. I really need to track down some bibliography for my linguistics course."
🕱🕱🕱
The Central Library of New World University was a masterpiece of Gothic architecture, a labyrinth of dark wood shelves that smelled of wax, dust, and paper. It had been built in a circular shape, with a giant, centuries-old oak tree at its center, whose branches stretched through the roof; students had dubbed it "The Tree of Knowledge." The librarian, Dr. Clover, personally tended to its health every day.
Ann and Robin found a vacant table in the Ancient History section, a secluded corner lit by large pointed-arch windows that filtered the afternoon light.
"It’s so calm in here," the literature student whispered. "It’s like I can finally think again."
Robin nodded, elegantly arranging her notes. "Luffy and the others are... intense. Sometimes you need a sanctuary with a little peace."
They remained in silence for a while, working. Ann appreciated Robin's company. With someone like her, there was no need to fill the gaps with pointless chatter. They set to work immediately, surrounded by dusty volumes and online research.
Suddenly, however, the silence was broken by the rustle of light footsteps. "Robin! There you are."
Ann looked up. A tall, almost statuesque girl with long green hair that matched her eyes—with exotic and sharp features—was approaching their table.
“Sandersonia,” Robin smiled, a gesture of genuine friendship. “Hey. Let me introduce you to Ann; she’s a third-year student in Literature and Classical Studies. Ann, this is Boa Sandersonia. We’re in the History and Archaeology program together.”
Ann stood up slightly to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Sandersonia looked at her with curiosity, her narrow eyes sizing her up. “Ah, Robin has mentioned you every now and then. You were in Italy for a long time, right? It must have been beautiful, though I don’t know if I could bear being away from my sisters for so long. The pleasure is mine.” She shook Ann's hand, then added playfully, “Robin told me you’re one of the few sensible people who hang around Luffy’s group.”
“That’s a rather low bar to clear,” Ann admitted with a half-smile.
“My sister Marigold is in class, but I had a free hour,” Sandersonia continued, leaning against the table. “I thought I’d come here to study, and then Han... ah, there she is.”
Sandersonia’s expression shifted slightly in recognition. Ann followed her gaze and raised an eyebrow.
From the entrance of the section, walking as if the hallway were her personal runway, the elegantly dressed woman Ann had collided with just the day before appeared once again. Today, she wore a deep purple suit, less formal than the previous day but equally expensive. She wasn't carrying stacks of books this time; she had only a small designer bag and a decidedly bored expression.
When she saw Sandersonia, her face softened imperceptibly. But then she noticed who her sister was talking to.
Hancock froze. Her dark blue eyes landed on Ann, recognizing her instantly: the rude girl who had dared to knock her to the ground. There she was, sitting with Robin—whom Hancock respected for her intelligence (and for being friends with a certain Sports Science student)—and talking to her sister Sandersonia as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
The green-haired woman, unaware of the tension building up, waved her over. “Big sister! There you are. This is Ann, a friend of Robin’s.”
Hancock stepped forward slowly. They were in a library, and she was a woman of class, after all. But the air around the table suddenly turned icy.
“I already had the pleasure of meeting her yesterday, sister.” Her voice was low and controlled; she didn't deign to give Ann even a glance.
Ann remained seated, unfazed, though slightly confused by the blatant contempt directed at her. “Hi,” she said—simple, direct, and far too casual.
Hancock’s left eye twitched ever so slightly. That tone. That lack of etiquette. “Sister,” she said to Sandersonia, totally ignoring the greeting, “I need the apartment keys. Marigold must have taken mine by mistake this morning, and I have no intention of waiting for her class to end.”
“Oh, sure,” Sandersonia said, rummaging through her bag as she began to sense that something was wrong. Even with her usual haughty demeanor, her older sister didn't typically snub someone’s greeting so overtly.
Hancock took the keys with a sharp motion. Then, for the first time, she looked directly down at Ann. “I hope you haven’t fallen onto anyone else today,” she said coldly. “Otherwise, it might be wise to put a bell around your neck to signal your presence and prevent others from having to collide with your... clumsiness.”
Robin observed the scene, sipping tea from her thermos, almost as if the spectacle were simple entertainment.
Ann didn't flinch. She closed her book gently. "Don't worry," she replied, holding the other woman's gaze without blinking. "I have excellent balance, and I don't often run into people while walking. It only happens when that someone is too busy to pay attention to where they're going."
The ensuing silence was deafening. Sandersonia caught her breath. Robin hid a smile behind her hand.
Hancock turned red with rage, or perhaps embarrassment, her cheeks flushing violently against her pale skin. She opened her mouth to retort, to crush her with a biting remark, but she realized that anything she said would only confirm that someone so insignificant could actually affect her with words.
With a contemptuous, almost childish huff, Boa Hancock spun on her heels and marched away, her hair whipping the air behind her, leaving a trail of expensive perfume in her wake.
"Wow," Sandersonia murmured, watching her sister retreat. "I've never seen her so... rattled. What did you do to her, Ann?"
The other woman reopened her book, returning to her reading as if nothing had happened. "Absolutely nothing," she said.
🕱🕱🕱
The weeks following the library incident passed in the chaotic turmoil that marks the start of classes for all departments. Boulevards were filled with students, professors introduced their syllabi, and the first complaints began to surface for various reasons: the cafeteria food, the class schedules, the boring professors.
Meanwhile, Boa Hancock— a PhD student in constitutional law and teaching assistant—had come to terms with herself and decided to commit to her goal.
Monkey D. Luffy.
She might as well try; at this point, anything was better than enduring Viola's teasing. Even her sisters had begun throwing her ambiguous looks whenever the boy was around or his name was mentioned. That was decidedly too much; she had to regain control over the narrative.
Several times during those days, she had even scolded herself for finding that loud, chaotic freshman so interesting. The first time she had seen him was the previous year, when he had visited with other high school seniors. He had made a name for himself by stopping a student from the nearby private school—the prestigious Mary Geoise Academy—who was harassing a girl his age.
Fortunately, the young girl, Camie, had been rescued immediately. Unfortunately, the students who had witnessed the harassment seemed to harbor a great fear of Charlos—or rather, his family, the Roswards—to the point of refusing to testify against him. Luffy, however, hadn't backed down. Not only did he act instinctively the moment he realized what was happening to help the girl, but he also put himself on the front lines when it came to reporting the incident. Hancock had been deeply struck by this; she knew all too well from her own experience how often the golden boys of MG Academy got away with everything.
When Viola later started prodding her about her sudden interest in someone, she had dismissed it as mere astonishment over the fact that she "had lost faith in the human race." And then there he was again, wandering the campus with a crowd of friends, spreading chaos, laughter, and joyful spontaneity.
The situation was dragging on with nothing to show for it, becoming borderline ridiculous. Hancock knew she was attractive, and the time had come to leverage her qualities and finally win over the boy who interested her so much.
However, a new problem had surfaced, necessitating a further acceleration of her timeline.
In the weeks leading up to the start of classes, as the university grounds began to swarm with students and every table in the cafeteria was subtly claimed—more or less officially—by a specific group of people, a certain table had always consisted of a set number of members.
Ten, to be exact.
Sometimes the group fluctuated toward thirteen depending on who stepped forward: a girl with blue hair, a blond guy often accompanied by a girl with an orange bob, and a black-haired boy whose face she could never quite make out.
But by default, there were usually ten permanent members: the sleepy-eyed one with green hair, the orange-haired girl, the long-nosed one with goggles, the blond who was always out smoking, the little boy with big eyes, Robin, the strange one with the hideous shirts, the one with the afro who carried a violin, and a burly-looking oceanography doctoral student. And Luffy, obviously.
They were messy and clearly antithesis to one another, but they were always there, always together, making noise as if no one else in the room existed.
For two weeks now, however, a new chair had been added—one that, to Hancock’s horror, seemed permanent.
A spot for that rude woman who had run into her and barely apologized. For that same girl who had dared to talk back in the library. For Ann.
And while Luffy always seemed to act affectionately toward his friends, even the girls (though Hancock, after careful evaluation, concluded that neither Robin nor the redhead seemed particularly interested in him), he reserved specific, special attention for Ann.
He often looked at her as if waiting for her word or reaction, with expectation, and frequently draped an arm around her neck. Too frequently.
It was clear that Ann was someone important to Luffy. And for someone as strategically minded as Hancock, this acted as an alarm bell. She decided to follow the path suggested by Viola: the only way to break through to someone like Luffy was through his stomach.
The following day, Hancock made her entrance into the cafeteria, accompanied by Viola and Sandersonia. It had been a while since she had set foot there for more than a quick coffee and a glance at the table that was now her objective.
She wore an impeccably tailored cream-colored suit and held a thermal container in her hands with great delicacy. No plastic trays, no mile-long lines, nothing that could distract her from her plan.
Most of the usual group was already there, seated in their typical organized chaos. The long-nosed guy was mimicking a slingshot with a fork, making the youngest boy in the bunch laugh; the green-haired guy was sleeping with his face dangerously close to his mashed potatoes; and Luffy... Luffy was trying to scavenge more food from Ann’s plate.
