Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shamrock had long accepted he was the villain in every story, but his own, and he found the role suited him. Morality was a quaint, flimsy concept for those who lacked the power to reshape the world to their will.

The world needed order, not heroes. It required the firm, unyielding hand of a god, not the chaotic, fleeting hope of a boy. So when that boy—Monkey D. Luffy—died in a blaze of foolish, self-sacrificing glory, Shamrock felt nothing, but a clinical distaste for the waste. It was an equation solved poorly. Yet, as he watched the grief shatter the man who was once his brother. This "Sun God" had been a symbol, a catalyst. And symbols, Shamrock reasoned, were simply tools that had not yet been placed in the correct hands.

In the end, the "D" stood for demolition.

The World Government, an edifice of eight hundred years, was reduced to rubble. Marie Geoise was a ghost town, its former residents now prisoners or corpses. The Celestial Dragons' divine right was proven a farce, their history of theft and genocide laid bare for all to see. The slaves were freed, the Marines disbanded and a new, chaotic order rose from the ashes.

Sitting in his cell, Shamrock accepted this not as a defeat, but as the conclusive result of a failed experiment. His upcoming execution by firing squad was merely the disposal of a contaminated sample. He waited.

The distant, rhythmic clang of the provisional military court outside was the only noise, until it stopped. The air in the corridor shifted, growing heavy with a silent, familiar weight. Shamrock didn't need to look up. He had only encountered that unique density of spirit a handful of times in his life.

"They're allowing visitors now, are they?" Shamrock asked, his voice flat and devoid of surprise, his eyes fixed on the blank stone wall opposite.

A low, resonant chuckle answered him. "Only the necessary ones."

Shamrock finally turned. Leaning against the bars of his cell, dressed in a simple, dark cloak that did little to hide his imposing, one-armed physique, was the man known to the world as "Red-Haired" Shanks. He had on his head a worn straw hat, the brim slightly tilted, which Shamrock recognised instantly as the ridiculous, childish cap the late Monkey D. Luffy had rarely been seen without. It was a practical, if flimsy, piece of headwear, suitable for a low-life, he supposed.

"Shanks," Shamrock greeted, the name tasting like dust. "I thought you'd be too busy celebrating the new age of low-lives."

Their relationship was defined by scarce, weighted meetings. A brief, tense exchange in a tavern after Gol D. Roger's death. A quiet, almost accidental encounter on an uncharted island years later.

Shamrock had always used these moments to try and impress upon the pirate the 'right way'—the nobility of structure, the necessity of the World Government's order. Shanks had always politely, definitively, declined. After the third such meeting, Shamrock had simply dismissed him as a beautiful, powerful savage, a high-quality example of the detritus he was meant to rule.

"There's no celebration yet, Shamrock," Shanks replied, his voice calm, like the eye of a storm. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a simple, tarnished hip flask. He unscrewed the top and held it toward the bars.

"Care for a drink? Waiting for the end is a thirsty business."

Shamrock stared at the flask, then at the man who was now sitting cross-legged just outside his cell, seemingly content to share the vigil.

Shamrock did not take the flask. He merely nodded once toward it, a gesture that meant, I acknowledge your offer, and decline. His acceptance of his fate was so complete that he saw no value in extending his pleasure by a few minutes. He remained standing, his posture rigid and formal, as if he were waiting for a carriage, not a firing squad.

Shanks offered no further insistence. He simply uncorked the flask himself, took a long, slow swallow, and then leaned his head back against the cold stone of the corridor wall. He closed his eyes, his breathing deep and even.

It was a display of utter calm that grated on Shamrock’s nerves more than any insult. The silence stretched, measured by the beat of their two distinct lives winding down—one paused, one ending. His kept returning to the moment the structure failed. It all pivoted on one variable, one foolish, self-sacrificing boy. Why? What was the fundamental force he had missed?

Abruptly, Shamrock pushed himself off the wall. He gripped the bars with one hand.

"The boy. Tell me about him."

Shanks opened his eye, a slow movement. He let out a short, rough bark of laughter, a sudden, surprising noise that echoed in the silence. "The boy? Out of all the world-ending secrets you could ask about, you choose the kid who ate a random Devil Fruit and died on a battlefield? Still trying to find the logical fault in the spirit, are you?"

Shamrock held his temper. "I do not seek fault, I seek precedent. And I did not build this structure only to see it toppled by sheer, unstructured sentiment. If I am to be executed for misjudgement, I must understand the mechanism of that error. Yes, the boy. Tell me about the fool who made a god weep."

Shanks nodded. He leaned his head back against the stone, the straw hat casting a shadow across his face. "Fine," he said quietly. "You want to understand the fire, you have to look at the spark. No theories, no history, just the simple truth of the life. If you want to know what he was, you have to know where he came from."

He shifted, placing his arm comfortably over his knees.

"We first met on Dawn Island, years ago. It’s one of those forgotten patches of green the World Government barely bothered to tax. My crew and I, we were anchored near a tiny seaside village called Foosha. The air smelled of salt and cheap wine. That's where I first laid eyes on him..."

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

The cobblestones were slick with a dampness that had nothing to do with rain. It was the condensation of a thousand held breaths, the sweat of a bloodthirsty crowd. Shamrock walked, his gait steady, the grip of the Revolutionary Army escorts firm, but unnecessary on his arms. He was not a man who needed to be dragged to his end.

His gaze swept over the sea of faces—a taxonomy of vengeance. He categorised them: the rabid, the relieved, the simply curious. And then, he found the anomaly. A pocket of stillness amidst the chaos. Red hair under a straw hat. Shanks. Their eyes met across the heaving square. No words, no dramatic gestures. Just a look.

And for the first time since his capture, the ghost of a smile touched Shamrock’s lips. Brother, he thought, the word surfacing with strange certainty. The brother I never knew. He’d told Shamrock about a boy, about a rubber-limbed child who declared war on the world for a friend, who punched a Celestial Dragon for a principle.

A ridiculous, illogical, magnificent spark.

To think a child’s dream could topple empires.

The steps to the platform were solid beneath his feet.

The cold wood of the guillotine’s frame pressed against his neck. He heard the executioner shift his weight and the grind of the mechanism being prepared. And then, cutting through the morbid silence, he heard it. A sound so out of place it was jarring. Distant, carried on the wind from the edge of the crowd—a laugh. Not a jeer, not a cry for blood, but a pure, unburdened and utterly loving laugh. It was the sound of a soul that had never known true malice, and for a fleeting second, it made the guillotine’s shadow feel less dark.

It was quiet.

Not the expectant silence of the crowd, but absolute, perfect quiet.

The blow had been fast—a simple, elegant conclusion. It didn't hurt. There was a sudden, jarring stop to the world and then this. Shamrock was aware. He was aware of the silence, aware of his own continuous thought process and aware that he was definitively dead.

This was the first surprise. He had fully expected the definitive, cold blankness of non-existence—the only logical outcome. Yet, he was here. He found himself sitting. Sitting on what felt like a hard, cool surface in an enclosed space that had no discernible light source.

Theologians spoke of Heaven, Hell or the Void, he mused.

Awaiting judgment? An anteroom of the dead? He registered no pain, no fear.

Shamrock had just begun to analyse the spatial dimensions of this non-place when it happened. It was a physical sensation—a sudden, dizzying pull. It felt like a deep-sea current grasping him with accelerating force, dragging his entire being through a funnel of pure energy. He didn't have time to categorise the sensation. The pull became a wrenching force, and the featureless room shattered into white, agonising light.

Then—

He woke.

Waking was an absurd concept. Dead men do not wake.

Shamrock’s consciousness slammed back into his body with the force of a tidal wave. He gasped, the sudden return of air in his lungs a shocking physical trauma. He was sitting bolt upright on a silk-draped reading chair. The setting was the master study of the Figarland Mansion, a room utterly familiar from his former life—rich, dark mahogany, antique globes and the heavy, oppressive silence of inherited wealth.

His heart, a muscle that should have ceased all function, was beating a frantic, irregular tempo. He pressed the heel of his hand against his sternum, commanding it to quiet. He then looked down at his hands, noting the unfamiliar suppleness of the joints, the lack of the rigidness he’d lived with for the last two decades. He touched his neck. The skin was unbroken, smooth, the memory of the cold steel blade utterly negated.

He moved quickly, crossing to the full-length mirror recessed into the wall. The man who looked back was him, Saint Figarland Shamrock, impeccable in his tailoring, but undeniably younger. The face was lean, focused, but lacked the deep, cynical weariness that had defined his final years. The age was unmistakable: mid-twenties, a decade and a half before his execution.

His mind, reeling from the impossibility of the situation, reached for a rational conclusion and found only void. A complex hallucination? A neurological spasm from the beheading?

He gripped the edge of the mahogany dresser, his knuckles white. The sensation was too clean, too sharp, too real to be a dream. He was alive, in the past, in the exact physical form he had possessed before the World Government began its long, terminal decline.

Shamrock released the dresser and, with a sudden, violent motion, slapped his own cheek hard enough to sting. The pain was immediate, sharp and entirely physical. He repeated the action on the other side. The burning sensation and the audible smack confirmed the reality. He spent the next minute pacing the study's perimeter—three precise circuits—allowing the old, cold discipline of the Figarland name to smother the last vestiges of panic.

The temporal flow has been violated. He was back. Back in the early days, before the final, catastrophic chain of events was forged. Back when the World Government felt invincible. The past is now the present. I am fifty-years-old consciousness trapped in a twenty-five-year-old vessel.

A slow, dark grin stretched across his face.

"Bloody, self-important cosmic bastards. Couldn't even leave a defeated man in peace."

He stopped by the massive window, his eyes glazing over as he accessed the memory of his final conversation. Shanks's voice, calm and measured, echoed in his mind, detailing the life of the late Pirate King.

Monkey D. Luffy.

Dawn Island. Foosha Village. The earliest data point. The accidental consumption of the Gum-Gum Fruit. The scar under his eye. The promise to Shanks.

Shamrock’s smile widened, transforming into something sharp and predatory. The entire timeline of chaos, destruction and his ultimate execution hinged on a few, simple, predictable moves made by a boy fifteen years from now.

He walked to the door and rang the silver bell pull set beside the frame. The resulting high, discreet chime was instantly familiar. He returned to the centre of the room and waited. The door opened almost instantly, admitting Finrak, the lead butler for the estate’s private wing—a man whose impeccable uniform and air of professional detachment had not aged a day in the last twenty years.

"Finrak," Shamrock stated. "The precise date and time, if you please."

The butler inclined his head slightly. "It is currently 3:15 PM, on the 14th of April, Year 1503, Saint Shamrock."

Shamrock nodded, filing the confirmation away. "And the Elder Saint Figarland's disposition?"

"The Elder Saint is currently concluding his mid-afternoon correspondence. He has a viewing scheduled for 17:00," Finrak reported.

"Inform Father that I will require a few moments of his time before his next engagement," Shamrock commanded. "I have a matter of immediate importance to discuss."

Finrak's neutral expression didn't waver, but his duty required the next question. "Regarding what particular matter, Saint Shamrock? For the prioritisation of his schedule."

Shamrock’s smile grew sharper, colder. He leaned against the desk, tapping a finger against the mahogany. "Inform him that I require an immediate, unscheduled personal trip to the East Blue, specifically near the Goa Kingdom—an unexpected, but necessary, vacation to escape the doldrums of Marie Geoise."

He paused. "Tell Father I am travelling to secure a most desirable souvenir, one with undeniable future influence that will enhance the family's standing significantly. It's a high-value piece of leverage that our rivals have overlooked. He will be exceptionally pleased with the returns on this small investment."

Finrak bowed deeply. "Understood, Sir. I shall inform the Elder Saint that the matter is urgent and geo-strategic. May I ask for how long you anticipate your absence?"

"It is a rapid extraction," Shamrock replied. "I anticipate no more than three weeks." He pushed off the desk. "Begin preparations immediately. I require the swift-response frigate, fully fuelled and provisioned for a deep-water sprint. Pack two weeks' worth of my tailored light-weather clothing. Crucially, I will require a small, highly secure, soundproofed cabin prepared for the transport of a delicate, volatile cargo on the return voyage."

"Understood, Sir. The frigate will be provisioned, your luggage attended to and the unique cargo requirements communicated to the Head Steward immediately. I shall return directly to brief you on the vessel status."

Shamrock walked toward the far side of the study, where a discrete door led to his private chambers. "Do not bother returning to this study, Finrak. I will be in my personal quarters, arranging necessary documentation and changing into travel attire. Any updates are to be delivered there, and only there."

"As you wish, Sir," Finrak confirmed. He executed a precise, low bow. With a silent, efficient turn, he departed, leaving Shamrock alone in the sudden, charged silence of his study, the gears of the future already grinding into motion.

Shamrock pushed through the discrete door and stepped into his room.

The contrast was stark. Here, the floors were covered in thick, pale velvet; the air was temperature-controlled and subtly scented with rare wood oils. His personal quarters were spacious, opulent and silent—a gilded box designed to exclude the messy vulgarity of the outside world. He looked across the room at the custom-made canopy bed, its sheer size dwarfing the space.

He remembered the cold, cramped cell, the rough stone walls he had measured with his boot, the shared, damp air. That cell, despite its dimensions, had felt full—full of finality, full of Shanks’s quiet presence, full of the immense, settling truth of defeat. This grand room, conversely, felt vast and strangely empty. It was a sterile, perfect vacuum, and the feeling was merely noted as unexpected sensory feedback.

His internal clock ticked over the standard evening schedule. At this time, he would usually be immersed in the study of archaic texts or preparing for dinner with the Elder Saint. However, the memory of the execution was still too fresh, the sensation of his own clean skin too new. He felt an almost visceral need to scour the residual taint of the guillotine, the prison and the last decades of decay from his resurrected body.

Shamrock walked past the summoning cord without touching it, heading directly toward the marble-tiled bathing suite. The shower was a brutal blast of cold water, a physical violence that scrubbed the phantom grime of his death and the humiliation of his failure from his skin. He stood under it for several minutes, allowing the shock to refine his focus, emerging feeling less like a resurrected corpse and more like a reset machine.

He dressed, selecting light trousers and a simple, high-collared cream shirt—casual attire, but tailored perfectly. He paused before the full-length mirror, adjusting the cuffs. The man reflected was pristine and young. He looked whole.

His mind, however, immediately supplied the image of Shanks. The pirate, scarred and one-armed, was physically incomplete. Yet, Shanks had carried an invisible weight, a gravity that filled any space he occupied, regardless of its size or splendour.

Shamrock, here in his ancestral gilded cage, felt acutely the difference.

Shanks's eyes, despite their weariness, held an authentic, earned conviction, a raw commitment to freedom. Shamrock’s own eyes, even rejuvenated, held only the brittle, intellectual certainty of unearned privilege and lost ambition.

The pirate was genuine.

Shamrock was manufactured.

A series of precise, soft knocks sounded at the door to his private apartment.

"Saint Shamrock," came the muffled voice of Finrak. "I apologise for the intrusion. The Elder Saint is prepared to receive you in his office at once. Your transport preparations are proceeding as ordered."

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

The Elder Saint's office was located in the West Tower.

Shamrock entered without preamble, closing the thick door with a controlled thud that barely disturbed the air. He found the Elder Saint Figarland Garling, his father, seated behind a vast, impeccably clean desk crafted from ancient petrified wood. He wore his formal dress uniform, complete with medals and the distinctive, star-like scars that marked his participation in the Holy Knight's bloody past.

He was not looking at Shamrock.

Instead, Garling was hunched over a collection of documents—the emergency requisition forms and logistical notes Finrak had just delivered. The papers were slightly askew, an indication of the speed and confusion of the sudden request.

Garling tapped a single fingernail against the documents detailing the "swift-response frigate," the "three-week timeframe" and the highly unusual requirement for a "secure, soundproofed cabin for cargo."

The silence was weighted.

Garling had clearly spent the intervening half-hour trying to decipher the true objective from the flimsy cover story of a "valuable souvenir." Finally, he looked up. His eyes, cold and sharp as twin diamonds, fixed on his son. He surveyed Shamrock's unusually casual attire with a mixture of disdain and suspicion.

"A spontaneous East Blue vacation—how vulgar," Garling stated. He tapped the documents again. "A souvenir worth an immediate deployment of a Naval frigate? Or is this, as Finrak claims, a 'geo-strategic acquisition' intended to secure 'future influence'?"

He leaned back, folding his hands. "Which is it, Shamrock? A frivolous escape from responsibility, an unexpected impulse to engage in pirate-level asset theft or are you really showing some initiative by bringing home a piece of actual leverage?"

Shamrock walked to the centre of the vast, cold room and stopped. A faint smile curved his lips. He met his father's gaze. "Yes, Father," he replied. "It is all of the above. And you should approve the deployment immediately."

Shamrock knew the man across the desk.

Figarland Garling was less a father and more a living foundation upon which the World Government's stability rested. He was the legendary Elder Saint and the Supreme Commander of the Holy Knights . He was the brutal, necessary executor of celestial will, feared not just by the common pirates, but whispered about in terrified awe by the other Saints themselves. He was the Whip of Mary Geoise, whose word held more weight in the shadows than the Marine Admirals possessed in the light.

Garling's gaze intensified.

"I don't play games, boy," his voice dropped, eliminating all warmth from the air. "The Figarland name is not a pawn to be risked on a whim, nor is a frigate a toy. You look older today, Shamrock. Your eyes carry a different kind of conviction—a desperation I recognise from the battlefield."

He leaned forward. "Speak plainly, or stand down. I will allow you exactly three sentences to explain why I shouldn't have you confined for a sudden lapse into madness. But if you have finally found something real worth my time, I will listen."

Shamrock allowed his posture to soften slightly, adopting a loose, effortless stance—one hand tucked into his trouser pocket, the other resting lightly on his hip, projecting the ease of a hunter cornering guaranteed prey.

"My investigation has revealed a critical lapse in asset management in the East Blue," Shamrock began, his voice dry and conversational. "This 'souvenir,' Father, is a boy. A child with an entirely wasted potential residing in a low-grade backwater. A child by the name of Monkey D. Luffy."

He paused, letting the name hang. "And he is the biological son of Monkey D. Dragon."

Garling's composure cracked—a nearly imperceptible tightening around his eyes, a reaction so rare it felt like an earthquake in the room. He remained silent for a beat, processing the lineage. "I see," he finally murmured. He understood the leverage instantly. Shamrock's father smiled. He retrieved a pen and signed the requisition forms with a sharp, decisive stroke. "Very well. Go. Bring the brat back alive, and ensure he is cared for—correctly. The Elders will be immensely satisfied to see Dragon's bloodline quietly managed. Your initiative will be noted, Shamrock."

Shamrock gave a short, dry chuckle. "That is precisely the intention, Father. But we must be smarter than the standard Holy Knight protocol."

He took a slow, deliberate step forward. "There is no benefit in making this a public spectacle. Do not issue any formal declaration to the Elders. This project must remain entirely black budget—Figarland private initiative only. Why give the Revolutionary Army the satisfaction of knowing where their leader’s offspring has gone?"

Shamrock’s smile was cold and contemptuous. "The beauty is in the uncertainty. Dragon and his foolish Marine hero father, Garp, will have to burn resources hunting for a ghost while the boy is right here, under our direct tutelage. Let them feel the slow, consuming panic of the unknown. No one must know we possess this chip until the exact moment we choose to reveal it. Our leverage is absolute only when it is invisible."

Garling watched his son. "You have surprised me, Shamrock." He paused. "The World Government's intelligence apparatus, run by fools, certainly failed to identify this threat. Did you stumble across a forgotten file? Which compromised agent finally gave up this secret? I want the full report on how you gained access to information that has evaded every one of our Holy Commanders for years."

Shamrock offered a brief, utterly self-assured smile. "There was no investigation, Father. Merely the recognition of an obvious, structural flaw in the system. I only need to correct the weakness."

Garling stared at him, recognising the finality in the statement. The Elder Saint grabbed the Signed Authorisation and Frigate Manifests and slammed them onto the desk. "Your arrogance is only tolerable if your results match your ambition. Do not return until the acquisition is complete."

