L.I.N.E.
"You really have to take better care of your hair, Luffy," Makino murmurs softly as she gently threads her fingers through the fine strands that may as well be the very color and softness of a raven's feather. "It won't always be this soft and easy to braid once you get older. Remember what I told you?" Makino asks as she divides her hair and begins plaiting.
"Yes, Makino-nee," she replies dutifully, sitting as still as she can in front of the antique vanity mirror and eyeing its shiny, silver interior with a critical eye. She hasn't had the chance to check out this world's economies and currency values, and hopefully she might get one during her little island escapade with Garp. "I'll take a bath every day, and brush my hair every morning and every night," she vows dutifully.
"Good," Makino nods, content with her answer. "And don't forget to braid your hair once its dry, okay? You remember how to do the simple one, right? And please, for the love of Poseidon, wear your dresses okay? If not, then at least wear one of your nice blouses. I want you to look pretty when meeting your grandfather's colleagues so that they'll never expect that the two of you are related," Makino confides in her with a mischievous smile.
She can't help but giggle.
The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, and she recognizes what kind of style Makino is braiding her hair into once it's almost done.
"And... Done!" Makino announces as she inserts the last hairpin into place and fluffs up whatever remaining hair that has been left alone from underneath the woven braid-on-braid crown that Makino has created. "See? Don't you look nice with hair like this?" Makino asks, placing her hands on her tiny shoulders in order to rub soothing circles onto the exposed skin.
She looks at the mirror, gazes into it, and sees only a girl so painfully young with one of the loveliest faces she's ever seen. Skin that has yet to be unblemished by the vices of puberty but kissed ever so lightly by the sun, cherubic cheeks tinted with a faint coloring of red, lips so full and pink resting from underneath an upturned nose, and youthfully thick eyebrows that she knows she will pluck in the future.
She reaches out, meeting the tips of her reflection's fingers, and traces an upside down crescent on the area underneath her right eye, where a stitched scar has yet to be established.
Four more years, she thinks to her herself through a quiet whisper. Four more years, and we'll see.
"I love it," she tells Makino as she carefully traces the braided crown, wondering if she'll ever achieve such a feat but not at all minding if she doesn't. This is one of the most peaceful routine she could ever share with Makino—something that nobody but Makino has ever done for her in her two lifetimes—and she'll cherish every single braiding session they have.
She jolts when a pair of slender arms encircle her small body, but gradually nestles into the familiarly warm chest behind her once she realizes it's just Makino hugging her. She allows Makino to cage her in, barely notices Makino propping her chin atop her braided hair, and lets herself drown one last time in everything that is Makino.
Her nerves have been on the edge for the past three hours ever since she accepted Garp's offer, and it's confirmed that it's been evident on her face since then when Makino places her chin atop her head and whispers,
"Relax." Makino continues rubbing gentle circles onto her shoulder. "You'll be fine. Your grandfather'll be there for you. He'll keep you safe," Makino assures her. "Just…make sure you'll be safe, okay? That means no running on the deck, staying inside when the weather's bad, and avoiding anybody that you know who would hurt you," Makino trails off, a sour expression pinching her features. "The advice I'd like to give you is to have fun but then…I'd be lying, and, as much as possible, I'd like to avoid that," Makino admits.
Wow. She feels like a total jackass now.
Oblivious to the guilt eating away at the insides of her young charge, Makino continues on. "The world is a good place, full of beautiful and wonderful things, but the people inside of it are not…And it'd be best if you stayed cautious no matter what. Be smart. Use this." Makino gently taps the side of her temple. "And not this." Makino then taps her undeveloped chest, where her heart should be. "Because not everybody thinks with their heart when they have nothing left to lose, and those kind of people are the scariest because they won't think twice about hurting you."
Makino holds her just a tad bit more firmly, as if under the assumption that hugging her tighter would persuade her to stay, but—
—but she won't. She can and she will do this. She's thought about this for more than a year, pondering and pondering and pondering until her head throbbed with an incoming headache, planned about this to the point she made graphs and charts and motherfucking timelines to set things straight, and finally decided to do this.
Maybe in another universe, she stayed, continued living the rest of her childhood and adolescence in Dawn Island where everything was safe and sound and under her jurisdiction of her knowledge with Mt. Colubo being the most dangerous place she'd ever know, and never having accepted Garp's offer.
Because maybe, in that other universe, Garp never offered her.
Because maybe, in that other universe, she never met Ace or Sabo so early on.
Because maybe, in that other universe, she never ran away to Mt. Colubo.
Because maybe, maybe, maybe, in that other universe, she never really cared.
But this is her universe, her world; most importantly, this is her life, and this time around, she'll make sure that this second chance of hers won't be one full of regrets and lost dreams.
She won't waste it.
(Won't waste the life that should have belonged to the embodiment of the sun. Won't waste the life when she'd wasted the last one.)
"The hurting needs to stop somewhere," is all the answer she gives to Makino, because as Dr. Martin Luther King had once quoted, 'Hate begets hate. Violence begets violence. Toughness begets a greater toughness. We must meet the forces of hate with the power of love.'
That's what the world—any world—has really been lacking. She knows that it is naïve, that it is merely wishful thinking, and that she must sound like a total idiot because yeah, she kind of is one. A really big one.
But wishful thinking had the power to stop wars, build kingdoms, and inspire millions—and if all it takes is to sound like a total idiot in order to achieve any of those, then she'll gladly play the role of the fool
(Wars have been started, kingdoms have been destroyed, and millions have been despaired all because of that same thing.
She's playing a dangerous game. She knows that. Frankly enough, it might even be a mistake on her part to be this foolish—but she's made hundreds of thousands before, so what's another one?)
Makino is silent. Unbearably so.
"You're still a kid, Luffy. It doesn't have to start with you," Makino murmurs after a while.
In response, she merely turns her head to place a soft kiss on the back of Makino's hand.
It's the closest and sincerest apology she could ever give to her older sister as of now.
"Okay," is her answer, but that doesn't mean she complies with it. Empty words have come so easily to her. "Can I tell you something, Makino-nee?" She asks after a long moment of peaceful albeit slightly uncomfortable silence.
"Hm?" Makino hums from where she's now rearranging the clothes she'd packed for her little sister. "You can tell me anything, Luffy," the bar owner beams.
She takes a deep breath, counts for as long as she can hold it, exhales as quietly as she can, and tells Makino.
