Chapter Text
The air on the roof was still.
Buggy sat cross-legged beside a rusted table, one cheek puffed out as he chewed a mouthful of something crunchy and stale, a bag of triangle chips he’d found in a locked vending machine. He’d smashed the glass with a metal bar after an hour of punching it did nothing but hurt his knuckles. One point for pirate ingenuity.
The sun didn't really come out. Just that smeared, pale light through a grey sheet of sky, like a fog that never lifted. It made the world below look like it had been painted in soot. Streets stretched endlessly in every direction, littered with cars that no longer moved and bodies that did. The horizon felt far and cramped at once. No sea. No sails. No gulls. Only the occasional flicker of something far-off moving in clusters. Like ants. Ants that groaned.
This mall had been picked clean, but he’d found a way to the roof through an emergency stairwell. It was surprisingly peaceful up here. He could almost pretend the world wasn’t ruined, if he didn’t look too hard at the cracked skyline or the abandoned cities beyond. There were a few potted trees, now brittle and dry, and one of them had a small bench underneath that he now claimed as his throne.
He licked orange powder from his fingers, nose scrunched. "This tastes like cheap chemicals," he muttered, but still kept eating.
He was quiet for a long time. No mutiny. No shouting. No one to impress. Just the wind and his thoughts — which, annoyingly, had started talking back. He started counting off on his fingers, small hands tapping his knee as he listed.
“Okay. So... number one: this is definitely a different world. Not a sky island, not the Grand Line, not even the Calm Belt. No ocean. Not even a puddle. I’m landlocked.”
He flopped backward with a sigh.
“Number two: I’m a kid now. That’s obvious. But it’s not just my body. It’s in my head too. My temper’s shorter. I get sad faster, tired easier. I want to scream and cry and punch something. It’s like my brain’s been shrunk along with the rest of me."
Buggy stared at the grey sky a moment longer, then sat up again. It’s hard to think like a Yonko when you can’t stop wanting to nap.
“Three: My powers are gone. Can’t split. Nothing.” he poked himself in the chest, “But I can still use Haki. Armament’s weak, but it's there. Observation’s a little fuzzy, but working. Four: zombies don’t like me. No clue why. I’m not complaining, but it’s weird. They act like I smell bad or something.”
He sniffed his armpit. His brow furrowed. Instead of stink, he caught a faint, sweet smell, like warm milk and something soft.
I don't even smell bad!
“Five...” He trailed off, glancing toward a screen just visible from the roof. It flickered, still playing the same clip on loop. A woman with too-perfect hair and hollow eyes, standing in front of a wall of statistics. The words didn’t make much sense to Buggy, but he’d been picking them apart slowly. “Virus,” he said aloud. “That's what they keep saying. Virus. Infects people, turns them into monsters. Spread fast.”
He leaned his chin into his palm, lips pursed.
So... some disease had wiped out this world. It turned people into flesh-eating ghouls, and somehow, Buggy had been tossed here, young, powerless and alone, but still not eaten. He didn’t know if that meant he was lucky, cursed, or just the butt of some cosmic joke.
The chips were almost gone now. He tilted the bag to drink the crumbs straight from the foil, making a satisfied grunt before tossing it aside. It skittered across the roof tiles and stopped near the edge, right by a shattered lawn chair.
From here, he could see everything.
The buildings below like broken teeth. The black ribbons of cracked roads. The empty playground that now looked like a trap. The long-forgotten billboard for something called a “Smartphone” with a bright smiling couple, frozen in time, holding a rectangle like it was treasure.
He watched the horizon for a long time.
His body felt warm, tired, slow. A child’s metabolism running low. His eyes drooped. But he fought the urge to sleep because every time he closed his eyes now, he didn’t know what he might wake up to.
He curled up on the bench instead, hugging his knees.
This world was awful. Grey. Cold. Full of monsters.
He hated to admit it, but part of him, the kid part, the unformed part, felt strangely safe up here. Like nothing could touch him. No Marines. No enemies. No expectations.
Just him and the silence.
The wind picked up, and Buggy shivered. A sudden gust tore at his hat, ripping it from his head and sending it cartwheeling into the desolate street below.
Buggy didn't care. He hopped down from the bench, arms wrapped around himself. His jacket did nothing much to block the chill. His little fingers were stiff, his nose cold. He needed warmth. And frankly, he was sick of smelling like vending machine dust and cheap chemicals.
Which meant... operation [Clean Clown] was a go.
He descended the stairwell slowly, careful not to slip on the damp concrete. The emergency lights flickered red overhead as he made his way down to the second floor, where the kid stores were lined up like miniature boutiques, bright logos, cartoon characters on signs, mannequins with huge eyes and stiff grins.
Buggy walked past a rack of glitter-covered skirts with a grimace, muttering, “Absolutely not.” He pulled a fluffy purple hoodie from a shelf — it had cat ears on the hood, “...Tempting.” But in the end, he chose a soft red sweatshirt with a little shark biting through the words “BITE ME,” a pair of thick navy sweatpants that pooled at his ankles and a knit beanie — red and blue striped, with a puff on top. It drooped a bit to one side when he tugged it on, his clown-blue hair sticking out beneath it in wisps. He glanced at himself in a broken mirror near the counter.
Tiny. Round-cheeked. Warm.
Still ridiculous-looking, but he approved.
Next mission - water.