Shamrock accepted the challenge with an easy, almost theatrical bow of his head. "Consider it done. I always deliver on my ambition." He neatly folded the papers, securing them into his inner jacket pocket. "As for the subsequent integration, Father, I anticipate the boy will require a rather intensive period of study and rehabilitation. However, I also believe the introduction of this... variable... will be highly beneficial."

He smirked, glancing around the massive, silent, obsidian-panelled office. "This place, for all its structural perfection, can be dreadfully static. The child possesses a unique, if unrefined, energy. I believe that dynamic will ultimately be far more interesting for the Figarland name than a simple political leverage."

Garling tilted his head slightly. "You speak of this child as though he were a rare resource and not merely a tool," he noted, trying to understand the shift in Shamrock’s focus. "What evidence do you have, beyond his parentage, that this unrefined potential is worth the significant effort of extraction and integration?"

Shamrock offered a careless, open-handed shrug. "None that I can articulate to your satisfaction, Father. You will have to simply trust the calculation until the asset is delivered."

Garling considered this. He reached for the internal Den Den Mushi speaker. "Finrak," his crackled, cutting through the silence, "cancel all non-essential meetings for the next month. Also, prepare the East Wing Annex. I require high-quality linens, comfortable furnishings, and a full collection of complex architectural blueprints and historical tomes suitable for a young, highly privileged charge. We have a new, sensitive resident arriving, and his environment must reflect our standards."

Shamrock leaned against the doorframe. "High-quality linens for a criminal’s son," he commented, his grin easy and wide. "You are spoiling the asset before it even arrives, Father. However, if I were you, I would also order a steady supply of exotic meats and perhaps hire a competent cook who specialised in volume."

Garling paused his instruction to the Den Den Mushi. "Your logistical suggestions are recorded," he dismissed the ideas curtly. "Go. I require uninterrupted time to ensure the security measures are absolute."

Shamrock chuckled softly, knowing he had successfully implanted the seed of curiosity. "Very well. I depart for the mundane world. Farewell, Father. I promise to return with the most interesting creature you've ever owned."

Chapter Text

The sun was already high, beating down on the deep foliage of the jungle as Sabo swung his heavy training pipe, the steel ringing sharply against Ace’s bamboo staff. They were evenly matched, the movements brutal and efficient, reflecting weeks of relentless practice. Ace, ever the aggressive one, finished the exchange with a flurry, forcing Sabo to leap back.

Both boys were nine years old.

Ace grinned, sweat plastering his dark hair to his temples. "Got slow, Sabo. Thinking about the big ships again?"

Sabo didn't return the easy grin. He leaned against a massive trunk, his breath coming easily, but his thoughts were heavy. The usual cacophony of Dadan’s house—the endless yelling, the scraping of cheap tin plates, the smell of burnt food—had been a distant, muffled backdrop all morning. Even during their brutal breakfast, Sabo had been unusually quiet, chewing methodically while Ace and the bandits squabbled over scraps of meat.

Ace finally noticed the shift, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "Seriously, what's wrong? You've been staring into space since we left the mountain. Did Dogra steal your good boots again?"

Sabo pushed off the tree. He met Ace's gaze, his own eyes completely steady, all trace of their usual playful rivalry gone. "No. I need to talk to you, Ace. Alone. Not here."

Ace looked genuinely confused, his natural belligerence immediately replaced by concern at Sabo's gravity. "Alone? What, like, a secret plan? We always talk plans here." He glanced around the dense, empty forest. "You're not going to kill me, are you? Planning to confess that you secretly like those boring history books? Or did you finally decide the life of a pirate is too much work?"

Sabo ignored the teasing. "Come on. I need to know you're listening." He turned and headed deeper into the woods. He led Ace through tangles of vine and brush until they reached a small, moss-covered clearing untouched by the sun. The air was cool and still. Sabo took position against a wide trunk. "I need you to promise you won't interrupt," he stated, his voice tight. "I’m telling you this because you’re my only friend. I ran away from the city, Ace. I’m a noble."

Sabo held his breath, waiting for the inevitable storm. He felt a deep, wrenching guilt that he hadn't trusted Ace sooner with this truth. He knew Ace saw the nobles as the root of all the world's rot, and he fully expected Ace’s face to contort in cold disgust, maybe even rejection. But the need to share the escalating threat in the city outweighed the fear of losing his only brother.

Instead, the sound that greeted him was a casual, cynical snort.

He blinked, utterly blindsided.

Ace adjusted the pipe on his shoulder. "I know, I know. You're Prince Perfect. You occasionally use words like 'contingency' and you don't even know how to steal meat properly. Big surprise." He rolled his eyes. "You pulled me into this dramatic, quiet little corner where the air smells like damp wood and betrayal just to drop the most obvious news of the century? You're more ridiculous than Dadan’s singing!"

Sabo stared, completely thrown off balance. His carefully rehearsed, agonising confession had been completely derailed. His hands rose slightly in confused defence. "Wait, no! That—that wasn't the point! I mean, yes, I am, but you're supposed to be—"

"Dumb?" Ace interrupted, a smirk on his face. "Nah. I also noticed the fancy way you hold a fork and how you look like you want to burn down the entire Goa Kingdom every time we have to go near the city. I'm not some brainless log, Sabo. You practically scream 'disillusioned rich kid' without even saying the word."

"I know, but this is important! It changes—"

"It changes nothing," Ace cut in, his arms folded. "We're still going to be pirates. Now are we going to talk about the secret plan, or are you going to keep wasting my time with your stuffy autobiography?"

Sabo grit his teeth, the words finally tumbling out. "It's about the risks! Look, Ace, that life... it got messy. I haven't been back to the city in a while, but I kept an ear out through a few channels. Something happened at the Outlook Estate." He leaned closer. "My mother and father... they vanished. Overnight."

Ace raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused by Sabo’s intense gaze. He gave a small, non-committal shrug. "And...?" he prompted. "So your problems just went away. Why the long face? I'd be throwing a party. You dragged me out here for a pity party about your dead rich family? Seriously?"

Sabo took a step forward. "Use your brain, Ace! It's not a pity party! It's a red flag!" He lowered his voice. "My parents were annoying, but they were protected by their name. Someone came in—quietly—and erased them and their entire staff in a day. It was done by some kind of World Government elite—a terrifyingly important figure who shouldn't even be looking at the Goa Kingdom. The other nobles are locking their doors and refusing to talk. This means someone ruthless is operating here now."

Ace was silent for a long moment, watching Sabo’s worried expression. The usual defiant fire in his eyes dimmed. Ace gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "So some freak showed up, made a mess and now the other nobles are scared? Good," he muttered. "But why worry? That's High Town garbage, Sabo. That ruthless guy? He's looking down at the city, looking for other nobles or maybe some big-time pirate. He's not looking down here at the Gray Terminal."

He nudged Sabo's arm lightly. "We're literally below their notice. We’re safe from that kind of power because we don't matter to them. If anything," he smirked as he jabbed his pipe into the dirt, "maybe they came all this way just to find some poor, pathetic noble kid to kidnap and turn into a perfect little puppet. What a life. Either way, it's not our fight. We're invisible to that kind of power."

Sabo let out a slow, shaky breath.

Ace was right. They were trash, safely below the notice of any Celestial Dragon. "You're right," he conceded, the tension easing slightly from his shoulders. "It's nothing to do with us. I just... I needed to tell you."

Ace shrugged. "Duh. Who else would you tell, the giant bandit hag? See? Told you I knew you were a noble. It takes a real genius to see the obvious signs."

He threw an arm around Sabo's shoulder and pulled him into a brief, painful headlock, rubbing his knuckles roughly against Sabo's scalp. "Now that the drama is over, let's get out of this mossy pit, you stuffy idiot! And stop looking like you're about to write a tragic letter to the King about your feelings." He broke away with a sharp push and bolted into the thicket, laughing. "You owe me two fights for wasting my valuable stealing time!"

"I owe you nothing, you muscle-brained brute!" Sabo shouted, retrieving his abandoned pipe and following Ace's crashing path. "And I have perfectly appropriate emotional control!"

A poor, pathetic noble kid... Sabo thought, easily jumping over a thorny root.

A perfect puppet for the World Government. The thought instantly conjured Sterry, his brother. If that official did need an obedient, perfectly groomed little tool, Sterry would be a perfect fit. And if he's gone, good riddance. But if Sterry somehow managed to snag a position with a Celestial Dragon, that selfish little leech would cause trouble for everyone back home eventually.

No. That’s a ridiculous scenario, Sabo instantly corrected himself, vaulting over a fallen log. Sterry was too petty, too useless to be chosen by a real elite. The most likely scenario was that his family was simply relocated—forced to move somewhere less "annoying" to the visitor—and Sterry was probably whining about the change of scenery.

A genuine Celestial Dragon wouldn't bother with a mere kidnapping. They'd be here for something administrative, something related to the Marine Base or a major trade route. Something to do with the World Government's deep, cold bureaucracy.

Whatever the reason, it's a problem for the Marines and the Nobles, not for two future pirates living off the land. Sabo kept Ace in his sights, allowing the comforting chase to wash away the fear of the unknown power.

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

The sun, high and warm, streamed through the windows of Partys Bar, illuminating the polished countertop. The mid-afternoon was slow, filled with the comfortable clinking of glasses and the quiet murmur of the few villagers enjoying a drink.

Makino wiped down the mahogany surface, a soft, indulgent smile gracing her lips. She adored this slow rhythm and she especially adored the small, energetic force currently stationed on a stool near the end of the counter.

That force was Luffy, a bundle of enthusiasm barely five years old. He held his juice box with both hands, squeezing it gently as he drank, completely engrossed in captivating the attention of two fishermen nursing their beers.

"And then Gramps is gonna get me something super hard to break, 'cause I'm a big, strong man now!" Luffy declared proudly, throwing his tiny, muscled arm into the air. "And Makino's gonna make me a huge meat cake!"

One of the fishermen chuckled, taking a slow sip. "When is the big day?"

Luffy beamed, kicking his legs excitedly. "5th May! Next week! I'm turning five! That's almost six! I'm practically grown up! And when I'm five, I'll be fast enough to catch those river monsters!" He then leaned in. "And you guys are invited to the party! Makino said it's gonna be huge, and even Woop Slap and Gramps are coming too!"

Makino’s heart swelled. She loved his earnest, uncomplicated joy. The world, for Luffy, was always full of possibilities and food. She paused, leaning her elbows on the counter as she watched him. "That's right, Luffy. Five years old means you're almost a proper gentleman," she teased gently. "And yes, the meat cake will be magnificent, if you promise to finish your carrot juice first."

Luffy immediately grabbed his glass and drained the bright carrot juice in two impressive gulps, slammed the empty glass onto the table with a loud thunk and puffed out his chest. "Done! See, Makino? I'm already a man!" His expression instantly turned serious. "And after 5th May, no more juice! I'll be drinking 'Rumble' with the grown-ups!"

The two fishermen immediately burst into laughter, joined by the older ladies sipping tea nearby. "Rumble!" wheezed a stout fisherman named Koro, slapping his knee. "Oh, bless his heart! This kid's gonna be a legend, Makino!"

"Luffy, sweetheart," Makino said, trying to stifle her smile, "Grown-ups drink rum, and even that isn't good for little gentlemen."

"Yeah, kid," Koro added, wiping a tear from his eye. "Five years old is still just a squirt! You can't drink strong drinks until you're much bigger!"

Luffy's face crumpled into a magnificent, furious pout. He crossed his arms and glared at the entire bar. "Stupid! Five is grown-up! It's almost six! And if I'm a man, I drink the man drink! You guys are just afraid I'll be better at it than you!"

Koro, wiping the tears from his laughter, leaned toward Luffy, his eyes sparkling. "Better than us, little guy? You're five! You can't even outrun a boar yet! If you were a real man, you'd be faster than all the mountain bandits!"

Jiro nodded, grinning. "Yeah! You need speed, not rum!"

Luffy immediately perked up, puffing out his chest. "I am fast! Gramps already throws me into the jungle and makes me run home by myself! Last time, I had to run from a big wolf all the way back, and Gramps just laughed and threw stones at me to make sure I was running! It was mean and I was hungry!" He paused, his face scrunching up in annoyance. "But I made it! So I'm already fast!"

Makino watched him, her heart doing its familiar flip-flop of pride and worry. Luffy, the grandson of the legendary Marine Hero, Monkey D. Garp. She knew the blood that ran in his veins was powerful and volatile—a legacy that included Garp's impossible strength, and the relentless, demanding drive of Luffy's father, the most wanted man in the world. The moment Garp handed her the infant, Makino's feelings were flooded with fear. I'm just a bartender. How can I possibly raise the child of such immense forces? She had feared she wouldn't be tough enough, or wise enough, for the boy destined for great things.

But Luffy had been the easiest, sweetest surprise.

He was obedient when he was listening, easily distracted, and thrived on simple food and affection. Yet, she thought, her smile hardening as she looked toward the sea, how typical of those incredibly strong, self-important men, both of them too consumed by their causes to raise their own flesh and blood. It was their loss. This energetic, precious little boy—prone to bruises and grand declarations—was entirely hers now.

Makino stepped around the counter, laughing softly. "Mister Jiro, you know he can't wait until his birthday to show off his speed. Give the little gentleman a break." She waved goodbye to the last couple of villagers who were heading out the door. "Thank you both! Come back soon!"

Luffy straightened up on his stool, eyeing the two fishermen with the clinical, merciless assessment only a child can deliver. "And your arms are big but they're soft! They just shake when you laugh! My Gramps says men have hard muscles! So you guys aren't real men! And I can run longer than you!"

Koro and Jiro immediately began rubbing their biceps, making painful faces. "He saw it, Jiro! He saw the softness!" Koro whispered, sounding genuinely wounded. "He saw that we skip arm day!"

Jiro rubbed his elbow dramatically. "The sheer observation powers!"

Koro threw his hands up in complete, exaggerated defeat. "We surrender to your superior observation, little man! You are absolutely right! We are not worthy! You are a man! A small, strong and highly critical man!"

Luffy cheered loudly, completely satisfied with his victory. He thumped the table happily, his dignity completely restored. "Yes! I win! Now I can drink it!"

Jiro grabbed the remaining coins, quickly counted them and tossed them on the counter before draining his mug. "Happy early birthday, little man! We'll bring the fresh catch next week!"

Koro added, giving Luffy's cheek an affectionate poke. "Don't get into too much trouble before you turn five!"

"I won't! Goodbye, small-fish catchers!" Luffy retorted cheerfully.

Makino sighed warmly, waving them off. "See you soon, gentlemen. Safe travels!"

The bar was silent save for the clinking of dishes. Makino handed Luffy a damp cloth. "You're such a big helper. Can you shine all the barstools? I need them to sparkle!"

Luffy, delighted to be entrusted with such an important task, started scrubbing the stool legs with intense concentration. He finished the task quickly, jumping back onto his stool. "Okay! Can we go run down to the beach and throw rocks at the waves?"

Makino smiled serenely. "In a little bit. First, we need to train your intelligence. We are going to practice identifying landmarks and geography."

Luffy slumped dramatically. "Why? That's boring! Gramps says muscles are better than knowing names of things!"

Makino shook her head slowly. "Muscles are wonderful, but imagine this: You are the strongest man in the world, and you find a mysterious island made entirely out of gigantic, delicious ham." Luffy gasped, eyes wide. "If you don't know the secret name of that island, you won't be able to tell anyone where to find the ham, and they'll never be able to deliver it to you! Only the smartest man knows the best places to get food!"

Luffy immediately stood upright. "Ham island? Okay! Tell me the names! I need to know the names!"

Makino retrieved a thick textbook—a gift from a former traveling scholar—and together, she and Luffy went through the chapters on cartography. Makino kept her arm wrapped around his small waist, occasionally kissing the top of his head.

Luffy kept his focus solely on the prospect of the "ham island," his imagination fuelled by the detailed drawings. As the afternoon waned, casting long, peaceful shadows, she felt safe, tucked away in their corner of the world.

Luffy finished memorising the location of the next ten islands. "I know enough now! Can we play now? I need to use my muscles!"

Makino laughed, reaching for her apron to hang it up. "Perhaps we can practice-"

BAM! The tranquillity was shattered by the violent entry of Mayor Woop Slap. He looked like he had run a marathon, sweat pouring down his face, his chest heaving with desperate, ragged breaths.

Makino snatched Luffy off the stool, pulling him to her chest, her arms wrapping around his small body like a shield. "Mayor, you're scaring us! What's wrong?"

Woop Slap looked up, his eyes wide and terrified. He pushed himself upright. "Makino, you need to hide! There’s a Celestial Dragon’s party in the village! A man—one of their servants—just killed a villager for talking back! He's asking where the barmaid with a four-year-old boy is! Get Luffy out of here! Now!"

Makino stared, her mind reeling. "But... why? Why are they looking for us? We haven't done anything!" she whispered, clutching Luffy tighter. The sheer injustice of a powerful figure causing such terror and death was staggering.

Woop Slap slammed his fist on the counter. "There's no time for why, Makino! They're on the main road! I didn't hear them say his name, but they are looking for Luffy! They know he's here! Listen to me! Koro and Jiro are waiting at the harbour with a small boat ready! Go to them now! They'll get you out to sea! I'll contact Garp—I promise I'll get word to him!"

The urgency in Woop Slap's voice finally shattered Makino's disbelief. She didn't need to understand the motive. She only needed to protect Luffy. "Luffy, darling, we have to play a special game called 'Fast and Silent.' No questions, okay?" she said, kissing his temple.

Luffy, though confused by the sudden roughness, nodded, sensing her panic.

Makino sprinted toward the back door, the quickest way out of the bar and through the back alleys toward the harbour. She threw her arm out, ready to pull the wooden latch, when a tall, imposing figure in dark, formal livery, blocking the exit entirely, stepped out of the shadows. Makino skidded to a halt, breath catching in her throat.

Too late.

She backed away slowly, Luffy held tight against her pounding heart.

At that exact moment, the main door swung open again.

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

Luffy felt safe in the strong arms carrying him, but everything felt upside down.

Makino had been hugging him so hard it was hard to breathe, and then suddenly, this big man with striking red hair and a smell like fresh ocean air and sweet bread was here. The scary people in black held the Mayor by the arms while the red-haired man looked right at Makino. He just told her to let him hold the boy. When Makino only trembled and didn't move, the Mayor said, "Do it, Makino. Give him the child."

Now the man was walking Luffy around the bar, making him point at the things Makino was supposed to be cleaning. Luffy didn't like the other scary people who had come in. They were standing outside with Makino and the Mayor, looking stiff and mean. One of them was even guarding the path near the kitchen. They weren't friendly like the red-haired man.

Luffy had been told to be a good helper, so he pointed out the spice shelf, the meat storage area and the secret spot where Makino kept the fancy glasses they never used. He was a good guide! "Okay! I showed you where everything goes!" he declared, nodding firmly. "Makino says gentlemen always tell each other their names so they can be friends! What is your name?"

The red-haired man paused, letting out a soft laugh that made his shoulders shake a little. He carefully lifted Luffy and placed him directly on the bar. His smile was wide and genuine. "You're absolutely right about the rules of a gentleman," the man agreed. "My name is Shamrock."

"Hello, Shock!" Luffy greeted him with a big, friendly grin.

The man smiled, his eyes crinkling. "It's pronounced Sha-mrock," he corrected softly.

Luffy scrunched his nose in concentration. "Sha... Rock?"

Shamrock just laughed, the sound easy and pleasant. He gently patted Luffy’s head. "Rock is fine, little man."

Luffy immediately laughed too. It was a relief when grown-ups weren't mean about names! This man was much nicer than Mayor Woop Slap, who always got mad when Luffy forgot to call him 'Mayor'. "I'm Monkey D. Luffy!" he declared. "And I'm almost five! Next year I'm going to be six, so I'll be super grown-up!"

"Monkey D. Luffy," Shamrock repeated. His smile grew wide, reaching his eyes. "That's a strong name! So you're turning five? When is your birthday?"

"5th May!" Luffy announced proudly, bouncing a little on the counter. "You should come to the party, Shammie! Makino is making a giant meat cake, and you're my new friend now!" Luffy was sure Shammie was the right name now—it sounded better than Rock and was easier to say than the first long name the man had used.