She tells her about the beauties and horrors of Mt. Colubo, about the non-human friends she'd made, about the rude yet persistently kind bandit group that had helped her, about the two little boys at most three years older than her dressed in rags and covered in dirt, and how she had felt through all of that.
Through it all, Makino is silent. Silent and watching and listening.
When she's finished with her tale—because she's been keeping this in for too long—Makino is still silent and watching but no longer listening; she has nothing left to listen to, after all.
After a moment, an expression appears on Makino's face, and she is all too familiar with it.
Makino looks sad. Unbearably so. Like somebody had just kicked a puppy in front of her. "One day," Makino starts as she pulls away from the newly-packed bag and moves towards her. "…Bring them home with you. I'd like to meet them," Makino murmurs after a tentative pause, but she doesn't look disgusted by the very notion of inviting a monkey, mountain bandits, or even dirty children to her home.
Her throat involuntarily constricts by itself, and she feels that area beneath her heart be filled with—with what? With gratitude? With awe? With guilt? With monochapsis?—and she knows. Knows for what could possibly be the hundredth time that she does not deserve such an amazing woman as Makino.
She is despicable. Despicable, despicable, despicable, despicable.
It still does not stop her from swiftly twisting in her seat in order to give Makino the tightest and most emotional hug she can give with her small and powerless arms.
Makino startles at the sudden movement, but returns the embrace with nary a word of complaint. Instead, Makino says, "Thank you for telling me this."
Her response is to clutch onto the back of her sister's shirt a tad bit tighter, and maybe in a manner akin to desperation. Her bottom lip wobbles ever so slightly, but she bites down on it in order to keep whatever sorrow she has left securely bottled up within her.
L.I.N.E.
"Put your back into it, men!" Garp roars from the upper deck, looking over the railing and down at his men who are currently in the midst of doing one-handed push-ups on the main deck as if their very life depended on it.
Considering the consequences for failing to obey Garp's orders, it's to be expected. After all, nobody would enjoy diving into the most likely freezing ocean in order to retrieve a 32-pound cannonball and then chase after an unanchored ship.
In fact, she muses from where's she's lounging comfortably on a foldable beach chair on the main deck, it would be more expected from these naval soldiers to be laying down more than their very own lives.
Who knew her grandfather had such high standards when training his men? If she wasn't aware of who exactly her grandfather was, she'd most likely be appalled by how merciless and inexorable her silly and thick-headed grandfather could be.
"Looks like Garp's in a good mood today, huh?" Bogard comments, for once neither completely nor sharply dressed in the ensemble that is his Marine uniform. Without the Marine coat and suit jacket, Bogard looks significantly less mysterious even with that silly hat of his that looks more like the product of a fedora and a cowboy's hat every time she sees it.
She admires the way his navy green dress shirt clings to his sinewy frame in all the right places, broods over how he and every other person on this ship seem to be fitter than a fiddle, and sighs in the most miserable manner that she can over her pint-sized body.
When will she get as strong as them, she wonders.
The glass of grape juice on the table silently mocks her with its faultless existence, and she takes a moment to stare narrowly at it in deep frustration. She so desperately wants a drink, to get wasted or even just a little buzzed, but she can't because she's three and she's so affected by that one time she tried taking a sip—just a sip!—of a customer's alcohol after accepting their offer, which had caused Makino to go all Freddy Krueger crazy over it and promptly alcohol-blocked her for another who-knows-how-many years when she pinned up a poster right outside of the bar that warned everybody who came in to not let the little girl who lived there drink any kind of liquid with so much a drop of alcohol.
Her hand pauses, hovering over the page of the Geography book she'd borrowed from underneath Garp's desk, as realization just hits her.
She belatedly wonders what is the legal age for drinking in the One Piece world.
"Cease functions!" Garp suddenly bellows out through a bark. "Training's over for this morning, rooks. Return to your normal duties for now. Except for you, Reyes. I didn't miss you giving me lip while you were doing your push-ups," he snaps, looking deeply unimpressed. "Save that shitty attitude for when you become the Fleet Admiral. Nobody likes a smart dumbass. Now up! You've got some fetching to do!" Garp barks out a laugh at the end, delighting in the dreadfully frustrated look of his subordinate.
Garp effortlessly plucks—and she uses the word quite literally—a single cannonball from the bunch that had miraculously been stacked into a pyramid. "Take your position, Reyes!" He commands, grinning a malicious Monkey grin, as he bicep curls the seemingly light but realistically heavy weapon before tossing it up in the air and catching it with just his fingers.
She allows herself a moment to be wonderstrucked by her grandfather's display of strength and skill, before she puts on an apathetic expression as she reminds herself that this isn't the first time she's seen him do that.
"Alley-oop!" Garp hollers, clear excitement in his voice, as he chucks the cannonball. The object in question goes flying through the air, continues flying for a whole ten seconds in a beautiful arch that is now several meters away from the ship, before its angle dips and it starts falling.
The moment the cannonball plunges into the water, sending literal waves to rock their boat a little further from where the cannonball had landed, Reyes flings himself overboard and dives into the freezing ocean to retrieve it.
As Garp barks out his signature laugh at the curses that springs forth from what she believes is his favorite rookie, she listens closely to the bets being exchanged by the rest of the rookies who have yet to hit the showers and are now loitering around on the deck, waiting expectantly for Reyes to prove that their bet was the clear winner.
She snorts. None of them would win. She'd give him around—
"15 minutes," Bogard interrupts her train of thoughts.
She looks up, one of her eyebrows quirked. "15?" She repeats, before she frowns. Her earlier speculation was that Reyes would make it back in at most 20 minutes, but if Bogard, a competent Marine who'd spent years in the service underneath her grandfather's supervision, had claimed so then… the only thing she can doubt is herself this time. After all, he has more experience about this than her.
True to Bogard's assessment, Reyes emerges from the water within the span of fifteen minutes, soaking wet from head to toe, and shirtless chest glistening with a combination of water droplets and sweat.
She takes a very brief moment to admire the view before she shifts her attention to his shirt, which he holds like a plastic bag where the cannonball rests within.
Smart. Using his shirt as a makeshift net in order to ease his journey back to the ship. No wonder her grandfather likes this guy—brawny, snarky, and resourceful. A fun type.
As the group of rookie Marines either swear or boast about having lost/won their bet, Reyes stalks off to where she and Bogard are.
"Here's the stupid 'ball," Reyes blusters, wearing an impressively nightmarish expression as he shoots her laughing grandfather on the upper deck a deathly glare. He brings his arm back, prepared to throw the cannonball; however, he pauses, his gaze straying towards her, and his scowl deepens. Instead of throwing it as she'd expected, he hands it over to Bogard who accepts it with a curt nod.
