Luffy's voice vanishes in the way the sound cuts off as you wake up from a dream.
Sanji's preparing dinner when it happens. Occupied with stirring a pot of chicken broth, when he decides to make the ladies a mid-afternoon drink, he goes to take out that tea cup set the crew got him for his birthday.
It shatters across the floor.
Sanji blinks, wide-eyed, and his cigarette falls from his mouth, landing amidst shattered porcelain shards. His hands snap up to cover his ears. His heart nearly tears its way out of his chest, drumming to a rhythm ever so off, but the sound of it nearly drowns beneath the ringing of a roaring silence.
Sanji staggers out the galley door. It will only be a few hours later that he will realize that he forgot to turn off the stove.
Sanji spots Usopp sprawled over the deck around a spread of paint and paper, and he shouts, "Usopp!" His voice doesn't sound like his own. "Where's Luffy?"
Looking up, Usopp tilts his head and replies idly, "I thought he went to explore the island?" But there must be something telling in Sanji's expression, because in the next second, he's up on his feet and asking, "What's up? Did something happen?"
The world has gone silent in the way a person's heart stops beating. Sanji breathes and breathes. "He's gone."
Usopp frowns, scrunching his forehead as he replies slowly, "He probably just wandered a bit far this time. No biggie—"
"That's not it!" Sanji snaps before he flinches, taken back by the sound of his own panic.
And soon enough, the two of them aren't the only ones on deck because Zoro descends from the crow's nest, Franky emerges from the aquarium, and Nami and Robin are—it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, doesn't matter, because—
"Sanji, it's alright. Calm down…"
"Usopp, he's not on the island anymore." Sanji's hands fall to his sides before his fingers rise back up to clamp down on his scalp, and instinct is an ugly knowing wrongness filling his lungs. Sanji stumbles on weakly, "I heard him. I heard him one moment, and the next, I—"
Luffy's voice vanished in the way that something was stolen from you.
Past dense evergreen and overgrowth, Sanji hurries through the forest, the crew only a breath behind. Sanji's never had a problem finding Luffy. His voice has always thrummed loud and warm and bright, and Sanji's only gotten more practice over the years at sea.
They're led to a tipped-over straw hat, alone and abandoned on the floor.
Sanji's face freezes up when he sees it. He slows to a stop, and it's like trudging through mud to reach out for it. He takes it up in hand—slow and careful. A pit opens up in Sanji's stomach, eating him from the inside out.
Chopper immediately starts sniffing about, nose low to the ground, and Franky throws Usopp to a high branch for a better vantage point. Robin steps forward, summoning an array of eyes and ears. Scanning the surroundings with a quiet gaze, Zoro's every step only causes their restlessness to fester.
Not even a minute later, Chopper returns. He shakes his head. "His scent just abruptly stops here."
Lowering her arms and opening her eyes, Robin's following silence speaks for itself.
"No sign of him," Usopp says. He drops down from the branches, pushing up his goggles. "Sanji?"
Yanking back his spread of observation haki, Sanji bites his lip. "He was here," he mutters. He draws his shoulders into himself as he goes on, "I could feel him running around for a good couple hours, but then all of a sudden, he stopped and—and the next thing I know, his voice is gone."
"He stopped?" Jinbei asks.
"Something or someone must have stopped him," Robin says, eyes lost in thought and heavy weight to her words. "But Sanji-kun would have sensed them."
Zoro walks up to Sanji.
Sanji doesn't want to hand it over. He does anyway.
Taking the straw hat, Zoro reaches under its red band and pulls out a piece of Luffy's vivre card—the original one his brother got him a long time ago. He places it on his palm.
The crew hastily gathers around, letting out a sigh of relief because the vivre card is solid and smooth and—
—still.
They wait for it to move. To stir. To maybe even burn a little and and and—
It doesn't.
"Could there be any way he left the island?"
"No! No, no," Sanji rambles on, nearly biting through his cigarette, "I would've felt him if he did. There was no one else on the island either. Only plants and animals, but you know they'd be too afraid to wander near Luffy—let alone kidnap him!"
Robin holds her hand to her chin. "It's as if he was snapped out of existence…"
"Let's not make any rash assumptions," Jinbei encourages, but even as he says that, he can't help the brewing fear in his eyes.
Nami taps her foot against the forest floor. Biting at her nails, she turns to Zoro and asks, "And the vivre card? Anything?"
Zoro looks at her. "Still nothing."
"But it's—it's not burning either."
"No."
Usopp swallows the lump in his throat and forces out a laugh. "Then, that means he's fine! He probably just stumbled over some cool contraption and got himself launched onto another island or something."
"Usopp, the vivre card isn't moving."
Chopper frantically looks around, fidgeting with his hooves as he cries, "We need to find him soon! He never carries his medicine with him."
Jinbei asks, scrunching his forehead, "How long can he go without it?"
"He should be okay for a little while. That's assuming he doesn't exert himself, but Luffy always—"
"—goes all-out," Zoro finishes.
"Bro." Franky places a steady hand on Chopper's head. "Luffy's a tough guy! He'll manage for a bit. Knowing him, he's probably glad he doesn't have to take his meds for a bit."
Chopper wipes at his eyes. "I hope that's the case…"
With stiffness in his shoulders, Jinbei says, "I know of some old friends who may know more about vivre cards than we do. I'll try to get in touch with them."
"I'll give Vegapunk a call too," Franky adds.
Nami nods. "That'd be great, Jinbei, Franky."
Watching with a quiet gaze, Zoro turns his eye back to the hat in his hands, his fingers running along the familiar straw and pressing into the fibers. It's rough. It's itchy. It feels like home.
In one world, they might have laughed this whole thing off in fond exasperation, because trust Luffy to disappear to a place no one knows where, and trust him to always make it back home—to them.
In this one, it goes differently in the way it goes wrong.
Summoned by the ruckus on deck, the crew had been put on edge when they saw Sanji—calm, composed, cool-headed Sanji, who believes that Luffy will come through more than anyone and has experienced it first-hand—talking to Usopp in a frayed panic. His hands were trembling. His eyes were blown wide. And just a moment ago, they found Luffy's straw hat abandoned on the floor.
His vivre card isn't moving.
They do a search, which soon becomes two, three, ten, and at one point, they realize the moon has taken up to the sky. They don't feel their hunger.
As the crew returns to the Sunny, ushered by a glassy-eyed Sanji only functioning on habit, Robin says quietly, "We have to contact Luffy's brother." The tone of her voice tells no tales. They know better.
The crew exchanges grim expressions because no one likes being the bearer of bad news, especially one with no answers. Nevertheless:
"I'll tell him," Zoro says.
The Revolutionaries have only just begun their efforts in reforming the World Government, even going out to ally with the marines—the ones who want to earn back their former honor and pride and justice which had been thrown away by their predecessors in search of power.
Progress is slow. However, their movements have been well-received by the public—with of course, a few scuffles here and there.
Sabo's subordinates take up the brunt of the work. They're competent, not needing him around for much anymore besides his combat prowess. Sabo himself doesn't enjoy staying at the desk so he figures he'll go check in on their field operations in person. His den-den mushi rings before he stands up.
Readying himself for another long conference call, Sabo's pleasantly surprised when he recognizes Zoro's voice, and he struggles to hold back a smile as he asks about his little brother.
This is how a world ends.
Not even twenty-four hours later, Sabo arrives on the Sunny, his boots and the tail of his coat charred black and the first thing he sees is their guilty expressions. "You don't have to look at me like that," Sabo says.
Something catches in Nami's throat. "No, we…"
Sabo shakes his head. Holding his hat by his chest, he says softly, "As long as he's alive, that's all that matters to me."
They lead him to where Luffy disappeared and soon learn that it isn't just them, because Sabo, the Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army and the Flame Emperor, doesn't pick up on anything either. No people. No ancient artifacts hidden away, and most importantly, no devil fruits.
Evening creeps up on them faster than they know. Perhaps, this is all a cruel dream—one where hours pass faster than you can say goodbye, but Sanji threatens to drag everyone in for dinner, even if he has to do it by the skin of his teeth. That's the only reason why they stop searching. At least, for tonight.
Without a word, they gather around the dinner table in this vigil of silence before Usopp clenches his fists and opens his mouth.
"...Sea King?"
They blink up at him, confused.
Nami's the first one who picks up on it, and she smiles weakly, following up, "On land? Even that's a bit unlikely."