Shamrock's face was very, very pleased. "That is such a kind invitation, Luffy. I thank you. But I have a much better idea for your birthday."

Luffy’s mouth fell open. "Better? No way! It can't be better!" He shook his head fiercely. "Makino is making the biggest meat cake ever! And Koro and Jiro said they're bringing fish! And Gramps is giving me a present that's really hard to break! There's no way your idea is better than a meat cake and presents!"

Shamrock chuckled softly, resting a warm hand on Luffy's head. "Your birthday party sounds nice, but it won't solve the real problem. Makino, the Mayor and everyone in the village are very sad right now. I know a place far away that has amazing toys and food, and if you come with me, you can get those things and bring them back to make everyone happy again. You'd be the biggest hero in the whole world, much better than just having a cake! Makino said you always want to make people smile!"

Luffy’s brow furrowed. His friends were sad? That was worse than no cake!

"But Makino said she was just tired..."

Before he could decide, the sharp, angry shout came from the door, "Stop! You are not permitted to approach the child!"

Makino stumbled into view. She was on her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. "Please! He's just a boy! He doesn't know anything about his father! Please, spare him! He's not ready for what you want! He's just a sweet child!"

Luffy watched, horrified. Makino's face was white. He hated seeing her cry. "Makino! Stop it! What's wrong?" He braced himself, ready to launch himself into her arms.

Shamrock moved swiftly, picking up Luffy and holding him securely against his chest. Luffy struggled slightly, wanting to run to her, but Shamrock simply carried him directly toward the kneeling woman. He then let go of Luffy's small body, pushing him gently toward Makino. "She needs a hug, Luffy," he murmured.

Luffy stumbled forward and wrapped himself around Makino’s neck. Her chest was heaving with silent, terrifying sobs. "Makino, you're not supposed to cry! What hurts?"

Makino’s body shook beneath his touch. Luffy looked up, trying to figure out why Makino was being so strange. He saw the cold, dark clothes of the guards surrounding them, and he saw Shamrock watching with that quiet, unblinking intensity.

When Makino’s eyes finally flickered up and met Shamrock’s, a visible jolt went through her, and she suddenly buried her face in Luffy's hair, her weeping silencing instantly, replaced by shallow, painful breaths. She held him for a long, quiet moment before pulling back just enough to look him in the eye.

"Luffy-dear," she choked out, her voice wet, but suddenly steady. "I... I was crying because I was remembering how quickly you're growing up! I'm so proud you're almost five! And Mr. Shamrock has a very important job for a big boy like you! You have to go with him and show him how strong you are! You have to go to make me happy!"

Luffy frowned, still confused by the tears, but he wanted to make Makino feel better more than anything. "Okay, Makino, I'll go! Don't cry anymore, I promise I'll be a big man!" He gave her one final, quick squeeze and turned, reaching for the hand of his new friend. "I'm going now!" he said. "I'm going with Shammie to get something that's better than a meat cake and all the presents! It's a secret job for a big boy! You wait right here, and I'll come back when I'm a hero!"

Shamrock smiled brightly, his red hair seeming to gleam. "That's my brave little boy! You are certainly a hero already!" He scooped Luffy up again, holding him securely. He gestured with a nod toward one of the stiff, dark-clothed men. "Please assist the lady."

The guard stepped forward. Makino slowly rose to her feet, steadying herself. Luffy saw her look at Shamrock—her eyes were wide and flat, like the surface of the sea on a scary day. It wasn't the kind of look she gave Gramps when he broke things because it was a cold, quiet look that made his stomach feel funny.

"Now, Makino," Shamrock said gently, still holding Luffy. "We must be departing soon. Could you please pack a small bag for our young man? Just essentials."

"I can pack myself!" Luffy immediately protested. "I'm a big man! I don't need help!"

Makino rushed to them, her voice cracking slightly as she reached for Luffy's hand. "Oh, Luffy, please! Let me help! I'll put in your favourite socks and your most comfortable shirt! Please, let Makino pack your bag just this once! Please!"

Luffy stopped struggling. Makino looked so desperate, and her eyes were still wet. "Okay," he conceded sadly. "We can pack together."

Shamrock nodded, pleased. He didn't put Luffy down. "Excellent. Lead the way, Makino. We’ll need that bag quickly." Makino froze for a second, her eyes flicking up to his face, looking stunned and defeated. She took a ragged breath, pushed past the guard and silently walked toward the back room.

Shamrock let Luffy slide down onto his bed, then leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, watching them. Luffy felt very important. He was on a secret mission, and he was being allowed to pack his own bag, mostly!

Makino was moving slowly, holding up every item and asking questions. "Luffy, which underpants are the bravest? These white ones, or your red monster ones?" Makino asked, which took a long time for Luffy to decide.

Luffy finally chose the red ones. He tossed them into the small satchel Makino had placed on the bed. He was deciding what to take, because a big man only needed the most important things. He reached into his toy box and pulled out "Doggy," his stuffed animal. Doggy was old, floppy and a comforting, dingy brown colour.

Makino reached out a shaky hand. "Oh, Luffy. Are you bringing Doggy? He would keep you safe and warm on your big adventure."

Luffy shook his head seriously. "No, Makino. I'm a man now! Men don't need Doggy!" He placed the stuffed dog gently on his pillow. "But you keep him safe, okay? You feed him snacks and read him stories every night, so he doesn't miss me too much. You have to take care of him for me."

Makino’s eyes filled with fresh tears, but she quickly hid her face and nodded. "Of course, darling. I promise." She then reached into the small wooden dresser. "Now, for clothes. I think we should take every single shirt out of the dresser, and you must try on each one. A hero needs to be perfectly dressed!" She started pulling out a pile of shirts, clearly planning to waste a lot of time.

Shamrock’s low voice cut across the room from the doorway. "Makino."

Makino froze, the pile of shirts slipping from her grasp. She turned, her face pale and her eyes wide with fear. Shamrock pushed off the doorframe. "A word, if you please. Outside."

She glanced at Luffy, then back at Shamrock, nodded stiffly and walked out, pulling the door shut behind her. Luffy heard a low, tense murmur outside. He waited, annoyed that the important job was interrupted.

Shamrock opened the door just enough to poke his head back in. "Luffy, Makino said it was part of the hero training! You don't need her—you're a big, capable man! I need to speak to her about the mission details, so you go ahead and pick the clothes. I know you can do it!"

Luffy's eyes lit up. "Secret packing? Awesome!" He immediately scrambled toward the dresser. He heard the door click shut again, leaving him alone.

Now that it was a secret test, Luffy didn't waste time on silly things like trying on shirts. He had to pack the fastest things! He grabbed the first three shorts he saw, yanked a handful of socks from the pile Makino had dumped, and stuffed them all into the satchel. He tossed in his blue toothbrush, his worn sandals, and decided the satchel was full enough.

"Done!" Luffy announced proudly, feeling immensely capable. That was fast! He threw the satchel over his shoulder and ran to the door, eager to show his new friend how quickly a hero could pack.

He reached for the knob and yanked the door open.

Luffy stopped dead.

Right in the hallway, Shamrock was standing over Makino, who was on her knees again. Shamrock's right hand was cupping Makino’s jaw, forcing her face up. Tears were silently running down Makino’s cheeks, but her eyes, fixed on Shamrock, were blazing with a fierce, quiet hatred. Shamrock was smiling, but it wasn't the nice, warm smile from before. It was tight and scary, like Gramps when he was actually mad.

As soon as the door creaked open, they moved instantly.

Shamrock dropped his hand and stepped back, smoothing the front of his vest. Makino wiped her eyes furiously with the back of her hand and scrambled to her feet. Both turned to face Luffy, their expressions snapping into perfect, polite calm as if nothing had happened.

Luffy stared, his face twisting. "Hey! What were you doing to Makino? You were being a bully! You were hurting her face!" he yelled, pointing his finger accusingly at Shamrock. "If you hurt Makino, we can't be friends! I'm not going on your mission!"

Shamrock immediately walked over to Luffy and knelt down, his expression morphing back to the warm, gentle look. "Now, now, Luffy. That's not what you think at all. Makino had a very tiny piece of dust stuck right on her cheek, and it was making her cry very badly. I was just trying to gently brush it off before it infected her skin! Makino, tell Luffy I was just helping you, wasn't I?"

Makino, who was rubbing her wet cheeks, forced her head up, a wobbly, pained smile stretching her face. "Yes, Luffy... Mr. Shamrock was just helping me with the dust. My eye hurts a little bit, but he was being very kind."

Luffy frowned, looking from Makino’s sad eyes to Shamrock’s face. He still thought it looked like bullying, but Makino never lied. "If Makino says so, then... okay." He puffed out his chest. "I finished packing! I put in the fastest shorts!"

Shamrock stood up, giving Luffy an appreciative look and ruffling his hair gently. "Excellent work, Luffy! Let's get that satchel." He took a step toward the doorway to signal a guard.

Makino took a quick step forward, her hands hovering near the satchel. "Oh! Wait! Before you take the bag, I just need a moment! Luffy, we didn't check for pocket holes! If your fastest shorts have a tiny hole, all your secret mission supplies might fall out! Let me see, please!"

Shamrock turned slowly back to Makino, his gentle smile thinning slightly, his eyes holding hers steadily. He reached out and touched her arm just above the elbow. "Makino. We agreed that the time for preparations is over, didn't we?"

Makino lowered her head and whispered, "Y-yes. Of course. Forgive me."

Luffy, now eager to leave, looked up at Shamrock. "When do we go, Shammie?"

Shamrock’s warm smile returned instantly. He reached down and scooped Luffy up, holding him securely against his chest, tucking the boy's head slightly under his chin. "Now, Luffy. We leave now."

The man stepped outside with Luffy tucked high against his shoulder, walking toward the sound of the ocean. Luffy felt a rush of speed and the thrilling scent of salt, which made him forget the dust and the silly, scary smiles. Then he saw Makino. She was following them, still close to the bar, but two of the black-clothed men were holding her arms, their faces blank.

He tried to point out Woop Slap, who was kneeling funny near the porch, but Shamrock covered Luffy's ear with his hand. The warm hand felt nice, but Luffy’s excitement had curdled into a tight, confused knot, realising that only the mean people were staying with his friends.

A tall man in a black coat hurried from the front of the column, marching to face Shamrock as they neared the edge of the docks. "Lord Shamrock, the two redundant assets back at the property—the woman and the mayor? Shall we liquidate their presence before we cast off?"

Shamrock tightened his arm around Luffy, keeping the boy's face against his collarbone. "No. The fail-safe protocol must remain active. Remind them that if the boy is ever reported missing, or if their silence fails, the final consequence is enacted on this entire sector. We need them alive to keep the peace here."

Luffy blinked. "Did you hear that, Shammie? He said the Mayor and Makino were rew-dundant asses! And he wants to lick-widate them! What does that mean?"

Shamrock stopped walking for a second, his eyes crinkling. "Oh, that was just grown-up talk, kid. He was asking if we had paid Makino and the Mayor enough money! I told him they were our 'reliant assets,' meaning we rely on them to be brave. The 'final consequence' is just our promise to send a whole fleet of ships back here if anyone dares bother them while we’re on our mission."

"Wow, Shammie!" Luffy beamed, throwing his arms around the man's neck and squeezing tight. "You're like a super hero! You're going on an adventure and you’re protecting Makino and the Mayor with ships! You're my best friend now!"

Shamrock stumbled slightly, a dark, complicated look flashing across his eyes before he let out a loud, slightly shaky laugh. "That's right, Luffy. Always protecting the important people."

Chapter Text

Luffy pressed his face into Shamrock's shoulder, feeling the powerful rhythm of his steps. Leaving the village felt wrong, but Makino needed Luffy to go, so he had to be brave. He was a man now, even if he was only four and three-quarters.

Shamrock took him straight past the usual fishing boats to a clean, impressive sloop tied at the very end of the main dock. It had tall masts and crisp white sails already furled. It was a proper sailing ship, unlike the tiny boats Koro used.

"She's a fine vessel, isn't she?" Shamrock said. "She'll take us quickly to where our true journey begins. Our real ship is huge, like a floating castle, but it's waiting for us far away."

Luffy's eyes sparkled. A floating castle! He was ready.

He looked back over the dusty path that led to the bar.

Makino wasn't there. Nor were the fishermen, or the ladies, or the Mayor.

Luffy felt a sharp pang of disappointment. They were all sad, but why couldn't they stand at the dock to see him off? He was saving them all! He didn't understand why no one was there to cheer him as he left on the secret mission. He hoped they weren't too sad to wait for him to come back.

Shamrock noticed the droop of Luffy's lower lip and immediately stopped walking, turning the boy slightly so their faces met. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind Luffy's ear. "What's wrong, Luffy? You look worried."

Luffy pointed a shaky finger toward the shore. "Where's Makino? And Woop Slap? Aren't they coming to say goodbye? Are they too sad for me?"

Shamrock chuckled warmly, giving Luffy a gentle squeeze. "Ah, of course they are! But this is a secret mission, remember? They are all waiting just around that corner where the harbour turns! It's a surprise! They are going to rush out and wave the moment our ship passes the harbour mouth! If they came now, everyone would see the hero leave!"

Luffy’s eyes widened. "Really, Shammie? You promise they'll come?"

Shamrock nodded. "I promise, absolutely. But you must get down into the ship now so you don't miss the big surprise!"

If Makino and the Mayor were waiting to rush out, they needed to get sailing now!

"Let's go, Shammie, let's go!" Luffy urged, wiggling in Shamrock’s arms.

Shamrock laughed easily, walking briskly onto the ship deck and settling Luffy right against the ship’s railing. The ship started moving almost immediately, the water beneath them churning slightly. Luffy gripped the railing tight, his heart pounding with excitement as the dock slipped away. "There's the corner!" he yelled, straining his neck as the ship slowly rounded the bend that hid the main village road.

And then he saw them.

Makino and Mayor Woop Slap burst into view, running toward the harbour edge. Makino threw herself forward, stumbling right to the edge of the dock, her arms stretching out toward the ship as if she could pull it back with her hands alone. Her face was twisted so hard it looked like she was choking on tears, and she was yelling a long, wailing sound that made the air feel sticky. Woop Slap was dragging her back slightly, holding her shoulder and shouting something sharp into her ear that made her sink onto her knees for a second.

Luffy’s face split into a giant grin. He cheered loudly and waved his arms back as hard as he could. "Bye-bye, Makino! Bye-bye, Mayor! I'll be back with the mission stuff! Don't cry, Makino!" He laughed joyfully, watching them until they shrank into tiny, distraught figures on the shore. He was a hero, and they loved him!

Luffy stayed perfectly still by the railing, held securely in Shamrock’s strong arms. He kept waving, even when Makino and the Mayor were just tiny dots, and he kept shouting promises into the wind. "I promise I'll be brave, Makino! I promise I'll eat all the vegetables! I promise to come back fast!"

The ship kept sailing, turning the small fishing town into a collection of blurry, distant shapes. Soon, Luffy could only see the green mass of the island, and then, slowly, even that began to sink beneath the horizon.

Then, there was only the big, endless blue sea. The wind felt cold on his face, and the vast emptiness made the world feel suddenly huge and scary. His frantic waving slowed, then stopped. He pressed his face against the railing and began to cry silently, great, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I miss her already," he whispered, his voice thin and small. "I want my Makino!"

Shamrock gently scooped him up and held him close, rocking him slightly. "There, there, little hero. It is a big ocean. But you are strong, aren't you?"

Luffy shook his head miserably, clinging to Shamrock's coat. "No! I don't want to be strong! I want my home! I want Gramps to come get me! Take me back right now!"

His frantic, painful sobs went on for a long time.

Luffy felt himself being lifted and moved, aware that Shamrock was walking him around the deck, his voice a smooth contrast to Luffy's distress. Even while weeping, he heard Shamrock's deep, low voice talking about their ship.

"Don't worry about that dreary little island, young friend," he murmured, gently wiping the snot and tears from Luffy's cheek with a clean handkerchief. "It's small, boring, and utterly insignificant. You're escaping that dreary life! This little transport ship is just as insignificant too. But just wait until you see the vessel waiting for us. That is where true power resides. Your little village and everyone in it will be perfectly safe, as long as they remember to keep quiet about your departure."

Shamrock held a glass of cool water to his lips. "Here, take a sip. You've cried enough over that sad, forgotten speck of land."

Luffy drank the water, his sobs slowing down to ragged hiccups, though the cold words about Makino's silence made his chest tighten again. Finally, Shamrock stopped walking. He held Luffy up higher. "Now, look, Luffy! Look at that! You are leaving that miserable, dusty rock behind for this!"

Luffy rubbed his eyes and stared. Looming over their small sloop was a colossal, intimidating warship, its enormous sails immense and its dark hull rising like a floating castle out of the sea. He let out a small gasp. "It's so big! It's bigger than Gramps's biggest ship!"

Shamrock laughed, a sound of deep satisfaction, as he carried Luffy carefully across the metal gangplank onto the giant deck. "Infinitely bigger. She is a floating fortress! Her cannons alone are taller than your grandfather!"

Luffy pointed eagerly. "Can I see the cannons? And what's that big tower thing?" He completely forgot about the tears and the sadness.

"I will give you the full tour in due time," Shamrock promised, his hand smoothing Luffy's hair. He gently lowered Luffy to the spotless deck, kneeling briefly to meet the boy's eyes. "But first, we must take you to your private quarters. We made sure they were equipped for a hero." As he stood, he tilted his head slightly and spoke to someone nearest the gangplank. "Locate the small satchel and burn it. I want no trace of that poverty-stricken shore left."

Shamrock turned back to Luffy, his smile blindingly warm as he took the boy's hand. "Right then," he said, giving Luffy's hand a gentle squeeze. "Let's see your new kingdom, shall we?" 

Luffy slipped his small hand into the warm, big one, and he liked how it felt: soft sometimes, but also tough with little bumpy scars and hard skin on the palms. Gramps always said those calloused hands meant a man was fighting and training hard to get stronger, so Luffy knew Shammie was a hero who worked hard too.

Shamrock led Luffy through a wide, spotless corridor. The man opened a polished wooden door. Inside, the room was neat but exciting: it had a bed covered in a bright red blanket, a small wooden chest that looked exactly like a treasure chest, and a window that faced the endless ocean. There was even a small shelf with brightly painted wooden toys of sea creatures.

"This is all for me?" Luffy whispered, eyes wide. He ran to the window.

"All yours, kid," Shamrock confirmed. "It's your home now."

Luffy nodded, turning back to look at the nice, big room. It was cool and clean, and he liked the red blanket. It's nice, Luffy thought, but it's still not my little room with Doggy and Makino's smell. He suddenly realised he was hungry, which was a very important problem. He dug into the little treasure chest and found it filled with sweet biscuits! He sat on the edge of the bed, munching happily. Shamrock sat on the floor nearby, leaning his back against the wall. It felt safe having his new friend there.

Just then, a light tap came at the door. "Enter," Shamrock called out.

The door opened, and two silent, dark-clothed men entered, carrying three large, new leather bags. They set the bags down. "What's all that stuff?" Luffy asked, pointing with a biscuit-covered finger. "Are they for the mission? Where is my bag?"

Shamrock smiled. "Those are your new belongings, Luffy. But I'm afraid I have bad news about your little satchel. My men were careless. During the transfer to this larger ship, your small cloth bag was accidentally thrown overboard. We are terribly sorry."

Luffy froze, his half-eaten biscuit forgotten. His throat tightened. The fastest shorts, the blue toothbrush, the sandals... they were all gone! "My bag? But... but I packed it! My stuff!" His eyes welled up.

Shamrock leaned forward, placing a warm hand on Luffy's knee. "Don't cry, little hero. It was a silly, old bag. That's why we bought you these beautiful new ones! Tell you what," Shamrock continued, his voice taking on a cold, serious edge that made Luffy shiver. "I will have the entire crew of the smaller vessel lined up right now. Which one should I throw overboard next, since they failed the hero so spectacularly?"

Luffy gasped, his tears instantly drying in fear. "No! Don't do that! It's just a bag! You can't throw people in the water!" He shook his head fiercely. "Makino said that even if someone makes a mistake, you have to be kind and forgive them! It's okay, Shammie! I don't need the old bag! It's okay!"

