Ah, it's five am already... *dies*

edit: A response for guest (ch8): crushes. Yes, crushes the size of the Grand Line.

000

Part III: Meetings and Farewells

-Red Afternoon Skies-

Hustle and bustle, every single day.

Life repeats itself across seasons.

000

"As the older sister, it's my obligation to provide proper education. That means I'll try to teach you all sorts of things that can't be learned in the wilds!"

Surprisingly, that declaration met no protests. Maybe not so surprising, actually. The island lacked a proper education system, and peasants sometimes didn't even learn how to read, much less Biology or Math beyond counting money and how babies were made. What it did mean, though, was that kids had no concept of school and thus didn't know what to expect.

Putting it that way… what if I traumatized them with tedious subjects? They'd never pursue academic improvement willingly! 'Ah gods, is this how teachers feel?'

A hand lightly shook my left shoulder. "Ann, are you still with us?"

"Mondays will be reserved for Languages. Learning other languages makes you smarter, so you'll learn other things faster too!" I shrugged Ace's hand off and continued as if I hadn't had a mini meltdown only seconds earlier.

Sabo tilted his head, "What other language? The entire world speaks Common."

"That will be covered in our first lesson. That's why you have to help me move these chairs to our library." I pointed to a slightly battered set of chairs right to our left. After years living in a hut that lacked even flush toilets, I had no qualms about scavenging through the Gray Terminal.

Sabo eyed me incredulously. "You have a library? I've been to that shack you call home for months and never saw a single book."

It was Ace, though, who pointed out the most relevant part. "You expect me to move them all the way to the Cabin, don't you?"

I smiled sweetly. "Of course! You have no problems with carrying a whole bear for hours. A few chairs can't be that difficult, right? After all, you're the strongest out of the three of us… and I promise not to make you accompany me next time I go grocery shopping."

"Fair enough."

Ace didn't hate shopping per se, just shopping with me. Probably because I was easily distracted and bought a bit too much to carry comfortably, but. Eh, had to get my entertainment somewhere, in this internet-less world.

"Sabo, can you go back with Ace? I'm going to High Town to get a few supplies we'll need, and we can't risk anyone recognizing you…"

Once alone, I climbed the walls and headed to the Northern residential area, where the moderately-influent nobles lived. There, I circled around one of the buildings until I found a room decorated with frills and more stuffed dolls than stars in the sky. From the dress thrown by the bed, I could safely assume it belonged to a girl close to my age. 'Perfect!'

I snuck inside and went directly to the closet. There, I liberated a small box of hairpins that had been thrown on the floor and a dress that didn't make my heart cry—the latest casual fashion from Mariejois was even more questionable than the norm. I didn't have anything against colorful clothes and unusual designs. But sheer black skirts painted with rainbow-colored geometric figures-neon at that-and spotlights suspended under cage crinolines with wheels to support the batteries for said spotlights? There's something seriously wrong with any piece of casual clothing that weighs more than thirty kilos...

I closed the door and exited the room through the same window. From there, I went to the other wing and found an unoccupied guest room. It was easier than it looked: family quarters were always built facing the Castle, and the guest wing on the opposite side.

I vaguely remembered reading somewhere that it began when Verin Bredars II decreed the first thing all nobles should see was his magnificent self, as he was the reason the sun even shone upon the people, or something like that?

Really, the history of the Goa Kingdom was fascinating—in a sort of horrified 'are-they-for-real' kind of way. Then again, most events in the pages of History tended to invoke those feelings.

Inside the guest room, I ran for the bathroom and took the most luxurious bath I had taken in months. Incidentally, the last time happened when I had broken into Sabo's old home to retrieve a few of his belongings (and relieve his parents of several hundred thousand beli, because they actually left it lying around).

I dried my hair and made one French braid on each side. Using the pins, I rolled them into a bun. I quickly put on the dress and carefully climbed out, cursing the length of the skirt—the owner of the dress had feet the size of the East Blue, so I had to choose one that didn't show my sandals.