"We're talking about Luffy here," Franky points out.
"Maybe the vivre card isn't moving because he launched himself onto Skypiea," Sanji says, his smile coming out more like a grimace. "Or maybe even the fucking moon."
Zoro replies, "Wouldn't be surprised."
"He could be playing hide-and-seek," Chopper tries, his voice nothing but a whisper.
Sabo shakes his head. Smiling sadly, he replies, "Luffy's always been bad at hide-and-seek. He could never keep quiet. When Ace and I found him, he would yell at us for cheating."
"Sounds like him."
And gathered around this small dinner table, in a small room no larger than a speck compared to the grand scheme of things, they laugh and talk and wonder about what kind of mess Luffy's gotten himself into this time—this boy of kind dark eyes that hold so much knowing more than they could ever understand. This boy of sea breeze and song. This boy with a desire for everything and anything—carrying ambitions larger than heart and soul.
It's easy to talk through tension.
They learned from the best after all.
Under the gaze of the dipping sun, Sabo loses his eyes in the horizon, staying hours leaning against the ship's railing. The thoughts in his head run louder and louder.
After days of nothing—nothing at all, one morning, Sabo bids them farewell, dark bags beneath his eyes and a stretched-thin smile on his face, and he is grief given a body.
Sabo isn't as busy as he once was. He doesn't have to hide or hold his breath every minute of every day just to get one edge over the World Government. They won the war after all. That means Sabo has more freedom to do anything he wishes—now more than ever. He'll spend his next forevers trying to find his little brother.
Sanji packs him a bento box for the trip, and Robin exchanges a quiet word with him, hugging him tightly.
When Sabo takes a step back, a farewell on his tongue, Zoro takes a step forward, holding out Luffy's hat.
Sabo's eyes dart down to it. When they rise back up to meet Zoro's, Sabo—this man who has tried so damn hard to hold himself steady— sways. "Are you sure?" he asks.
Zoro does not waver, his eyes holding true. "Hang onto it for him."
"I—" Sabo starts.
Usopp chimes in softly, "We kept arguing over who got to take care of it. It's better like this."
Sabo hesitates, but his eyes burn with want, and he reaches out to take the hat—slowly, carefully, as if it would crumble to dust at the slightest touch. "Thank you," he says. "Thank you."
"We can't just… leave."
"Sanji—"
Taking a step back, Sanji looks away, raising a hand as if to cover his expression as he continues, "I'm sorry, but Luffy disappeared here." He lifts his head. "We should be looking here! "
Jinbei replies, "We have to look elsewhere—just as Sabo-kun is doing."
"Elsewhere?" Sanji asks. There's a cruel laugh in the place of his next breath, and he spits, "His vivre card isn't moving—so where else would we look but here? We camp out. We wait!"
"I'm not okay with leaving either," Usopp placates, "but Luffy's not on the island. We turned that damn thing inside out hundreds of times and nothing! Zero! His card isn't moving, yeah, but it's also not burning! Wherever he is, he'll be fine—"
"He doesn't have his medicine."
They turn to Chopper sitting at the dining table. His hooves pull his hat down over his eyes as he murmurs, his voice thin, "It's already been two weeks, but we still have no idea where he is…" His eyes well up with tears. "What if he comes back when we're far away and he doesn't get his pills in time?"
"Chopper's right," Sanji says. "If we leave, then—
Zoro interjects, "Then we leave his meds behind. Usopp, make a big sign so that idiot doesn't miss it."
Usopp hesitates. Pursing his lips, he nods and says, "Yeah, sure."
"Sit down, Usopp!" Sanji snaps. He glares at Zoro, walks over to him, and asks, "So what, we just up and go? Leave a little note for him?"
Nami reasons, "That's not what we're doing—"
Franky starts, "Let's calm down, fellas. When Lu gets back, we'll know and we'll go scoop him right up!"
Jinbei adds steadily, a quiet kindness in his eyes, "Of all people, Luffy would be the last person to want us tied down. You know this. We all do."
"And how do you know what he would and wouldn't want?" Sanji asks, and although his voice bleeds with fury, his shoulders fall in this refused defeat. "He's gone."
"Don't say that!" Usopp bites out. "We'll find him. Just… not here. It's been two weeks, Sanji."
"We waited two years for him!" Sanji shouts, and the air has gotten thin because he's struggling to breathe, heaving, "Now, two weeks and we're already waving the white flag?"
"You know that's not what we're doing."
"We're doing that right now—"
"Damn it, Sanji! It's been two weeks of nothing! " Usopp snaps, slamming his hands on the table. "We're sitting ducks here and yes, Jinbei's right about how Luffy would never want us tied down, and god do I want to stay and look for him—forever if I have to! But Sanji." He closes his eyes tightly. When he opens them, they're shaking under the lights, and he murmurs, "We're turning over the same stone and expecting something different."
Sanji flinches. His face scrunches up, looking away, before he opens his mouth again, to speak, to reason, to plead and—
"Sanji." A quiet voice cuts through the tension, and eight people turn.
Brook stands with a cold cup of tea held in his hand. There are no muscles to read his expression and no eyes to tell tears of anger from woe, because this body of bone speaks a language you can assume.
"This isn't your fault," Brook says. His words settle into the room, melting into the silence.
Sanji blinks. "What?"
"This isn't your fault," Brook repeats, stepping closer to place a hand on Sanji's shoulder as a comfort. It's cold to the touch.
"I know," Sanji says slowly, looking around at everyone. "It isn't…"
"Any of ours," Brook nods. "But it isn't yours either."
"I just said that—"
"No." Speaking up from his silence, Zoro pushes off the wall, uncrossing his arms. His cold unforgiving gaze is nowhere to be found. Today, it's not a blade. It's an anchor. "Just saying it won't cut it—you have to believe it."
And Sanji doesn't snap back at Zoro like he usually does. He doesn't scoff. Doesn't get angry, roll his eyes, or pick a fight.
Zoro continues steadily, "None of us blame you because it isn't your fault in the first place."
Sanji has gone eerily still.
This isn't comfort, pity, or anything along those lines. It's truth. "Luffy's not gone because of you."
It's the final nail in the coffin, and the room has gone quiet in the way a song inevitably comes to an end.
Sanji ever so slightly lowers his head. He runs his hand through his hair, pulling his bangs out of his eyes. They're glassy. They're burning. They're not enough to convey the frustration toward himself, and he asks, "How could I lose him like that?"
Without a beat, Zoro says, "We all did."
"If it is your fault," Robin closes her eyes, "it is as much ours."
"None of us want to leave, Sanji." Nami looks down to the floor and asks softly, "And even if we do—do you think there's even the slightest chance we would ever stop looking?"
Franky pulls his mouth into a grin. He tries to. "Hey man, don't get all cocky thinking you're the only one with observation haki. It's making me feel bad!"
"Yeah, Franky's right!" Usopp chimes in. He pushes down the empty void within his chest and continues off with a strained smile, "I've been polishing mine up a bit, so don't be a sore loser when I find Lu first."
"Robin's been teaching me too," Nami adds. She hides her clenched fists behind her back and manages out a wink. "I'm the navigator so if it's anyone, I'll be the one to find that idiot. Anyone down to bet some real hard cash?"
"Like you give us any to spend, you witch!"
Nami throws a half-hearted punch at Usopp, who quickly ducks behind Jinbei.
Sanji's gaping.
The crew's smiling.
Sanji's shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes. The roaring silence in his ears has finally gone quiet as he curses out, a rueful smile on his face, "Stubborn bastards."
Franky pats him on the back. "Where do you think we all got it from?"
The next morning, before they set off to sea, Usopp gathers everyone on deck and says, "I made something for you guys." He hands something to each of them.
Nami looks at the object in her hands, her eyes going wide. "Usopp, this is…"
"A piece of Luffy's vivre card, yeah," Usopp says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I put it in a log pose-styled watch, so we could always keep it on us. Hard to lose, too. Unless you take it off, of course, and don't worry! The glass is pretty damn sturdy. Franky helped me replicate it."
"That's what it was for?" Franky asks, tears welling up in his eyes.
"Usopp," Brook starts. He looks down at the log pose, the paper within, and looks back up. "Thank you."
Chopper bites his lip trying to stop it from trembling. It's futile. He tugs on Robin's shirt and she helps him wrap the log pose around his wrist.