Shamrock's face softened, the scary look melting away as he gently patted Luffy's hand. "Ah, of course. You are right, Luffy. And remember Makino? She would never want her brave boy to cry over something as unimportant as an old bag when he's on such an important mission! You must be brave for her."

Luffy blinked, sniffing hard. He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at the new bags. His heart was aching for his lost things and for Makino, but he had to be brave. "Okay," he whispered, trying to sound like a hero. "I won't be sad."

The stress and the crying suddenly made Luffy feel very, very heavy. His eyelids drooped. He didn't even protest when Shamrock gently lifted him and placed him on the soft red blanket. The man carefully tucked the blanket around Luffy, his large hands surprisingly deft and warm. He stroked Luffy's hair once, a slow, sure movement, completely unlike Makino’s gentle pats, but it made Luffy feel safe and settled, like a heavy stone finding its perfect resting place.

Luffy felt a low, comforting hum in the air as he drifted off.

Suddenly, he was much older, standing on a sunny ship deck surrounded by strange friends: a swordsman with green hair, a long-nosed boy, a strong cook, a cyborg, a girl with orange hair, a smart lady and a skeleton. Then, the scene shifted. He saw a man with bright red hair, but not Shamrock. This man had a massive scar over one eye and only one arm. This man was laughing, placing a tattered straw hat on Luffy's head. "Take care of it, Luffy."

Next, he was grabbing a strange, swirly fruit from a box. It tasted awful, like dirt, but as he chewed, a strange energy filled him, and his arm stretched out, long and impossible, making him giggle.

The visions turned dark. He was screaming, his body covered in blood, standing on a snowy, collapsing battlefield. Cannons boomed, men were falling, and he felt a terrible, crushing pain in his chest. A giant fist slammed down, and everything went black. He felt himself falling. He tried to scream, tried to jerk awake and run to Makino, but his limbs were heavy, rubbery, stuck in the nightmare.

Luffy was jolted awake by a gentle tap on his shoulder. His heart was still hammering against his ribs. He saw a shape looming over him in the dark. "Luffy? Kid, are you alright?" Shamrock asked, his voice low and genuinely troubled.

Luffy’s eyes focused on the worried lines around Shamrock's mouth, and the dam of terror burst. He didn't speak clearly. He just screamed and launched himself at the man, burying his face into his neck.

"I was dead! And the red-haired man with the scar! The hat, Shammie! And I tasted dirt! And the giant fist! I couldn't move! I want Makino!" Luffy sobbed incoherently, clinging with frantic strength.

Shamrock immediately wrapped his strong arms around the trembling boy, holding him tightly against his chest. He gently rocked Luffy back and forth. "Shh, shh, it was just a bad dream, Lu," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Luffy's head. "It's alright. You are safe here. I am here. Nothing will hurt you."

Luffy’s cries slowly devolved into shuddering hiccups as Shamrock continued to hold him, the man's solid presence anchoring him back to the real world.

Luffy clung until his tremors subsided. He refused to look at the porthole, convinced the darkness held the collapsing battlefield. He focused on the strong, steady rhythm of the man's breathing and the tight, unbreakable feel of his arms wrapped around him, a solid comfort that told him he was absolutely safe.

Feeling stable again, he pulled back reluctantly. Shamrock used the corner of his sleeve to delicately wipe the tear tracks from Luffy's temples. He then placed a large, soft hand on the back of Luffy's neck and gave it a small, reassuring squeeze.

GGGRRRWWLL!

Luffy stared at the sound source—his stomach—and burst into a fit of joyful giggles. "Shishishi! I need meat!"

Shamrock's eyes crinkled in amusement, and he lightly pinched Luffy's cheek. "You certainly do!" He gave Luffy a playful jiggle that set the boy off into a fresh fit of happy laughter. Luffy’s attention drifted past the laughing man. He noticed the opened doorway, where two women stood patiently, dressed in neat, dark skirts and white blouses.

"Who are they, Shammie?" Luffy asked, pointing.

Shamrock smiled proudly. "These are your personal attendants. They are your maids."

Luffy frowned. "Maids? Like Makino? But where's the bar? Do they serve drinks?"

Shamrock ignored the questions and simply placed a firm hand on Luffy's shoulder. "It is time for dinner, kid. But before the hero can dine, he must be clean. These women are here to ensure you are bathed and dressed properly for the evening meal. They are not like a barmaid. They are here to serve you because you are special."

Luffy immediately shook his head. "No! I don't need help! I'm a man! I can wash myself! Makino doesn't help me anymore! I don't need two maids!"

Shamrock's eyes narrowed slightly. "Of course, you can wash yourself. You are perfectly capable. But these women have a duty to perform on this fine vessel. It is the custom for a young champion of your rank to be attended. However, if they fail their duties... that means they will be punished."

Luffy froze. "No! Don't punish them! Okay, they can help me! I'll let them do their job!"

Shamrock's face instantly softened into a wide, adoring smile. "That's my good boy! Always kind and thoughtful! You understand the importance of order. A hero must learn to accept the service he deserves." He kissed the top of Luffy's head before setting him down. "Now, let them help you. I will see you at dinner."

Luffy gave in to the two women.

They were very quiet and never smiled, but they were gentle.

They kept calling him "Young Master," which was weird, and whenever he asked them a simple question—like why is the ship so big? or do you like meat?—they would just say, "The Master will answer that, Young Master," or, "We are here to serve, Young Master." It was annoying, but he didn't want them punished.

They took him to a huge bathroom. The water was warm, and it was full of pink, sweet-smelling flower petals, and someone had put a yellow rubber duck on the edge of the tub just for him. He liked the smell and the warm water. They used a soft cloth to gently scrub his skin for what felt like an hour, and he almost fell asleep.

But then came the worst part. Luffy struggled. "Stop! I hate my hair washed!"

One of the maids spoke in a perfectly neutral voice. "The Master ordered that Young Master's hair must be thoroughly cleaned. It is very important."

Luffy grumbled, but stopped fighting. If Shammie ordered it, it must be part of the mission. Finally, he was lifted out, wrapped in a thick, fluffy white towel, and placed on a soft, padded stool while the maids moved swiftly to unpack and lay out his new clothes. It was all so clean and smooth. But when they presented it to him, Luffy’s nose wrinkled. It was a puffy, white shirt with ruffles, a fancy blue vest covered in gold-looking buttons and straps, and matching bmue shorts. It looked heavy and sticky. "What is that?" he complained. "It's too much stuff! I just wear a shirt and shorts!"

"Young Master, this is attire befitting your station," one maid murmured, her hands hovering nervously. "It was selected by the Master himself."

Luffy grudgingly let them put on the ruffled shirt and the vest, which felt soft, but had far too many buckles. Then, they brought out soft black socks and shiny black shoes. "No! I hate shoes!" he protested, snatching his feet away. "I wear sandals! If I can't wear my sandals, I'll go barefoot!"

The two maids exchanged a terrified look. "Young Master, please! The Master said that shoes are required for dinner tonight! These are the softest leather! Please, Young Master, they are necessary for your image!"

Luffy stood his ground. "No shoes!"

A familiar, amused chuckle sounded from the doorway. Shamrock stood there, leaning against the frame, a knowing smile on his face. "What is all this fuss? A rebellion already?"

Luffy rushed right over, clinging to Shamrock's leg. "Shammie! They're nice, but they're making me wear heavy, ugly shoes! I just want to be barefoot or my sandals!"

The man bent and lifted Luffy with a gentle sweep, holding him securely. "It is a fine outfit, kid, and I'm proud you wore it for me. I know Makino taught you good manners, so you obeyed about the clothes. Now, what's the verdict on the footwear?"

"No shoes!" Luffy insisted, pointing at the terrified maids. "Tell them I don't have to!"

The maids immediately knelt down, their hands clasped together, their voices trembling. "We beg the Master's mercy! We tried to enforce the decorum, but the Young Master refused! Please forgive our weakness!"

Luffy looked at their bowed heads, feeling guilty. "Hey! Don't beg! It's not your fault! I really hate shoes! Don't be sorry!" He tugged on Shamrock’s vest.

Shamrock's face hardened as he glanced at the servants. "Leave the room. Now." He waited until the maids scurried out, then settled Luffy back on the stool. "It's decided, kid. No one will force you. But your feet must not catch a chill." He picked up the fluffiest, whitest pair of socks imaginable. "These are just for warmth. Only socks."

"Wow! They're like clouds!" He happily let Shamrock slip the incredibly soft socks onto his feet, the warmth spreading instantly.

Shamrock stood up, stepping back to admire his work. He reached out and gently adjusted the ruffled collar of Luffy’s shirt. "There, kid. Now you look like the important person you truly are. You are clean, dressed properly, and ready for your dinner." He smiled, his eyes glinting. "You no longer look like a dirty village urchin, do you?"

Luffy just blinked, not quite understanding, but he knew the important part. "Dinner! Is it meat?" He held his arms up expectantly, a classic 'carry me' pose.

Shamrock's laugh was rich and pleased. He effortlessly scooped Luffy up and tucked him against his shoulder. "Meat and everything else."

The man carried him down a lavish, lamp-lit corridor until they reached a huge double door. Inside was a large room dominated by a shining mahogany table. It was piled high with enormous platters of food: meats, bread and fruits. At the head of the table was a high-backed velvet chair for Shamrock, and right next to it was a smaller, sturdy wooden high chair with a plush cushion, clearly meant for Luffy.

Shamrock carefully placed Luffy into the small, cushioned chair. Luffy immediately reached for a giant, glistening piece of roast meat. The food was amazing! He stuffed his face, tearing into a steak the size of his head.

The joy was interrupted by a tiny pang.

Luffy paused, chewing slowly. Makino's fried rice, he thought, and the meat cakes she makes... This food was bigger, but it didn't feel like home.

"Slowly, kid," Shamrock said, not eating himself yet. He carefully used a soft white napkin to wipe a smear of sauce from Luffy's cheek. Then, he picked up a knife and fork and began cutting Luffy's steak into small, easy-to-manage pieces.

Luffy completely forgot his resolve to be a "man" and accepted the help. He opened his mouth obediently as Shamrock fed him a perfect bite of tender ham. He finished off the steak bits, then reached for a large goblet of fresh fruit juice and took a long drink.

The air was comfortable and warm, and as Luffy lowered the goblet, Shamrock's lips curved into a soft, happy smile. His eyes crinkled as he watched the boy wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. "You know, for someone who eats with such gusto, you're quite cute, little guy," he murmured. "Are you absolutely certain you're the grandson of 'Hero' Monkey D. Garp?"

Luffy’s eyes widened, then a huge, sunny grin split his face. "You know Gramps?!"

Shamrock produced a crisp, monogrammed handkerchief and gently daubed the juice from Luffy's chin and cheeks. "Know him? Well, every important person in the world knows of Garp, of course," he said, his smile softening into a knowing smirk. "He’s a very good dog for the World Government."

Luffy stopped chewing for a moment, his forehead creased. "Whale Gofernment?"

Shamrock’s smile remained fixed and genial, pinching Luffy’s cheek one last time before resting his hand on the boy's shoulder. "The World Government is the single ruling body that claims authority over the whole world. They control the Marines, who sail the seas, fighting off threats like pirates, but also enforcing the Government’s justice." He lowered his voice slightly. "They use the Admirals and figures like your grandfather to show the public a powerful, good side. But what people don't see are the figures who sit above them all—the ones who decide what Garp is allowed to say, who he is allowed to fight, and even where he is allowed to sail." He patted Luffy’s back lightly. "Monkey D. Garp is a magnificent public figure, a symbol of justice they parade around, but only because he chooses not to question the true masters who reside far above Marine Headquarters."

Luffy’s mouth wobbled. "But... if he doesn't question them, does that mean Gramps is dumb? Does he not know he’s being bossed around by people who are maybe not good?"

Shamrock’s hand left Luffy's shoulder to tenderly hold the boy’s small hand on the table. "Don't worry, kid. Monkey D. Garp is certainly not dumb when it comes to punching things! He’s a legend for a reason," the man reassured him quickly. "But your grandfather is a naïve man. He is so focused on fighting the most obvious evils—the pirates—that he lacks the foresight and intelligence to see the much larger, slower corruption happening right under his nose."

Shamrock sighed sadly for effect. "He lets them use his name, his fame and his strength because he simply doesn't have the mental capacity to comprehend the global chess game he's a piece in. It’s a tragic waste of potential."

Luffy wiped his nose with his sleeve, looking genuinely bewildered. "But if the Whale Gofernment is the boss, why doesn't Gramps just become the boss? I don't understand the stupid corruption stuff. I just want Gramps to be the best!"

"That's the difference between strength and power, little guy. Your Gramps is the strongest fist, but not the sharpest mind," Shamrock corrected, running a soft hand over Luffy’s hair. "The world isn't run by fists. It’s run by rules. The Five Elders sit above all the Admirals and Fleet Admiral. They are the men who run the World Government for the ultimate rulers, the Celestial Dragons."

He spoke with a hint of pride. "The Holy Knights are the inner circle, the direct guard and enforcement arm of those highest rulers. We only answer to the Five Elders and the Nobles. Because I stand so close to the true authority, I am simply above the Marine hierarchy completely. So while Garp is punching a hole in a pirate ship, I could tell the Five Elders to transfer him to the most boring, useless base in the world, and he'd have to go."

Luffy thought hard about the word corrupted. It was a grown-up word, but he knew it. Gramps always used that word when he was drinking too much sake and leaning back in his chair, complaining that the 'corrupted' people meant the good pirates never got caught. It meant things were wrong and unfair.

Luffy beamed, kicking his feet under the table. "You're the boss of the boss of the Marine Hero! That's the coolest thing ever, Shammie! So you're stronger than everyone!" Then his brow furrowed. "But if the big bosses are corrupted, and you work for them... does that mean you're a really bad person?"

Shamrock remained silent for a long, deliberate beat. "Being a Holy Knight means living with difficult choices. Yes, I have done things that your kind, simple grandfather would call 'evil'," he confessed, a wry twist to his lips. "I have hunted down and eliminated those deemed 'threats' to the Nobles, which sometimes meant killing families and children who merely knew too much. I've helped craft the lies that keep the public safe and oblivious."

He met the boy's gaze. "My loyalty is to the authority, not to justice. I learned this from my father, Figarland Garling, the Supreme Commander of the Holy Knights. This life demands cold-blooded actions." He leaned closer. "But you have to decide, Luffy: do you judge me on the awful things I must do for the sake of global order, or on how gently I treat a certain cute, hungry boy?"

Luffy completely froze, his face scrunching up as he tried to put together the words.

It was too much.

His head felt hot and his brain hurt. He looked at Shamrock, focusing not on the awful words, but on the tall, strong man with the nice smile who always smelled good, and who had promised that only Luffy could make Makino and the whole village happy again.

Luffy shook his head vigorously, scattering the terrible ideas like dust. He reached out and slapped Shamrock's cheek—a firm, affectionate pat from his perch on the high chair. "No! You can't be a bad guy, Shammie!" he declared with absolute certainty, his smile returning in full force. "Bad guys don't bring people giant steaks! And bad guys don't help people become heroes! You're super nice to me, and you're the boss of the world! That means you have to be the best and biggest good guy, because I like you a whole lot!"

Luffy's enthusiastic declaration left Shamrock completely dumbfounded. The man's usual controlled composure shattered. His mouth parted slightly in genuine surprise, and he stared at Luffy as if seeing him for the first time.

Luffy grew nervous. He reached up, grasping a handful of Shamrock’s expensive coat. "Shammie? Did I make you mad? I promise I'm really, really good!"

Shamrock didn't answer the worry or the question. He stood up, scooped Luffy up into his arms in one smooth motion, leaned in and lightly kissed Luffy right on the forehead. He settled Luffy securely against his hip. "You didn't make me mad at all, Luffy," he said, rubbing Luffy's back gently. "I'm perfectly fine. Thank you for thinking I'm such a good guy. It's the highest compliment I could ever receive." He turned towards the hall, his eyes gleaming. He spoke low enough that the sound was lost in the rustle of his coat against Luffy's ear.

"If you had stayed where you were, you might have someday ended up with a ridiculous, tattered straw hat, and that hat would have become a symbol—a beacon of hope for every slave and every rebel across the seas. It would have ruined everything for me. People would have followed you straight to the gates of the Holy Land."

Luffy looked up at Shamrock, confused, and saw that the man was staring intently down the long hall. His lips were curved into a slow, chilling grin, and his eyes had a cold, focused gleam that was completely new.

"Shammie?" Luffy whispered, instinctively tightening his grip on the front of the coat. He didn't understand the words, but he knew that expression was serious and a little scary, and it felt like Shamrock wasn't really there with him.

Finally, Shamrock stopped walking and lowered his eyes. The strange, cruel expression vanished instantly, replaced by the familiar, kind look Luffy loved. He stroked Luffy's cheek with a thumb. "I was just remembering a silly, scary story about a boy who looked just like you," Shamrock murmured, running his finger lightly over Luffy's nose. "He was always bleeding and falling over, though. Too reckless."

Shamrock walked on, his steps echoing slightly on the metal floor.

"Did that boy have any friends?" Luffy asked eagerly. "I want to have lots of friends too!"

Shamrock smiled. "He was a pirate. He was very powerful, but completely foolish. He couldn't navigate, couldn't cook and relied entirely on a band of weaklings to do everything important for him. He was always lost, always hungry, and always rushing into danger without a plan."

"If he needed so many friends, did they ever leave him because he was silly?" Luffy asked, thinking of how easily he lost track of Makino's dust rags.

Shamrock shook his head slowly, his voice laced with manufactured sadness. "No, kid, but the world cruelly took them from him. His reliance on others meant that when they were gone—when a powerful enemy killed his most beloved people—he was utterly broken and alone."

The thought of that poor boy's friends being cruelly taken and him being left all alone made Luffy's eyes sting, and he pressed his face into Shamrock's coat to hide a sob. It seemed so unfair! He hated that sad story and he wanted to tell Shammie that the boy should have punched the world back, but before the words could leave his throat, Shamrock paused his long strides. Two shiny-haired women in spotless uniforms were waiting right outside a big wooden door, their hands folded neatly.

"Now, let's get you ready for bed."

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

Deep within the ship's hushed interior, Shamrock paced the length of his cabin. The gentle vibration of the engines was a constant reminder of their progress, of the gilded cage that was Mary Geoise drawing nearer. His mind kept circling back to the boy.

Luffy.

Four years old. Weak. A single, well-placed strike could erase the world's greatest impending threat.

And yet. His Observation Haki had shown him fragments—a crown of straw, a laugh that shook the foundations of Enies Lobby, an army of the willing at his back. To see that titan reduced to this… this small, warm weight that trusted the arms that carried it… It was the ultimate form of control, wasn't it? He had killed a symbol and captured its origin.

By not telling the Elders, by letting Garp and Dragon tear the East Blue apart looking for a ghost, he held all the strings. Keeping Luffy alive was the proof of his victory, a living trophy. The child's fragility was the point. The mighty Dragon, who sought to liberate the world, couldn't even protect his own son. It was a sweeter revenge than any assassination. And the strange, protective urge that coiled in his chest when the boy sniffled was just the satisfaction of a plan perfectly executed.

A sharp, timid knock at the door shattered his concentration. 

"What?"

The door creaked open to reveal the two attendants, their faces pale with apprehension. And between them, a small, rumpled figure clutching a pink stuffed bear.

"Shammie?" a tiny, sleep-thick voice mumbled. "I can't sleep. It's too quiet."

The annoyance vanished, replaced by an odd, swift pivot of his focus. Before he could even form a command, Luffy had waddled forward, bypassing the maids entirely, and wrapped his small arms tightly around Shamrock's leg, burying his face in the fine fabric of his trousers. The maids began to stammer an apology, but Shamrock silenced them with a sharp gesture.

"Leave us," he said. The door clicked shut, leaving them alone. Shamrock looked down at the child clinging to him, a living, breathing paradox. The boy was swaddled in a ridiculously plush pyjama set, complete with a hood featuring long, floppy rabbit ears and a small, puffball tail on the back. A mental note to discreetly promote the attendant who chose this... this confection. 