The toilets were near the food court, tucked behind a hallway marked with symbols he recognized. He braced himself for the worst, and stepped inside.
The fluorescent lights blinked awake.
Buggy was too short to reach the sink properly, even on his tiptoes. So, he scampered out of the bathroom and returned shortly, dragging a lightweight plastic chair from the abandoned food court. And, miracle of miracles, the faucets worked.
He twisted one and gasped as cold water gushed out. “Holy mother of Sea Kings.”
Buggy shoved his hand under it, then both, then his whole head, scrubbing the dust and sweat from his face until he was dripping. He found a mop bucket, filled it, then dashed back to a drugstore near the escalator. It was half-looted but still had rows of tiny travel bottles. He picked the nicest-smelling shampoo and a goofy bar of soap shaped like a dinosaur. He even grabbed a toothbrush, then returned to the restroom.
The shower was... not quite a shower. But he made it work — using the mop bucket, cold water and determination. He shivered violently the whole time but refused to whine. Pirates didn’t whine. They just... squeaked when soap got in their eyes and maybe cursed under their breath about modern plumbing.
He scrubbed until he felt raw and new.
Then he dried off with stolen towels, pulled on his new warm clothes, and gave himself a little twirl in the mirror.
Then Buggy remembered the bag he'd picked up earlier. He pulled it open, revealing fluffy white socks and oversized, fluffy animal sandals, shaped like a cat, or maybe a bear. He slipped them on, the soft fabric a comforting contrast to the cold marble. Yawning now, warm and clean, he padded across the marble floor, guided by the dim emergency lights. His legs felt heavy. His belly was full enough. He hadn’t cried once all day. A proud record.
To his right - a glass storefront, brightly coloured and filled with toys.
A toy shop.
It was called “GRAND TINY WORLD,” in big bubbly letters.
And right in the middle of the window display, sitting high on a shelf, was a stuffed rabbit. It was sleek and slouchy, with long floppy ears and black fur like midnight velvet. Beside it sat a white twin. Both had one shiny button eye and a little red ribbon around the neck.
Buggy stared at them.
Something in him stirred. A sort of magnetic pull that made his feet move forward even though he wanted to pretend he didn’t care.
“I don’t need a dumb stuffed thing,” he muttered under his breath, pressing his face to the glass. “I’m not a baby.”
His voice sounded too thin, too tired, like even he didn’t believe it. He stared at the rabbits a bit longer. Something about the way they just sat there, blank and calm, waiting, made his chest feel tight. His hands curled at his sides.
His heart said want.
His brain said don’t.
And something between them, the part of him that was still six years old, no matter how much he pretended otherwise, started to panic. He could feel the childish emotions winding up. The ache behind his eyes, the hot pressure in his throat.
Why do I want that stupid thing?
I’m a warlord. A captain. A Yonko.
I’ve fought Mihawk! I’ve punched sea beasts! I’ve—
And yet, he stood there like a statue in the cold, staring through the glass at a black rabbit with one shiny eye and a crooked smile. After a long silence, Buggy groaned, dragged a hand down his face, and whispered, defeated, “Oh my god, I’m a baby.”
He closed his eyes for a second, breathing through the shame. Then he shrugged.
“Fine. FINE. No one’s here. No one’s judging. Everyone who would judge me is either dead or in another dimension. Might as well go full gremlin.”
He marched inside.
The rabbit was exactly where he expected it. He plucked the black one from the shelf, gave it a single evaluating squeeze. It made a soft squeak in response.
“I’ll call you... Captain Flop.”
He glanced at the white twin still on the shelf, clean and unscarred. “No offense to your sibling, but I picked you because you’ll show less blood if things get messy. You understand, right?”
Captain Flop didn’t respond.
Buggy tucked the rabbit under one arm like treasure, proud and warm and slightly humiliated, and walked out of the store with his head high.
He didn’t need it, but he wanted it, and he was finally tired enough, small enough and alone enough to stop pretending he didn’t.
By the time he reached the bed store, he felt like he'd run a marathon, not with his legs, but with his pride. He wandered through rows of mattresses until he found one tucked into the corner, still piled with soft blankets and pillows. He climbed up, dragging his rabbit with him, and wrapped himself in the warmth like a burrito.
The bed was cold at first, but it slowly warmed beneath him. The rabbit’s fur was soft against his cheek. Buggy didn’t want to admit how much it helped. How the weight of it, the presence of something, made the shadows less sharp around him.
The mall groaned as the wind shifted outside. Metal creaked in the rafters. Far below, a single something fell with a clang, and Buggy jumped — squeezing the rabbit tight to his chest, his heart suddenly pounding like war drums.
It’s fine.
It’s fine. You’re fine.
“I’m not scared,” he whispered, but his voice cracked. He swallowed hard, face scrunching as something hot and childish pressed behind his eyes again. His lip trembled.
“I’m not...”
Buggy buried his face into the rabbit’s side and whispered to the dark, “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I’m gonna find a way back. They’ll notice I’m gone. The crew... they’ll look for me. Even if they’re idiots.”
He sniffled once, rubbed his eyes angrily and mumbled, “You’ll see, Flop. This is just temporary. Just... a detour. Buggy-sama always finds a way.”
He sighed, eyes fluttering shut.
“I better not pee the bed,” he mumbled. And eventually, the small pirate fell into sleep — curled into a fortress of blankets, with a black rabbit watching the shadows on his behalf.