"This was very considerate of you, Usopp." Jinbei smiles as he says warmly, "Thank you."
Zoro puts his on wordlessly. The glass catches onto the morning light, reflecting it onto his face.
Sanji stares at his own. He runs his thumb along the glass and takes in a shaky breath as he looks at Usopp. His eyes curl. "You always pull through when we need it the most, you loveable bastard," he says breathlessly.
Usopp smiles, lifting his chin.
Sanji snaps out, grabs him by his shirt, and pulls him into a tight hug, and Usopp's arms come up to wrap around him too as if to never let go.
This cannot be goodbye.
Down go the sails. Up goes the anchor. Laboon swims ahead, peeking out from under the waves as he waits for Sunny to follow.
As they depart from the island, not a single one of them can resist looking back—as if they expect a boy with a straw hat to run onto the beach, waving and yelling for them to come back. The boy would probably proceed to launch himself onto the deck. He'd crash into Zoro, going by his stellar track record, before calling out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and Sanji would complain about having to feed such a monster but nonetheless would start cooking up a meal worthy of a king. The crew would gather in the galley not a second later. They would defend their food with their lives and talk about simple nothings, past travels, and the, "Where to next, Captain?"
Instead, they drift off to sea, looking for a boy with a straw hat to appear at any moment.
He never does.
The waves are rough. They have always been so. They push and pull and tug and tear—they sing of sunken ships and anchored arks.
Settle in for the night, the sea says softly. It will be a long one.
When the Cat Burglar publishes her world map, it becomes the most sought out piece of merchandise of the century—perhaps, even the millennia. Her fame skyrockets. Soon enough, she isn't running only from bounty hunters and marines anymore.
A reporter stumbles upon her as she's practically galloping through a high-end clothing store, and when she spots him and tries to make a run for it, he proposes a deal.
"I'll compensate you for every question!"
Cat Burglar stops in her tracks. When she peers over her shoulder, her grin takes up her whole face. "How much are we talking?"
They find a coffee shop and settle into one of the far corner tables. Cat Burglar orders one of the most expensive drinks on the menu and the reporter is quite sure he's the one paying for it, but still. This is a one-in-a-lifetime chance he's got here. His wallet will recover.
The reporter starts by asking her a few general questions, such as why she decided to create her world map in the first place, what inspired her, and what motivated her to follow it through to the very end. She answers the same every time.
Money.
The reporter puts down his pen and laughs nervously. "Is there anything else?"
"Not really. I've always had a thing for money," she says, winking. "Hence, my name."
But there's something that's been on his mind—ever since he saw a copy of her world map for the first time, and he takes a deep breath, swallowing the lump in his throat. "You see, that's the thing I don't understand, Miss."
"Hmm?"
"Your dedication note."
And for the first time in the interview, Cat Burglar goes quiet. The smile falls from her face. Her steady stone-cold eyes don't dare betray a single thing about her.
The reporter tries to keep his expression as nonchalant as possible because the woman sitting across from him is worth millions and could quite possibly kill him without him even noticing. He goes to ask further.
"In your dedication note, were you referring to—"
"Even I know money can't get you everything."
The reporter blinks. "Pardon?"
"I don't like having to repeat myself." Cat Burglar stares at him, leaning into the palm of her hand. She absently stirs her drink. "Are those all the questions you had for me, or did I run you broke already?"
"Well, I…" the reporter starts. Taking up his pen, he smiles, sweating under his clothing, "I was hoping to ask you a few more…"
The interview goes on for a bit longer. Cat Burglar's walls are up again, and she's replying easily. Almost immediately. The reporter smothers the urge to probe at that earlier subject, but he doesn't think it's wise to poke the same bear twice.
The interview ends quietly. Cat Burglar gets her money. They part ways as if they never met.
The reporter watches her go and thinks that, if not for her pirate status, Cat Burglar would have won dozens of awards—maybe they'd make a special one just for her.
Because he's seen it.
Her world map.
It's a monstrous creation that spans out like a pair of eagle wings—broad enough for it to only be displayed in a museum specifically built for it. And there they are. The four seas, the Grand Line, the New World, the deep depths, and the skies themselves—thousands of islands and miles of ocean packed onto a single piece of paper.
Something had caught the report's eye that day. There was a plaque on the corner of the map with its title, her name, and her dedications—something that books usually have. Except, there were no mentions of money. Or fame. Or anything materialistic like one would expect from a pirate given the name Cat Burglar.
"Even I know money can't get you everything."
Instead, there's a single sentence of small letters and modest font, and it says,
To the King.
A shiver shoots up his spine, and the man whips around, eyes going wide as he frantically looks through the moving crowds. His heartbeat jumps to his throat. His mouth goes dry, and he squirms in the feeling of his own skin.
"Yo, Jen!"
A hand waves in front of his face, yanking him out of his daze. "Sorry, what?"
His friend narrows his eyes. "You good? Getting a heat stroke or something?"
Jen looks at him for a second too long before he glances back at the crowds. He swallows the lump in his throat. "Yeah, I'm—I'm okay, Tino. Just thought there was someone… watching me."
Tino throws a cautious look over where Jen's looking and says, "Then, let's hurry back. Come on."
"Yeah… good idea."
With haste in their step, they rush through the streets, passing by stalls and hundreds of people, but even as they create more and more distance, Jen can't shake that creepy feeling off of him. He tries to look over his shoulder again. The moment he does, the world goes quiet, and a little voice in his head whispers,
Run.
Goosebumps spring up over his entire body. He grabs Tino by the back of his shirt and drags him into the side alley.
"Hey!"
"Shh!" Jen presses himself against the alley wall, crouching low as he peeks his head out. His heartbeat thumps throughout his entire body.
Tino asks quietly, "Still there?"
Jen nods. He watches people pass by and says carefully, "I think it's best if I teleport us."
Tino scrunches up his forehead. "Dude, you still suck at using your fruit, and I really don't wanna throw up on Ma's carpet."
"Oh please," Jen hushes. "You're just being a baby. Man up." He pulls back into the alley and stands up, turning to Tino. "We should hurry—"
Jen's voice dies in his throat, and his blood turns to lead.
"May you elaborate on the part concerning your devil fruit ability? It's quite fascinating."
There are two hands sticking out of the wall, their fingers wrapped tightly around Tino's throat as he flails and chokes out nothing but incoherent words. He's staring at something. Someone.
There's a woman standing in the middle of the alley with black hair spilling over her shoulders. She bears empty blue eyes of glass and salt. The smile she wears looks like it's been carved into her very face.
"Who are you?" Jen starts. He takes a small step back before he shouts, "Let go of Tino!"
The woman doesn't comply. Instead, she continues off, "What are the limits of your teleportation?"
Jen's eyes shake. His gaze slides from her to Tino who is frantically clawing at his throat for air.
"Let him go first! I'll tell you if you let him go!" Jen yells.
The woman tilts her head. "You're worrying too much about him and too little about yourself."
Dozens of hands sprout like plants from the walls on either side of him, grabbing him by his legs, his arms, his throat—
"What is this? What the hell are you?" he demands. Looking at the array of limbs binding him, he tries to desperately pull himself out of them. It's no good. Biting through his lip, fueled by frustration and fear, he spits out, "You devil!"
The air goes cold. But that has to be absurd because they're on one of the hottest summer islands on the Grand Line, they're in the middle of a heatwave, and the sun has never bore down on them more—
Jen looks up and finds himself asking what exactly is looking back at him.
This thing in human skin stares at him. She lifts her hand to his throat and when he swallows dryly, he can feel her nails against his skin, pressing not to hurt—but as a warning.
Jen thinks of teleporting away but—he looks at Tino for a long moment, his gaze trembling, before he closes his eyes and asks softly, "What do you want to know?"
"As I asked before: what are the limits of your teleportation?" Her voice rings out into the air like something torn from the depths of nightmares, sending shivers down his spine.
Jen breathes and breathes. Sweat falls down the side of his face as he answers, his gaze captured by hers, "It's—I can, I can teleport myself to places."
Her nails close around his throat.
"And others!" he shouts. "I can teleport others too! But only nearby because it drains a lot outta me and—"
"How long have you had it?"
"F-fifteen years! I found it when I was a kid and—that's everything! Please let us go. We don't tell anyone about—"
"You've had the fruit for fifteen years yet that's the extent of your abilities?"
"Yes, I swear!"