With a sigh that was part exasperation and part something else entirely, he bent down and scooped Luffy up. The boy immediately curled into his chest, a warm, heavy weight smelling of soap and sleep. He was the only familiar thing in this metal world, the only "friend." And for a plan predicated on absolute control, Shamrock found he could allow this one, small variable.

"Do you know what time it is?" Shamrock murmured, shifting the boy in his arms. "This is when brave little boys who have an important mission are supposed to be dreaming." He tapped Luffy's nose lightly. "How can you become a great hero who brings back wonderful things for everyone in Foosha Village if you're awake and fussing?”

Luffy didn't respond with his usual energetic agreement. He just sniffled, his small body tense. The lack of immediate, loud feedback was unsettling. Shamrock found himself pausing, his analytical mind cataloguing the abnormal behaviour. "What is it?" he asked.

"I saw a war."

Shamrock stilled. "A war?"

"Mmhm. In my sleep. There were flags with a weird bird… and everyone was fighting. And… and I was really big, and my hands were big too, and I was trying to smash a really tall wall. But it wasn't fun. It was scary." He trembled, pressing closer. "It felt real, Shammie."

Shamrock's breath hitched for a fraction of a second. He walked briskly to his bed, sitting on the edge with Luffy still in his lap. "Nonsense," he chided. “It was just a dream. Your mind is tired from all your new lessons.” He maneuverer Luffy off his lap and onto the silk sheets, tucking the blanket firmly around him. "You will sleep here. My room is the safest place on this ship. No bad dreams can reach you here."

As he finished tucking the blanket around Luffy's small frame, he spotted the forgotten pink bear on the floor. Picking it up, he dusted it off and placed it in the crook of Luffy's arm. "There. Now you have your… friend."

Luffy immediately brightened, clutching the plush toy. "His name is St. Pinky!" he announced, his nightmare momentarily forgotten, his chest puffing with pride.

The name was so absurd, so utterly incongruous with the holy title, that a sharp, startled laugh escaped Shamrock before he could stop it. He quickly turned his face away, a hand coming up to cover his mouth.

Luffy's proud expression crumpled into a deep pout. "You're laughing!" he accused, his voice wobbling. "You're laughing at St. Pinky!"

"No, I'm not," Shamrock said, his voice strained as he fought to control his features. He turned back, seeing the genuine hurt in the boy's eyes. The name had struck a nerve he hadn't known was exposed. He sighed, reaching out to gently adjust the bear in Luffy's arms. “I'm not laughing at him. It's a… a very strong name. It just reminded me of someone very serious, that's all. I'm sorry.” His apology was soft, and his thumb brushed a stray tear from Luffy's cheek.

The hurt in Luffy's eyes was instantly replaced by blazing curiosity. “Who's the serious guy?” he demanded, poking Shamrock's arm with a small finger.

“No one for you to concern yourself with,” Shamrock deflected, trying to maintain the calm. "My father."

Luffy tilted his head, processing this. "You have a dad?"

A muscle in Shamrock's jaw twitched. "It is the conventional method of coming into existence, yes."

"Shishishi! Not for me!" Luffy giggled, as if he'd won a game. "I popped outta Gramps' closet! He said so!"

Shamrock pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache blooming behind his eyes. I am going to have that man court-martialled. I am going to have him reassigned to guard duty on a rock in the Calm Belt. I am going to have his beloved rice crackers discontinued. How could the World Government's greatest military asset be so phenomenally stupid? He looked at Luffy's beaming, believing face and felt a fresh wave of second-hand embarrassment for the entire Monkey D. bloodline. 

"Yes, well," he managed, his voice tight. "Your grandfather is… a unique man."

Shamrock watched as Luffy's eyelids fluttered, only for the boy to stubbornly force them open again. A faint, exasperated sigh escaped him. He reached out and gently smoothed the wild black hair back from Luffy's forehead. The gesture was meant to soothe him into slumber.

But Luffy was not so easily diverted. "Is your dad nice?" he mumbled, his voice drowsy but insistent. "Like… like the dads in the village? They give piggyback rides and fix broken toys."

Shamrock considered the truth—of cold, towering halls and lessons in celestial supremacy, of praise earned only through flawless execution and unwavering loyalty. "My father and I… we understand each other," he said carefully. "We are not 'nice' in the way you mean. Our relationship is built on respect and utility. We love our family by ensuring its strength and legacy. That is the way of our house."

Luffy's nose scrunched up in confusion. "But… that sounds… weird."

Shamrock couldn't help the quiet huff of laughter. "You are a harsh critic," he murmured, gently brushing Luffy's hair back again. "And what, pray tell, is the 'not weird' way?"

Luffy's eyes were heavy, but he fought to explain, his words slow and soft. "Makino… she said… a dad is s'posed to be strong. And keep you safe when you're scared." He nuzzled subconsciously into the hand still cupping his cheek. "And… his arms are s'posed to feel warm. And you feel… safe. So you can sleep." His voice trailed off into a drowsy mumble, the description perfectly matching the warmth and security he was feeling right now, in this very room.

Strong. Safe. Warm.

Shamrock's mind went quiet.

His hand, which had been providing comfort, hovered over Luffy's throat. This was the moment. The perfect, logical culmination of his plan.

He hadn't relied on Shanks's drunken, fond ramblings in that lost, liberated future alone. Before his execution, he'd already pieced it together—the boy's name, his monstrous lineage, his meteoric rise from a tiny East Blue village.

After hurtling back through time, he had spent days observing from the shadows of Dawn Island, watching this specific, giggling child. He knew the potential that slept in this bloodline, the chaos that was destined to bloom right here.

Snuff out the ember before it became a wildfire. Shamrock had the strength. He had the will. He had every reason.

And he couldn't.

The truth, ugly and magnificent, unfolded in his mind. He hadn't travelled through time and stolen this child out of hatred for the future he represented. It was the opposite. It was possession. It was the culmination of a fascination born from a brother's drunken tales, a grudging, furious adoration for a figure so free it made his own celestial existence feel like a gilded cage.

He hadn't wanted to destroy the symbol.

He'd wanted to own its origin.

Shamrock looked at his own hand, now resting protectively on the boy's chest, and let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. He was utterly, irrevocably lost.

And a dark, gleeful part of him couldn't wait to see the look on his father's ruthlessly cold face when he presented the heir to the Figarland line with his new, chaotic grandson.

The game had just become infinitely more interesting.

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

Garp was in a fantastic mood.

The sun pouring through the high window of his office felt like a congratulatory pat on the back. He happily cracked his knuckles, folding a pile of dull paperwork into neat triangles. Just two more days of this paperwork, and then he could enjoy a well-deserved stretch of leave. He was going home to Foosha Village.

Ace and Luffy... Next week, his youngest grandson would be five years old. Five! The boy was growing up too fast. He needed to get there and make sure Luffy was receiving the appropriate training—a few Fists of Love never hurt anyone. He could already picture the wide, gap-toothed smile.

"Garp. You look suspiciously content. Planning another spontaneous nap?"

Sengoku’s voice, flat and grating, cut through the happy mental image. Garp merely grunted, grabbing a bag of rice crackers from his desk drawer. "Just preparing for a good vacation, Senny. No need for your usual gloom."

Sengoku slammed a sheaf of documents onto the desk. "Gloom is all we have today. New chatter from Cipher Pol regarding the Revolutionary Army—increased activity around some island chains we can't pin down. It’s always trouble when Dragon starts moving."

Garp snorted, shoving a handful of crackers into his mouth. "Dragon, Dragon, Dragon. That idiot son of mine can handle his own problems. Let the Revolutionary Army be his headache. They're not pirates."

Sengoku sighed, rubbing his temples. "It’s not Dragon I'm worried about right now. This report just came in. Read this." He slid a particularly stiff, sealed document across the desk. Garp snatched it up, scanning the contents with bored irritation. It detailed an incident within the Goa Kingdom—an internal purge. Several high-ranking noble families had been eradicated during a recent, discreet visit by a Saint. The stated reason was 'blasphemous conduct' and 'unfitting influence.'

Garp exploded, slamming his fist down and crushing the remaining crackers. "This is absurd! They are killing their own nobles for fabricated reasons! A Saint doing their own clean-up job? What in the hell is the point of the Marines if they let some spoiled celestial brat run around deciding who lives and dies?!"

"It's their right, Garp," Sengoku said wearily, leaning back. "And frankly, the internal report notes accusations of trafficking and exploitation against those families. They did the job the Marines should have done months ago, so perhaps we should be ashamed we let a Celestial Dragon cleanse our waters for us."

Garp threw the paper back. "Fabricated, I tell you! It’s all obviously fabricated to cover their tracks! You know it, Senny! Just because we can't touch them doesn't mean we swallow their ridiculous excuses!" He gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles white.

The 'trafficking' evidence was a collection of forged receipts and vague, unsourced testimony and the charges against the two noble families were laughably thin. The report even casually mentioned that the manors were burned to the ground because the land was being cleared for a "new high-security coastal garrison project," commissioned by the highest echelons. A garrison project. No, a new private estate! Garp knew a clean-up operation disguised as progress when he saw one.

Sengoku’s voice hardened slightly. "Our job is to maintain the system, Garp. Our job is not to question the World Government or the actions of the Saints. Now, about these Revolutionary Army movements..."

Hus dismissal stung Garp, but his anger quickly turned to a deeper fear as his eyes involuntarily snagged on the fine print listing the purged noble houses: the Outlook lineage. Garp’s hand went still. Outlook. He remembered a casual investigation report from a few months prior—a runaway noble boy named Sabo from that exact family, hiding out near the mountain bandits who were raising Ace.

Garp hadn't worried about the missing boy then.

But now, the boy's entire extended family was dead, erased by the highest authority.

If Sabo was now considered a fugitive or a loose end by the Celestial Dragons, and if he was still anywhere near Ace and Luffy in the East Blue, it was a massive security risk. Ace, the son of the Pirate King, becoming entangled with the direct targets of the Saints? It was an unthinkable link that could expose his precious grandsons to the very power Garp had spent his life trying to outrun.

A few minutes later, he cut off Sengoku mid-sentence about the Revolutionaries.

"That Saint who did the clean-up in Goa—will he be returning? Is there any indication the Celestial Dragons are looking for loose ends? Any other movements, any follow-up investigation, or active hunt for any... survivors?"

Sengoku stared at Garp, annoyed by the interruption, but recognising the urgency. He picked up the overall operations binder and flipped through it, checking the mission status. "The report confirms the Saint's visit was a single, discreet operation. The purge was deemed successful, and the matter is officially closed by the World Government. The entire former estate perimeter has been permanently sealed and marked for a long-term 'special projects' allocation by the Celestial Dragons' staff. Entry is forbidden to all Marine personnel, effective immediately. There are no pending investigations..."

He looked up, satisfied. "The job is done. They don't typically waste resources hunting down runaways unless they pose a direct, active threat. They view them as irrelevant baggage."

A wave of intense relief washed over Garp.

"Irrelevant baggage," he repeated, his shoulders slumping. He quickly rationalised: Sabo was just a runaway kid, a non-entity to the Saints. They got the nobles they wanted, and the Goa Kingdom was history. Ace and Luffy were safe, tucked away from the eyes of the ruthless Celestial Dragons.

He could go home next week.

Chapter Text

The ship was big.

Bigger than the one Makino used for ferrying barrels, and much bigger than Gramps's boat, the one that smelled like stale fish and punching. This ship smelled like salt, wax and the sugary orange juice Four kept bringing him. Luffy hugged St. Pinky so tight the bear's little button eye winked at him.

Oh. Right.

The two ladies were Four and Mod.

Four always smelled like expensive soap and had a small, silver ruler tucked neatly and exactly into the top pocket of her jacket. Mod was the quiet one with the tiny, sharp silver pin shaped like a bird on her collar, which Luffy thought was a secret, sleeping pet. They were younger than Makino, but they were very, very good at making sure he always had enough meat and juice. They always used a respectful voice, speaking the way grown-ups did to Gramps, and they gave him everything he asked for.

Luffy liked being on the sea, even if the waves made his tummy feel funny when they were fast. Out here, the sky was huge, and the water stretched out forever—just like an adventure book. "Mod says the fish are sleepy today, so they won't come near," he announced to the railing, kicking his little legs back and forth.

He was never alone, but the journey was so long. He missed the soft floor of the Partys Bar, the noisy greetings from the fishermen and the way Mayor Woop Slap would pretend to be mad while still handing him snacks. He missed Makino and Gramps and everyone. And he just wished the boat would go faster.

This morning, the sun was warm and sticky on his cheeks.

Luffy didn't have his old, baggy clothes anymore. He still missed them, but he didn't fight the new clothes much now because, truthfully, they were very soft. Today, he had chosen a light blue, ruffled shirt with silver trim and matching navy velvet shorts that buttoned at the waist.

Four and Mod always laid out tiny, shiny shoes, but Luffy pulled on soft, white knee-high socks instead. He hated having his feet trapped inside the little hard shoes.

A hammock was hung right on the deck. It swung just a little bit, and it was the best place to drink juice. Four stood silently beside Luffy, holding a large, white, feathered fan that kept a constant, cool breeze across the back of his neck, which felt very nice.

Shamrock had started this sun routine days ago. He said little heroes needed sun for strong bones, but never too much. Luffy knew the rule: if the big hand on the clock passed a certain line, Shamrock would suddenly snap his fingers, and Mod would rush over to position a black umbrella over the hammock before a minute passed.

Luffy took the last, loud slurp of orange juice. "Shammie!"

Shamrock, who had been leaning against the mast, watching the water with a cold look, turned around. He took the empty glass, then produced a clean napkin from his own pocket and carefully wiped the juice moustache off Luffy's upper lip.

"How long now? When do we get the presents?" Luffy asked. "Makino will be sad if we don't bring back the shiny things for the village."

Shamrock tucked the napkin away. His eyes were focused on the horizon. "We are moving very fast, Luffy. My ship is the quickest in the world because I demand it." He looked straight ahead. "I would estimate three more days. We will arrive at the Holy Land right on schedule to get those magnificent gifts—not a day early, not a day late."

Luffy didn't understand what "demand" or "estimate" meant.

"But... but after we get the shiny stuff, can we go home quick?" he frowned, twisting his fingers. "My birthday is soon! Makino always makes a cake and sings. We need to go back for that, or everyone will be sad!"

Shamrock knelt beside the hammock, his tailored coat brushing the deck. "No, my little hero. It will take time to secure transport for your gifts back to that little island." He reached out and gently smoothed Luffy's already messy hair. "However, your birthday is the perfect reason to celebrate here. We can throw the biggest party on the seven seas! We will celebrate at my house in the Holy Land! Then, we will use a super-fast messenger snail to send letters and gifts to Makino and the Mayor right away."

Luffy's mouth wobbled. "The biggest party?" He hesitated, but then looked down. "Okay," he mumbled. The idea of the snail was nice, but the thought of Makino singing without him made his chest tight.

"What is it, Luffy?" Shamrock asked immediately.

Luffy shifted his feet. "I... I can't write well," he confessed, kicking his heels against the hammock rope. "Makino tried to teach me lots, but I only know M-E-A-T, and my name, and hers."

Shamrock let out a gentle, almost tender laugh. "That is absolutely no problem at all." He smoothed Luffy's hair down again. "You know the three most essential words in the world! That shows excellent prioritisation." He spoke as if this were a great compliment.

"When we get to my residence, you will begin your special studies. You will need to learn how history is truly written, and how a hero guides the world without causing chaos." He ran his thumb softly along Luffy's jawline. "But until then, I shall write for you. Does that sound fair?"

Luffy's worries melted away. "Shishishi! That is the best!" Relieved and happy, he threw his little body around Shamrock's neck, squeezing with all his strength.

Shamrock staggered slightly from the impact, but held Luffy fast, a look of satisfied triumph shining in his eyes. He loosened the hug, but didn't let go, instead placing a brief, soft kiss on the crown of Luffy's head. "Good," he murmured. "Now, listen to me, little hero. I had the galley prepare some mid-morning fruit skewers, but remember: only half a plate. We must save room for the important luncheon, or your growth will be wasted."

"Fruit skewers! Okay, I'll only eat five!"

Shamrock stood up smoothly, his warmth vanishing the instant he looked at the maids standing stiffly nearby. "The attendants," his voice sliced through the air, suddenly devoid of feeling, "Ensure the young master has his temperature logged every fifteen minutes, and that the ventilation is adjusted for maximum comfort while he is consuming the food. Do not approach the hammock unless summoned."

He turned back to Luffy, his smile returning instantly. He leaned down and lightly rubbed Luffy's cheek with his thumb. "I must go now. I have to finalise the architectural schematics for a lovely, quiet new house I am having built back in the East Blue. It is a tedious process, but essential for our future vacations."

Luffy giggled happily. "Okay, Shammie! But come back fast!"

Shamrock chuckled warmly. "I promise, I am very good at defeating boring paperwork." Then his long coat swung around him as he walked toward the ship's main cabin.

Luffy settled back down, hugging St. Pinky tightly to his chest. The boring words Shamrock used made his brain fuzzy, but he was happy about the cakes and the promise to play. He lifted St. Pinky up, examining the bear's pink fur.

He remembered talking to Shamrock a few of nights ago, explaining that he didn't need a dad because he knew he popped out of a cupboard at Gramps's house. But Shamrock had looked serious and said that wasn't possible. Luffy didn't like using his brain to think about impossible things, but he frowned slightly, contemplating the strange idea that someone, somewhere, was his dad.

Luffy slid off the hammock and dropped to the deck, still clutching St. Pinky. He looked over at the two ladies who were watching him from their assigned distance. "Four! Mod!" he called, bouncing on his heels.

They both snapped to attention. "Yes, Young Master?" they replied in unison.

"Shammie said everyone has a dad," Luffy announced, holding St. Pinky up like evidence. "He has a dad, but I don't. Do you know who my dad is? And where did he go?"

The maids froze.

"Young Master, we... we have not been given details of your early heritage," Four said stiffly, glancing desperately at the main door.

Mod quickly added, "However, our full understanding is that Lord Shamrock has recognised your incredible worth and... and taken full, loving possession of you. He intends to be your primary caregiver and educator from this day forward."

Luffy blinked slowly. "Primary caregiver? Like Makino?"

"No, Young Master," Four quickly assured him. "Lord Shamrock's instructions are unique. He informed us that you must be fed the highest quality meat at all hours and have access to constant orange juice, because you are irreplaceable."

Mod chimed in, "Yes, Sir. And we are under direct orders to ensure your protection and comfort above all else. Lord Shamrock personally administers all affectionate gestures and attends to your emotional well-being."

Luffy’s mouth opened slightly. Meat... Juice... Irreplaceable.

His face brightened with absolute certainty. He took a bold step toward the cabin. "So," he stated, his voice ringing with a monumental realisation, "A Dad is someone who keeps you safe, gives you all the meat and hugs you whenever he feels like it! Shamrock does all of that! I am going to run and ask him if he wants to be my dad!"

Luffy didn't wait. He launched himself into a run, his little legs churning furiously toward the cabin where Shamrock had disappeared. He clutched St. Pinky to his chest, the new word bubbling up in his throat.

"Dad! Dad, Dad, Dad!"

He repeated it, testing the sound, and a giggle burst out of him.

It felt right!

Four and Mod were utterly stunned.

"The Lord will be displeased if this was intended as a future surprise!" Mod's eyes darted frantically.

"The schedule is ruined!" Four whispered, her face pale.

They acted on instinct, scrambling forward in an ungainly, panicked movement. They managed to dart around Luffy, skidding to a halt just in front of the door. They bowed deeply, their foreheads almost touching the deck in a gesture of profound desperation.

"Young Master! We beg you! Wait!" Mod gasped out, her voice trembling. "Please hold your question!"

Luffy bounced on his heels, oblivious to their terror, his hand already reaching for the cabin door handle. "But why wait? He wants me to be his best boy, so I have to ask him! Shammie! I know you're my dad! Are you my dad?"

Four and Mod were practically sobbing.

"Oh, Young Master, please! You must cease!" Four begged. "The Lord may become deeply upset if you use the incorrect term! It could be a grave insult!"