"Good work," Bogard praises, and there's surprisingly an amount of emotion in his voice as compared to the monotone one he usually adopts.
Reyes nods back out of respect, eyes boldly meeting his superior's, before he stalks off towards to where the showers would be.
Once he's gone, she turns to look up at Bogard, a question on the tip of her tongue for his strange behavior. When she sees the look on Bogard's face, the question immediately dies and she averts her gaze towards the bright blue horizon, pretending for all the world as if she'd seen nothing.
"Hold this for me, would you?" Bogard breaks the ice.
She has enough time to catch him depositing the cannonball right between her legs. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem since he hadn't placed it on her lap (or back, as Garp had one time to see if she could handle its weight) and the cannonballs were usually warm by this time of day due to having absorbed heat from the sun's rays.
However, after been submerged in the ocean for more than fourteen minutes—long enough for it to have lost any heat—suffice to say, there was a very cold and very wet cannonball pressing up against her inner thighs.
"Eek!" She squeaks at the suddenly icy sensation. In an effort to escape the cold, she'd toppled over one side of the beach chair whilst the cannonball rolls over to the other side where it lands with a heavy THUD. "Bogard!" She shrieks in anger and complaint, hurrying to right herself up and press her skirt down from it having flipped.
When she looks up to furiously glare at the man who she's come to gradually learn is a total jackass, her ire flares at the sight of him amusedly smirking at her.
Why he—!
"ISLAND IN SIGHT!" A Marine soldier from the crow's nest bellows out through the megaphone, making her wince because he didn't have to say it so loudly with a medium in hand.
Everything that has happened in the past two minutes is immediately forgotten, and replaced with the notion of an island. Her first one. And in sight at that.
She immediately throws all caution to the wind and hurries over to the railing. After hefting herself up over the edge just a bit to get a clear view of it, she squints her eyes in order to get a better view of it.
"Need any help there, Lu?" A shadow appears looming over her before the voice ever reaches her ears, but she's familiar enough with it to casually tilt her head back and smile ever so brightly at her grinning grandfather.
She nods. A moment later, she's sitting quite comfortably atop her grandfather's shoulders and peering into a telescope he wordlessly hands over to her.
She doesn't quite know how to use a telescope, so it takes a few minutes of struggling with it to properly adjust the view, but her efforts are all worth it when she catches a clear glimpse of her first island and her breath is quite literally stolen from her lungs.
The first thing she notices are the steep cliffs that composes the borders of the island. They tower over the largest of waves that crash against it, creating a perfect defense from not only foreign invaders but also from tsunamis.
She wonders what would it be like to throw herself over the edge of those cliffs, to feel the wind rushing past her cheeks, and to dive into the ocean that sings for her presence.
The second thing she takes note of is the large mountain—maybe even larger than Dawn Island's Mt. Colubo—that stretches over most of the island's territory from the center. She spots clusters of both urbanized towns and ruralized villages dotted across the mountain's expanse, and marvels at the bare trails that burrow deep grooves into the foliage that blankets the island's large mountain.
Trade routes, she belatedly realizes after a moment. Trade routes that signify the existence of an interactive economy between the island's towns and villages.
"Do you see it?" Garp asks and, once she pulls the telescope away from her eye in order to look down at him, there is a boyish youth twinkling in his dark eyes that looks misplaced on his aged features.
Garp looks happy, even if there is no reason to be.
"Yeah," she answers, before peering back into the 'scope.
"That island there is called Polestar Island. Beautiful, isn't it?" He asks her, and she bobs her head up and down in answer. "They don't have a kingdom like Dawn Island does, but they have plenty of Marine bases over there to make up for a lack of authority," he informs her.
"Why doesn't Dawn Island have a Marine base?" She asks purely out of curiosity.
"'Cause of those Goa nobles," Garp says, and the way he pronounces the word noble sounds as if he's pronouncing something that isn't. "And they made a huge racket about it too. Something about upholding traditions and them being 'capable' enough to take care of their own kingdom," he snorts.
"But what if pirates attack Dawn?" She brings up, and wonders if the Blue-something pirates have already made base on her lovely little island. The very thought of them—dangerous pirates who wouldn't hesitate to poke holes through her body if she so much as made herself a threat to them—sends a sliver of fear to cowardly curl underneath her heart.
Interestingly enough, the very thought of them is enough to make the very blood that flows through her veins boil as well.
("SABO!" Ace cries out to, hand outstretched so far as if he's able to stretch them far enough to reach his brother in all but blood.
But Sabo keeps walking. He walks, and walks, and walks. He never looks back what with the hand of his sperm donor on his back keeping him from turning around and doing what should have been done.)
Not this time, she vows to herself silently.
"Pirates won't attack Dawn," Garp says with all the confidence in the world. "They know better than to do that. But if there're pirates dumb enough to even try, there's a Marine base in the closest island that'll be able respond to any call for help," he tells her as if he's trying to placate her worries. "Don't you worry, Lu. No bastard pirate will take you away. I promise you that."
"…If you say so," is her skeptical reply. "Any fun facts about Polestar Island?" She asks instead.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll love this one," Garp boasts, and she can practically feel him preening.
"Shoot."
"This is the island where Gol D. Roger was executed!"
…
She has enough grace to hold the telescope close to her chest before she so much as drops it out of shock. "Pardon?" She asks for clarification.
It didn't seem as if Garp had heard her, since he bulldozed on, "And guess what? We're going over to the town where Gold Roger was executed! Isn't that exciting, Lu?"
She has to reboot her comprehensive ability several times before she is able to answer. "Yes." She licks her lips, mouth and throat suddenly dry. "Exciting."
L.I.N.E.
Once the Melody has been parked into one of the many private Marine ports on Polestar island, Garp and what seems to be sixty percent of his total crew—which includes a bored-looking Bogard—are quick to disseminate into five small-celled units.
The first unit is to accompany Garp on his annual inspection of Loguetown's Marine base.
The second unit is to accompany Bogard in order to stock up on artillery supplies.
The third unit is to purchase medical supplies.
The forth unit, the most important one, is to stock up on their food.
And the last unit, making up at least five trained Marine soldiers like all the other units, is assigned to be her babysitter.
Discontentment practically oozes off from her unit—and isn't that just funny. She has her own unit of trained Marine bodyguards. Isn't she just special—once Garp is done delegating the orders of 'watch over my grandkid' to them.