She stares at him with an expression of stone, and in the silence of the next few seconds, Jen would rather jump into fire than look into her eyes any longer.
"Have you ever crossed into an alternate reality?"
Jen tries to shake his head. "What? That's insane! I just use my power for deliveries—"
"Are you lying?" she asks.
"No, I—"
"Are you lying? "
"I'm telling you the truth…!" There's something wet falling down Jen's cheek, and in the face of something akin to death, he pleads to this monster in human skin, "Please. I've told you everything. Please just let us go…"
It does.
The hands release their hold on them, and Jen and Tino hit the floor heaving, trying to catch their breaths. Tino coughs, holding his throat carefully. Jen's heart pounds in his throat, beating with the force of a bullet.
Jen looks up to find the woman gone.
In her place is a single flower petal fluttering to the floor, alone and deafening in its wake.
"Need a hand?"
Iceburg hammers away before pausing to wipe the sweat off his forehead. "This is private property," he says. He puts down his tools and turns, narrowing his eyes as he asks, "Who let you—" His eyes widen. "Franky?"
Pushing up his sunglasses, Franky grins, standing there in all his glory. "Been a while, Icey."
Iceberg closes his gaping jaw and replies, "Three years, yeah. What do you want? You here to stay or is that captain or yours still dragging you around the world by your speedos?"
Franky laughs. He doesn't answer, moving ahead to study his new project. Iceburg puts a pin in that for later.
"Whatcha working on?"
Iceburg clips back. "No stealing my projects, Flunky."
"It's Franky! And who would ever wanna steal your ideas?" he scoffs, putting his hands on his hips. He looks around. "Where'd ya put the blueprints? Lemme at 'em."
Iceburg picks up his hammer and fits a couple of nails between his fingers, resuming his work. "Desk on the left."
"Mind if I—"
"Knock yourself out."
For the next few days, Iceburg and Franky spend hours together just to catch up, build cool shit, and then laugh about it. He has many stories to tell. Although Iceburg has never regretted spending his life on Water Seven, he can't help but long for the far seas.
The Straw Hats aren't with him. That's one of the signs that something's wrong, but Franky doesn't bring them up. Iceburg doesn't bother asking. Franky's a stubborn bastard who can't ever straight-up talk about what's brewing in that mind of his. And either way—
Franky looks like he's in need of a distraction, however nonchalant he acts.
Iceburg's alright with providing one.
After pulling off an all-nighter, Franky whoops as he finishes installing jets into his heels. Iceburg watches him crash through a few walls only a moment after. In the comfort of his garage or under the blanket of the sky, the two of them find themselves discussing ship blueprints. They debate over minuscule design choices. They mock each other at every chance they get. When Franky tells him about his crew, Iceburg tells him all about what he's missed in the past years.
They're a week into Franky's visit, sitting by the ocean on a piece of driftwood when Iceburg turns to him and asks, "Does the Franky Family know you're here?"
"Eh…" Franky shrugs.
Iceburg shoots him a stern look. "Franky."
"I was going to see them, I swear, but…" Franky starts, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "They're kinda idiots who run their mouths whenever."
"Franky, they've been idiots for years. You love them for it. What's different now?"
And Franky doesn't respond.
Iceburg purses his lips and puts his beer down without looking away. "Franky," he starts slowly. "Why isn't your crew here with you?"
Franky grumbles. He takes a swing of his cola. "Robin's here with me."
"Nico Robin?" Iceburg blinks and replies, "I haven't seen her."
Franky waves him off. "She's looking for something in your libraries so she's probably been there the entire time. Anyhow, I was thinking about one of my new projects—"
"And the rest of them?" Iceburg interjects because Franky's doing that stupid thing where he acts oblivious to the giant fucking elephant in the room and it's pissing him off. "Franky, where's Straw Hat?"
Franky shakes his bottle of cola and says, "Doing his usual thing—"
"Cut the shit, Franky."
Closing his eyes, Franky puts his cola down on the sand. It's a long minute of silence. Iceburg's stare does not let up.
Then, taking in a breath, Franky says quietly, a nail in the coffin, "He's missing."
"Straw Hat's missing?" Iceburg asks, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Yeah." Franky stares out to sea. "Been missing for a while now. Three years."
Iceburg holds a hand to his chin and murmurs, "I'm surprised the world hasn't heard about this."
"We've kept it quiet," Franky says. "From a lot of people. If word got out that Luffy was missing, who knows how many pirates would start attacking his territories."
"And that's the last thing you need right now," Iceburg murmurs. "Could he have left of his own volition?"
"Not without a word," Franky spits. "Not without us."
"And his vivre card?"
Franky reaches out to unbind the log pose around his wrist, and Iceburg's eyes blink in confusion, recalling all the instances when he's caught Franky looking at the damn thing over the past week, because why would Franky need a log pose? He isn't the navigator.
Franky hands it to him.
Taking it carefully, Iceburg lifts it closer to his face and realizes that it isn't a log pose. It's copied after its external structure but there's no compass. There's a square piece of paper inside which Iceburg assumes is Straw Hat's vivre card. He waits for it to move.
With each passing second, the void in his stomach only grows larger.
"What is this?" Iceburg asks, wide-eyed.
"That's the thing; we don't know." Franky takes back the log pose, wrapping it around his wrist with a level of gentleness you wouldn't believe would have come from him. "We asked a lot of people in high places. They don't know shit either."
Franky's words—their venom and their despair—sink into his skin, and then, Iceburg realizes why—why Franky dropped by without notice after so long and never brought up his crew or his captain—why he always seems to look out to sea, rather than the present.
Franky came to Water Seven hoping. That even if it seems like everything has changed, even if the world has collapsed in on itself, and even if one chapter ends—despite desperately wanting it not to, there are still some good things that will stay the same throughout time.
Iceburg gets to his feet. "Alright, get your ass up."
Franky looks at him and his mouth pulls at his face. "Huh? Don't tell me what to do!"
"Shut up. Let's go."
"And go where exactly?"
"To see the Franky Family, idiot."
And Franky goes eerily still, his eyes widening. He shakes his head. "Icey, I can't."
Iceburg takes in a breath, relaxing his shoulders, before he looks at Franky again—really looks at him. He sees the boy who blamed himself. The boy who chained himself to an island for redemption when he dreamed of the world and beyond, and he sees a boy that has not been kind himself. And so he says kindly, "Franky. They'll be happy to see you."
Some things never change.
Franky bites his lip, clenching his fists as he closes his eyes. For a moment, Iceburg thinks he's going to decline as he's always done—keep his walls up and tall until they're old and rotten and stay stubborn to the bitter end, but instead, Franky takes a deep breath and grins, as if letting go. "Well, of course they'd be." He looks out to sea, once last time, before he turns his back to it. "On we go, then!"
Some things do.
Only a small part of the world knows the story and origin behind the name All Blue. The rest of the world knows it as a restaurant. But if someone happens to ask about it, Vinsmoke Sanji, the infamous and renowned chef of this generation's Pirate King, would be happy to tell its tale.
All Blue is a restaurant carried by the waves. It looks more like a ship than it does a restaurant, and it bears the mark of "Iron Man" Franky, another senior officer of the Straw Hat Pirates. There aren't many shipwrights daring enough to create such a vessel—especially one responsible for serving high cuisine and sailing the high seas.
Vinsmoke says he stole the design from his father.
Vinsmoke Judge? A customer would ask.
Nah. That bastard's just a sperm donor.
It's a question Vinsmoke hears a lot, but without hesitation, he always reiterates like a hammer to a nail:
They're not the ones I consider family.
On one occasion, a new marine recruit finds his way onto All Blue by chance when he's ordered out on an errand. He ties up his ship. He licks his lips. As soon as he walks through the doors, he's bombarded by an aroma one could only describe as otherworldly, and he has to wipe his mouth with his sleeve before he drools all over the floor. Waiters and waitresses zoom through the room. Spread through the dining hall are fellow marines, fishmen, bounty hunters, common sailors, and even pirates—all peacefully eating without a care for the other.
"Table for one?" the hostess asks.
The marine nods and is quickly seated by one of the windows. He picks up the menu. As he scours through it, he notices a pirate sitting just diagonal to him. He recognizes him as a new rising rookie.
The marine pauses.
His superiors, his peers, and even his mother have said that under no circumstances should he ever stir up trouble in All Blue lest he spills food in the process. He pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind.