The trio approached the table. Sandersonia, being Robin's friend, served as an excellent pass to approach the group.
“Robin,” the middle sister greeted with a nod.
The raven-haired woman looked up from her book, smiling with her signature enigmatic sweetness. “Sandersonia. And I see you’ve brought company. Would you care to join us?”
Viola smiled genially. “That would be very kind of you. We don’t usually come to the cafeteria, and we simply can’t find an empty table,” she explained.
One of the other diners—a blond man in a suit and tie who had remained shell-shocked since the three women approached—immediately stood up. With a gallant gesture, he vacated the chair directly across from Luffy. “Of course, for three beautiful ladies like yourselves, there is always a place at our table. Allow me to introduce myself; I am Sanji.”
Hancock simply gave him a nod in response, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless—especially considering who would be sitting right in front of her. At the very least, it was proof that someone at this table still had manners. She ignored Robin's searching gaze and sat down.
“I’mm Monwey D. Lwufy! Nwice to mweet ya!” the boy in front of her introduced himself between mouthfuls of food.
A shiver of satisfaction ran down the woman’s spine. Hancock smiled—the charming, practiced smile she used to bewitch anyone she spoke to. “Boa Hancock,” she introduced herself.
“Hammock?” he replied, finally swallowing the bite in his mouth. “You’re the one who was talking about all those boring things during the university tour last year.”
Ouch.
Hancock’s smile faltered; she could already feel embarrassment creeping into the air. This was not how she had imagined the first conversation with her crush.
Beside Luffy, a laugh erupted, poorly disguised as a cough. Great—all she needed now was for someone to twist the knife. She glared at the woman guilty of the mockery. Ann, obviously.
She took a breath to calm herself; all was not lost yet. The atmosphere wasn't tense, and everyone seemed occupied with light conversation, paying little mind to the others. Sandersonia was chatting about a lecture with Robin, Sanji was bickering with the green-haired guy, Long-nose was busy with the little boy, and Viola was talking to the red-haired girl.
With a calculated move, she proceeded with her plan and opened the container holding her lunch. The aroma of honey-glazed pork ribs and spices wafted through the air.
Luffy’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating. “Meat... the good kind!” he shouted. Ann huffed slightly, watching how the boy's eyes sparkled at the sight of the delicacies.
“You can have some. I’m not very hungry,” Hancock specified.
“Thanks, Hammock!” Luffy grabbed a rib and devoured it in a single bite, then turned toward the person sitting next to him. “You absolutely have to taste these, they’re delicious, Ann!” he exclaimed, practically shoving the rib under her nose and getting a bit of barbecue sauce on her cheek.
Ann pulled back slightly, wiping her cheek with her thumb in an automatic, almost resigned gesture. “I’m fine, Luffy.”
“Come on! Just one piece, I’m sure you’ll like it!” he insisted with a wide, toothy grin that brooked no refusal.
Ann sighed but took the rib. “All right. Thanks.” She looked up and, for an instant, locked eyes with Hancock. The other woman did not look pleased that the lunch she had carefully prepared was being happily shared between her crush and the woman who had just mocked her.
“Thank you, Hancock,” Ann said, raising the piece of meat slightly as if in an informal toast before taking a bite. “It’s very good.”
“You’re welcome,” Hancock hissed, with a smile that was more of a grimace. “I am glad it is… to your liking.”
Hancock spent the rest of the lunch in silence, occasionally muttering a response whenever Viola or Sandersonia addressed her. When she finished her meal, she stood up simply, said a polite goodbye to everyone, and walked away.
What a failure.
🕱🕱🕱
“It was terrible,” Hancock declared two hours later, pacing nervously back and forth in the living room of the downtown apartment she shared with her sisters.
“Why does she have such influence over him? He accepted the food, only to give it to her! You said Luffy eats practically anything put in front of him—why did he have to share it?!”
Viola, sitting on the sofa with her legs crossed and a tablet in her hand, chuckled. “He’s a generous person, after all. I remind you that he helps practically everyone he comes across.”
“It’s not generosity—did you see how he looks at her?!” Hancock retorted. “Viola, tell me you found something about her online. Anything.”
“Oh! Here she is,” Viola said, scrolling through the screen with a finger. She let out a little laugh. “Portgas D. Ann. Here’s her Instagram profile. Does that name ring a bell?”
“Should it?” Hancock asked, crossing her arms and dropping into the armchair across from her friend.
“She’s the twin sister of Portgas D. Ace—the one who made headlines last year for almost accidentally setting fire to the biology lab.”
“And?” the woman asked, not seeing the point of the conversation. Why should any of this interest her?
Viola huffed, annoyed by her friend's usual lack of knowledge regarding anything that wasn't of direct interest to her. “Look here,” she said, showing her a post on the tablet.
There was a middle-aged man, gruff-looking but smiling; one hand was resting on the head of a sulky boy around ten years old who was looking away from the camera. Next to him was another boy, blond and smiling, with the man’s hand on his shoulder. In the center was a child smaller than the others with his hands raised in a victory sign, and above him, her head towering over all the boys present, was a young girl—identical to the first boy but with longer hair.
“The blond boy is on the editorial staff of the university magazine. You should know him; he studies Political Science, so maybe you’ve run into him a few times. His name is Sabo,” she said, pointing him out.
“The other two are obviously Ann and Ace—they’re practically two peas in a pod,” Viola continued her explanation. “And the one in the middle is—”
“Luffy,” Hancock concluded.
“Exactly,” Viola commented. “They grew up together, apparently. In the caption, Luffy even wrote: ‘Just a second before gramps sent us out to gather firewood. Luckily, my big sister kept me from falling into the ravine.’ I think you’ve made quite the mistake, Han-chan. Ann is his sister, not his girlfriend.”
Silence fell over the room, broken only by the ticking of a pendulum clock. Hancock sank even deeper into the armchair, shock written across her pale face. “His sister…” she murmured.
Then, just to twist the knife further, Viola burst into another fit of laughter as she thoroughly studied the profiles of the four siblings. “And from the stories, it looks like they live together, too! Look at them—here they are cooking together!”
Hancock groaned even louder. Ann was Luffy’s sister, someone he seemed deeply attached to, and yet she had openly despised her—a feeling Ann seemed to return in kind.
Fantastic.
🕱🕱🕱
Fate always has a pleasantly karmic way of making things worse when they are already going poorly enough. And Hancock was about to witness this with her own eyes. October had brought with it torrential and sudden rains that transformed the city into a small, grey, and cold version of Venice.
That evening, Hancock had stayed late at Kuja’s Paradise, the gym owned by her aunt Shakky—an exclusively female environment where she often went to train in peace. Usually, she preferred cardio and Pilates, but that day she had also spent some time in front of the heavy bag to vent some stress and frustration.
When she stepped out, it was past ten-thirty. The sky was black as ink, and the rain was coming down in buckets, with gusts of wind whipping through the air. Hancock huddled into her trench coat, checking her phone with fingers that were beginning to go numb.
“Sorry, Sister! The car won't start; I think it’s the battery. Sonia is out of town. Can you take a taxi? So sorry!”
Marigold’s message glowed on the screen like a death sentence. “A taxi… in this weather?” Hancock murmured, looking at the deserted street. The ride-sharing apps showed wait times of over forty minutes and exorbitant prices due to the bad weather.
She resigned herself to waiting for the rain to let up slightly under the entrance awning, shivering. Water was beginning to soak her shoes, and she started thinking that perhaps it would be better to call Viola and head back inside the gym in the meantime.
The low rumble of an engine broke the monotonous downpour. A single headlight pierced the darkness, approaching rapidly. A massive black motorcycle slowed down until it stopped right in front of her. The rider wore a glossy black rain jacket and a dark full-face helmet. Hancock took a step back, wary.
The rider flipped up the visor. Two calm, familiar black eyes stared at her. “Hancock?” Ann’s familiar voice was muffled by the helmet, but unmistakable. “What are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”
Hancock straightened her back, trying to regain some composure. “My sister… had a setback. I’m considering an alternative; I’ll probably wait for the rain to stop and then walk.”
Ann looked at the deserted street, then at the sky which promised only more rain, and finally at the woman trembling under the awning. “No one’s going to pass by for a while. The ring road is flooded, and traffic toward the city center is at a standstill,” she said in a practical tone. “Where do you need to go?”
“The Amazon Lily Residential area,” Hancock replied, naming the neighborhood where she lived with her sisters—one of the most exclusive in the city, on the opposite side from the gym.
Ann made a grimace. “That’s on the other side of town. On a bike in this weather, it would take half an hour,” she commented.
There was a moment of silence. Hancock expected the girl to ride away, leaving her there with a "good luck." After all, they had exchanged nothing but barbs and hostile glares up to that point.
Instead, Ann sighed. She killed the engine and pulled a second helmet from the top box. “Look, I can’t take you all the way to your place right now; we’d risk getting stuck in traffic in the pouring rain. But my apartment is five minutes from here. You can wait for the rain to stop there, and then I can drive you home.” She held out the helmet. “It’s Ace’s helmet,” she added. “I promise I’m a careful driver.”