"Insult?" Luffy stopped, confused. "But Dad is Dad! Why would he be upset if he is my dad?"

Mod sniffled, trying to maintain some decorum. "The word 'Dad,' Sir, does not properly convey the stature and dignity of Lord Shamrock's rank! You should refer to him as 'Father.' It is the most respectful term."

Luffy wrinkled his nose, sticking out his tongue. "Fath-er. It's too long! And boring! I like Dad!"

Before the maids could argue further, a voice cut in from the side, a low, casual sound that made the maids flinch. It belonged to a quiet, unassuming crewman sweeping the lower deck. "If he doesn't like 'Father,' why not 'Papa,'? It's much softer, and perfect for a little one to use."

Luffy’s eyes immediately lit up. "Papa! Papa, Papa, Papa!" He tried it out, giggling wildly. "That's the one! It's like Dad, but better!" He reached for the door handle, ecstatic. Just as he did, the door slid inward. Shamrock stepped out, one eyebrow already arching in mild, a smile already forming on his lips.

"Luffy, what is this racket? Did I not say—"

He didn't get to finish. Luffy barrelled straight into his legs, clutching the man's knee and the pink bear, St. Pinky, in a single, powerful hug.

"Shammie! Shammie, Shammie, Shammie!" Luffy chanted, squeezing tight. He looked up. "Guess what, Shammie! Guess what I found out! It was a big secret, but I figured it out!" He pulled back just enough to look up, his big eyes shining with utter conviction.

"You're my papa!"

Shamrock stood motionless, his breath held. His amused expression vanished completely, replaced by absolute stillness. His eyes widened, fixed entirely on Luffy’s face.

Luffy thought Shamrock looked like a doll that had been dropped and broken. The maids were still bowed low on the deck, rigid with fear. The only sound was the sway of the hammock and the soft, rolling sea.

Luffy, completely unaware of the tension, tilted his head and patted Shamrock's knee, right where he was hugging it. "You're my papa! I know! Because Four and Mod said you keep me safe and you give me all the meat and you do the nice snuggles!"

He frowned slightly, then added quickly, "They said I shouldn't call you 'Dad' because 'Dad' is too strong of a word for a nice grown-up, so I called you 'Papa' instead, because it's soft and nice!" He gave Shamrock's leg another celebratory squeeze before his gaze drifted to the two motionless maids on the deck. "Oh! Papa, look! Four and Mod are doing that funny bowing thing again! They think they ruined your surprise!"

The maids, hearing their names and the accusation, immediately began shaking. "Forgive us, My Lord! We swear, we intended no breach—" Mod began to sob hysterically.

Luffy shook his head and hugged Shamrock's knee even tighter. "No, Papa! Don't punish them! They didn't ruin anything! I ruined the surprise! But it's okay, because I figured it out all by myself! I'm your son now!" His smile was the brightest thing on the deck. He stared up at the shocked face of the man who was now his family.

This was Luffy's papa. He didn't have to wonder anymore! Luffy stared intently at the curve of Papa's mouth, the way his sharp jawline met his collar, determined to never forget the first moment he truly knew his dad.

Shamrock's stillness finally cracked, replaced by a chuckle. He gently squeezed the back of Luffy's head. "Indeed, little hero. That was quite the successful investigation you conducted. I intended for the adoption to be a surprise for your birthday, but I should have known you would discover the truth."

Luffy's joy was immense. "Papa! Hug!"

Shamrock immediately swept Luffy up into his arms, lifting him high and holding him securely against his chest. "Very well," he said, carrying him back toward the scattered papers. "Since you are officially my son now, you must learn to help Papa with important matters. I need your input on the designs for our new vacation home. You can help me choose the biggest room for the meat cellar, yes?"

Luffy nestled happily into his papa's neck. "Meat cellar! Yes! I'm good at that, Papa!"

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

It was late.

The ship moved through the quiet night, and the only light in the stateroom came from the single, precisely focused lamp over the bed. Shamrock lay on his side, the weight of the book in his hand negligible compared to the small, warm presence curled beside him. Luffy was deeply asleep, his face tucked into the pillow that was far too large for his head.

Shamrock had initially designated this enormous berth for himself alone, but since the moment they left Dawn Island, Luffy had been here every single night. The boy was small enough to fit a dozen times over, leaving vast empty space, yet he always managed to wedge himself right against Shamrock's side. It was a deviation from the plan, but Shamrock found, strangely, that he did not mind.

He watched the steady rise and fall of Luffy's small chest. His free hand rested lightly on Luffy's back, tracing slow, hypnotic circles just below the shoulder blades, careful not to disturb St. Pinky, which was wedged protectively under Luffy's chin.

It felt ridiculous, admitting even to himself, that the memory of Shanks's smug, heart-breaking fondness for Straw Hat still grated on him. Shanks had always treated the boy like a treasure, something precious and worth dying for. Shamrock despised the chaos, but he was fascinated by the wellspring of loyalty and power that had fuelled it.

He shifted his weight slightly, pulling the small body closer.

Shamrock's purpose was absolute. To ensure this boy would never become the blazing, chaotic light that scorched the established order. Shanks had described the child's loyalty not as affection, but as a fierce, pure commitment—like the white-hot core of a star.

Shamrock always considered love a strategic flaw. However, the boy was here. He ran his thumb softly along Luffy's spine. He had to know if claiming that divine devotion for himself would grant him the unwavering invincibility needed to maintain the world's order. He genuinely needed to experience the force Shanks had so carelessly dismissed.

He closed the book, his hand remaining gently on the back of the child who was now his, completely and irrevocably. Well, then. Guess I'm a father now. I should probably call my own father and tell him he has a grandson.

Shamrock carefully withdrew his hand, the warmth immediately missed. He slid the book onto the bedside table and gently adjusted the duvet to tuck Luffy snugly around St. Pinky, ensuring the child wouldn't feel the sudden chill of his absence. He then walked to the stateroom door, opened it and found Four and Mod still frozen in their terrified, bowing positions just outside.

"Rise," Shamrock commanded. They scrambled up, trembling. "Tell me precisely what was said. The boy's deduction was too immediate. What definition of 'Papa' did you provide that led to this development?"

Four rushed to explain. "My Lord, we provided no definition! We simply affirmed your directives: that you are the sole provider of his safety and comfort, that you personally administer all demonstrations of affection, and that he is an asset of unparalleled worth."

Mod finished. "We only meant to confirm that you had claimed him completely, My Lord. He deduced the parental title himself."

Shamrock's lip curved slightly. His eyes flickered back to the small, sleeping form. "Return to your stations. The incident is closed." He briefly smoothed the wrinkles from his jacket before placing it over the chair. He looked once more at the stateroom door, then turned toward the bed. He caught a glimpse of Luffy yawning widely in the mirror.

Luffy turned and saw him. His eyes, still bleary, widened with instant recognition and joy. "Papa! You're still here!"

Shamrock moved swiftly, slipping into the bed and gathering the child against his chest. "Of course, I'm here. Now, close your eyes. You need rest for the adventure."

Luffy sighed and snuggled his face into Shamrock's neck, squeezing St. Pinky tightly between them. "Papa, Papa, Papa," he repeated, softly and securely.

Shamrock absorbed warmth. He thought of Shanks whose sacrifices now seemed utterly pathetic. His brother had lost a limb to make a reckless, sentimental gesture. He then compounded the idiocy by leaving the child with nothing, but an ugly, worn-out straw hat—a useless trinket of nostalgia. Shamrock scoffed in the silence.

He pulled Luffy closer, placing his chin deliberately atop the softest part of the boy's head. He understood that this boy's love was the chaotic force that brought down armies and gave everything to those he cared for. He also knew what this loyalty cost.

And he would pay it gladly.

Because he had won the grandest prize.

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

It had been nearly a week since Shamrock had returned to the Holy Land with the "creature"—his own word—he had promised would be the most fascinating study in political leverage. A perfect, miniature version of the notorious Dragon's bloodline, secured without a shot fired. Garling still hadn't grasped why his son insisted on keeping the child's presence a secret from the Five Elders. But the challenge intrigued him.

Garling's assessment of the boy was simple. Flawed.

The child possessed an utter lack of appropriate decorum, giggling at things that were not funny and refusing to wear shoes indoors. His affection for the tacky pink stuffed bear was an insult to the family aesthetic.

But the most grating trait was his unrelenting happiness.

His laugh was so uninhibited it was almost offensive. He consumed food with shocking gluttony. Garling noted with a sigh of judgment that the boy's whole existence was too bright, too vivid and too present, making the rest of the silent, perfectly arranged household seem dull in comparison.

However, Garling was also fascinated. The boy was not a slave, as most creatures brought into the Holy Land were, but a commoner—still several hundred rungs below acceptable humanity. And he could not stop watching the interaction between the child and his own son.

Since the moment they arrived, Shamrock had been fundamentally soft. It was a sickening transformation. Garling had witnessed his ruthless, cold-blooded heir kneel to tie the child's useless socks and administer absurdly tender pats on the boy's head.

The final absurdity was the title: "Papa."

The boy called him "Papa" with an unthinking familiarity, and Shamrock answered with a strange, indulgent smile. It was the kind of saccharine, doting paternal display Garling associated with the fantasy novelettes read by impoverished slaves who dreamt of undeserved kindness.

It was low-born nonsense, but Garling would indulge this brief, theatrical lapse in character. He reasoned that Shamrock's peculiar display of affection must be a deep-level conditioning protocol. What better way to neutralise the revolutionary instinct than to cultivate it into utter, unquestioning dependence?

Garling leaned back, his eyes narrowing. The leverage is not merely the boy's existence, he mused. It is the boy's devotion. Shamrock's end game, Garling concluded, must be to raise Dragon's son as a perfect, obedient counter-weapon, programmed to turn on his own father and, eventually, become the final, absolute enforcer of Figarland supremacy, eliminating any notion of liberation. The climax would be the boy himself choosing to destroy the revolutionary army, smiling as he did it, all for "Papa."

Garling rose from his seat, moving to the massive, armoured window overlooking the courtyard. Below, Shamrock was already standing, impeccable in his morning attire. He knelt briefly to give the boy a quick embrace before handing him over to a maid.

"Be good for your studies, little hero," Shamrock called out, adjusting the boy's collar.

The boy waved back, calling out a cheerful, "Bye, Papa!" as he was led away.

Garling paused. He recalled the shocking moment, only days prior, when Shamrock had presented the child. His son had simply swept the small creature up from the deck of his ship and announced, with effortless confidence, "Father, meet your new grandson."

Garling had remained silent, of course, the surprise too enormous for immediate censure.

But the silence held a clear threat.

Let the boy live, he had decided then, only because he serves a purpose. If that smile ever wavered—if the creature turned away from Shamrock's supreme authority, even once—Garling swore he would personally take the head of the boy whose eyes were entirely too bright. Until then, the boy's existence was acceptable leverage. Besides, he rather looked forward to boasting to the other, less enlightened Elders about the fascinating intellect and impeccable breeding of his new, thoroughly fascinating grandson.

Garling moved toward his desk, prepared to review the security reports that were actually essential to the World Government. He had tolerated enough sentimentality for one morning. He had barely sat down when a sudden, shocking wave of commotion erupted outside his study door—shouts from guards, the high-pitched distressed chirping of the maids and the unmistakable sound of small, pounding feet

Before he could issue a command, the heavy mahogany doors burst inward. Luffy, his face contorted and slick with genuine, heartbroken tears, rushed across the priceless carpet and slammed himself against Garling's leg, clinging fiercely.

"Grandpa! Grandpa!" he sobbed, his small body shaking. Clutched tightly in his tiny hands was St. Pinky, the only thing that seemed to bring him comfort in this moment.

Garling froze. He looked down at the boy's face.

The smile—the blinding, offensive happiness he had grown accustomed to—was gone. He felt a strange, intrusive jolt of displeasure. The noise alone is a threat to the family's dignity, he rationalised immediately. His crying must be dealt with swiftly to preserve the reputation of the Figarland name.

The room filled with flustered adults.

The maids were bowing frantically. The guards stood stiffly, embarrassed. The tutor, a thin, nervous man named Vellum, straightened his tie. "Elder Saint Figarland, I was simply trying to instil the necessary respect for the Celestial Dragon lineage and the importance of subjugating the lesser races. But the Young Master is proving dangerously defiant! I accept that I was incompetent to force him to abandon his primitive morals and accept the correct, dominant views of his true family!"

Luffy twisted around. He stomped his bare foot on the carpet. "You big, fat Velvet! Shut up! You don't know anything! I don't want to be like them! They're bad, and you're bad, and I don't want to learn about people who buy other people! You're wrong and mean, and I hate your ugly, fat face!"

Vellum snapped. "Silence, you ungrateful little beast! What do you know of right and wrong? You were hauled out of a commoner shanty, a low-life destined for obscurity! You are a stain, like the low-status origins of Saint Shamrock's own maternal side! You will learn your place!"

The tutor gasped, realising the magnitude of his outburst. He dropped to his knees, his forehead practically kissing the carpet. "A thousand apologies, Elder Saint! The child's defiance overwhelmed my professionalism! I meant only to highlight the contamination of his early environment! Please, my life is yours!"

Luffy's face crumpled. "No! You can't say that! Papa is good! Papa is strong! He came and got me! He chose me! You are mean! You don't know my papa!"

Garling, without speaking a word, shifted his posture subtly. He gave a short, dismissive wave that instantly silenced the tutor and maids. He then stared straight down, his cold eyes examining the crying boy glued to his leg.

He issued a short, sharp sigh. He had seen Shamrock effortlessly scoop the child up dozens of times. So Garling bent stiffly, unaccustomed to the motion, and lifted the shaking, tear-soaked boy and awkwardly cradled him against his chest.

It was the first time he had held any child.

He certainly had never held Shamrock as a baby.

Garling felt the weight of the boy and the soft fur of St. Pinky. He began a slow, repetitive patting motion on Luffy's back, a robotic copy of Shamrock's gestures. "Explain the subject matter that caused this unacceptable breach of order," he commanded, his voice cold and flat. "Be precise, and omit the self-pity."

He moved stiffly to his chair, sitting down with the crying child still awkwardly perched against his chest. He felt the wetness of the tears and a distinct stickiness, which made his skin crawl, yet he maintained the slow, mechanical patting. He could tolerate the disgust for the sake of eliminating the disruption.

Garling nodded curtly towards the kneeling tutor. "Speak."

Vellum swallowed hard. "My Lord, today's lesson covered the divine right of the Figarland line and the immutable hierarchy of the races. I was instructing the Young Master on the fact that the lives of the low-born are a negative value until monetised by a Celestial Dragon. They exist solely to serve. Their pain and suffering hold zero ethical weight in the cosmic balance."

Luffy, hearing the words, shook violently against Garling's armour. "No! No, Grandpa! That's a lie! Everyone is free! He said slaves are worth nothing! He said they deserve to be hurt! That's cruel! That's bad, Grandpa, you have to tell him it's wrong!"

Vellum rushed to explain the conflict, "He argued, My Lord! He claimed that buying people was 'the worst thing in the world' and that 'everyone should be happy and free,' completely rejecting the foundations of our world order!"

Garling's jaw remained rigid as he observed the child. He disliked the uncontrolled tears and the absolute lack of composure. This emotional fragility was a weakness that would have to be violently purged if the boy remained.

"You're a hyppo-critter! Papa chose me, and he says choice is important! You said we can hurt people because they're slaves, but it’s not fair! They didn't choose to be slaves! Every person should get to decide what they do, and you don't get to tell them what to do just because you have a fancy jacket!"

"It's hypocrisy, you insignificant whelp! And you speak of choice? Your entire existence is based on the strategic choices of your father! You were nothing before—"

The tutor’s words were violently choked off.

Garling's stare was a silent command of absolute, annihilating power, focused entirely on the fool who had dared to lecture a Figarland about the strategic choices of his family. Vellum collapsed, silent and utterly terrified.

Luffy wiped his streaming tears on the pink head of St. Pinky. He leaned forward and spat one final insult at the tutor. "You're a big, dumb doo-doo-head!"

He then turned to Garling. "Grandpa! Everyone should be happy! You're the strongest, so you should make sure everyone gets to go on an adventure and eat meat and laugh! You can't let them keep the slaves! If you're the boss, you should make a rule that everyone has to be free! That’s the most important rule!"

Garling felt the boy's uncomplicated conviction pierce his cold composure, but he deflected it instantly. "That is enough," he stated. "The matter of global trade policy is not up for discussion at this moment. The tutoring session is cancelled for the remainder of the day."

He placed Luffy firmly on the ground, gesturing to the maids. "Take the Young Master. Ensure he is cleaned of this... emotional residue, and return him to my quarters."

As the maids quickly hustled Luffy out, Garling turned his icy gaze toward the tutor. He pointed a single, dismissive finger at Vellum. "Escort this man out of the estate, and ensure he is never seen again."

The guards quickly disposed of Vellum, whose muffled wails of betrayal and fear were cut short by the closing of heavy outer doors. Garling then walked to a high-backed chair and peeled off the shirt that had absorbed Luffy's tears. He dropped the silk onto the floor.

He looked at the discarded shirt with contempt.

Why indulges this weakness?

Nonetheless, if he gave in to the boy's ridiculous desire for "freedom," it would not be for the boy. It would be because Garling had to ensure that the son of the revolutionary understood the infinite, personalised power of the Figarland name.

Garling buttoned a new, crisp shirt. He pointed to a staff member. "Cancel all current appointments for tomorrow afternoon. The Young Master and I shall be taking a tour of the new slave intake facilities. Prepare a selection of the finest diplomatic gifts for a bonding excursion."

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

Shamrock glanced at the latest revision of his itinerary—the third modification this week. The section marked "Paternal Duties" was now conspicuously blank, while "High-Level Administrative Reviews" had ballooned to consume his entire day.

It had been five days since his father had taken Luffy on the impromptu "bonding excursion" to the slave intake facilities—an event Shamrock hadn't bothered to supervise, trusting his father's surgical ruthlessness.

He had expected the excursion to cement the Figarland doctrine in the child's mind. He had not expected the aftermath. His father, Garling, was now actively avoiding work to spend time with his "grandson."

Just yesterday, Shamrock had witnessed Garling—the man who once considered children a noise hazard—actually call the boy by his name, "Luffy," instead of "you" or "boy" or "the creature." Today, Shamrock had found the small Sun God curled up on his father's notoriously uncomfortable lap while Garling read him a dry military report.

What in the actual hell had Luffy done? Shamrock was amused, certainly, but this was a new level of behavioural modification.

A few hours later, he slammed a file shut.

This was supposed to be his designated day for strategic planning and review—a quiet, focused day that always ended with a private dinner with Luffy. Now, Shamrcok's schedule looked like a punishment detail.

Just moments ago, Finrak had materialised silently to deliver a stack of documents from the Elder Saint, accompanied by his father's infuriating excuse: "Accelerating the young Master's transition to Head of Family."

Shamrock's internal response was succinct.

Go to hell, Father.

The worst part wasn't the work, but the isolation. He hadn't seen Luffy since breakfast, and even that had been brief, confined to a formal table setting while Father monopolised the child's chatter. The separation felt like a calculated strategy, and Shamrock hated it. He missed the chaotic, comforting presence of the boy, the small, warm hand in his.

A sudden, rhythmic low thrumming vibration started, shaking the delicate crystal on his desk. It grew into a persistent, structural grinding noise that made the ceiling groan. What in the abyss is that? This was not a normal noise for the Holy Land.

Shamrock snatched the silver bell from his desk and rang it violently. The door slid open, and Finrak, impeccably composed despite the building-shaking noise, glided in.

"Finrak, where are these sounds coming from?"

Finrak hesitated for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "My apologies, Saint Shamrock. That would be the Elder Saint's project. They are... late birthday gifts for the Young Master Luffy."

"Late gifts?"

Finrak cleared his throat delicately. "The Elder Saint determined that the Young Master's beetles required a custom-built, climate-controlled, multi-tiered habitat, requiring the reinforcement of the north wing's foundation. And the kitchen staff is installing a specialised, automated meat-grilling facility designed to provide 24-hour access to high-grade protein, per the Young Master's dietary preferences."