Not even ten minutes later, he's kneeling on the kitchen floor with his head down, being scolded by one pissed-off chef of the Pirate King for crashing into a waiter and causing three plates (three!) to fall to the floor.
The marine is sentenced to—not death. But worse. Dish-washing duty for an entire month. He's shoved into an apron and suddenly there's a sponge in his hand.
The marine manages to sneak off during a quiet hour of the restaurant, calling one of his superiors in a frenzy.
"You were asking for it. We don't mess with Vinsmoke—plus he makes a mean carbonara. You're lucky that you're alive. Take care for the rest of the month!"
His superior hangs up, and the marine lets the den-den mushi hang by his ear, not quite believing what he's heard.
"Slacking off, huh?"
The marine goes eerily still. Chills shoot up his spine as he ever so slowly turns around to see Vinsmoke smiling over his shoulder. The lollipop in his mouth only makes him more intimidating.
The marine salutes stiffly. "No, sir!" He runs off to the kitchen and keeps his head down.
Other than the fact he's being used as a dishwashing slave, working under Vinsmoke isn't as bad as he thought it would be, because aside from his intimidating glare and terrifying pirate track record, he's… a surprisingly good guy.
He's a master of the kitchen. He commands the flow of his knives to such a degree, it seems like he was born to hold them. During rushes, he'll bark out concise orders and keep the kitchen on track, all the while plating dishes and sending them out.
As service finishes up for the day, the marine drops to his knees. His fingers are wrinkly. He's covered in sweat, and his stomach is rumbling like crazy.
"Good work today," Vinsmoke calls out.
The staff cheers tiredly before they start filtering out of the kitchen. The marine is swept up with them.
Vinsmoke stays in the kitchen for a good half an hour before the doors swing open and Vinsmoke exits pushing carts of food. He arranges all the dishes on the tables.
There's a smile on his face as he says, taking his lollipop out of his mouth, "Dinner is served."
Cheers erupt throughout the room. The staff pull out their chairs with a loud screech and take a seat, wasting no time in digging into the food.
The marine stares, wide-eyed.
"Not hungry?"
Freezing, the marine turns his head to see Vinsmoke giving him a weird look. He looks around before pointing at himself. "I get to eat?" he asks.
Vinsmoke raises an eyebrow. "No one goes hungry on this ship—marine or not, so sit. It's going to get cold. If it does, I'm not reheating it for you, brat."
The marine straightens and salutes. "Thank you, sir!"
When Vinsmoke leaves, the marine grabs a seat and a dish. He grabs his fork. He takes a hungry bite, and at some point, he finds himself wiping away his tears.
The days of washing dishes aren't spent wallowing in the desire to leave like he expected. The staff is welcoming. They poke fun at each other, bantering even during the busiest rush of their lives, and they drag him in with them. It's the most he's felt like he's belonged in a long time.
It's on one slow afternoon that the marine notices something out of place.
There's a simple picture frame on the counter. It's settled quietly in the window junction from the kitchen out to the dining room, and it's not at all fitting in with the high-class atmosphere of such a restaurant. He doesn't ever get close enough to see the picture.
When he tries to sneak up to it, reaching out, a fellow dishwasher shouts out in a panic. When they see his confused look, they tell him that one time when a new hire moved it during a rush, Vinsmoke burst out in such anger, you'd think someone had dropped a plate of food. The marine doesn't try to look. At least, for a while.
The month passes faster than he realizes and soon enough, it's his last day serving his dishwashing sentence. As the staff begins to clean up, the marine slowly inches toward the picture frame, whistling innocently. He creeps closer and closer. He looks around without moving his head before a hand slams down onto the counter in front of him.
The marine feels his stomach drop. He looks up slowly to see Vinsmoke giving him his what-the-fuck-kind-of-shit-you-trying-this-time look.
"Um," the marine starts. "Can I help you, sir?"
Vinsmoke narrows his eyes at him and asks, "Why are you acting like you have a fish shoved down your pants?"
And for a split second, the marine's eyes dart to the picture frame. Vinsmoke catches it. Of course he does.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, Vinsmoke hangs his hand on his nape before grabbing the frame. He hands it to him.
The marine hurriedly closes his gaping mouth, not at all expecting it to just be handed to him, and looks down at the photo.
The picture must be at least a couple of years old. It either is, or it's been dearly cherished going by the fading colors and the crinkles. There are ten people, crowded and squeezed close by a pair of stretching arms and—oh. That's—that's the Pirate King.
Every marine is briefed on what to do when they meet a big-shot criminal. They're told not to engage. Not to piss them off, or even look at them without orders if you want to live. Now from what the marine has heard about the Straw Hat Pirates, they're batshit crazy. They're powerful and insane. They breathe chaos and fight the presence of order, and at their head is Monkey D. Luffy: the Pirate King.
But the boy in this photo doesn't look anything like him.
His hair is messy and wild as if someone had just smashed his hat on his head with an affectionate ruffle. There are crow feet by his wide bright eyes. He's grinning warmth. With his arms stretched and wrapped around them, he hangs onto his crew like it's the only thing he's ever had. It's like happiness given form.
And the marine wants to ask about this boy who has conquered wars and has even waged them himself but—
No one has seen him in years. The Straw Hat Pirates are disbanded, and his fingers are trembling as he hands the frame back.
So instead of asking, he values his life and says instead, "You're smoking in this picture."
Vinsmoke blinks, taken by surprise. Then, he chuckles, taking the frame back as he replies, "Yeah, I don't smoke anymore. Doctor's orders." He puts it back where it belongs. "It's your last day, right? Hurry up and hurry home."
The marine nods. He wraps up the last of his chores and goes to pack his bags.
Vinsmoke sends him off with a stern warning about wasting food before he smiles and pats him on the shoulder, handing him a bento box for the journey home. The marine thanks him.
As he's about to open the door to leave, he hesitates and turns, looking over his shoulder. Vinsmoke walks back to the kitchen. He passes by the window junction before he retracts, popping his lollipop into his mouth as he snatches up a clean cloth from the counter. He grabs the picture frame and wipes the glass clean.
He quietly places it back to its rightful place.
But his fingers linger.
Wanting.
All Blue has been open for years, and he does not doubt that the picture frame has been there since the beginning, and absently, the marine wonders why Vinsmoke is here instead—alone on this ship without them.
Because Vinsmoke was happy.
He looked happy then.
The sound of wheels, frantic voices, and urgent footsteps are what Lira wakes up to. She opens her eyes to bright passing lights. Black spots dot over her vision, and there's a really bad searing pain over her entire body. She groans.
"Move, move! Out of the way!"
"—found this little girl in the rumble! A major abrasion on her side and—"
"We only have a few blood bags left—is the mother a match?"
The world is moving. There are three people hovering over her, concerned and panicked expressions on their faces. One of them sees her awake. They put on a strained smile and say gently, "You're going to be just fine. Hang in there a little longer."
Lira clenches her fist, biting through pain as they move her onto something soft.
"Is that…? Honey? Lira!"
A woman rushes to her side, pushing her hair away from her face and—oh. That's her mom. "Lira? Oh my god, are you okay? Why couldn't you have just stayed close?"
"Miss? Is this your daughter?"
"Yes, yes, that's Lira. She's eight years old and—"
"Do you have the same blood type as your daughter?"
"No, no—I have…" she stumbles on. "She has type F blood. What's going on? Does the hospital not have enough blood? Why don't you have enough—"
"She was one of the last victims to be found. I'm sorry. Our supplies are running low and—"
"Please. She's my daughter!" her mom cries, clutching Lira's hand tightly.
"Did you say type F?" a deep voice asks.
Her pain takes a backseat as Lira's eyes refocus on the tall broad blue man standing at the foot of her bed. There are fangs sticking out of his mouth. He's got a weird-looking tuft of hair on his chin too, and he's wearing a weird-looking robe.
"If you allow it, I can offer my blood," the man says.
The people in white exchange a hesitant glance with each other, and Lira thinks the look in their eyes is icky.
Her mom doesn't even spare a single second. "Can he? If he donates his blood, will she survive?"
"If he's type F, yes. But ma'am, he's a—"
"A fishman?" Her mom glares, searing and sharp and bloody, and snaps, " I don't care if he's the devil himself. He just offered to save my daughter! Do your jobs and let him!"
Lira fights to keep her eyes open, but soon, she sees the blue man walk to the side of her bed and take a seat. She feels a small prick on her arm. She closes her eyes, and sleep takes her gently within its cradle.