As if that detail could reassure her.
Hancock stared at the helmet. Accept help from her? From that rude girl? It was a total defeat. But a gust of freezing wind lashed her bare legs, making her teeth chatter. Pride doesn't keep you warm. “It’s... it’s not necessary for you to go to any trouble,” she attempted feebly.
“Just get on, Hancock. Or you’ll get sick,” Ann cut her short.
Hancock grabbed the helmet. It was slightly too big. She pulled it on, catching the scent of leather and, vaguely, a man’s aftershave (presumably Ace’s). She approached the bike and, with a somewhat awkward movement, climbed onto the back seat. “Hold on tight,” Ann said, flipping her visor back down.
The woman hesitated, then wrapped her arms around Ann’s waist. Beneath the wet jacket, she felt the other girl’s body against hers: solid and unexpectedly reassuring. The motorcycle took off with a jolt that took her breath away, heading into the rain-swept streets.
🕱🕱🕱
Apartment 3D2Y was not a palace. It was on the top floor of an old but fairly decent building, though it was located far from the city’s most luxurious neighborhoods. When they entered, soaked despite the short ride, they left small puddles of water in the hallway.
Hancock looked around with thinly veiled curiosity. The entryway was cluttered with sneakers of various sizes. It smelled like home: lemon detergent, old books, and something that resembled reheated pizza.
“Sorry about the mess,” Ann said, taking off her jacket and shaking her short hair like a wet dog. “Sabo is at the editorial office finishing the college paper's latest issue, and Luffy is sleeping over at Usopp’s tonight. Ace is at dinner with some colleagues.”
They were alone. Hancock removed her drenched trench coat, revealing the clothes she usually wore to the gym: leggings, a hoodie, and sneakers. The sensation of the fabric clinging to her skin was quite unpleasant. She was still visibly shivering, to the point where even Ann could see it with the naked eye.
“The first room on the right has a private bathroom, if you want to dry off,” Ann said as she kicked off her shoes and made her way into the living room. “I’ll get you some dry clothes to change into.”
“Thank you,” Hancock murmured, making her way first down the hall and then into the indicated room.
It was a clean space, the walls covered in rock band posters and photos, with a double bed in the center and a dark wood wardrobe to the side. Ann had followed her in and headed straight for the wardrobe. She rummaged through it for a few seconds, finally pulling out a baggy black hoodie with “Whitebeard Crew” printed on it along with the logo of a well-known nearby gym, as well as a pair of grey sweatpants.
“Here, these should fit you, even if you’re a bit taller than me,” she commented, handing them over, then added, “I’ll be in the other bathroom taking a quick shower.”
Once in the bathroom, with the dry clothes in her hands, Hancock took a short, hot shower after tying her hair back with a clip she found. She then dried herself off quickly, grateful for the warmth of the water melting the tension in her muscles and the cold that had seeped into her bones.
She put on the clothes she had been given. The hoodie was excessively large—the sleeves covered half of her hands—and the sweatpants, though comfortable, were a bit short on her. Still, they smelled clean, of cheap fabric softener and a certain woody scent.
She took one last look in the mirror, adjusting her black hair, which was still damp despite her towel-drying it, and sighed. They weren't her usual clothes, but they would do; she straightened her back before opening the door.
The hallway was in semi-darkness, lit only by the light coming from the living room at the end. As she walked, she noticed that the door to the bathroom opposite—where Ann must have gone—was ajar. A fleeting movement caught her eye. It wasn't her intention to spy; Hancock would never stoop so low. But that movement drew her gaze for a fraction of a second, just long enough to sear an image into her mind.
Ann was facing away, wearing a pair of sweat shorts, and was just about to pull on a black tank top. The girl’s back was a map of defined muscles—a clear result of hours in the gym and fighting—her pale skin contrasting with the dimness of the room.
But what stole Hancock’s breath was something else. Starting from below the left shoulder blade and extending toward the center of the back, there was a scar. It wasn't a small mark, but an irregular, jagged line—the kind of mark left by an old, deep wound.
Before she could look away, Ann pulled down the tank top in one fluid motion, covering the injured skin. She ran a hand through her wet hair, unaware that she had been observed.
Hancock stepped back silently, her heart beating to a different rhythm, unwilling to further invade the privacy of someone who was essentially a stranger to her.
She headed toward the apartment’s kitchen, sat on one of the chairs neatly arranged in front of the room’s breakfast bar, and waited patiently for her host to return.
Shortly after, Ann made her entrance. She took two mugs from a cupboard and poured in water she had left to heat on the stove. “Looks like the hoodie fits you,” she commented, then laid out a selection of various tea bags on the counter so Hancock could choose what to drink.
“It’s… spacious,” the woman admitted, picking out a papaya and vanilla tea bag. “Let’s just say it’s not what I would normally wear, but it’s certainly warmer than my wet clothes.”
A lopsided smile curved Ann’s lips as she took a tea bag for herself, leaning against the other side of the table. “I don't know. It gives you a less… untouchable look. Almost human.”
"I am always human," Hancock countered, taking the mug and savoring the aroma. "I simply believe I have better taste than most people."
A short, raspy laugh escaped Ann's lips as she sat down across from her. "Of course, Your Majesty. Next time you come here, I'll bring out the silverware."
"I forgive you, for this once. At least the tea is acceptable." Hancock blew on the hot liquid, then raised her eyes to Ann. The image of the scar was still vivid in her mind, but she forced herself to keep her tone light. "So… do you live here with your brothers?"
"Live?" Ann shook her head, amused. "I’d say it's more like surviving. We had to place an absolute ban on Luffy entering the kitchen after he burnt everything he was asked to watch over. Ace, on the other hand, leaves so many clothes around that it’s almost impossible to figure out how he still has any left in the wardrobe. Luckily, Sabo is here to give me a hand with those two."
Hancock let out a light chuckle. "That was to be expected. I live with my sisters, and even if they can be messy, I doubt it compares to living with three men."
"Especially when one of them is convinced that food has no owners, only a destination. His stomach," Ann commented, resting her chin on her hand. The clear reference to a certain someone made Hancock laugh again.
"Robin told me you're a teaching assistant. It must be demanding," the younger girl observed while sipping her tea.
"It is demanding, yes," Hancock replied, lowering her head slightly to warm her face in the steam from the tea. The warm mug in her hands was an unexpected comfort against the cold she still felt in her bones. "Professor Kuma is… exacting. But it’s the price to pay to prove one's worth. And you? Ancient Literature isn't exactly a walk in the park, I imagine. I almost didn't believe it when Sandersonia told me that was your major."
It was a statement that, if made at another time, would have sounded like a poisonous insult. Here, in the quiet kitchen lit by a warm glow, Hancock’s voice sounded more like genuine curiosity.
Ann smiled, a small gesture that lit up her dark eyes. "You’re not the only one to point that out. I’ve always really liked history and classical literature. I didn't go to high school here, but in Italy. There's a type of curriculum there that allows you to study Latin and Ancient Greek in high school. It was tough, but… I couldn't help but fall in love with it, to the point that I wanted to pursue it at university. Translating ancient texts is… like solving a puzzle. It’s very satisfying to reach the end."
Hancock observed her. There was a spark of pure passion in Ann's gaze, a "nerd" light that clashed delightfully with the image of her that was taking shape. "A puzzle," Hancock repeated, pensive. "I understand the attraction. Putting order into chaos."
"The rain seems to be letting up," Ann pointed out, looking out the window. "But it’s late. If you want, you can sleep in my bed, the one in the room with the private bathroom. I’m afraid it’s the only room clean enough to meet your high standards, Your Majesty," she added with a lopsided smile.
“The sofa will be just fine,” Hancock replied, surprising even herself. “I have no intention of depriving you of your own room.”
The other woman shrugged with nonchalance. “I’ve slept on that sofa plenty of times. By now, I know exactly which position to take to avoid the broken springs. But I appreciate the generous offer.”
In the end, Hancock accepted, albeit hesitantly, to sleep in Ann’s room. That night, lying beneath sheets that smelled of clean laundry and wrapped in a warm blanket, she fell asleep with a crystalline laugh echoing through her dreams.
🕱🕱🕱
The days passed peacefully after that evening, with winter bringing slight shifts to a routine that had remained unchanged for years for Hancock.
It all started in the library. Hancock had begun joining the study sessions her sister shared with Robin and Ann. Their courses were related, so the three of them usually helped one another; meanwhile, she spent her time grading preparatory tests for the classes where she assisted or studying for her own.
Every now and then, they were joined by Marigold—with whom she could at least discuss law since her younger sister was in her second year—and the orange-haired girl who often sat at Luffy’s table during lunch, Nami. Nami was a first-year Economics student and, feeling a bit embarrassed after one of their first study sessions, had asked her for help with private law. Hancock, who found it pleasant to teach those who demonstrated commitment, had agreed.