But it doesn't matter, because five minutes after the company has dispersed in order to follow through with their tasks, she is quick to slip behind a passing crowd of people and easily makes herself sparse.
She hardly pays any mind to the shouts of confusion and utter terror that had most likely come from her unit of Marine bodyguards, who'd previously huddled up into a circle in order to discuss who exactly was going to tell her that it's be better and safer to stay on the ship than roam around the island.
She snorts, because exchange fun for safety?
Bull. Shit.
L.I.N.E.
Loguetown is surprisingly boring, in her opinion.
Although it is definitely a step up from her provincial Foosha Village, it isn't urbanized enough yet that it knocks the breath out of her lungs.
Yes, it may purely be one big mixed-development area, a big mash up of a commercial and residential district that impressively works, but there are no factories chugging out smoke to pollute the air above, or skyscrapers reaching up to the sky for the entire town to see, or buildings easily surpassing ten floors high.
Heck, the most impressive technology she's seen so far in this town is most probably the air-conditioning in most shops and a chunky looking beetle car that moved at least ten kilometers per hour.
She has yet to pass by a police station, which only highlights her growing concern over whether or not the Marines are the only working law enforcement division for every island. Additionally, no fire station has yet appeared in her sights.
On a slightly bright side, she's spotted an elementary school within this boorish town; however, any educational facility of a much higher level than that has yet to appear as well.
Feeling an incoming migraine due to mostly the heat of the sun, she scurries over to an ice cream stand and promptly orders five scoops of chocolate in a cup, which costs but a small fraction of what 250 grams of chocolate would cost back in Dawn Island.
She hands the right amount of Beli, which comes from the pouch of jingling coins that Garp had so kindly handed to her for her to wisely (splurge with) use, and fires off curious questions.
"Mister, how do you keep your ice cream cold?" In a refrigerator.
"Mister, can this ice cream van move?" No, it cannot. It is just a small, electrically-fueled stall that had been fashioned to appear as so since it'd seemed so popular in the Grand Line.
"How do you make your ice cream?" Imported from an outside source.
"Mister, do you know where the library is?" There is no library. None. But there is a bookstore at the west side of town, just beyond the farmer's market.
Just as she's about to ask about any other educational facility or where exactly can she get a map or even a newspaper, her order has arrived and the man shoos her off.
He fucking shoos her off.
Forcing on her manners, she thanks him and scurries off to—
She pauses.
There aren't any available nearby benches left.
Squinting her eyes, she surveys the populated area thrice before she spots an available bench that is frighteningly close to a dark and narrow alleyway.
Normally, she wouldn't have dared. Her common sense would have rung alarm bells to warn her that this is not a good idea. But it is hot, and she is sweaty, and her ice cream is melting by the minute, so she rips off the alarm bells going off in her head and scurries over to the stone bench to sit her fat ass on it.
If any pickpocketer or kidnapper plan on targeting her, then they have another thing coming if they plan on getting in the way of her enjoying her much-awaited chocolate ice cream.
The first spoonful of heaven that rests on her tongue is positively sinful. There is no adjective she can find in her mushed up brain to describe the glorious way her taste buds just explode. The chocolate's rich palate curls around her tongue, floods her mouth with the most exquisite of flavor, and she's sure her heart's about ready to burst from sheer joy.
"Mhhhmm," she hums in pleasure, before taking another big spoonful.
By the time she's just about to dig into her fourth scoop of chocolate ice cream, she feels it. Something slithering into her bag in order to reach into its contents.
When she reflects about it later on, she supposes she should have reacted by calmly grabbing the hand rummaging through her bag and screaming with all of her might in order to attract every passerby's attention.
However, that is for later. Right now, she acts in what she believes is the most reasonable option.
She aggressively grabs the wrist of the person who had dared to interrupt her chocolate ice cream time and, with her heart racing out of sheer panic and annoyance, smashes the rest of her ice cream into her perpetrator's face.
L.I.N.E.
(And this how her empire will begin)
L.I.N.E.
"I am so, so sorry," she fretfully apologizes, using her wet handkerchief to wipe away the residue of chocolate off of her perpetrator's face.
Her perpetrator—an extremely skinny boy who hardly appears any older than her with an explosion of dark brown spikes for hair and scarily sharp teeth that shouldn't even be scientifically possible—shies away from her touch, but a firm tug on his tank-top keeps him in place.
"'m fine," the street child snaps before he bats her hands away from him. He fixates a harsh glare on her, and she can tell that he's imagining her suddenly bursting into flames until all that's left of her remains is dust.
No, you're not, is what she desperately wants to say. You're alone on the streets, stealing from people, and you look as if you hadn't had a decent meal in forever. Your clothes are full of rips, you're covered in grime, and you look like a mess.
Instead, she bottles up everything she wants to say, and beam a harmless smile to him. "Let me make it up to you then. How 'bout getting lunch, my treat?" she offers.
The boy stares at her with squinted, suspicious eyes.
She can't blame him. Earlier, she'd dumped her snack onto him; now, here they are, in front of the nearest clean fountain, with her offering to treat him to lunch after having him dunk his head into fountain's water.
She must be a total weirdo to him.
"Excuse me," a woman's kind voice calls out.
Suddenly, there's a hand on her shoulder, and she's forced to look up at the face of a young woman smiling down warmly at her.
She blinks. She doesn't know this woman. "Yes?" She asks out of politeness and with a smile, because why not? This woman looks nice.
"Is this boy bothering you?" Those are the first words that come out of the woman's mouth next.
It's enough to wipe the smile off of her face. When she glances over, said boy is glaring down at the ground, and irritation swells strongly within her when she catches sight of the woman's look of disgust for the boy.
"Oh my, are you all by yourself? Your parents must be worried sick about you! Here, come with nee-chan and I'll help you look for them, okay?" The young—guileless—woman extends a proposal that would have sounded kind to other children, but only sounds offensive to her.
As the young woman reaches out to take her in her arms, Luffy practically glues herself to the boy's side, wrapping her arms around his skinny ones and clinging on for dear life.
An icily cold smile appears on her face. "It's okay, nee-chan. I'm not alone. I have my friend with me." To prove her point, she beams brightly at the boy, who immediately ceased his struggling once he saw the barely constrained flames burning brightly in her dark eyes. "Right, friend?"
The boy cringes, having heard the authoritative tone in her voice, and swiftly nods his head several. "Y-Yes!"