When she wakes up, it's to the sound of a rhythmic beat in her ear. She slowly opens her eyes. Wincing at the bright lights, she turns over to see her mom sitting at her bedside.
Her mom, looking at their held hands, glances up and freezes. "Honey? Lira? How are you feeling? I was so worried—are you in any pain?"
Lira shakes her head. "I'm okay… What happened?"
"You got caught up in an explosion, remember? You were playing by the docks."
"I think I was," Lira replies quietly. She turns to her other side and sees the blue man from before sitting on the other side of her bed.
The man meets her eyes and smiles nervously. "Hello there. You gave your mother quite a scare, little one."
"Are you a fishman?" Lira blurts out.
"Lira!" her mother scolds, scrunching her forehead as she continues, "Just because you're injured, it doesn't mean you can be rude."
"That's alright," the man reassures. He meets Lira's gaze kindly and answers, "Yes. I am a fishman."
Lira's eyes go wide, sparkling. "Like one of the Straw Hat Pirates?"
The man blinks, clearly not expecting that reaction, and he finds a smile rising onto his face. "Yes. Just like one of the Straw Hat Pirates. Are you… a fan?"
Lira nods, grinning wide. "I read all about their stories in the newspaper, and sometimes we hear about them at school! But mom doesn't like me talking about them. 'Cause they're pirates and all."
Her mother sighs, pressing a hand to her forehead.
The man laughs. "Well, I'm not surprised."
Lira looks down at the red tube connecting her arm to the man's. She tilts her head and points. "What is this thing?"
"The hospital was running out of blood," her mom answers, "so this kind man offered to donate some of his to you. Make sure you thank him, Lira."
"Really?" Lira exclaims. "Thanks, old man!"
The fishman sputters, choking on his own saliva as her mom shouts, "Lira!"
Lira studies the man. She makes sure she narrows her eyes and purses her lips, lost in her thoughts, before she asks, "Do you not care that I'm a human, mister?"
The fishman blinks. Then, he lets out a laugh, looking at her with kind eyes as he answers, "Many of my dear friends and family are humans. I would give my whole being if they asked for it."
"Ooh!" Lira straightens in her bed as she leans forward, ignoring her mom's fussing. "That's a super cool line, mister!"
With another exasperated sigh, her mom asks, "Do you mind watching her for a little bit? I'm going to fetch some food. Would you like anything?"
The fishman nods. "Of course not, and don't concern yourself with me. I will eat later, thank you."
As her mom disappears past the hospital curtains, Lira's eyes drift over to something around the man's wrist. "Hey, hey." She points at it and asks, "What's that?"
"Ah, this?" The man follows her gaze. And suddenly, Lira thinks she's said something wrong or mean because when the man smiles, he looks very sad. "It's a compass that leads to my friend."
"They make those?" she asks quietly.
"One of my crewmates made it for us," the man replies.
Lira perks up. "Crewmates? Like on a ship? Mister," her eyes gain a shine, "are you a pirate?"
The man pauses, seeming to contemplate the question before he settles with a nod. "I am."
"Have you ever met the Pirate King?" Lira rolls onto her knees, burying the wince of pain as she turns toward the man. "Have you?"
The man's smile melts into something warm. "I have. We're very good friends," he says, and the crease between his eyebrows disappear, his gaze growing fond, when he asks, "Would you like to hear some stories about him?"
Lira swings her feet over the bed, despite the man's warnings, and leans forward. She grins. With stars in her eyes, she exclaims, "Tell me!"
The man laughs. And so he tells her—not of this tyrant, or this madman, or this monster people have painted him out to be, but of this boy named hope and joy. This soul of great change that the old world tried to desperately snuff out but ultimately failed in the end. This king who sat on his throne for far too short.
"Is he that strong?" Lira asks.
"He is, but it isn't because of his strength that they failed," the man says. He looks at his log pose. He takes a shuddering breath, and then he says, with a fondness that almost seems to bleed, "The old world didn't understand—that no matter what you do, there is no such thing as silencing the sea."
Soul King is back in business, alongside a whale whose size could engulf entire mountains, but all geniuses have their quirks to them, and fans have already gotten used to the fact their all-time number one celebrity is a skeleton. They're mostly just glad he's back. It's been a long time since he's been active as a musician.
Atop his whale friend, Soul King spends his days performing by the harbors. Sometimes the beaches. Sometimes the coves, but on the rare occasion he books an entire stadium, it must, must, must be by the ocean. He accepts no compromise.
As eccentric as he is dead, Soul King holds no fear in expressing his appreciation for his fans and always goes out of his way to look out for the little guy. He has meet-and-greets. He signs autographs, and when he finds those with dreams and desires too big for their heart, he can't help but break out in song. He teaches eager musicians and plays equally with seasoned ones.
Soul King is open to any question his fans ask of him. Brook isn't. There will always be that occasional fan, well-intentioned but blind to the moving breathing grief that lines his songs, who can't help but ask about the taboo. It's a question Brook doesn't answer for a long time.
As the world goes round and the years flow by, Soul King picks up a few students here and there, drawn in by the passion sung by their arts. Soul King takes them under his wing. He introduces them to the lovely ever-changing world of music, nurtures their unpolished skills and confidence, and offers to fund their first concerts.
Then, the question comes up again. Nearly three years after the question first came up and thousands of times after being asked.
They're playing by the beach. Soul King's on the guitar, instructing his student about a particularly difficult chord as Laboon watches from the sea.
"Hello? Hello? Anyone in there?"
The student blinks, shaking his head as his eyes refocus. "Sorry, what were you saying?"
Soul King looks at him funny and asks, "Are you feeling alright? Your mind has been going off to someplace else these past few days."
"Ah, I'm okay!" The student flushes, laughing nervously as he adds, "Just been thinking about some stuff."
"What's been on your mind?" Soul King asks. "I'd be happy to lend an ear—although I don't have ears!" He breaks out in laughter.
The student looks away shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as he asks, "I was just curious—why did the Straw Hat Pirates disband?"
The laughter stops.
The student's eyes go wide, realizing that he's said something wrong, and in the next second, he's frantically waving his hands around and stammering out, "You don't have to answer! I didn't mean—sorry, I shouldn't have asked that…"
"We haven't."
The student freezes. "Really?"
Soul King's fingers fall away from the strings as he ever so slightly turns away. "We parted ways, yes, but we haven't disbanded and we all still proudly call ourselves the Straw Hat Pirates," he says, his voice ending off fondly. He rubs the log pose around his wrist. "Although we may be scattered across the globe and not talk for weeks, there's no doubt in my mind that if one of us calls for help, the others would tear through heaven and hell to be there."
His words settle into the sea breeze.
The student stares with wide clear eyes before letting out a breathless laugh. "I see. That's good… I'm glad."
"Hmm?"
The student puts down his guitar by his legs and looks out to sea, the wind catching his hair. He smiles. "Some of my family members were thinking you had a big fight or something. That's why you split up. So I was just thinking," he slows, "that I'm glad—that you're still good friends."
"It wasn't a fight," Soul King says.
The student looks back up at him as he asks, "What was it?"
Soul King—Brook rests his instrument on his lap, lowering his head to stare at his log pose. "We're looking for someone."
The student studies him for a moment. "They're missing?"
Brook nods.
"Oh… how long have you been looking for them?"
Brook lets out a shuddering breath that breaks out into a humorless chuckle and answers, almost in disbelief, "It's been six years. But somehow, it feels longer than fifty. It feels longer than eternity."
The student says softly, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Brook says. He looks out to sea. "You're not the one who took him from us."
Soul King takes up his instrument again and instructs his student to do the same. His voice rings out readily. His hands are steady, and his playing does not hint at all to the conversation that has just occurred. His student keeps his mouth shut.
In the not-so-far past, Soul King has always said, "Good times come to those who wait."
Brook is sick of waiting.
When the world learns that Tony Tony Chopper, the pet of the Straw Hat Pirates, isn't actually their pet but one of the most skilled doctors that have ever walked the earth, they assume it's only a rumor—a lie told by drunken men in bars and die-hard fans of the Straw Hat Pirates.
That is until a paper is published under his name and Trafalgar's.
It's a paper on the Amber Lead disease, but it isn't just a mere study—it's a fucking cure. Some say it's a fluke. Not even a month later, Tony Tony Chopper publishes another paper, then another, and another—on diseases that have been untreatable for years.