It became a habit. It reached the point where Hancock and Ann would find themselves at their usual table in the Ancient History section even by themselves, whenever the others were busy with lectures or other activities.
The older woman began to find the other's knowledge of Latin useful, as it spared her the annoyance of having to look up translations for the Latin phrases that occasionally popped up in law volumes without footnotes to explain their meaning.
Unfortunately, Ann never missed a chance to tease her with every request for help, concluding every explanation with a deliberately mocking “You’re welcome, Your Majesty.” Hancock would never admit that she liked the way Ann’s raspy voice pronounced it with such affectionate irony.
During those small study sessions, Hancock began to notice the little things. For example, Ann could be particularly clumsy when she was too absorbed in what she was doing: she would forget where she had put her reading glasses, lose her motorcycle keys (which she always kept in the same pants pocket, no less), and fidget mindlessly with her pencil.
And yet, when it came to explaining the contribution of classical philosophy to modern thought to a friend of Nami’s named Vivi, she had shown enviable confidence and competence. Hancock found herself smiling behind her files, observing that display of passion in Ann, which seeped through her gestures and the sparkle in her eyes.
One Tuesday afternoon, Ann was massaging a sore shoulder after hours spent over her books; it was excruciating to spend so much time hunched over those uncomfortable chairs.
“Your posture is atrocious,” Hancock commented, closing her laptop. Ann made a grimace.
“Thanks. It’s the fault of the uncomfortable chairs in the lecture hall and yesterday’s training session with Jinbe. He absolutely wrecked my traps,” the other puffed.
“Whitebeard’s is a barbaric gym. Training with weights and fighting alone isn’t enough to promote bodily well-being,” Hancock declared, wrinkling her nose. “You should come to the Kuja.”
Ann looked at her, surprised. “Your aunt’s gym? I thought it was an exclusive club. It’s... quite an elegant place.”
“It is exclusive,” Hancock confirmed, standing up and smoothing her skirt. “But I can get you in. They’re even considering adding an excellent sauna for muscle pain. And I assure you, no one will scream in your ears while you’re lifting weights.”
Ann hesitated, then smiled. “I’d like to try that sauna once it’s built, then. All right, I’d love to come, but if I break something because your punching bags are too light, you’re the one taking the fall.”
A few hours later, there they were, surrounded by state-of-the-art machinery and immaculate mirrors. Hancock engaged in her usual routine of bodyweight exercises and cardio, while after a brief warm-up, Ann had already stationed herself in front of a punching bag. She was sweaty, a bit out of breath, her hair plastered to her face and her black tank top clinging to her skin, but she continued to strike the object in front of her with rhythmic blows.
And Hancock couldn’t tear her eyes away from the tensed muscles of that back, even though she was technically already seated at the leg press machine. When one of the other women training in the gym at that moment pointed it out to her, she left the machine grumbling in embarrassment and avoided looking at the punching bag corner for the rest of the session.
After the workout, they settled into the place next door, Shakky's Rip-off Bar, also managed by the Boa sisters' aunt.
They sat at the counter, and immediately a slender, athletic middle-aged woman—who looked much younger than her likely age—leaned toward them. She had short black hair and sharp, witty black eyes.
“Hey, Hancock, the usual?” she asked gently. “You must be Ann; my nieces have told me a lot about you,” she added, observing her closely. “...I must say, they didn't do you justice, sweetheart.”
Hancock blushed violently, almost choking on her own saliva. “Auntie! Don’t start!”
Ann laughed. “I hope it was only positive things, at least.” She then ordered a simple decaf iced coffee.
“The first thing I heard about you was that you’re rude and have a terrible sense of fashion,” Shakky said with a wink, serving the two women their orders.
The girl burst out laughing and looked at Hancock, arching an eyebrow, immediately understanding which of the three sisters such a description must have come from. “I guess it depends on the standards one uses for judgment," she commented, adding, "but I imagine that screaming and poking someone with your nails while they're driving in the rain could also be defined as rude.”
"...based on the standards one uses for judgment," she commented, adding, "but I imagine that screaming and poking someone with your nails while they're driving in the rain could also be defined as rude."
"I did not scream!" Hancock protested, though she couldn't suppress a smile.
In the warmth of the bar, with jazz music playing in the background and Ann’s laughter vibrating beside her, Hancock couldn't help but feel light—stripped of the stress and responsibilities that often made her feel weighed down.
🕱🕱🕱
Hancock was sitting in the cafeteria that day, having decided to keep Viola company and have a coffee with her after lunch. Fortunately, Marigold had joined them, allowing her to let her eyes and mind wander toward a certain table without having to pay too much attention to what her friend was telling her.
Unconsciously, as she looked at the table usually occupied by Luffy's group of friends, she furrowed her brow. Something was wrong today, but she couldn't figure out what.
The boy was making one of his usual scenes, and his friends were reacting to his bizarre way of having fun by playing with food in the way each of them usually did: scolding him (Sanji and Nami), with boisterous laughter (Usopp, Brook, Franky, and Chopper), not understanding what there was to laugh about (Jinbe), ignoring the ongoing disaster (Robin), or sleeping (Zoro).
Luffy was always cute, yes, just like a puppy. What was missing from the picture then?
Then, Ann entered the cafeteria. She looked tired, carrying a stack of books and sporting an ink stain on her neck. Hancock’s heart did a somersault in her chest. Uh?
She saw Ann sit down, greet Luffy with a pat on the head, and then laugh at something Nami said. She was wearing the same hoodie she had lent Hancock the day she had slept at Apartment 3D2Y.
"I didn't know the idea of my brother-in-law burning toast could make you smile so much, Han-chan."
Hancock blinked upon hearing her name. "What?" she asked, having not followed Viola's discourse in the slightest.
Realizing this, her friend huffed theatrically. "You’re really a lost cause, Han-chan. What is it that's making you smile like that, then?"
"Luffy, surely," Marigold asserted with a laugh. "I still wonder what you see in him, big sister."
"...Luffy, right," Hancock replied, bringing the coffee cup to her lips to hide a sudden dry mouth.
Her treacherous eyes returned to the table. Not to Luffy, who was currently shoving two fries into his nostrils, but to Ann. Hancock felt a flush of heat rise to her neck. Why did she care so much which hoodie the other woman was wearing? Was it because she knew exactly how soft it was on the inside? Because she knew it smelled of cheap laundry and home?
At that moment, Ann casually turned and caught Hancock’s gaze. Instead of looking away or giving a formal nod, Ann winked at her—a quick, almost imperceptible gesture, accompanied by that lopsided half-smile.
The only thing Hancock found herself thinking was: fuck.
🕱🕱🕱
One afternoon, a few days after, in the library, Hancock had dozed off over her law codes. She had been sleeping poorly lately, her mind invaded by too many thoughts and too many people. She woke up half an hour later, with the imprint of the pages on her cheek.
She looked around in embarrassment, scolding herself for the lack of decorum she had displayed, especially given her position as a professor's assistant. She expected to see annoyed or mocking glances; instead, she found Ann sitting across from her, lazily flipping through the pages of a book. She had moved a stack of books to cast a shadow over Hancock’s face, ensuring that anyone walking down the corridor branching into the various sections couldn't see her face.
“Well awakened, Your Majesty,” Ann whispered, without looking up from the page. “I hope you can still read the articles.”
Hancock frantically touched her cheek, blushing. “I don’t drool! And I wasn’t sleeping, I was… closing my eyes to concentrate.”
Ann looked up, her smile amused yet affectionate. “Sure. Deep meditation. I got you some water, anyway.”
Hancock stared at the water bottle on the table. A trivial gesture. And yet, in that moment, she felt a wave of affection so powerful it took her breath away. She loved that selfless care.
Back home, after the (failed) study session, her phone vibrated signaling a message just as she stepped into the living room. She sat on the black leather sofa and opened the messaging app.
It was Ann, obviously. She entered the chat; it was a photo of a white kitten with a black tail dozing on the open pages of a book. It was the cat the four siblings had recently adopted, and over time, it was becoming the mascot of Luffy’s entire group of friends. Below the photo was a short message:
‘Sunny has decided my books are more comfortable than her bed. Seems you’re not the only one with that habit, Your Majesty.’
Hancock replied immediately, unable to hold back the smile that spread across her face.
‘I hope you treat her with the respect she deserves.’
Then the woman closed the app with a sigh, rubbing her temples in frustration. All of this was trivial. It was stupid. It was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in years.
The next morning, while it poured outside, Hancock was in the stillness of her luxurious apartment, surrounded by papers and volumes, while Viola sat on the rug with another handful of open books.
Another groan of frustration hung in the air. Yet another one.
Viola ignored it, again, because knowing her friend, she knew there was no way to squeeze any information out of her if she didn't feel ready to do it herself.
“I can't stop thinking about her, Viola,” Hancock let slip into the silence of the room.
Finally, Viola thought with satisfaction.
…
Wait… what the—?!
“Her? I don’t think I understand, Han-chan. Who are we talking about?” she asked, confused and surprised by what her friend had just said.