The young woman does not look convinced, and argues, "Still. Where're your parents? Do they even know you're out here by yourself?"
Nosy woman, she vehemently thinks. "I don't think my parents would like it very much if I went along with a stranger," she answers back with a sneer, momentarily stunning the young woman. Taking advantage of a way out, she tugs on the boy's clothes with a snap of, "c'mon," and slips into the crowd, leading him through the small routes that the cluster of moving legs provide for them.
L.I.N.E.
"Is here okay?" She asks once she guides the both of them out of the crowd.
"Huh?" The boy voices aloud, looking away from his detailed scrutiny of the crowd.
"Here. You know, to eat?" She reminds him, gesturing towards the dingy resto bar. It reminds her somewhat of Party's Bar, which is enough to send a pang of melancholy deep in her heart.
"A bar?" The boy mutters, sounding perplexed, as she drags him past the establishment's doors.
"Bars are your best friend," she informs him, pausing for a long moment to help herself up on the tall bar stool. She waits for him to do the same before continuing on, "The people here aren't particularly choosy with who comes and goes, so you don't have to worry about anybody kicking you out unless you cause any trouble for them." She turns to face the barista tending to one of the shop's many beer mugs. "Sir! Do you serve any food?"
The barista looks over his shoulder, and the only reaction he shows of being surprised by the presence of children in the bar is a raised brow. "Pork or fish?"
"Fish for me," she says, before looking towards the boy. "How 'bout you? Don't worry. I'm paying, remember? Take advantage of it," she sends him a disarming smile.
The boy's eyes are impossible wide. "B-Both then," he stumbles on the words he mutters.
"Your food'll be ready in twenty minutes. Don't break anything you can't pay for," the barista warns them before heading to the back where the kitchen is mostly likely at.
As the back door slams to a shut, she realizes something. "Oh yeah. I never really told you my name, huh? Just call me Luffy. Everybody I know does," she introduces herself, Monkey smile on her face, as she sticks her hand out. "You?"
The boy regards her hand warily as one would regard a dog. Would it be soft and friendly to touch, or would it snap its jaws and draw blood? In the end, he takes her hand. "Bart," he curtly answers.
She squeezes his hand firmly before letting it go. "You don't look like a Bart," she says, because the image that comes to mind when she hears the name Bart is the asshole of a kid on the Simpsons show.
He was her favorite character.
The Bart—the one standing in front of her—looks nothing like a Bart; even if he colored his skin yellow.
The street boy frowns. "Well what kind of name is Luffy?" He sneers with a roll of his eyes. "My name is, is—It's normal," he retorts.
She props an elbow on the counter and places her chin atop the back of her hand. "And so?" She asks with a snort, eyebrow arched. "Normal's boring. Besides, at least I look like a Luffy, ne?"
She grins a grin full of teeth, and she knows she looks menacing.
Bart flinches; just as she's wondering if she's taken her teasing a little too far, the bartender returns with his hands full of food and places it before her and Bart.
"Thank you. How much do I have to pay?" She sends the bartender a quick smile before she fleets her gaze to Bart, who's already drooling at the large plate of food set before him.
The bartender gives her a price, and she pays for it without so much as a peep. It's a bit more expensive than the prices she's used to in Foosha, but Loguetown is much more advanced in industry that its agricultural sector might be a bit lacking. Or, it could be because the establishment's owner has marked up the prices a percentage too high.
"Itadakimasu," she says out of respect and enculturation. She still doesn't understand what kind of culture Foosha has, but it appears to have a blend between a Japanese and European one. She's just about to dig into her food when she catches sight of Bart looking strangely at her.
One explanation of what Itadakimasu means, why do people even do that, and how it has something to do with beliefs and religion, Bart is murmuring a meeker, "Itadakimasu," before he downright attacks his food with a kind of vengeance that uneases her.
"Eat slowly, or you'll vomit it all out," she rebukes him, placing a hand on his wrist. "You don't have to eat it all at once. Your stomach might not be able to handle it. Besides, you can bring home whatever leftovers you leave, so don't force yourself if you're full," she details to him.
Bart gives her a withering glare. "You talk too much," he huffs in between mouthfuls.
She laughs.
When they're done eating and out of the bar, Bart turns to face her. His stomach is slightly bloated with food and in his hand is his own doggy bag—where a combination of his and her leftovers are plus two extra sets of meals that do not need a refrigerator rests.
She knows that, in the future, she'll look back on this day. This day where a street boy had asked her, "why? Why do this?" and she'd reply with a simple, "Because I wanted to."
Maybe she should have said something cooler—something harsher and more real.
Like, because you were hungry and someone should've fed you, but since nobody did, I decided to be that someone.
Like, because you're just a kid and kids should not be stealing at this age.
Like, because nobody deserves to be seen or treated as dirt like that lady had treated you, and I wanted to show you that not everybody is like that. Mean and bad and cruel, instead of nice and warm and so full of kindness that people are capable enough of.
She doesn't say any of those things—she talks too much, after all, so maybe she should tone it down a little—and instead waves goodbye at Bart until he disappears into a dark alleyway
L.I.N.E.
Puerto Princesa, the sign reads. Puerto Princesa in black calligraphy against a lilac-painted wooden board with Morning Glories in full bloom hanging off of the vines wrapped around the chains of the board.
She spots the sign just as she rounds the corner, having initially been fully content to return to the ship since her hunger for both food and adventure have been sated for the day.
Despite its oddity in color combinations, it's a fetching combination of colors. Its uniqueness is enough to make her turn her head to catch a short peek of the store's wares.
She stops.
"No way," she breathes out in a tone of wonderment and surprise. Nearing the store, she places her palms against the cool glass of the store's windows and promptly stares at the paintings, the assortment of wooden and metal figures, and various knick knacks of monuments that belong in her world.
France's Eiffel Tower in all its metal glory of thirteen inches reflects a beam of fluorescent light from above onto her face. She's momentarily blinded by the flash of green that fills her vision, but that's not enough to stop her from her staring.
India's Taj Mahal, Brazil's Christ the Redeemer, Egypt's Pyramids of Giza, Italy's (or Dressrosa's, the logical side of her brain whispers) Colosseum, India's Taj Mahal, Cambodia's Angkor Wat, Moai's Easter Island Statues, and so many more.
These are her old world's monuments, and she can hardly believe that she's seeing them again in this world.
Quickly, she scurries into the humbly small shop. Bells chime from above her head, and she winces at the sudden noise as she closes the door behind her.