Soon, every doctor scrambles to meet him.
He can often be found on Drum Island. He spends his days researching and treating those who sail by with no change in their pocket, bearing illnesses not even the gods dare try. It isn't uncommon to see a marine or government official in his care. He'll help anyone who needs it.
One day, a little boy washes up on shore with no ship in sight. He's pale and blue. When the villagers bring him in, he has long stopped shivering and Chopper gets to work.
He doesn't need a miracle.
After a few days, the boy wakes up in the infirmary, warmth in his face and his heart beating strong and steady. He finds Chopper and never lets him out of his sight. He follows the reindeer everywhere. The latter doesn't mind, apart from when he goes into surgery, and some of his long-term care patients are pleased to have some life in the room.
He refuses to give them his name. They settle on calling him Duck.
By watching Chopper work and reading some random medical books off his shelves, Duck picks up on a few things and is allowed to help with small stuff.
"Do you want to be a doctor?"
"I don't know. I just want to be like you."
Duck quickly gets accustomed to the constant stream of new people from all around the world, arriving with hope in their eyes. They plead with all their might for help. Chopper lets them through the door before they even start telling their story.
"You're famous, aren't you?" Duck asks one day.
Chopper looks up from his paper, blinking. "Hmm?"
Duck's lying on the floor holding a book above his head when he continues, "That's why everyone comes here, right? I heard that you've cured all the diseases you've ever come across. You're a celebrity!"
"Ah." Chopper puts down his pen, glancing at his wrist. "Yes, that's what some people say."
"You don't think so?"
"Well, because it isn't true."
Duck glances at him, sitting up. He puts his book aside, tilting his head curiously. "It isn't?"
Turning around in his chair, Chopper tugs at the base of his antler. "I guess if you only count these past few years, it's true that, with time and a lot of help from others, I've treated every disease I've come across."
Duck studies his expression. He prompts, "And before that?"
Chopper's hoof comes to cover his log pose. "Well, I had—I have a friend with a very unique condition," he says, staring at the ceiling. "It was something he did to himself. But that's not really right, because he fought for a lot of people and got injured for it. Sometimes, really injured."
"He sounds like a good friend," Duck murmurs.
"Yeah," Chopper hums.
Outside, snow continues to rain. The howling wind outside only ever makes it inside sounding like a whisper. It's one of the more warmer months of the year, but somehow, it feels like they're in the heart of winter.
"I spent a long time trying to treat it," Chopper admits. When he smiles, it bleeds frustration, and hurt, and why why why. "Every medicine became ineffective after a while."
Only then does Duck realize maybe he should never have asked. During his stay here, he's noticed this kind of heaviness following Chopper around, weighing his every step and every move. As if he's constantly trudging through mud. Or breathing in smoke, or fighting against the weight of gravity and the world.
"Then," Chopper starts. "He disappeared. That was a few—that was many years ago now, and we don't know where he went or if he's even alive..."
And It's not the grief that's killing him.
Chopper's voice goes quiet in the way snow falls upon snow as he says, "I don't even know if I'll ever see him again."
It's the uncertainty of not knowing if it's time to move on.
When Usopp calls for an emergency meeting out of nowhere, everyone puts down everything to be there for him. They all set a course for Syrup Island. Some arrive early—Zoro, surprisingly, but that might be because Sanji went and found him before he took a few decades to get there. Franky and Robin are late. That's only because they had to pick up a few members without a ride.
Usopp, however suspicious and giggly he seems to be, keeps his mouth shut until everyone arrives, but this doesn't stop them from harassing him for whatever news he's got. They don't ask if it's about Luffy. They know it's not.
When the last group arrives, Usopp ushers all of them into Sunny's galley before dragging Zoro into Chopper's old infirmary insistently, shouting something about, "It has to be you!" He shuts the door. He covers the window.
Their voices seep through from under the door, and Chopper puts his ear against it when Sanji asks him to.
Robin bursts out into quiet laughter.
The crew looks at her with wild eyes, and Nami asks, "What? Robin, what are they saying?"
Shaking her head as she covers her mouth, she looks at Nami with amusement in her eyes, something they haven't seen in a long time.
"—so you just have to—"
"No. Usopp, it's hideous. I'm not about to—"
"I need you to do this for me. Zoro. Do you trust me?"
"Don't ask such a stupid question, but does it have to be this color—"
"Trust. Me."
A couple of quiet minutes later, the door bursts open and the crew turns.
Zoro's wearing a dress. An ugly, hot pink, skimpy dress that is way too tight, and there are ribbons and bows in his hair. He has half a fishnet stocking over his left leg. He's trying to look nonchalant, biting his lip and staying eerily still. That is, until, for a brief second, he looks away.
Nami chokes on her wine, coughing all over Chopper who is too busy suffocating on his own breath to notice. Sanji wheezes so hard his entire face goes purple. He collapses against the dinner table, smacking his fist onto the wood with a soundless breath.
Franky already has a camera out with flash, getting close for all the angles. Jinbei turns away, a hand over his mouth.
Brook is rolling around on the floor, arms extended up and out as he lets out this laugh that sounds offly close to a dolphin with a squeaky toy jammed down its throat. Usopp trips on him on the way out, giggling like a schoolgirl.
Zoro clenches his fist. Red spreads through his face to the tips of his ears as he bites out, trembling, "Usopp…"
Covering his mouth, Usopp wipes his tears. He sways to his feet, trying to catch his breath as he shakes his head. "Okay, okay—" He wheezes. "Zoro. Turn around. Come on. You'll see what I got—what I got planned."
The rest of the crew try to quiet themselves, keeping their laughter low and behind their hands. Zoro's never going to live this down.
Letting out a deep breath, glaring at Usopp with a searing fury, Zoro turns around.
The quiet laughter dies out faster than blowing out a candle.
Sanji gapes. His lollipop nearly falls straight out his mouth as he points at Zoro's back. His eyes shake. "Usopp, you—"
Noise erupts like a declaration of war, and no one in the world has probably heard as many "congratulations" as in this room at this very moment, and suddenly, four people are slapping Usopp's back, four people are crying (that's including Usopp), and one person is confused out of his goddamn mind.
"What? What is it? What's on my back?" Zoro asks, turning around and nearly ripping off the dress with his bare hands.
Sanji hollers. He takes hold of Zoro's shoulders to shake him back and forth again and again when he yells, happiness exploding from within, "We're going to be uncles, you stupid moss-head!"
"Huh?" Zoro gapes. He jerks his head toward Usopp, but the man is already on the floor being piled on. "You mean, Usopp's—"
Sanji's eyes are bright and young and it's the happiest he's looked in years. "You get it, you idiot?"
In the next second, Zoro's the one grabbing Sanji's shoulders to shake him back and forth again and again. He's grinning like a madman.
Twenty minutes later, when they all manage to calm down, they gather and seat themselves around the dinner table and talk. Sanji brings out the alcohol.
("Zoro, why are you still wearing that dress?"
"Oh. I am."
"HAHAHA—")
Someone brings up the topic of who would be the best auntie or uncle. Sanji would definitely spoil the kid rotten—maybe even steal the spot of favorite. Franky would probably build something ridiculous such as moving and hovering bunk beds or maybe a pair of sentient running shoes (Franky, no!). Jinbei offers to take up the role of swimming instructor.
One thing that is unanimously agreed on is that Zoro is never allowed to bring the kid anywhere lest he gets lost. Zoro doesn't get a say.
And then someone asks—it doesn't matter who, "What kind of uncle would Luffy be?"
No one breathes. No one flinches or gives any indication that their heart has stopped.
"I don't know," someone answers—it doesn't matter who. "But I think he'd be a good one."
A couple of months later, the night arrives and all of them crowd into this one tiny (maybe not-so-tiny) mansion. Kaya's in labor for fourteen hours. Usopp and Chopper don't leave her side for even a second.
Dawn breaks through the waters. The house goes quiet, and a clear cry rings out into the air.
It's a girl.
Not long after Chopper makes sure that Kaya's healthy and well, they all crowd into this little bedroom, staring at the little bundle in her arms. "Have you decided on a name?" they ask.
Exhausted and heaving and still pushing through receding pain, Kaya finds the strength in herself to smile, soft and warm and happy. "How about Lucy?"
They all suck in a breath.