“Ann. I’m talking about Ann!” she wailed disconsolately as she slumped onto the sofa with a theatrical gesture. “Yesterday she bought me a bottle of water. A bottle of water. And the only thing I could think about was… that I wanted to kiss her. Right there. In front of everyone. In the damn library!”
Viola blinked repeatedly. “Wait. Slow down. I think I missed a piece. When did we switch to Ann? And Luffy?”
“Luffy?” Hancock repeated, as if that name belonged to a past life, light-years away. She ran a hand through her black hair, mussing it slightly. “I… I don’t know how it happened but… I don’t know, I look at him and… there’s nothing, you understand? He’s cute, in his own way but… I think I subconsciously chose him on purpose. A sweet, kind, cute, and funny guy… not complicated. And maybe the fact that he wasn't interested in me made him even better: a crush that would never turn into anything concrete.”
She stood up, beginning to pace the room with long strides, her silk pajamas rustling. “But Ann… Ann sees me. When I need something, even when I don’t even know I need it, she’s there, right beside me. What’s worse is that… I like being seen by her. I like that she, of all people, sees me. Even though I’m terrified that if she looked inside me and saw beneath all this,” she gestured to her apartment, her clothes, herself, “she’d be disappointed to see that I’m nothing special.”
Viola remained silent for a long moment, observing her friend with new eyes. She had seen Hancock infatuated, fickle, and capricious. But she had never seen her like this: frightened and deeply involved. "Oh, Hancock..." she finally said, standing up.
Hancock let out a choked sound, somewhere between a sob and a hysterical laugh. "My ex-crush’s sister. I’m ridiculous."
"It just happened, that’s all," Viola corrected her, embracing her gently. "But if it makes you feel any better... at least she says your name correctly," she joked, trying to make her friend laugh.
She succeeded, and Hancock surrendered to a watery laugh in the other woman’s arms. "God, don't remind me. How embarrassing."
Then she sniffed, regaining a shred of her usual haughtiness. "So, what do you suggest I do?"
"Use your weapons," Viola smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she pulled back. "You are Boa Hancock. The most desired woman on campus. Show her what she’s missing. Seduce her. But for real this time—not with pork ribs."
Then, to reassure her, she added, "She might be Luffy’s sister, but they are very different. It’s not statistically possible for her to be immune to beautiful women as well."
At those words, Hancock’s eyes shone with a dangerous light as her mind already began drafting a strategy. It was so evident on her face that Viola couldn't help but let a comment slip.
"Poor thing, I almost feel sorry for her considering what's coming."
Hancock swatted her shoulder. "Hey! You’re terrible; you’re supposed to be helping me!"
🕱🕱🕱
Monday mornings were usually time Hancock dedicated to herself, a more relaxed routine compared to other days since she had no classes to attend. That morning, however, she woke up early and prepared herself with care. The night before, she had chosen a pencil skirt that reached just below the knees, fastened with buttons on the side, paired with a burgundy satin blouse. Looking at herself in the mirror after a spritz of perfume and putting on her earrings, she felt ready for her mission.
Stiletto heels echoed on the floor as she entered the library. She already knew who would definitely be sitting among the shelves of the Ancient History section at that hour.
And indeed, there she was, hunched between a volume and a dictionary. Ann, with her glasses on and a furrowed brow.
Hancock approached, placing her bag on the table with a fluid, calculated motion. "Hello, Ann."
Ann looked up, blinking like an owl dazzled by headlights. It took her a second to focus on who was in front of her. "Oh. Hi, Hancock." The girl looked around, then turned back to her friend, frowning. "Everything okay? Do you have a meeting? You’re usually never here at this time."
Hancock took the blow but didn't falter. "No," she replied, sitting down next to her. "I woke up early, and I thought I’d come to keep you company."
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, staring intensely at her with those dark blue eyes. "You seemed so concentrated, Ann. What interesting thing are you reading?"
Ann pulled back slightly, perplexed by the unexpected proximity. "Nothing much, Professor Clover asked us for a literal analysis of some Greek papyri. It’s just getting harder to distinguish the letters." Then she sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose slightly. "Wow. That perfume is... intense. Is it new?"
Hancock felt a vein throb in her temple. Intense? That bottle cost enough to be defined as something far more prestigious than "intense”.
“I bought it recently,” Hancock said through gritted teeth, struggling to maintain her smile. “...Cherry, orange blossom, and jasmine, among other notes. Do you not like it?”
“No, it’s good,” Ann conceded, leaning in closer to Hancock’s neck to sniff the fragrance again. “I’ll just have to get used to it,” she whispered just inches from the woman’s skin. “I’d already grown accustomed to your usual scent.”
Hancock wanted to scream. She was trying to be the seductive one, the one setting the trap, yet not only was she the one currently being seduced, but she was also being treated like some sort of perfume sample.
Just as Ann decided to pull away and allow her to breathe again, the sound of rapid footsteps heading in their direction reached them.
“Hey, Ann! There you are!”
Nami’s bright, cheerful voice shattered the tension-filled (if one-sided) atmosphere that Hancock had painstakingly built. The orange-haired girl trotted over, followed by Vivi and Robin. Ann took off her glasses, tossing them onto her notes, and her face opened up into a bright, relaxed smile.
“Hey, girls,” she greeted them.
Nami leaned against the back of Ann’s chair and draped an arm around her shoulders, leaning down to read the notes, her cheek almost brushing Ann’s dark hair. “Good grief, Ann, your handwriting is horrible. How do you even read this back?”
Ann laughed, a deep belly laugh, and leaned her head back against Nami’s arm. “It’s Ancient Greek, genius. It’s not even my handwriting; it’s that of a scribe who’s been dead for thousands of years.”
Vivi stood across from them. “Are we going to the campus café? Robin is treating us to blueberry muffins!”
“I’m so in,” Ann admitted. “I could really use some caffeine.”
Hancock sat there, rigid as an ice statue. She suddenly felt ridiculous. Overdressed. Contrived. Her movements lacked the spontaneity needed to approach the other woman and, because of that, she felt unworthy of the physical and relational intimacy she hoped to achieve. She wanted to be the one Ann smiled at like that. She wanted to be the one who could embrace her without it feeling forced or calculated.
“Are you coming too, Hancock?” Ann asked. She said it with courtesy. With friendship. And Hancock couldn't stand it at that moment.
Hancock stood up abruptly, grabbing her bag. “No,” she said, her voice trembling slightly from the effort to keep it steady. “I... I just remembered I have an urgent commitment. But thank you for the invitation.”
“Ah. That’s a shame,” Ann said, appearing genuinely disappointed. “See you tomorrow, then? I’ll save you a seat?”
“Don’t bother,” Hancock muttered, turning on her heels.
The rhythmic clicking of her heels on the campus pavement was the only thing she could hear through the chaos of her thoughts. She didn’t want to see Ann laughing with Nami; she didn’t want to witness that spontaneity that seemed so out of reach for her.
Fortunately, her destination soon appeared before her. She pushed through the glass doors and hurried through the corridors of the Liberal Arts faculty, heading straight for the room where she knew she’d find the only person capable of lifting her spirits.
When she entered, Viola was practicing a flamenco sequence. The sharp clack of her dance shoes stopped instantly as Hancock slumped onto a bench, staring blankly into space.
"Did it go poorly?" Viola asked, wiping her neck with a towel.
"It was a disaster," Hancock hissed. "She got close to me and... I couldn't think of a single thing to say. And then they arrived. Nami, Vivi... it took them a second to make her laugh. I... I had planned every word, every note of my perfume, and I felt like an intruder in my own game."
Viola sat beside her, her gaze thoughtful and a bit sad to see her friend so dejected. "You have to consider that you naturally tend to be more... formal when you're trying to win someone over. Even unconsciously, you want to show the best side of yourself to the person you like."
Hancock covered her face with her hands, her slender fingers pressing against her temples. "I know... it's just humiliating, Viola. I wish I could just be me. I wish... it were easier to be spontaneous, even when having her near me makes me stop breathing."
🕱🕱🕱
On Monday afternoons, Whitebeard Gym was never too crowded. Ann loved that more relaxed atmosphere, allowing the accumulated stress to melt away without having to constantly navigate around occupied machines that broke her rhythm.
It also didn't hurt that it was one of the few moments she and her brothers could carve out to have fun together, given how most of their classes overlapped in a way that left little chance for them to all see each other at once.
Luffy was on one of the flat benches, focused on pushing the barbell with surprising consistency. Ace was nearby, engaged in a series of pull-ups—slow and controlled.
Ann sat on the floor to finish wrapping her knuckles. The white fabric wound around her hand with mechanical precision.
"Still having trouble with Clover?" Ace asked without stopping his pull-ups. His voice was calm, slightly raspy from the exertion. "You’ve been carrying that funeral face since lunch."
"I thought taking an elective with the head librarian would be easier, Ace. It’s frustrating not being able to read even what’s written there," Ann replied, without looking at him.
"It's not just that, big sis," Luffy chimed in, racking the barbell with a metallic clack. He sat up, wiping his face with his forearm. "You seemed really distracted. You even stabbed my hand with your fork when I tried to steal a meatball."