It was during times like this that I missed the comfort of my old life. Especially ballpoint pens! The only other alternative here would be quills, but I wasn't confident in my own abilities with something as frail as a feather, let alone two genuine six year olds with too much strength in their grip. Also, the lack of plastic meant I'd only find school supply items in specialized art shops. Hence, the excuse to cospla—I mean, infiltration mission.

"A good day to you, mister artisan." Before he could say anything, I tilted my nose in a slightly irritated fashion and continued, "Mother told me I should not come to the shop, as it is a commoner's job, but I find myself in an awful situation. That useless female servant cannot comprehend simple commands and forgot to pack my supplies before we came to visit this dreadful country. I cannot suffer her incompetence another time, so I came in person to find the right supplies… that is, if you have them?"

"We only work with the best here, milady."

"Good. I require one box of ink sticks and a standard set of brushes from Wano, a complete set of pigments from Alabasta, one bottle of giant squid ink, two gold-tipped pens and one high-density steel-tipped pen, a set of rulers and a bow compass set—all in Chromium! I abhor those unprofessional gold ones Father collects—and a bottle of Flevance White."

At the mention of the last item, the shopkeeper paled. "We have everything you asked, but only a small vial of the signature Flevance Ink. You see, the island was recently decimated by a plague. I'm told there were no survivors."

"…is that so?" 'Could it be something as mundane as that? Maybe this is really what it seems—it's not like all that goes wrong in the world can be attributed to the World Government…'

Lots of people had died. Okay, but the only loss I could lament right then was that of the closest substitute for liquid paper…

—it's so easy to brush off tragedies when they don't affect you directly—

And so, the cabin that once belonged to our teacher became a classroom. The bed was relocated to our bedroom at home (the mattress, though, was beyond salvaging) and replaced with an old table and the retrieved chairs. The only wall that hadn't bookshelves was promptly covered with an old blackboard—courtesy of the ever-bountiful Gray Terminal.

"When you said library, you weren't kidding! Not even my old house has so many books."

"Our old teacher had all kinds of rare books, and she gave us this cabin as a farewell gift…" I murmured wistfully, eyes fixed on the sheets we used to cover the bookshelves. "Anyway, since we're all here, let's get down to business."

"So, are you going to answer my question now?"

"Of course." I took a breath. "A long time ago, a kingdom rose, gaining power at unprecedented rate. Advanced technology, the likes we can only dream of, was commonplace. Many countries fell to their three powerful weapons, named after forgotten gods: Poseidon, Pluton and Uranus. Eventually, though, all things must end. Twenty kingdoms, under the same banner, fought against their shared enemy. Afterwards, they established the World Government and subjugated the entire world."

"That was around eight hundred years ago, right?" Sabo asked. He had actually taken notes. A six year old kid was paying attention and taking notes, which, at a quick glance, had impeccable grammar and neat penmanship. 'Violin, Etiquette, Calligraphy, History… did Sabo ever sleep when he still lived as a noble?'

Ace had filled his notebook page with small, ink-smeared concept maps—that reminded me I had yet to instruct him on the proper use of the blotting paper. Wait. Concept maps? Sabo's notes could be explained as tutoring for the heir of a noble house. But did Ace just come up with the idea of concept maps by himself?

'These kids are geniuses…' Aloud, though, I said, "The shadow of the Great Kingdom still loomed over them. Afraid of the weapons they could not control, they sought to erase all facts from history. Thus, we have the Void Century, one hundred years spanning the rise and fall of a titan."

Ace frowned. "Wait, that's it? They just up and made everyone forget? How does that even work?"

"Ah, they burned all documents and killed off any who were caught teaching or learning about it. The government never managed to erase them completely, though. The fallen king had ordered the creation of special stones to register their history for all who could understand their language. Unable to destroy those stones, the Government destroyed the language itself. For that end, they enforced the Common Language and a unified currency, persecuting any who went against their policies. I'm going to teach you one of these languages. That makes me kind of a criminal, so don't blabber, kay?"