Her expectations of the Puerto Princesa being a merchandise store is immediately overwritten once she spots the dozens of rows of shelves filled to the brim with books and other text materials.
It's a bookstore; quite an old-looking one too, judging by the antiques littered atop whatever desks there are within the store.
"The store's closed!" A hoarse voice announces loud enough to make her ears ring a little. An elderly woman wobbles out from a hallway, her silver hair looking more like silver wires pulled up into an unrelenting bun, and glassy eyes behind a pair of glasses with a string of beads coming from each down from each side to hang loosely around her neck.
Quick as a predator after its meal, she lunges towards the elderly woman. Gripping the fabric of the elderly woman's long skirt, she looks up with wide (crazy) eyes and demands, "Where did you get your knick knacks at the display?!"
Because if she's correct, and those displays at the front aren't just an artist's coincidental creations, then this might be her first and only clue to the reason behind her sudden reincarnation into this world.
And the answer to the unspoken question if whether or not she truly is the only off-worlder in this one.
L.I.N.E.
"Thank you," she gratefully says as she accepts the tall glass of iced tea from Emilia, the recently-introduced owner of Puerto Princesa. "I'm really sorry for intruding on you, but…"
"It's fine," Emilia interrupts her, taking her own seat on a chair from across the table separating them. "You're looking for answers, I'm sure of," Emilia suddenly says as she swirls her teaspoon into her grey earl tea.
She nods, unable to free the words that traps itself in her throat.
"You don't belong in this world, I'm sure of," Emilia says it as if she was pointing out something. "Fact is, this isn't even your first life, I'm sure of?"
"I…yes," she reluctantly admits, because there's no use in hiding it anymore from somebody who just seems to know. "A-Are you?" She internally berates herself for stammering, but can't really blame herself because this is the first time she's ever met somebody from her old world and the fact that she has only chills her to the very core at the possibility that this might not be the last time she'll ever meet somebody not of this world.
"No," Emilia answers.
She nearly drops her glass; her reflexes are the only ones that safely catches the glass from shattering to how many shards on the wooden floor.
"What," she can't help but say dumbly.
"This is my first life. Well, the only one I'm aware of. It's my grandmother who's like you, I'm sure of" Emilia continues with barely a blink, but the smile that curls her lips upwards is enough to express her amusement over surprising her.
"Your grandmother?" She parrots, and squints her eyes at Emilia—a clearly 70-something year old woman—and frowns.
"Oh, she's dead right now. Buried eight feet underground in Loguetown's Adriano Cemetery, I'm sure of. She'd have turned you away if she was still alive. You were quite rude. Suddenly grabbing me and demanding for answers. What a rude child, I'm sure of," Emilia tuts at her, before taking a sip of her tea.
"I—sorry," she sheepishly apologizes, unable to resist the elderly woman's charms. There's just something about Emilia that makes her bend and feel the need to comply to the old woman's complaints. It's probably because of her elderly status—something that Garp hasn't yet achieved what with how youthful he behaves.
"Just don't do it all the time, dearie. Anyways, as I was saying, my grandmother's just like you. An off-worlder. Came to this world after…dying, I'm sure of?" Emilia looks towards her with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes," she confirms. "I died in the…," she struggles to find a term. "…Old world. And then woke up as a baby in this one."
Emilia tilts her head, and regards her in the same way a hawk would do a rat. "Curious," she comments. "My grandmother didn't wake up as a baby like you did. In fact, after dying, she suddenly found herself falling from the sky."
"F-Falling?" She stutters out, paling significantly.
"Yes. Falling. She fell right into the ocean, I'm sure of. She nearly died that day. You must've been lucky to wake up in a new body." Lucky… She hadn't really thought of her predicament as lucky; however, considering the current source of comparison, she supposes she had been lucky to wake up in the body of an infant instead of falling from the sky. "How did you die, exactly? My own grandmother died from blood loss, I'm sure of. She was stabbed in the chest by somebody breaking into her house" Emilia says, discretely looking down at her own drink.
"I died from blood loss too," she answers in a quiet voice, staring down into the deep, dark brown pool of her own drink. Only a quarter of it had been finished. "I was in a car accident. The crash sent one of the materials in the ambulance through my stomach. It was painful at first." Obnoxiously so. She still can't shake off the feeling of her kidney being punctured, of half of her stomach just taken away from her like that. She still woke up some nights with cold sweat. "Everybody else was unconscious. By the time help arrived, it was already too late. I'd lost too much blood. Everything was numb. I'd…died."
"…I see. I'm sorry for the loss," Emilia says, more out of courtesy than respect.
"It's fine. I got over it." Mostly. "Could you continue on about your grandmother?" She requests after taking in a slightly shaky breath. Chills were starting to creep up her spine, and she steeled her heart because what else could she do? She would be subjective and emotional once she got back on the ship.
"Of course. Luckily, my grandfather was there that day and rescued her. He nursed her back to health, and even took care of her afterwards. You can guess what happens after that," Emilia enigmatically smiles.
Grandmother. Grandfather. It was just like a fairy tale story. "They got married and had kids, and their kids had grandkids too," she deduces.
"Correct," Emilia confirms with a nod.
"And she was the one who made the knickknacks on display?" She guesses.
"Correct again," Emilia confirms; this time with a smile. "She made those for my mother and uncles. My grandmother was fond of anything artistic. Stories, paintings, sculptors, flower arrangements. Anything, really. She would regale my family with her stories, and draw and make things from her old world to give us a better image of it. Emilia points at a painting hanging on the wall. It was a simple sketch made with a charcoal pencil.
It was a charcoal sketch of an airplane—something that hasn't yet existed in this world.
"Wow," she can't help but breathe out. "Your grandmother sounds amazing."
"She was," Emilia agrees. "My grandfather was a lucky man. My grandmother too. I've never seen a couple as happy as them," she murmurs, running a finger across the silver band around her finger.
She doesn't make a comment about the ring. Instead, she asks, "Am I the only one who's come here asking about those knickknacks out front?" She's been itching to know if she's the only one.
Emilia meets her gaze, the sorrow in her eyes fading away; only to be replaced by sympathy. "Yes," the elderly woman answers.
She doesn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed by that; yet, she feels as if a heavy weight had been taken off of her shoulders. Days of wondering whether she was the only off-worlder in this world had finally been answered, and she feels a sigh escape her lungs.
"I see," she murmurs, before quenching her suddenly dry throat with a sip of iced tea. "Thank you."