The woman let out a huff of laughter. “Let that be a lesson to you; stealing food from other people's plates is an irritating habit.”
They talked for nearly an hour about ordinary things. About the last movie Luffy had seen with his friends, the recipes Sanji had given Ann, and what they could have for dinner with what was left in the fridge. After a while, Ace started complaining about the lack of coordination between departments.
"The Law students took precedence over the tennis courts again," Ace grumbled, taking a long swig from his water bottle. "It’s not even part of their curriculum; it was just a recreational activity organized by their department. They think they own the university just because they feel the need to dress up, as if it were necessary just to attend lectures."
Ann felt a pang of annoyance—an involuntary reflex. "Not everyone in Law is like that, Ace."
"Oh yeah? And who exactly is the exception?" the boy chuckled.
“Koby is very nice,” Luffy commented in passing, though his mind was already wandering toward some of the new gym equipment he wanted to try out.
“Koby doesn't count, little brother. He hasn't got a mean bone in his body.”
“Then Hammock. She brought us that delicious meat a few months ago; just thinking about it makes my mouth water,” he said, his eyes gleaming at the memory of the flavor of those pork ribs.
Ace laughed. “The Boa sisters are the worst. Especially the eldest. Beautiful, sure, but she looks down on everyone. It’s like they live in a bubble separate from the rest of the world. I still can't believe you brought her to our house, Ann.”
"Hancock isn't like that," Ann said, stopping the punching bag with the palm of her hand. "She’s just... very aware of who she is. And a bit arrogant... and I agree she can be irritating," she concluded, stretching her arms behind her back. "But there’s more beneath that facade. She’s... lonely, in a way. When she stayed at our place that rainy night, or when she invited me to the Kuja gym... she was kind and funny."
Ace arched an eyebrow, standing up from the bench, ready to start. “Ann, you’re talking about Boa Hancock as if she’s some poor, misunderstood soul. Are we talking about the same woman who walks like the floor should thank her for the privilege?”
“I think she’s nice too!” Luffy exclaimed, starting a set of crunches.
At that moment, Sabo stepped out of the locker rooms, water bottle and towel in hand, looking like someone who had spent too many hours in the editorial office. He approached the group, catching the tail end of the conversation.
“Who’s nice?” Sabo asked with a sly smile.
“Ann is defending Boa Hancock,” Ace explained, crossing his arms. “She says she’s different from how everyone else sees her.”
Sabo looked at Ann, who was beginning to hit the bag with sharp, precise blows. Then he looked at Luffy and finally at Ace. He let out a low laugh. “Ann, seriously? Haven’t you noticed anything?”
Ann stopped, the bag still swinging. “Noticed what?”
“By the way she looks at you whenever you walk into a room,” Sabo replied, amused. “Ann, Hancock is blatantly interested in you. And I’m not talking about academic friendliness.”
The silence that followed was broken only by the clanking of weights in the background. Ace burst out laughing, thinking it was a joke, but he stopped when he saw his blond brother’s serious expression.
Ann stood motionless. “Sabo, you’ve been working too hard. It’s gone to your head. Hancock? Attracted to me? That’s absurd. We’re... different. And besides, when exactly did you have time to see this, just so I know?”
“Please,” Sabo huffed. “I was in the library this morning with Koala and I saw her walking toward you with her eyes sparkling. I’m a journalist now; I have a nose for these things.”
“You’ve let it go to your head.” Ann shook her head, returning to the punching bag, but this time her strikes were less coordinated. “It’s impossible,” she concluded, leaving no room for a rebuttal.
🕱🕱🕱
Hancock was not one to back down at the first disappointment.
She had spent the rest of the afternoon and the following morning ruminating on Viola’s words and reworking her strategy, eventually deciding that the best course of action was a more direct, yet not aggressive, approach.
On Tuesday afternoons, Ann had classes until six. With all the study sessions they had shared in the library, Hancock had already memorized the other girl’s schedule. She positioned herself strategically at the exit of the Literature department. She pulled her dark trench coat tight to protect herself from the cold evening air that was making her cheeks flush. Her breath created small clouds of condensation in the freezing air.
After a few minutes, students began streaming out of the building, signaling the end of the lecture. Finally, she saw Ann exit, backpack over one shoulder, looking completely exhausted—like someone who just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep forever. Hancock adjusted her cashmere scarf with a gesture she hoped looked casual enough to hide her nervousness.
“Ann,” she called out, her voice straining to remain steady.
The girl stopped, searching for her. When she spotted her, a shadow of surprise crossed her face. Sabo’s words from the gym buzzed annoyingly in her ears, unstoppable: “Haven’t you noticed how she looks at you?”
“Hancock?” Ann approached, huddling into her sherpa-lined denim jacket, which was far too light for this weather. “What are you doing here?”
“I was... passing by,” Hancock lied shamelessly, ignoring the fact that there was no logical reason to be there, considering her Tuesday classes ended at two.
“I was heading to Shakky’s for an aperitivo. I thought perhaps you’d like to join me. My treat, of course.” She took a step forward, closing the distance, and tilted her head, letting a lock of hair slide over her shoulder.
“They have a new Arabica coffee blend you might appreciate. Black and bitter, just the way you like it,” she added with a slight smile.
Ann looked at her. There was something different about Hancock tonight. She seemed… soft. For a moment, Ann wavered. What if Sabo was right? But insecurity is a hard habit to break. Why would someone like Boa Hancock want her? She still remembered the look of disdain Hancock had given her months ago, when they first collided on the first day of class. Sabo had to be wrong.
“Hancock...” Ann began, “That’s kind of you. Really. But I have to get home; someone has to feed Sunny, and the others are all out. And besides...” Ann looked her straight in the eye with that disarming frankness that always made Hancock’s knees weak. “If you’re doing this out of gratitude...”
Hancock blinked, caught off guard. “Doing what?”
“This. Waiting for me in the cold. Wanting to buy me a coffee. Being nice,” Ann said, gesturing toward the other woman. “I don't get it. Do you feel like you owe me because of that night you stayed at our place? Because you don’t. Really. You don’t owe me anything.”
Hancock felt panic rise in her throat. Ann was rationalizing everything, reducing her attempts at courtship to mere gratitude. “It’s not gratitude!” she snapped, her voice rising an octave, cracking her usual perfect image. “It’s that I... find your company... tolerable! More than tolerable.”
Ann looked at her, perplexed. “Well… thanks, I guess? Unfortunately, I really can’t tonight. We could do tomorrow.” She gave her a half-smile of apology and adjusted her bag.
The other woman nodded in silence, murmuring a goodbye in response to Ann, who had already turned toward her motorcycle parked nearby. But Hancock couldn't let her go.
Not like this.
If Ann left now with that misconception in her head, it would be yet another failure. The rain—that constant companion of the autumn—began to fall on their heads.
“Ann, stop!” Hancock shouted, running after her, her heels clicking on the wet pavement.
Ann stopped by her bike, helmet in hand, and turned around in surprise. “Hancock, it’s starting to rain, you should...”
“To hell with the rain!” Hancock cried, coming within a few feet of her, breathless. The water was already starting to flatten her hair, but she didn’t care. “I have to tell you something. I need to tell you.”
Ann stood still, struck by the intensity in the woman’s dark blue eyes. She had never seen her like this.
“You didn’t even ask me why I’m doing this,” Hancock continued, trembling slightly. “You just assumed it was out of debt.” She took a deep breath to find her courage. “In the beginning, I wasn't interested in you in the least. In fact, I didn't like you at all. I even... thought you were an obstacle.”
Ann said nothing. She only gripped her helmet tighter. Her face was unreadable under the rain.
“I was petty, and I judged you without knowing you,” Hancock went on, the rain seeping deeper into her bones, but she wasn't finished speaking. “Then… then… we started talking, spending time together. And without me even realizing it… I started looking for you. I never planned it, but... I couldn't help but... start to feel something for you. I like you, Ann.”
Silence fell between them, broken only by the rushing sound of the water. Hancock kept her head down, waiting for rejection, for disgust.
Instead, she heard a laugh. A low, raspy, amused laugh. She snapped her head up. Ann was laughing, shaking her head. “...God, Sabo was right. I hate it when he’s right.”
Hancock stood frozen, bewildered, with raindrops beading on her eyelashes. "Sabo? What does your brother have to do with this?"
Ann stopped laughing, but the smile remained—vivid and warm—lighting up her face despite the grayness of the storm. She set her helmet on the motorcycle seat and took two steps toward Hancock, closing that safety distance the Empress had tried so hard to maintain just to keep from crumbling.
“He spent all of yesterday evening teasing me, claiming you were interested in me,” Ann explained. “I told him he was crazy, that it was impossible, that you’re... well, Boa Hancock.”
Ann took her hands. Hancock’s fingers were ice-cold, but the other woman’s were burning. “I... I didn’t want to get my hopes up and look like an idiot.” Ann took a deep breath, the cold air filling her lungs. “So, if you’re telling me this isn’t an illusion... then I want to tell you that it’s not one-sided. I like you, Hancock. I like you like crazy, even if you are the most complicated person I’ve ever met.”