Sabo couldn't contain his excitement at that. "Does that mean I'll finally understand your twin-speak?"

Ace's shoulders tensed a little and I sent him a reassuring grin. "I was thinking of another language entirely. You see, I have no idea what Ace would get up to should we leave him to his own devices for too long…"

His lips quirked upwards and his tenseness dimmed. "Nah, it's okay. I'd like to have our own language. That can be our code; think of all the advantages!"

"So, from today on, we won't speak Common when it's just the three of us, deal?"

"What about me?" Sabo asked indignantly.

"Ah… the best learning tool is complete immersion." I smiled sweetly at him and leaned over the table.

Right by his side, Ace looked in my eyes and we shared a perfectly-mirrored sadistic little smirk.

"You know, Ann's hair completely ruins your attempts at creepy twin vibes."

'...that's it. I'm dyeing it at the nearest opportunity.'

Months became seasons, and they soon piled up as years.

So much happened, and good things out-weighed the bad by a large margin.

Lessons, theoretical ("Red or yellow and black usually means they are—Ace! GET AWAY FROM THAT POISO…nous frog. Damn.") …and practical alike.

Survival in extreme conditions. ("Bwahaha! Marathons under hailstorms are so refreshing!")

A refinement of vital skills: extortion, fraud, theft, burglary, and that one case of arson (Ace: "I swear it wasn't my fault! …but the explosion was kind of really awesome."). All done under the cover of anonymity, of course.

Life went on, and our visits to Luffy and Makino slowly transitioned into month-long stays.

Most of the books were eventually moved to a vacated building across the bar. Then, people grew curious, and some asked to borrow them. Others decided to add their own books to the collection, while the artisans provided journals and hand-written instructions for their crafts.

Before anyone noticed, Windmill Village had its own library.

My tutoring sessions with Sabo and Ace started to include Luffy. Then, all the young children in the village were sent my way… until we had a school. Not fish-school (which would be more believable), but an actual-people-school.

'I, Portgas D. Ann, age nine and six months, am the founder of the first school in Dawn Island. How is this my life?'

A dozen kids of varying ages—half of them were preadolescents, actually—were looking at me expectantly from their seats. Well, except for Ace ("Why do we have to share?"), Sabo ("Don't complain. She's getting paid for that—granted, it's a pittance. But money's money.") and Luffy (School is so cool!")

'…I'm sure this is a cosmic joke, but what's the punchline?'

Turned out those frequent bouts of unconsciousness weren't the beginning of a cold or stress, as I'd initially thought. No, it had to be narcolepsy, of all things. Relieved, Ace didn't hesitate to exploit my newfound medical condition. Pranks. Pranks. All. The. Time.

'Just you wait, Ace… soon, it'll be you who falls asleep right on top of your foo—'

Snore.

It was a clear Saturday afternoon, and the four of us were returning from the nearby orchard after helping with the harvest. That year had been especially good, and the Sato family wouldn't be able to pick so many fruits in time. So, they made a deal with Makino: she'd get four times her original order of grapes plus whatever the five of us could pick in exchange for a few bottles of Makino's home-brewed wines when they were ready.

But even Makino couldn't handle the sheer amount by herself. So, we had the task of preserving the fruit in whatever way.

My daydreams of apple cinnamon compote, peach jam, crystalized strawberries, and dried plums was interrupted by a dragon. A wooden dragon attached to the biggest ship I'd ever seen.

"Already?"

Red Afternoon Skies end_

Ann's narcolepsy won't be mentioned much because this fic is told in first person-she can't narrate if her mouth's too occupied snoring. *shot*

Also, I apologize for always ending in cliffhangers... truth is, each part could be a single long chapter. But since I'm a sloooow writer, it would never get updated.

According to Hemingway app, this chapter's readability grade is 7. Against the average grade 3 of other chapters. It was a lot easier to write.