An awkward silence settles in the atmosphere in the room.
Emilia breaks it once she finishes her cup of tea. "Wait here," she commands as she suddenly gets up and toddles towards a shelf.
She'd have obeyed Emilia's request if not for the fact that the elderly woman was trying to push a shelf against the wall. "Um…do you need help?" She awkwardly asks, unsure of how to proceed.
"No, no! I'm fine, I'm sure of! These bones of mine are just a little rusty from old age, but I still have it in me! You just stare there and wait, okay?!" Emilia orders, giving her a stern look.
And she does. She sits there, waits, and watches as the elderly woman struggles to push the shelf. She feels a little cruel for just watching, but Emilia had told her to do so and she felt a little more scared of the consequences of disobeying Emilia.
Finally, Emilia pushes aside the shelf where, conveniently and suspiciously, a small safe is embedded into the wall.
Her eyes widen a bit at the revelation.
Emilia turns the dial to its proper sequence. A click resounds in the room, and the safe's door creaks open. Emilia brings out something covered with a cloth blanketed with dust.
She sits on the edge of her seat, curious and ready to take flight just in case it's a weapon. A million thoughts are running through her mind. She knew she shouldn't have just so easily revealed practically everything about herself. Run, run, run, the logical part of her brain blares out.
Emilia sets the object on the table, not even bothering to close the safe or put the bookshelf back in its proper place. The elderly woman takes a seat across from her.
"This," Emilia starts off dramatically, placing a hand on the cloth covering the object. "Belonged to my grandmother. It's one of most precious things she left behind after she'd died. I found it in her garden one morning, and believed that it would be better off keeping it hidden than selling it."
She furrows her eyebrows. Garden? Why on earth would somebody hide something—especially something precious of theirs—in a garden? "O-kaaay," she answers unsurely.
"Before my grandmother decided to marry my grandfather and settle down and have a dozen children—oh I'm just kidding. She only had three. Dear old granny would have cut off my grandpa's pecker if they had more than five—she went out of an adventure with him. Traveled all of East Blue, they did. Never made it out on the Grandline since it was too dangerous and they were only two people," Emilia told her.
With her interest enraptured by Emilia, she eagerly leaned in forward.
"On one particular island, surrounded by storms, she found this." Emilia patted the covered object.
She wondered if it was a weapon, but she's never seen a weapon so oddly shaped.
"My grandfather wasn't fast enough to stop my grandmother from taking a bite out of it," Emilia sighed out, but there was a fond smile on her face.
A bite? Why on earth would take a bite out of—oh.
"Oh," she breathed out, already knowing what exactly was underneath that cloth.
"Oh, exactly," Emilia chuckled.
No wonder Emilia found it in the garden. Devil fruits manifested in the fruit (or vegetable?) nearest to their owner when they died. Emilia's grandmother must have died near the garden, most likely the house where she lived and raised her kids and grandkids in.
"I don't have a particular use for it, and I don't want any of my children or grandchildren using it either. Devil fruits are named devil fruits for a reason, I'm sure of. The fruits of which the ocean placed humanity's sins within, submitting any person who consumes it to never be able to survive within Her world," Emilia sighs out loudly. "You can have it, if you want. My grandmother would've most likely approved of it. You're comrades, after all," Emilia smiles wryly, looking as if she'd just told the best joke in, like, ever.
You can have it. The words echo in her mind several times as she stares at the clothed object. As if her body has a mind of its own, she takes hold of the object—slightly surprised to feel something hard and solid underneath the cloth—before drags it towards her.
Tentatively, she pulls the cloth off.
A light blue, transparent jar meets her gaze. It looks like a mason jar; a very pretty one at that with carousel horses molded onto the glass's surface. It'd make a lovely flower vase. Makino would love it.
She easily twists the lid open.
When she peers into the jar, she's met with the sight of a small fruit with a long stem poking out from its tip.
Hesitantly pinching the step with the pads of her thumb and forefinger, she pulls the tiny fruit of its vessel and inquisitively examines it.
It's no Gomu Gomu no Mi that's for sure. Although the Gomu Gomu no Mi and this devil fruit were similar in shape, that's where the similarities ended. Firstly, this devil fruit was too small. It fitted just right in the small palm of her small hand. Secondly, the color schemes were too different. Whereas the Gomu Gomu no Mi was a bizarre shade of purple, this one was black, making it look more rotten than edible, with tiny swirls of a variety of colors on it.
It looked like fireworks against a dark sky.
It looked like death reincarnated into a fruit.
"Is this still edible?" She questions.
"Who knows," Emilia shrugs. "All I know is that once you eat it, you gain the fruit's power."
"And what exactly is its power?" She inquires, because ain't no way in hell she'd eat a devil fruit she doesn't know the powers of.
Emilia smiles enigmatically. "Eat it then," she urges. "My grandmother found it quite convenient to use for all sorts of situations."
She frowns because that hardly answered her question.
Still, she turned back to examining the fruit with inquisitive eyes.
An unknown devil fruit with unknown powers to her. Hardly seemed right for her to eat it because who knows; if she would eat this fruit, there's like a fifty percent chance she'd get a useful power.
Besides, Luffy already has a devil fruit he's destined to eat. The Gomu Gomu no Mi. She already has a substantial amount of knowledge over how to utilize that fruit of his and even make a few moves of her own to take down any future opponents in the future.
She's Luffy, and Luffy's her. What's Luffy's is her, and what's hers if Luffy's. If the Gomu Gomu no Mi is destined for Luffy, then it must surely be destined for her as well.
Just as she's decided to put the fruit down, Emilia's voice reaches her ears.
"It's yours," the elderly woman says, and the way her voice distorts into something wise and aged has her flickering her gaze to meet the elderly's woman's. "It was obviously meant for you. You wouldn't have come into this store in the first place if you weren't destined to."
Mine. That one, greedy, possessive word bounces off against the walls of her mind. Meant for me. She looks down at the fruit, suddenly finding herself hypnotized by its different colored swirls. Destined for me.
That's right, she thinks. Luffy is his own person, just as she is her own person. They may have the same body (despite the difference in gender), but they were different characters altogether. She's isn't just Luffy, and Luffy isn't just her. They're both more than that.
Luffy has his own adventure (male, innocent, charismatic, charming, powerful, seventeen, destined to become Pirate King).
She will have her own (female, once-lived, determined, passionate, tricky, three, grabbing destiny by the hand to lead it to an alternative path).