Shamrock stared.

"You are dismissed."

He stood, the desk and its files instantly irrelevant.

Shamrock arrived at the base of the north wing. He marched past a foreman, finding his father standing over the construction plans like a benevolent, elderly god. Garling held Luffy casually draped over one shoulder.

"Father, good afternoon," Shamrock called out, his voice carrying easily over the machinery.

"Papa!" Luffy yelled, twisting around and kicking his small legs, desperate to escape his grandfather's hold.

Garling turned, his expression faintly annoyed. "Shamrock. I assume you have settled the security appropriations for the New World? Or do you require me to manage basic paperwork as well?"

Shamrock advanced. "The appropriations are settled, Father. But it seems your grandson's affection is distracting you from your duties. I'm simply here to remove the impediment so you can return to the arduous business of managing the world." He reached out, his hand hovering, waiting.

The atmosphere tightened. Garling glared, then carefully shifted the boy. Shamrock received Luffy, pressing a kiss into his hair and meeting his father's gaze with triumphant satisfaction. He settled the boy onto his hip, rocking him slightly. "It's good to be back with Papa, isn't it? Did your grandfather feed you enough, or did he forget?"

Luffy immediately wrapped his arms around Shamrock's neck. "Shishishi! Grandpa is building me a house for my bugs! A huge one, with dirt and leaves! And we went on the boat, and it was loud, but it was fun! He told the mean guys they can't be mean anymore, and he was super nice! He's much better than Gramps, Papa! He didn't even yell when I told him he was wrong all the way back!"

Shamrock felt a flicker of utter astonishment—Luffy had just confirmed the outing was a success, but defined "success" as Garling not being mean.

Luffy, distracted, suddenly pointed to his hair. "Look, Papa! He gave me a special beetle!"

"Did he now?" Shamrock murmured, brushing the small, iridescent insect off Luffy's dark curls. "Well, that sounds like a marvellous adventure, Luffy. Papa is very happy you had fun."

He met Garling's cold, level gaze over Luffy's head. "It seems, Father," he began, his smile still broad, "that the market has experienced some surprising deflation in certain non-essential assets since your last audit. One might almost wonder if the cost of maintaining an unruly inventory finally outweighed the value of... peace."

Garling's thin lips curved into a cold, satisfied half-smile. He didn't deny the accusation. "Indeed, Shamrock. Why hoard dull copper when one possesses a priceless Figarland diamond? The efficiency is self-evident. Tidiness, after all, is a hallmark of true supremacy. And our new asset prefers a clean ledger."

Shamrock tightened his grip on Luffy. The sheer speed and secrecy of the slave liquidation were unprecedented and recklessly bold. "Father," he said, "that kind of sudden adjustment, even if concealed, is certain to create discreet tremors. The Elders are... sensitive to change in the market's fundamental structure. Are we certain this unique form of tidiness won't provoke an unscheduled inquiry?"

Luffy, overhearing, twisted his head up, his eyes bright. "The Elders? You mean those guys with the big, fuzzy names, Papa? Like Saint Fuzzy-beard and Saint Mustacho-man?" he said, proud of his retention of the knowledge.

Garling chuckled—a brief, dry sound that carried no warmth. "The Elders," he confirmed dismissively, focusing entirely on Shamrock. "They only fear what they cannot control. And their fear is misplaced. The true leverage here is not the asset's existence, but the devotion he inspires. I am learning how to weaponise the desire for freedom against the regime that denies it. To turn the world's longing into our ultimate, clean conquest."

Shamrock's lips parted in realisation. Had his father, the patriarch of brutality, been subjected to a redemption arc? He looked down at Luffy, who was beaming up at him, utterly unaware of the seismic shift he had triggered.

"Damn, you are too powerful, my heart," Shamrock whispered.

No, not redemption.

This is a new, far more ambitious villain arc.

Shamrock was about to speak, perhaps to question the timeline, but Father cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "Go. The planning is completed." His voice was sharp. "I feel remarkably well, Shamrock—youthful, even. Tell the staff I require a direct line to the revolutionary intelligence network. It is time to make a substantial, public deposit into their ledger."

Garling strode out. The structural grinding of the beetle habitat continued unabated, a bizarre soundtrack to the Holy Land's shifting political priorities.

Shamrock held Luffy close, carrying him back toward his private office. The boy was chattering endlessly about the promised bug-house. A new villain indeed, Shamrock thought, glancing at the dust motes dancing in the light.

Inside the office, Shamrock settled into his large chair, placing Luffy comfortably on his lap. The two maids immediately glided in, setting down a silver tray laden with colourful fruit skewers, sweet pastries and small glasses of juice. Luffy's eyes immediately locked onto the strawberry juice.

"You can leave that here," Shamrock said, gesturing to the table. He waited until the door closed, then handed Luffy his juice. He looked down at his son. "Alright, little hero. Tell Papa the honest truth about that boat ride. Did Grandpa yell?"

Luffy took a long, satisfying gulp of his strawberry juice, sighing happily. He leaned back against Shamrock's chest, recalling the day. "It was boring at first! Grandpa was talking about being better than everyone else. But then it got mean, Papa! He showed me some men, women and children who were supposed to be our slaves, and he told the bad guys on the boat they could do anything they wanted to them!"

His small fists clenched. "And then the men started using their swords! They were pretending to hunt them! I yelled at Grandpa and I hit his leg! I told him he was mean and stupid and I didn't care if he was the Big Boss! I told him that buying people is wrong, and that if he killed them, I wouldn't ever, ever love him anymore!"

His eyes welled up slightly. "Grandpa stopped it right away! Then we had a long 'man talk' when they were gone. It's a secret, Papa! But now he promised to be good! He said freedom is important too, because I said so!"

Shamrock listened, completely still. "I see," he murmured, accepting the impossible truth. "So the sheer force of your disappointment was enough to reverse five centuries of generational entitlement. Right. Of course it was."

Father. The utterly predictable, pathetic, worm-ridden, narcissistic garbage chute of a man, Shamrock thought. The man who would set fire to a kindergarten if the smoke were aesthetically pleasing, who considers cruelty a fundamental tenet of his existence, who is a stain on the lineage of scum— that man changed his mind because a five-year-old threatened to withhold affection?

It had to be a catch, the most complex trap Garling had ever conceived. Shamrock couldn't dismiss it, but he himself was hardly better—a cold-blooded murderer and manipulative bastard who had simply redirected his entire world onto the small, bright sun currently resting on his lap.

Shamrock leaned down, brushing his cheek against Luffy's soft hair. "Well, my little tyrant," he said, "let's see what kind of world Grandpa builds for you now."

Luffy giggled and wriggled on Shamrock's lap.

Just then, a maid knocked softly and entered, carrying a small, silver tray. On the tray sat a single, neatly folded letter. Luffy’s eyes widened, and he let out a joyful squeal. "It's Makino!"

Shamrock nodded, already aware.

It was a rigorous ritual. Since their arrival around the boy's fifth birthday in March, and now being roughly a month and a half later, Luffy's schedule included writing a letter to Makino every week. This routine meant they had now exchanged six or seven letters back and forth, a fragile lifeline to the boy's simple, cherished past.

"I'm going to read most of it all by myself!"

Shamrock carefully adjusted Luffy's posture.

Luffy began, speaking the words out loud. "My... sweet... Luffy. Thank you for telling me about your new lessons. It sounds like you are still very brave and always fighting for what is right!" He paused, pointing to a difficult word.

"The word is relieved," Shamrock supplied.

"Relieved," Luffy repeated. "I was very relieved to hear that your grandpa is being so nice, and that he is agreeing that everyone should be free and happy! I know you only love good people! The bar is very quiet. Sorry, Luffy, my news is not as exciting as yours! Are you still eating lots of yummy fruit?"

He giggled, kicking his legs happily. "Yes! I eat lots of yummy fruits!"

Shamrock chuckled and stroked the boy's hair. "Makino is very far away, Luffy. She can't hear you from here. You have to write the words down."

"Oh! Right!" Luffy refocused on the letter. "...My days are very long now that you aren't here to keep the bar noisy. I miss your big laugh. I keep imagining your smile, and I look forward to your letters like they are the sunshine. I hope you are thinking of us often, and remember that we love you very much."

Luffy's expression crumpled. He stopped reading, his lower lip beginning to tremble. He wrapped his arms tightly around Shamrock's neck. "P... Papa," he whimpered, burying his face into Shamrock's shoulder.

Shamrock pulled Luffy close, burying his face in the boy's hair. "Shh. Don't cry, little sun. Makino knows you love her. She's just being brave for you. You did so well reading that. You're getting so smart! We will write the longest, happiest letter back to her this afternoon, okay?"

Luffy lifted his head, tears still clinging to his eyelashes. "But... but Papa! When can I take the things back? I got St. Pinky, and I got the funny beetle. I have the best food and the nicest clothes! When can I bring it all home?"

Shamrock kissed the top of Luffy’s head. "Soon, my hero. Very soon. Papa had to build you a special, safe house for your visit. The new estate in Dawn Island is taking shape nicely. We should be able to go home right after the summer harvest."

Luffy's face instantly shifted from misery to delighted anticipation. He pulled back, his tear tracks vanishing beneath a massive, joyful grin. "Really, Papa? Really?! You mean I can bring all the cool stuff to Makino in the... in the summer hard-vest?"

Shamrock laughed. "Yes, really. And it's 'harvest,' little hero. And the summer hard-vest is still a ways off. Right now it's May. It's like waiting for the grass to get tall enough to hide in, then waiting two more times."

Luffy nodded seriously, processing the abstract concept of months. "Okay! I got it! Four weeks! That's not very long!" He slid off Shamrock's lap and grabbed his pastry. "Can we go play with the beetle now, Papa?"

Shamrock smiled, retrieving the letter and the pen. "We can play, but our very first job is writing Makino back. You have to tell her about the bug-house and the meat-room! You can draw her a picture of the funny-looking guards too."

Chapter Text

Makino tied her apron, looking out the darkened window of the bar. It was closing time, and without Luffy's chaotic energy demanding one last snack or story, the clock seemed to drag. Forty-five days since the last time she had seen that enormous, bright smile. The village was safe, the villagers were fine, but the sun had gone out of her world.

She climbed the creaking stairs and sat down on the floor of her small room, leaning her back against the bed's solid support. Then she reached beneath the bed and slid out a small, wicker basket. Inside were Luffy's drawings and letters.

She remembered the first, terrifying arrival. It was Luffy's birthday. A woman wearing dark, ninja-like clothing, whose face was completely obscured by shadows, had soundlessly entered the bar while Makino was alone. The woman had delivered the letter and given a single, sharp nod that communicated trust and a clear threat.

Makino gently pulled the first letter from the stack.

The handwriting was perfect, but the phrasing was all Luffy. It was written as if he were sitting right there, talking about his "best party ever"—a simple event with just his new dad and a few bodyguards, but celebrated with the "biggest cake in the world."

And what confused her most was the constant mention of his "Papa." Luffy described him not as the monster the world feared, but as someone who was "super strong" and "always nice to me." He recounted missing the taste of her cooking and Woop Slap's grumpy face, but he was "busy getting strong so he can come back soon."

Unfolding the attached drawing, she felt her throat tighten. A happy, messy picture where Luffy held the hand of the towering Red-Haired Man, with Makino's bar awkwardly floating in the background labelled "Home." The man who had terrified her was apparently doting on her boy, making the secrecy feel less like danger and more like a bizarre, over-the-top political precaution.

Makino gently laid the drawing on the basket. Her gaze was fixed on the crude crayon figure of the man labelled "Papa." He was the Red-Haired Celestial Dragon, the ruthless enforcer, the very shadow of evil in their world.

Why? Why would a man so devoid of conscience expend this much effort on a lie? Why the secrecy, the courier, the carefully curated happiness evident in every word of the letter? What was the elaborate, catastrophic endgame this villain was planning? Makino hadn't been wrong about the danger. But seeing Luffy happy, loving this man—it tore her apart.

Because she knew the truth of her boy. Luffy's heart was pure sunshine, and when he loved, the light was blinding, powerful enough to change the world. She had always been proud of that boundless affection. But now, seeing it directed at the one man who could exploit it most perfectly, a cold shard of fear pierced her devotion.

For the first time, Makino wished Luffy's love had limits.

Makino quickly shook off the heavy burden of her worry. Over the past month and a half, the letters had charted his progress. The second letter detailed a new sword lesson; the third, a hilarious account of annoying his tutor. By the fourth letter, Makino had cried because Luffy had written the entire closing paragraph himself, messy and misspelled, but unmistakably his own.

A sudden, sharp tap-tap-tap on the glass of the upstairs window made her jump.

It was the signal.

She moved, opening the window with a hand. The cold night air rushed in, carrying the scent of pine and damp soil. The courier was already retreating into the darkness of the forest behind the bar. On the windowsill, instead of a single envelope, lay two letters bound neatly with a red silk ribbon. Beside them sat a small, heavy, velvet-wrapped package.

Makino sat down immediately, setting the heavy package and the sealed instruction letter aside. She retrieved Luffy's letter, her heart beating fast.

["Makino! I am eating all the yummy food and I miss your cooking, but I am not hungry ever! I miss Mayor Woop Slap, but Grandpa is making me a meat-room and a big bug-house! Grandpa said I am smart! Soon I will be strong enough to make sure no one is sad again, and I am going to bring St. Pinky home right after the summer harvest! Get ready for me, Makino! Papa says I am coming home!"]

The sheer, overwhelming relief of the final sentence struck her like a physical blow. Her hands flew to her face as silent, joyful tears ran down her cheeks. He was still the same boy, full of life and justice, and he had a date for his return.

Makino took a few steadying breaths, forcing the tears back. She looked over at the armchair and reached out, pulling Luffy's old, slightly threadbare stuffed dog, Doggy, into her arms. Luffy had left the toy in the room, asking her to keep it safe and warm until he returned. She hugged the soft fabric, letting the familiar comfort anchor her.

She finally picked up the sealed letter from Shamrock. The paper felt heavy, like a threat.

The message was concise, written in that elegant, chilling script.

["Makino. You have demonstrated exemplary compliance in maintaining the necessary silence. Good girl. As Luffy confirmed, our return is scheduled after the Summer Harvest. I am constructing a new estate on the Outlook grounds. Your involvement is required; you will receive funds shortly to procure personal items for Luffy's room and prepare for his arrival. Do not fail in this."]

Makino set the letter down and her attention immediately went to the velvet-wrapped package. Tucked under the ribbon, she saw a piece of scrap paper. ["For Makino! From me and Papa!"] was written messily, next to a small crayon drawing of a round figure (Luffy) and a slightly taller figure (Makino) holding hands.

She unwrapped the velvet, finding a folded, vibrant, high-quality red silk scarf and a delicate string of pearl beads—a truly extravagant gift. Luffy’s signature scrawl was on the small note: ["Makino, I picked the prettiest red thing for you! You have to wear it every day!"]

Makino smiled. She hugged Doggy against her chest. "Can you believe it, Doggy? Luffy is going to break hearts and rule nations. He has impeccable manners already!" She quickly tied the stunning red silk in a knot at her throat. She knew the pearls were an imposed "addition," and she carefully tucked them into a small wooden jewellery box.

Before she could sit down, a loud, familiar yell echoed up the stairs and rattled the glass.

"Makino!"

Makino rose slowly, the red silk shining brightly against her hair. She walked to the window, opened it and looked down. Monkey D. Garp was there, illuminated by the faint light spilling from the bar below, still wearing his Marine uniform.

"Mister Garp," she murmured, her voice flat.

"Makino, please!" Garp's face was etched with exhaustion. "I'm begging you, just tell me! Where is Luffy? Who took him? Why won't anyone talk? I know that bastard threatened the whole village! But I'm Garp! I'm a Marine Hero! I can protect you all, and I can take Luffy back! You know I can!"

Makino simply stared at the man who boasted of his heroism while failing to protect the one child he truly loved. She heard the same excuses, the same loud, empty promises. She saw the Hero who had repeatedly chosen duty over family, now paying the ultimate price for his lifelong devotion to the wrong uniform.

She just shook her head, unable to speak the lie, yet unwilling to speak the truth.

Makino remained rooted at the window, unable to offer Garp any comfort. From the dark corner of the room, a low voice spoke, startling Makino so badly she nearly dropped Doggy. "You may inform him, Miss Makino."

Makino whirled, her eyes wide.

The ninja woman stood there, arms crossed.

"I—What did you say?"

"Lord Shamrock has revised his standing orders," the courier stated calmly, stepping slightly into the light. "You may tell the Marine Hero that Young Master is in the custody of a Celestial Dragon." The woman smiled. "Lord Shamrock finds Garp's helplessness—the fact that his legendary strength means nothing against a single name—to be the highest form of entertainment."

The courier then turned and began walking across the room toward the exit. She caught Makino's gaze, sensing the unspoken question about her departure method. "You were expecting the dramatic smoke bomb or the rooftop dash, I assume? I'm afraid those cliches are reserved for less secure environments. This establishment possesses a perfectly adequate door, and my knees appreciate the convenience." She gave a brief, sharp nod and walked out, closing the door firmly behind her.

The click of the door latch brought Makino back to stark reality. She hugged Doggy tight, settling the wild panic in her chest. For Luffy's sake, the game had to be played, but she would control the delivery.

Garp was shouting again, his voice cracking. "Makino! Don't do this to me! I swear, I will—"

Makino leaned out the window slightly. "Mister Garp! Stop shouting! You'll wake the whole village. The bar is closed, but... come on inside. I will tell you what I know." She didn't wait for his reply, simply pulling her curtain closed. She secured the stuffed Doggy in the crook of her arm, taking a deep breath, and started down the stairs to unlock the door.

Makino let Garp enter. She secured Doggy on a shelf and then walked over to the serving area. She gestured toward the barstools. "Please have a seat, Mister Garp." She then started fiddling with the liquor bottles, rearranging them in a precise, silent order. "If you need something stronger, I'm afraid I have to charge you extra since we're after hours. What would you like?"

Garp's composure snapped. "Don't patronise me, Makino! The world is at stake! Luffy is facing a threat I can't even touch, and you're offering me water?! Tell me who took him! I carried that little brat in my arms when he was a baby! You know I'm the only person who can truly protect that foolish, reckless child!"

Makino smiled. She slowly picked up a rag and wiped a spot on the already gleaming countertop, deliberately ignoring his outburst. "You sound like you need something to calm your nerves, Mister Garp. A hot tea, perhaps?"

"This is not about my nerves! This is about the life of the only boy I—"

Makino's eyes narrowed, pinning him in place. "The only boy you love enough to abandon for your duty? Be careful with your volume, sir. I have been threatened enough this month by men who believe their power entitles them to my silence. Are you also going to demand my obedience with violence, just like the others who told me to keep my mouth shut?"

The comparison to the anonymous threat was immediate and devastating. Garp's aggression dissolved into profound guilt. He stared at the floor, his hands curling into helpless fists. He swallowed hard. "Damn it. I... I'll take water. Thank you."

Makino retrieved a glass, but instead of water, she silently poured a cup of freshly brewed green tea and placed it firmly in front of Garp. "Tea is much better for calming the heart when the world feels too big," she said.

Garp didn't argue. He looked utterly defeated. "Thank you, Makino," he mumbled, gently picking up the cup.

Makino left the counter and went to the small booth. She sat down, pulling Doggy from the shelf and settling the stuffed animal onto her lap, stroking its head. The bar was silent, the tension almost audible. Garp took a slow sip of the tea. He looked up, his eyes scanning the room, then landed on Makino.

"That's a very nice scarf you're wearing, Makino. The red suits you well."

Makino touched the soft silk knot at her throat. "Thank you. Luffy sent it to me."

Garp froze, the teacup halfway to his lips. He lowered the cup slowly. He started to speak—"Did that—"—but caught himself, closing his mouth with a sharp snap. He simply stared into his tea, and the silence returned, heavier than before.

Makino stared at the tiny, faded stitching on Doggy's ear.

Every moment of her day was an exercise in not seeing him—the empty stool, the silent stairs, the lack of a shout greeting her in the morning. The world had fundamentally shifted the day he left. It was now a vast, directionless landscape. She looked up at the ceiling, picturing the sky she couldn't see, feeling the absence keenly.