Kaya pushes a stray hair around her ear, her smile becoming mischievous—as if she's been planning this all along.
"Yeah," they say, wiping their tears. "That's a good name."
If you ever find yourself going the same way as a green-haired swordsman, turn around. You're going the wrong way.
If you ever find yourself pissing off a green-haired swordsman, buy him a drink(s). He'll forget all about your pissing.
To the world and its people, Roronoa Zoro, the world's greatest swordsman, is regarded as one of the most feared pirates on the seas. He's the right hand of the Pirate King. He's armed with three blades and a searing glare, and if you ever cross him, you cross death.
To his friends and allies, Roronoa Zoro, resident swordsman of the Straw Hat Pirates, is considered one heck-of-a-dumbass with moss for hair and the directional sense of a fucking goldfish. The rest of the world doesn't know this. Let's keep it that way.
Let loose in the unpredictable winds, Zoro hitchhikes on the ships of scared-shitless sailors, swims across the seas with only the clothes on his back and his swords by his hip, and walks on and on until the earth dares to end. Only the stars are his constant companion.
Zoro stumbles upon bright-eyed rookies, driven by passion and, more often than not, carrying a stench of arrogance he needs to snuff out. He stumbles upon those who wish to prove their worth. Those who wish to learn the sword, and he teaches some. He doesn't stay for long.
Zoro heads to Alabasta—to catch up with Vivi and rummage through her kingdom's alcohol stores because she would honestly let him.
He finds himself in Sphinx instead.
Marco greets him with a lazy eye, letting out an exasperated sigh as he moves aside to let him through the door.
"So where were you originally going-yoi?"
Zoro collapses onto his couch, putting his swords aside as he rests his hands behind his head. He closes his eye. "Alabasta."
Marco chuckles, handing him a drink as he comments, "A bit off target, wouldn't you say?" He drops down on the couch beside him. "So I'm guessing you came alone-yoi."
"Yeah." Zoro downs the glass and holds it out for another, at which Marco just hands him the entire bottle. "Thanks."
"Plan on staying long?" Marco asks. He reaches out to grab the book on the coffee table and cracks it open in his lap.
Zoro shrugs.
Marco waits for Zoro to talk, but at some point figures he doesn't want to and focuses on reading instead.
Sunlight wanes through the window as the hours go by. Warm laughter echoes nearby as the village children run by the house without a care in the world.
It's only after Zoro finishes a third bottle does he break the silence.
"Hey."
Marco glances away from his book.
Zoro's staring at the ceiling, his hand absently wrapped around the log pose on his wrist. "Let's fight," he says.
Zoro's blank voice echoes over and over in his head, and Marco studies the stiffness in the man's shoulders—his pursed lips and calloused hands and wonders what he's been thinking about these past few hours. Deep down, he knows.
And so he says, "Let's go then."
A long time ago, if asked, Marco would describe Zoro's swordsmanship like a chef's knife through a leaf. Lightning quick. Clean—with no sense of disturbance other than the movement that took the knife through, and it's like he wields a blade that only gets sharper the more it gets worn down.
But the man before him isn't that same man.
Marco flies back, avoiding a haki-infused slash by the skin of his teeth.
Zoro's blade lashes out without control, cutting through stone and sound. He curls his lip back. There's rage lighting his blood on fire and there's bitterness in his breath, and Marco knows that none of this unbridled hate is directed at him.
Zoro fights like an animal in a cage. Cornered and confused and terrified as he reels from the loss of someone he never expected to lose. He doesn't evade Marco's flame. He doesn't care. He lets them sear across his skin and burn his body raw, and he pushes through just to swing his blade—as if it's the only thing he knows.
It's been four years since Marco learned about Luffy. Ten since he first disappeared.
Marco doesn't offer any words or advice or condolences because he knows this pain and frustration and failure all too well himself.
The moon looks over them.
Marco recalls his flame, letting his wings recede into the wind.
Zoro heaves. Blisters and burns cover his skin and embers eat away at his clothing as he slowly drops his blade to the ground. He closes his eye. And quietly, he says, "Thank you."
When they return to Marco's home, he summons his flames and spends a good half an hour healing Zoro's wounds.
Zoro departs the morning after.
Marco bids him farewell, his gaze dropping to the log pose on his wrist. "Where are you going next?" he asks.
And Zoro meets his gaze steadily and answers, with the kind of certainty only comparable to how you know the sun will rise tomorrow, "To find him."
When the second Pirate King disappears from the world, the seas go quiet. More than a few people notice.
A handful of pirates try to take advantage of it—raiding the territories promised protection from the Pirate King's crew, but they soon learn that no matter how off the grid they go, they really don't enjoy people messing with what's theirs. Boats are dragged to the bottom of the sea. Bones are broken, and not many pirates try to stir up trouble on their turf after that.
People spend their time theorizing. Some think that the Pirate King is in hiding, waiting to stir up trouble when the world least expects it—the inevitable calm before the storm.
Some sources say the Straw Hat Pirates disbanded. The senior officers are commonly sighted around the world, alone and wandering. They're caught in pictures. They're whispered around by words, and people learn that as long as you don't bother them and treat them like anyone else, they'll leave you alone.
And soon, time passes. Surely. Inevitably.
New pirates take to the seas, and rising rookies celebrate their new bounties, laughing in joy as they make ripples upon the waves. They sail across the broad widths of ocean. They carry the tales of their predecessors on their backs and sails.
Marines retire. New bright-eyed recruits take their place, hopeful for the future they will soon learn to protect. Justice redefines once more.
Devil fruit powers return to the cycle only to sprout anew someplace else.
The tales and legends of the second Pirate King are told and talked about in bars and restaurants, within the walls and comfort of homes, and around lively campfires.
When Luffy disappears, the seas go quiet. But not for long. The tides push and pull, and people wait for the warmth of dawn as they have always done.
When Luffy disappears, the world goes on.
It feels like a crime.
" —finished with the testing. I've come up with two possible conclusions that explain why his vivre card isn't moving."
"What? What are they?"
"Number one: his vivre card has—I suppose, disconnected from him. This means it will not drift toward him. Neither will it burn when his life is threatened."
"That's—so, are you saying he's still here? Or that—or that he's dead. And we're just… being led on?"
"Those are both plausible, but this disconnection theory may be the least reliable."
"Then, what's the other reason you came up with?"
"Yes, well. The other conclusion is a bit… complicated. It assumes that your captain is no longer on this plane of existence."
"This plane of existence?"
"Like he's not on this planet anymore?"
"An alternate dimension—a parallel universe. I'm saying that he doesn't exist in this world anymore."
The call doesn't go into chaos like he expects. It goes quiet. It goes cold.
And someone asks softly, "Is there anything we can do?"
"You can keep searching. If he's in a world beyond this one, you could try to find a devil fruit capable of crossing dimensions. There hasn't been one recorded in history yet. You'd be searching blind."
"It's a start."
"But I must warn you, if there is such a thing as an alternate dimension, that means there's more, which practically guarantees an infinite range of possibilities as to why your captain disappeared. This leads me to advise you that the best option is—" He stops.
"...What is it?"
"To wait. Wait for him to find his way back to you. If you're looking at an infinite number of worlds, and something or someone did take him from ours, they can likely send him back. He already knows where home is."
"..."
"Your captain has pulled off many miracles in his lifetime," Vegapunk says softly. "Pray that he pulls off one more."
It took them two weeks to leave that island. Two years to go around the world twice, three for them to split up, and seven for the belief that Luffy might be gone for good to settle in.
When they wake, when they eat, when they settle in for bed, they look at the vivre card in their log pose. It taunts them. It serves as a cruel reminder that Luffy's gone somewhere they can't go, and they can't do a single fucking thing about it.
The world goes on. They fight every second of their life not to, but even the strongest souls wane from the erosion of time.
It takes ten years for their log pose to become something they look at, but not something they see, like looking at your watch but not registering the time.
Maybe they accepted he was gone long before they realized.
The Straw Hats call. They talk. They meet up and recall this boy of sun and sea in fondness and exasperation—a boy who gave so much and gained so little.
They feel him in the sea breeze. They hear him in the boom of fireworks and see him in the waves.
Luffy's everywhere but here.
One day, twenty years later after it all began and not a second later, when some wake up and others settle for bed, they look at their log pose as they have always done—muscle memory ingrained within their souls.
On that same day, on an island all alone, Luffy wakes up to a world that has gone on twenty years without him.