Luffy's made his own decisions (Gomu Gomu no Mi, dismembered arm, beaten nearly to death, saving nakama he barely knew, challenging the World).
She will make her own decisions (I'll challenge the world itself).
It's her rashest decision as of yet, but that's what she's recently so good at. Making the rashest of decisions and never once (okay maybe just a little) regretting any of them.
Thank you, she thinks to Emilia, to Emilia's grandmother, to Luffy, to herself. She doesn't even know anymore.
She opens the mouth and consumes the small fruit whole, plucking off the stem just as her lips close upon the entirety of the fruit.
The minute her teeth punctures into the fruit, her face twists into an expression of pure and utter disgust.
No devil fruit-user exaggerated on the horrid taste of their fruit; in fact, their reactions were quite lacking.
"EUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!"
L.I.N.E.
Inhumane.
That was the only word Luffy could use to describe her fruit—the Kakki Kakki no Mi, a voice trembles from within her very soul. It shakes her physically, mentally, and emotionally. It makes her want to vomit, and she already has so on the floor that she's just finished cleaning up.
It was just utterly inhumane. She was right—it was death reincarnated into a fruit. She's surprised she hadn't lost consciousness the second after she forced herself to swallow it down.
"Thank you for everything," she bows to Emilia, as is customary. "I'll drop by again once I find the time to do so." Or if I find the courage and time to set sail from Dawn Island earlier than Luffy had, she thinks.
"Hah. I'll be dead by then, I'm sure of," Emilia laughs, making her flinch. "It's the thought that counts though, so thank you. Here. Have a cinnamon roll. It'll erase the devil fruit's taste," Emilia teasingly offers a paper bag to her.
She flushes but takes the proffered gift. The devil fruit really was inhumane. A thing created by the ocean, she was sure of. The ocean must not know how to cook, or was just damn terrible at it.
"So? Any changes?" Emilia asks as she leads her out of the bookstore.
"I feel weird." Weird is an exaggeration. She feels as if there's something other than blood flowing through her veins. Like a dying flame, or a melting ice, or maybe even an electrical current being smothered by rubber. She doesn't know how to explain this feeling. She feels light and heavy at the same time, like there's an invisible force pushing her from above and below.
She doesn't feel pain; for that, she's grateful.
"That's good," Emilia breathes out a sigh of relief, as if she'd been expecting her to spontaneously combust, which actually worries her. "You be off now. That grandfather of yours must be worried sick of where you are."
Oh yeah, she forgot about Garp. "You're right. Thank you for everything, again. It was fun," she smiles up at Emilia. She's never felt an instant connection such as this with somebody else before; she's happy to have experienced it for once.
She bows once more to Emilia, bids her goodbye for what she hopes isn't the final time, and walks back to the ship.
L.I.N.E.
She makes it back to the ship, even humming a jaunty tune she'd heard once from Woop Slap.
She doesn't make it back on the ship.
A Marine soldier finds her collapsed on the walkway, and nearly froths in the mouth at the thought of having to face Garp and explain to him how and why exactly is his granddaughter unconscious and running a high fever.
L.I.N.E.
AN:
*Creeps out of a hole with a pair of dark brown mouse hair poking out of my hair* E-Eto. H-Hello everybody, a-ahahaha. It's been quite some time now. *Checks the calendar where the last page was August 2017 and hastily rips out the pages until its February 2018* I don't really have a plausible excuse since all I've done these past seven months is breathe, study, eat, celebrate the holidays and read fan fiction. I should've been writing fan fiction instead of reading it but whenever I opened my laptop, my instincts and reflexes just made me ignore the Strikhedonia folder that's practically in the center of my laptop screen and instead clicked open the Kill Me folder where all of my papers are in *cries a river of Styx at the reminder of the hell I had to go through*. Again, I'm really sorry for the long wait ahaha.
Anyways! Forunately for both you and me, this whole day was my only rest day in a while (I spent my holidays and birthday doing papers. How nerdy am I), and I spent it fruitfully by, once again, scrapping the original plans for this chapter and writing an entirely new one all in one day. I've been getting faster in typing recently and coming up with scene ideas; hopefully the next update won't be half a year later so expect one within March? April? Basta, just within those months hahaha. School's gonna be done by then and I can finally concentrate on this story and preparing myself for university!
I hope ya'll enjoy it 'cause it's mostly full of shit ahaha, but hey, a chapter's a chapter, ne? Just tell me what you liked and disliked about the chapter, so that I can reply to all of your wonderful reviews!
Please explain why and when you will update. It's been a long time.
Ahahaha, I've received a lot of reviews about this one. Some from guests. I just want to clasp my skinny fingers on your shoulders and shake you until your soul comes out. Number one reason would of course be school. I'm a workaholic—ask anybody I know in RL if you ever find out about me. They can say that I'm quite the ambitious little shit haha. Number two reason would be family, who I feel like strangling and hugging at the same time. Number three reason would, probably, because these kinds of reviews make me want to take a much longer time to update because I have this sadistic feeling to make guys like you wait. I'm really sorry, but it sometimes makes me feel better to receive PMs or reviews like when will you update or like girl you're killing me with the long time since you've updated
To the rest of you folks who've never asked me when I'll update, I deeply apologize but my workaholic tendencies has made me slightly mentally unstable aha.
Polestar Island?
It's legit. Loguetown is a part of this island. Apparently Loguetown isn't really an island but a town lol. I'd APA my source but meh, let me relish in my freedom from studies.
Any other offworlder?
Alive? Hah! Only S!Lu-chan. The rest are all dead dead dead 'cause I have proclaimed them all to be dead mwahahaha.
Devil Fruit?
Oh, her devil fruit? Well, it's actually similar to the appearance of a cherry 'cause, you know, Cherrydrug? I just couldn't resist. Ya'll know it as the Kakki Kakki no Mi. I'd thoroughly google it if I were you if you want more details 'cause, yeah, I encourage research in my readers. Feel the research consume you, feel it. Whoever gets it right first get, like, an answer to any question they want about Strikhedonia.
Oh no! Luffy is sick.
Hah! Terribly so. It's just a side-effect of her fruit 'cause duh, I ain't making her journey to learning the power of her fruit all rainbows of sunshine. I'mma make her experience pain similar to sleepless nights finishing papers.
Random street boy?
Not really random, but more like a canon character. Legit. And no, he ain't Smoker. Smoker is too old to be a street boy now. Think about anybody who's from (or can be from) Loguetown with my description of the character. Hint: hair can be dyed .