Hancock felt her heart skip a beat. “Are you serious? Even after how I treated you at first?”
The other woman let out another laugh. “Actually, it was pretty cute seeing you so annoyed,” she admitted with a lopsided smile. “So… would you like to go out with me?”
Hancock couldn’t hold back a small sob of relief that instantly transformed into a radiant smile—one of the few she reserved for very special people. “Yes,” she whispered. “I would like that very much.”
🕱🕱🕱
The silence enveloping the Boa sisters' apartment was broken only by the hypnotic patter of rain against the large windows. Inside, the atmosphere was relaxed, calm, and cozy, steeped in the aroma of tea and lavender.
Only two days had passed since the confession in the rain, and Hancock had taken advantage of her sisters visiting their grandmother to invite Ann over to spend some quality time together.
And so, they sat on the rug of the luxurious living room, leaning their backs against the sofa, surrounded by law volumes and philology notes—but studying had become a mere pretext, especially for one of them. Hancock, her face resting on the other woman’s shoulder, wasn't looking at the books; she was watching Ann’s profile, the curve of her jaw, and the way her eyes moved rapidly, following the lines of an ancient text.
Ann, for her part, tried to maintain a semblance of concentration, but the warmth of Hancock’s body against her own made even the simplest translation difficult.
"You’re getting bored, aren't you?" she asked in a low voice, barely turning her head. The movement brought their faces just inches apart. "I've felt your gaze on my temple for at least ten minutes. You haven't even turned the page."
Hancock didn't pull away. On the contrary, she slightly tightened her grip on Ann’s arm, her fingers sinking gently into the cotton of her hoodie. "You are far more interesting than first-year students' preparatory tests… It’s not my fault, darling."
Ann chuckled, a low sound that vibrated through the shoulder Hancock was leaning on. "Sure, because grading piles of papers from confused freshmen must be a real nightmare compared to actually having to endure them, poor things. You should set a good example, seeing as you're such a renowned teaching assistant."
"I am a great example," Hancock countered, narrowing her eyes with an almost feline expression. "And precisely because I spend my days dismantling the rambling arguments of aspiring lawyers, I deserve a bit of refreshment now."
Ann sighed, but smiled sweetly. She closed the book, placing it on the rug atop a stack of handouts. "Alright, I get it. You can't win an argument against a Law assistant."
Feeling too warm because of the heavy hoodie and Hancock’s proximity, she grabbed the hem of the garment and pulled it off in one fluid motion. Underneath, her gray tank top clung perfectly to her athletic figure, leaving her toned arms and shoulders—marked only by a few light freckles—exposed. Hancock watched her, silently appreciating the bare skin now revealed.
"Much better," Ann murmured, shaking her hair back into place. Then, as if to shake off the tension of hours spent over books, she interlaced her fingers above her head and stretched. She arched her back with a sigh of relief, muscles tensing under her amber skin. Hancock moved back slightly, just enough to give Ann space. As she finished stretching, arching her spine, the hem of the tank top rose a few inches, revealing a glimpse of the scar tissue Hancock had seen briefly months ago when the other woman had hosted her.
Hancock's hand moved almost of its own accord. She brushed the edge of the scar, right where the fabric of the tank top had just revealed it.
Ann shivered. She didn't pull away, but Hancock felt the muscles beneath her hand contract in an involuntary reflex. Ann lowered her arms and turned slowly, meeting Hancock’s gaze, which was fixed on that spot on her back.
"You saw it," Ann said. There was no shame in her voice; she was simply stating a fact.
Hancock didn't answer right away. She continued to trace the line of the scar with her index finger, even the part hidden by the fabric, feeling the irregularities beneath her fingertips.
"How did it happen?" Hancock murmured, her voice reduced to a whisper. Her hand was still there, resting over the gray cloth, as if she wanted to protect that exact spot. "It looks... deep."
Ann sighed, crossing her legs on the rug and searching for the right stance to recount something that rarely left the confines of her mind. "I was ten," she began, her gaze lost toward the rain that continued to streak the windows. "...Ace and I never knew our father. He died before we were even born, but… he was very well-known. I was… I was going to my grandfather’s house… Luffy's biological grandfather, actually. He’s always been very close to us. Then… I don’t remember much; I just remember being grabbed from behind while my eyes were covered. I was locked in a basement for almost two weeks."
Hancock felt the blood freeze in her veins. She imagined a young Ann—that child who today faced the world with a lopsided smile and a noisy motorcycle—locked in a concrete hole.
"He… he never touched me. Most of the time I was alone, but… he often raved against my father. He said he wanted revenge. I was terrified of… how it might end," Ann continued, her voice flat, almost detached to avoid being overwhelmed. "It was very cold at night because of a rusty iron grate high up that let the air in. So one night, I decided to climb up and pushed myself through that hole with all my strength. The iron partially gave way at one point... but one of the spikes was sharp enough to tear my back open as I tried to get out."
Ann turned completely, smiling wistfully at Hancock, who slowly moved her hand from Ann’s back to her cheek, caressing it gently. "At ten years old, you preferred to risk your life than surrender to something that was decidedly hard to endure even for an adult. Ann... you are the strongest person I have ever met."
Ann felt the warmth of those words expand in her chest. The woman leaned forward, eliminating the little space left between them on the rug, and rested her forehead against Ann’s. Hancock’s scent of orange blossom, cherry, and jasmine enveloped Ann’s senses, calming the residual hum of the memory.
“Thank you… Hancock,” Ann whispered, closing her eyes.
“...I know what it feels like to… feel powerless like that,” Hancock murmured softly, her voice breaking.
Ann pulled back slightly to look at her, sensing the shift in the air. Hancock straightened her back, but her hands began to nervously fret with the fabric of her silk skirt. “When my sisters and I lived with my grandmother, my aunt and uncle… There was a neighbor, a boy who attended Mary Geoise Academy. He was older; I was eleven. Every time one of us came home alone and the adults were busy... he would wait for us,” she inhaled sharply, pausing for a second.
“None of us had the courage to speak. He… he threatened me, saying he would do the same to my sisters. We couldn't have known he was already doing it. For almost a year, he harassed me, Sandersonia, and Marigold. He would grope us, make us feel like objects—dolls he could play with…”
Ann felt a rush of adrenaline surge down her spine, a protective rage that made her clench her fists.
“Marigold was only nine,” Hancock continued, “...she still has panic attacks. When it all came out… they simply left the neighborhood, and… no one looked for them. Aunt Shakky and Uncle Rayleigh were furious. I think they tried to track him down for a while, but there wasn't much cooperation from the police.”
“...Hancock…”
Ann didn't just look at her; she felt that revelation vibrating in her own bones. Without a word, Ann unclenched her fists and reached out, pulling Hancock toward her.
Hancock offered no resistance. She let herself be drawn into that solid embrace, hiding her face in the crook of Ann's neck.
“We are here now,” Ann murmured, pressing her lips against the woman’s raven hair, feeling its silky softness.
Hancock clung to her more tightly, her fingers digging into Ann’s skin. “I hated it,” Hancock whispered, her voice gradually regaining its steadiness. “I hated feeling fragile. Dirty. I know I… am… not easy. But… I find it hard to get close to people, without....”
Ann pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, her hands now cupping Hancock’s face with reassuring firmness. “You are not fragile. Something horrible was done to you; you have every reason in the world not to trust. I am… proud to know that you trust me enough. Thank you, Hancock.”
It was at that moment that the emotional tension shifted, sliding into something more visceral—a mutual need to give and receive comfort. Hancock watched Ann’s lips, feeling the warmth of her body so close. They kissed with an almost painful slowness, a contact that tasted of salt and the promise of affection. Ann’s hands slid down Hancock’s hips, while the woman let her fingers linger on Ann’s neck, tracing the accelerated beating of her heart.
🕱🕱🕱
In the days that followed, their relationship found a rhythm of its own, an architecture of daily gestures that solidified their new bond more and more. Hancock, usually entrenched behind an inaccessible curtain, had begun to let the petals of her vulnerability unfold, translating her feelings into a public affection that, while remaining deeply dignified, no longer hid itself.
She couldn't sit next to Ann without some part of her body seeking contact with the girl's. It might be the discreet interlacing of fingers under the library table or the line of her shoulder pressed against Ann’s during a break between classes; she loved having her near and feeling her close. And perhaps she was also a bit proud of the fact that it was she, and no one else, who was dating Ann.
Ann, for her part, welcomed that intensity with a natural ease. She had learned to decipher Hancock’s silences, sensing when the weight of a tiring day became too heavy, and she made sure to be ready with small gestures: a coffee brought to the library between study sessions, helping her carry the law codes she used for class, or a massage after a particularly stressful day—and if it then turned into a session of languid kisses on the sofa, all the better.
Even in the cafeteria, Hancock's presence was now becoming more frequent, even if she brought her lunch from home or just had a coffee.
That day, Ann was sitting at the usual long table with Ace and Sabo.
"I still don't believe it," Ace began, biting into his burger with the grace of a starving man. "That you’re actually dating someone like her. Did you really convince her to come to the cafeteria? Despite all the plebeians?"
"She's a person, Ace, not a mythological creature," Ann replied, taking a sip of water. "And try to behave yourselves. Especially you."
Just then, there she was, walking through the cafeteria doors. Hancock’s eyes immediately picked out the table, even though it was much less crowded than usual.
Without saying a word to the brothers, Hancock positioned herself behind Ann, who wasn't looking in her direction, placing her hands on her shoulders in a greeting. She leaned toward her ear, letting a lock of dark hair brush against Ann’s cheek. “Hello, darling,” she murmured.
“Hey,” Ann replied, turning slightly to meet her gaze. Hancock gave her a smile—a brief, authentic one—and sat down beside her, looking at the two boys across from her. "Good morning."
Sabo smiled and greeted her politely, whereas Ace cleared his throat, drawing attention. "So, Hancock. Are you here to give plebeian food a chance? I hope it’s not too offensive for your standards."
Hancock slowly raised her eyes to him and arched an eyebrow. "You see, Ace, the value of a place depends entirely on the company one chooses. Even if I find the cafeteria's cuisine… questionable, it doesn't stop me from enjoying my time with Ann between classes. Even if I have to endure these charming comments.”
Sabo burst out laughing, clapping a hand on the shoulder of a momentarily silenced Ace. "Sunk and settled. I told you not to challenge someone who speaks better than you do.”
Ann shook her head, hiding a smile. Under the table, Hancock’s hand had already found hers, interlacing their fingers with a firm pressure. There was a spark of playfulness in Hancock’s eyes.
"Anyway," Ann whispered, leaning closer to Hancock while her brothers went back to arguing and bickering among themselves, “I should be home alone tonight.”
Hancock felt a shiver run down her spine. “Is that an invitation, darling?” she said, holding Ann’s gaze. Under the table, her hand squeezed the other girl’s.
Ann responded with a lopsided smile and a slight wink.
“I’ll be at your place as soon as I finish my Constitutional Justice lecture,” Hancock murmured, her voice dropping an octave, becoming deep and velvety.
Ann chuckled, turning back to watch Ace and Sabo, who were now animatedly discussing the university team's next tournament.
🕱🕱🕱
As soon as the door closed behind her, Hancock didn’t even wait for Ann to speak; she threw her arms around her neck, burying her face in the curve of her shoulder.
"You’re beautiful," Ann whispered, her hands sliding naturally onto Hancock’s hips, drawing her close.
Hancock looked up, her blue eyes heavy with a longing she no longer tried to hide. "I’ve wanted to do nothing else but this all day," she replied, before guiding Ann’s lips to hers in a deep kiss that tasted of urgency and relief.
They moved toward the sofa without breaking contact, nearly tripping over the bag Hancock had dropped on the floor. When their bodies met the soft surface, Hancock pushed herself over Ann, settling her back against the cushions, while her fingers tangled in the girl's hair, tugging slightly to expose the line of her throat.
The urgency of the kiss soon transformed into a feverish need for closer contact. With agile fingers, Ann unbuttoned Hancock’s blouse, letting it slide off her shoulders, while Hancock responded by freeing Ann from the weight of her sweater. When skin finally met skin, a shiver ran through both of them.
Ann’s hands began to explore with a newfound curiosity, tracing the curves of Hancock’s hips, lingering on the softness of her waist, while the other’s mouth never stopped reclaiming her own. The kisses grew wetter, slower, moving down her jawline until she gently bit the sensitive skin of her neck, drawing out a muffled groan that vibrated in the silent air of the room. Hancock arched under that touch, her nails digging slightly into Ann’s shoulders, trying to pull her even closer, if it were physically possible.
“...God… Ann...,” Hancock whispered against her ear, her voice reduced to a broken breath.
Ann didn’t make her wait. Hearing her own name pronounced in that tone made her lose any remaining shred of control. Her hands moved down with resolve, slipping under the waistband of Hancock’s trousers to push them down, along with her underwear.
Hancock lifted herself just enough to help, shedding the weight of her clothes with frantic movements until she remained naked on top of her. She pressed herself against her again, seeking the friction, as one of Ann's arms encircled her waist.
“Fuck… you are…” the woman muttered, looking at her.
Hancock, however, was in no mood for compliments—at least, not in that moment. “...Darling, hurry up.”
Ann slid a hand between their bodies, descending with agonizing slowness toward the center of Hancock’s pleasure. When her fingers finally found her warm moisture, Hancock let out a stifled cry, hiding her face against Ann’s shoulder once more.
"You’re so warm...," Ann murmured, increasing the pressure against the bundle of nerves as she slid a finger inside. Hancock began to move in rhythm with her hand, her fingers clawing at the fabric of the sofa as the pleasure began to build like an unstoppable tide. Every thrust, every targeted touch brought her closer to the edge.
When the orgasm finally overcame her, Hancock tensed, her back arching and her breath breaking into small, sharp moans before she finally collapsed against Ann’s chest, exhausted and trembling. Hancock melted beneath her, her body shaken by spasms of pure pleasure as Ann continued to stimulate her with an almost religious devotion, never ceasing to kiss her until the waves of ecstasy had subsided.
They stayed like that for long minutes, the silence of the room broken only by the ticking of the clock and their heartbeats slowly returning to normal. Ann caressed her long black hair, spread like dark silk across the sofa, occasionally kissing her damp temple.
"Don’t think you're getting off that easily," Hancock murmured, her eyes still darkened with desire.
With a fluid, feline movement, she pushed Ann slightly further back against the cushions, taking control of the situation. Hancock leaned down, kissing every inch of skin she encountered. Her mouth sought Ann’s breast, lingering with her tongue and small bites that made the girl arch her back and let a choked sigh escape her lips. Hancock’s hands moved lower, gently parting Ann’s legs to make room for herself.
She left a trail of kisses across the woman’s toned belly, then helped her slide off her sweatpants and the underwear she was wearing. When her lips finally pressed against her clitoris, Ann couldn't hold back a moan.
"Hancock... please..." she implored, her head thrown back and eyes closed as she lost herself in that whirlwind of sensations.
Hancock didn't stop. She slid her tongue between the moist, sensitive folds, savoring Ann with a methodical slowness that bordered on torture. Every stroke was deliberate, every movement designed to shatter Ann. She felt the girl’s thighs trembling against her shoulders—an unmistakable sign that Ann’s control was slipping away, just as hers had moments before.
"Hancock... please, don't... don't stop," Ann gasped, her fingers tangled in her girlfriend's raven hair, instinctively pushing her hips against her face.
Hancock responded by increasing the pressure, her tongue tracing insistent circles on her clitoris while her fingers moved deeper inside, mimicking the movement of a frantic dance. She wanted to hear Ann scream her name; she wanted that pleasure to be so intense it erased the rest of the world. And Ann did not disappoint. A long, vibrating moan tore from her throat when the orgasm struck her with full force.
Ann’s body gave a violent jolt, then tensed like a violin string before completely relaxing against the sofa. Hancock remained there for a few more moments, enjoying the last muscular pulsations of Ann’s body, before sliding back up and lying on top of her, gently kissing the tip of her chin and then her lips, which now tasted of them both.
They remained wrapped in each other's arms, their breathing slowly calming as the heat of their naked bodies created an impenetrable bubble of intimacy.
Then, in the silence of the room, a deep and prolonged sound arose: a growl coming directly from Hancock’s stomach.
Hancock stiffened instantly, her cheeks flushing a shade of red far brighter than the one caused by the passion of moments before. Ann stayed motionless for a second, then she couldn't hold it back any longer. She began to chuckle—a laugh that shook her entire chest beneath Hancock’s head.
Hancock pushed herself up, trying to maintain some dignity despite her disheveled black hair and lack of clothes. "It’s not funny, Ann. I skipped lunch because I forgot to prepare something for myself.”
“You should have grabbed something at the cafeteria,” Ann teased, knowing full well that wasn't an option for the other woman. Another growl followed.
"Okay, okay," Ann said through her laughter, reaching out to grab her phone which had ended up under a cushion during their "eventful" arrival on the sofa. "Before your stomach decides to devour me or some of the furniture, what do you feel like eating? I made pizza dough this morning, but we can also order something."
Hancock’s eyes widened. "You made the dough by hand?" she asked, genuinely impressed.
“Of course. I thought it would be nice. After living in Italy for years, you learn a thing or two about cooking properly. Even Sanji said I make it pretty well,” Ann said proudly.
“I look forward to tasting it then,” Hancock stated, standing up and picking Ann’s shirt up from the floor to pull it on. Then she turned to look at her, still sprawled on the sofa, and gave a mischievous smile. “After the pizza, another round?”
Ann shook her head, laughing; she stood up, wrapped her arms around Hancock’s waist, and gave her a quick peck. “We’d better hurry then. I wouldn't want to keep you waiting, Your Majesty.”
Hancock huffed, but she couldn't suppress her smile.