The days dawned without warmth, and the nights held no guiding star. Her body was here, moving, breathing, serving tea, but her heart—her entire reason for being—had followed Luffy. She was a body breathing without a soul. The tears she couldn't afford to shed for herself were for him, for the broken state of the world that demanded her silence.

Makino gently kissed the stuffed dog's head before looking Garp directly in the eye.

"Mister Garp," she began, her voice low and even. "Before I tell you what I know, I need to ask you one thing."

Garp leaned forward. "What is it, Makino? Just ask!"

"Will you still want to hear the truth," Makino continued, "if the place where Luffy is now is the one thing in this entire world that even the 'Hero of the Marines' is powerless to touch? That the rules of this cruel world, the rules you live by, protect the villain and tie the hands of the hero? Because if I tell you, Mister Garp, you will realise that you could have prevented this, and yet, there is absolutely nothing left you can do now."

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

Makino finished speaking.

The moment the admission was made, her carefully constructed composure shattered. She didn't wait for Garp's answer, instead dissolving into silent, wracking sobs, collapsing forward over the bar counter, desperately hugging Doggy to her chest.

Garp sat motionless, his face the colour of ash. He raised a hesitant hand, then slowly lowered it, unable to offer comfort to the woman he had just broken.

Makino's muffled voice emerged from her tears. "Go... Mister Garp. It's late. Please, just leave."

"Makino... this must be incredibly hard for you," Garp whispered. He stood up, turning toward the door. "Thank you for the tea. I... I'm going now. Goodbye."

The heavy door closed with a dull thud. Makino remained huddled over the counter. The injustice of it all was overwhelming. This cruel world, she sobbed internally, so strange, so complicated, where the good are powerless and the evil wear the finest silk. Luffy deserves a simple, kind world, not one where his happiness depends on the whims of a monster.

"You gonna be alright, Miss Makino?"

Makino gasped, her head snapping up. She saw the woman standing near the doorframe, a small, white box held out patiently. Makino hesitantly grabbed the tissues, slowly blotting her eyes and nose, her breathing still uneven with small, sharp hiccups. "Thank you. I... I'm fine now," she insisted weakly.

The courier shrugged slightly. "We all have days like this. It usually involves a man."

Makino stared at the woman's veiled face, and despite the sadness, a genuine, albeit tearful, smile broke through. She hiccupped again, then laughed softly. "That's... that is so true. It really is." She took a final, shuddering breath, her eyes still red. "I'm sorry I never got to invite you for a proper drink, or even thank you properly for bringing all the letters. You've been so kind..."

The courier woman shook her head, adjusting the dark fabric around her shoulders. "It's my job. No need for the courtesies." She looked Makino over. "Go take a shower, Miss Makino. Preferably a bath. I left a jar of lavender essential salts on your bathroom counter. Use the entire thing. Get to bed early. You need sleep."

Makino blinked at the sudden, motherly advice. "Oh! Thank you..."

The courier gave a dry, knowing half-smile. "I don't have children, but I understand exhaustion. Your boy is safe. Lord Shamrock is... complex. He's a terrible man, but he is dedicated to the Young Master's safety. You have nothing more to worry about tonight."

Makino absorbed the woman's final words. She smiled, her heart swelling with an ache that was less grief and more longing. My boy. Makino was young, yes, but who was she fooling? She had raised him. She loved him utterly. Luffy was undeniably her son.

She moved toward the back bar, only to stop dead. The courier was now behind the bar. She was calmly wiping down the spill, the rag moving silently and swiftly.

"What are you doing?" Makino asked, horrified by the breach of her workplace and her routine. "That's my job! You don't need to trouble yourself!"

The courier glanced up. "It is part of the security package, Miss Makino. My job is surveillance, but it includes ensuring the safety and readiness of the primary guardian. Lord Shamrock anticipated you would prioritise cleaning over rest. Since you need a bath and eight hours of sleep, I'll finish this. Go. You deserve this tiny break."

Makino opened her mouth to argue, but the courier was already putting the rag away, leaving the surface spotless. Makino sighed, too tired to fight the ninja's domestic efficiency. "Thank you," she muttered, defeated. But I am sending him a note about his staff overstepping!

Makino let out a tired sigh as she reached her bathroom. She opened the door, and the comforting steam of the hot water instantly relaxed her shoulders. The bath was perfectly drawn, smelling richly of the lavender salts.

"The soak is more effective if taken immediately. The longer you wait, the less benefit you receive."

Makino spun around and saw the courier materialise in the doorway.

"I—I apologise, but how did you get up here so fast? And how did you run the bath?"

"Compliance is necessary for optimal recovery," the courier stated, holding out a soft cloth. "I recommend you remove your uniform and submerge. The scrubbing motion is important for circulation, and I have noted chronic tension in your trapezius muscles. I will attend to the exfoliation; it is mandatory."

Makino blushed violently, gesturing wildly. "I am a private citizen! I will bathe myself!"

The courier was unperturbed. "Miss Makino, I have been observing your habits for weeks. You deserve this. Consider it essential maintenance performed by an experienced professional. Do not fight the relaxation you desperately need. I assure you, I am discreet."

Makino felt the argument drain out of her. The bath looked incredible, and the courier's conviction was terrifying. "Then... thank you. I appreciate the efficiency." She took a deep breath, shed her uniform and stepped into the bath.

The water temperature was perfectly calibrated, instantly easing the tightness in her shoulders. The scent of lavender was intensely calming. The initial embarrassment faded quickly as the warm water worked its magic.

The courier, true to her word, was professional. Makino barely felt the presence of the woman as she began to expertly scrub her back, applying firm, knowledgeable pressure that targeted knots Makino hadn't even realised were there. It felt heavenly. The intense, quiet focus of the courier was oddly reassuring.

After a few minutes of blissful silence, Makino cleared her throat, feeling the need to acknowledge the person helping her. "I know this is silly, since you know everything about me, but... my name is Makino."

She chuckled softly, slightly embarrassed. "I just would like to introduce myself officially. And... what should I call you?"

The scrubbing paused for a half-second. "My name is Miri, Miss Makino. I'm forty-seven, and I was originally trained in Wano Country as a kunoichi. I eventually joined the staff supporting the Figarland Family's personal projects. Now I handle discreet logistics for the Young Master. Consider this part of my mission briefing."

Makino lay submerged in the lavender bath, Miri's strong, steady hands working the last tension from her neck. She mumbled, the sound echoing slightly in the steam. "I feel so foolish, Miss Miri. So weak and ignorant. I don't know anything about this world or how to protect myself. I couldn't even keep Luffy safe when the danger came."

Miri continued the scrubbing. "Weakness is not ignorance, Miss Makino. Your strength is your light. The Young Master's entire capacity for love was built by you. That is why Lord Shamrock chose him, and that is why you are still here. Your kindness is a far more powerful weapon than any sword."

A tear slipped from Makino's eye, mingling with the bathwater. She appreciated the sincerity, but the fear lingered. Kindness, yes, but what good is kindness against a Celestial Dragon? If I had been stronger, if I had known what Miss Miri knows...

"You're not weak, Miss Makino."

Makino gasped, sitting up slightly. "I—"

"Your emotions are obvious," Miri stated. "They scream regret. Turn around."

Makino turned, her face flushed with embarrassment and surprise. She saw Miri watching her with an intense, unreadable gaze. Makino instinctively started to lift her hands. "I'm sorry to trouble you, Miss Miri. I can finish the bath now—"

Miri moved her hand up. "No. You need to stop wishing you had been born different. You need to learn." She leaned close. "I can teach you what it means to be capable. I can show you how to truly protect what you love, not with kindness, but with competence. What do you say? Do you want to learn how to change the outcome next time?"

Makino didn't move. The question echoed deep within her chest. Suddenly, the silence of the bathroom was replaced by a dull, insistent thump-thump-thump—the sound of her own heart, beating like a war drum.

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

Dadan swatted a fly and cursed the heat. It had been a month and a half since things went weird. Not that things were ever normal in her bandit hideout, but the atmosphere had certainly changed. She blew a plume of smoke from her pipe, squinting at the moon over the Mt. Colubo.

The real trouble started a few weeks ago—right around the time that insufferable, loud-mouthed Monkey D. Garp was due back. He arrived late, quieter than a graveyard on a Thursday, and looking like a thundercloud that had swallowed a cactus.

Dadan remembered watching him that night.

He didn't even look at her. He just stomped up the steps to the sleeping loft, paused by Ace and his little shadow, Sabo, and just watched them sleep for five solid minutes before leaving again, without a single word to her. The old idiot didn't even yell! That's how you know something is wrong, she thought with a shudder.

Before he left the next morning, he had laid down the law again, but his voice lower and more anxious than she'd ever heard it. "Keep those brats here, Dadan. Don't let them near the village, and no talking to any strangers!" Same rules as always, but this time, the anxiety in his eyes was sharp and frantic, like he expected the sky to fall.

Dadan finished her smoke, flicking the butt into the dirt. Just as she was about to stomp back inside, the snap of a twig echoed from the bottom of the hill. Footsteps. Heavy, Marine-issue footsteps. "Oh, you miserable, thick-headed piece of sea trash!" she spat, but then she felt a cold wave of dread wash over her as Garp came into view.

He wasn't even yelling, which was a thousand times worse. He moved with a silent, grim determination that suggested mass casualties. Holy moly, what did those two little nightmares do now? Did Ace challenge the entire village to a duel? Did Sabo somehow manage to convince the bandits to join the Navy?

Dadan had to protect her family from this silent wrath.

Garp paused, his shadow stretching long and menacing across the dusty clearing.

Dadan threw her hands out in an exaggerated, welcoming gesture, trying to inject false enthusiasm into the tense air. "Garp! My dear friend! What a true honour! The entire family is thrilled by your presence! Please, come in! Let me make you a refreshing beverage!"

Garp cut her off with a low grunt. "Where are the boys?"

Dadan's smile became rigid. "The precious little treasures? They are resting, sir! They have been perfect angels! They spent the entire day discussing non-violent solutions to inter-village disputes and demonstrating perfect table manners! They are simply delightful, Mister Garp! The pride of this entire establishment!"

Garp remained utterly silent. The air around him felt cold.

Dadan watched his jaw work, noting the exhaustion and the dangerous, unfamiliar fear in his eyes. What is wrong with him? He looks like someone just told him the whole Navy dissolved. And why is he so quiet about the brats?

Dadan swallowed, her cheerful façade cracking slightly. She waved a hand vaguely toward the hideout entrance. "Well, come in, come in! Don't just stand there! Make yourself comfortable!" She then shouted into the cave's interior, trying to sound overly generous. "Hey! Someone! Bring our absolute finest, strongest and most deeply aged celebratory beverage! We must toast our illustrious guest!"

A bandit's voice, Dogra, yelled back instantly. "The best? We barely have enough rotgut to last the week, Boss! Get your own drink!"

Dadan's eyes bulged. She turned back to the house and hissed through clenched teeth. "Are you trying to get us all executed, you idiot?!"

"Executed for what?" Dogra retorted, stepping toward the entrance. He froze mid-step, his eyes widening to saucers as he finally caught sight of Garp's dark, despairing face. Every bandit within earshot went instantly rigid.

A small bandit, trembling, shouted, "T-the absolute, most prized, secretly stashed, seventy-year-old, gut-busting, Hero-level rotgut is coming right up for the Esteemed Vice Admiral of Unparalleled Might!" Every bandit instantly dropped into a terrified, shaky bow.

Dadan swallowed hard, motioning for Garp to enter the hideout.

The man walked in without a word. The bandits scattered like mice, moving with a supernatural speed Dadan hadn't seen since the Navy last raided them. Dust rags appeared out of nowhere. A chair was scrubbed clean mid-sprint. The main table, usually littered with bones and maps, was instantly cleared.

Garp moved to the designated chair, sat heavily and remained motionless.

The bandits froze, lining the walls like terrified, hairy statues. Dogra burst back in, bearing a dusty, corked jug, which he poured into a chipped tin cup with trembling hands, setting it before the Marine Hero. He nodded curtly, then gestured toward the empty seat opposite him.

"Sit, Dadan."

Dadan's knees knocked.

She slowly lowered herself into the seat, accepting a second cup of the rotgut Dogra offered her. She looked at the murky liquid, feeling a cold resignation. This is it. This is how I die. She raised the cup slightly toward the ceiling in a silent toast. Thank you for reaching this age, Ace. You too, Sabo. You were menaces, but you were fun. May my next life be less short and more profitable. No idea what set Garp off, but today, nobody survives his wrath.

Garp lifted his cup, took a massive gulp and slammed it down. He stared at Dadan, his eyes holding a bleak, terrifying desperation. "Get the brats. Now."

Dadan sprang forward in her seat. "Wait! Before you start swinging your big, stupid fists, let me explain!" Her voice was frantic. "Yes, they are vicious little hellions and they stole our last rations last week! But I swear on this rotgut, they have NOT been to the village, they have NOT talked to strangers, and nobody—and I mean NOBODY—outside of this mountain knows anything about Ace's... provenance! They keep to the Gray Terminal, only interacting with equally disgusting trash!"

Garp just stared. He shook his head slowly. "Dadan..." His voice was a strained, low rumble, utterly lacking its usual force. "Calm down. Nobody is dying tonight. I'm not here to punish them. Just... get them here."

Dadan froze. No punishment? She watched Garp—his shoulders slumped, his huge hands resting limply on the table. He looked less like a punishing god and more like a man facing an insurmountable debt. There was a raw, agonising misery radiating from him, a mood so unnatural it scared her more than his rage.

Dadan immediately saw a new duty. She set her cup down firmly. "Right. Dogra! You heard the man! Stop standing there like a stuffed ape and go wake the boys up gently. Tell them their gramps wants a... family meeting."

One by one, the terrified bandits slipped away, the sound of their retreating footsteps barely audible. Dadan was left alone with the silent, brooding Marine, her fear growing exponentially with every passing second of quiet.

Garp picked up the cup, swirling the rotgut slowly. He looked up at Dadan. "I know I abandoned him here. And I know the risk is unbearable. But Dadan, despite everything, he is happy. He has grit. You gave him a life. I... I never thought I'd say this, but thank you for accepting my failure, even if I had to threaten you into it."

Dadan choked on air. He said THANK YOU. And he admitted failure! This isn't Garp! This is a pod-person! He must have been infected by some rare, fatal, polite pirate virus! Her inner monologue screamed while she tried to maintain a facade of composure.

She wiped her mouth nervously. "N-no need for that, Garp! It's just... a job! Ace is an absolutely unforgivable little demon, but he does consume calories adequately, and we generally patch up his worst wounds before they become life-threatening! It's really no trouble at all! Just... part of the arrangement!"

Garp leaned back, swirling the liquid in his cup, his gaze distant. "I gave Ace a title to hide from, but you gave him a home. I am the Marine Hero, and yet, you are the better family."

Dadan shifted uncomfortably, feeling her face heat up. "That's just nonsense, Garp," she replied. "We are only protecting him because you forced us. But... we're bandits, not heartless bastards. I'm not saying I like Ace, but... someone has to keep the little idiot alive, and I suppose it might as well be me. And Sabo—well, Sabo's just a less fiery kind of menace."

Garp leaned his head back against the stone wall, taking a slow, massive sip of the rotgut. His eyes were closed, his expression a picture of pure, self-inflicted misery. He was too consumed by his own failure to care about Dadan's half-denial.

Dadan felt a cold sweat break out. He's not yelling. He's suffering. This is infinitely worse. He’s going to infect us all with his sadness, or maybe he’s preparing to execute us quietly and respectfully.

She glanced around the dim room. The lighting is terrible, the mood is bleak and the Marine is having a crisis of faith. Just another night in this hard-boiled, ridiculous life.

A commotion on the wooden stairs announced the boys' arrival.

Ace stomped into the light. "What the hell is the big emergency? You better have a damn good reason for waking me up, Gramps! It better be bigger than one of your boring lectures about becoming 'upstanding citizens'!"

Sabo gave a small, weary bow toward Garp, already sensing the atmosphere was wrong.

Ace was ready to launch into a full tirade, so Dadan immediately lunged from her seat and slammed her hand over Ace's mouth. "Ace, you insufferable little bastard, shut your disgusting mouth!" She then whipped her head toward Garp, dropping the tough act entirely. "Please, Garp! Don't listen to the foul words of this delinquent! He's just tired! Don't execute us based on his lack of sleep!"

Garp just stared, the look of profound misery deepening.

He didn't speak.

Dadan removed her hand, then grabbed Ace and Sabo by the arms, dragging them to the table. "Sit down! Sit down right now and be quiet!"

Ace tried to twist away, muttering, "Why the hell should I—" but Sabo dug his elbow into Ace's ribs, sending a sharp, silent message. Ace stopped struggling, his brow furrowing as he finally focused on Garp's unusual silence.

Sabo is a sharp little monster, Dadan thought with a grateful internal sigh. He must have sensed Garp's dark aura. That brat just saved Ace about ten years on his lifespan.

The two boys reluctantly sat opposite the Marine Hero.

Ace leaned forward, his voice much quieter now, the annoyance mixed with a sudden, dawning worry. "Okay, what is this, Gramps? Why are you just sitting there looking like someone sank your ship? Did something actually happen?"

Dadan also wanted to yell, to demand answers, but Garp's misery was too potent. Instead, she offered a clumsy gesture of domesticity. "Here, brats. Drink some water."

Ace and Sabo took a quick sip, still watching Garp warily.

Garp finally lifted his head, his eyes empty, focusing on a spot somewhere behind them. The words he spoke were flat, devoid of his usual boom. "I lost my grandson."

The hideout plunged into a deep, heavy silence.

Dadan froze.

Ace stopped chewing the ice chip he'd stolen.

Sabo blinked slowly, then looked first at Ace, then at Dadan. He then spoke, his voice quiet and cautious. "Sir, Ace is right here. He's fine, if a bit brain-dead from waking up early. He's definitely breathing."

"Hey!" Ace immediately snapped, giving Sabo a hard shove.

Dadan's inner voice shrieked. Garp's gone completely mad! He thinks Ace is someone else! He's utterly, definitively lost it!

Garp took a deep, shaky breath, letting the weight of his guilt settle over them. "It's Luffy. Monkey D. Luffy. You never met him."

Dadan, Ace and Sabo were stunned.

"Another grandson?" Dadan muttered, utterly bewildered. "Monkey D. Luffy? You, the Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp has another grandson?"

"Wow. First me, and now some poor schmuck named Luffy," Ace mumbled, shaking his head.

Sabo quickly elbowed Ace, trying to signal respect for the man who was clearly unravelling.

Garp looked at Ace, his eyes mirroring the grief he felt for Luffy, but directing the apology to the boy right in front of him. "Ace, I have failed you too. I left you here, and when you asked the hardest question a child can ask—if you deserved to exist—I didn't answer you. I gave you a lifetime of doubt." His voice was strained, thick with guilt.

"Your father was a brave, kind man, not a monster. Your mother was incredible. She chose you, Ace. She could have saved herself, but she carried you for twenty months because she wanted you so badly. You are a treasure. Never doubt that you deserve to live."

Ace stared, his usual aggressive stance dissolving into utter stillness. Dadan felt tears prick her own eyes at the sheer, raw vulnerability of the man. Sabo's mouth hung slightly open. The silence was absolute until Garp covered his face, and deep, silent sobs wracked his body.

Dadan watched Garp, the mighty Marine Hero, sobbing silently at her table. He said 'lost'... Luffy is dead? Oh, you poor, idiotic, stubborn old bastard!

She risked a look at Ace.

Ace was staring down at the wood grain, his lower lip trembling slightly, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. Sabo looked utterly distraught, his hand hovering uselessly near Ace's shoulder.

Then, Ace took a deep, shaky breath, and the trembling stopped. He looked up, his face set in a strange, hard mask of composure. "So... what actually happened, Gramps? You said you lost him. Is the other grandson... Luffy... is he dead?"

"Ace!" Dadan hissed.

Sabo's hand tightened on Ace's shoulder. "Ace, that's incredibly rude!"

Ace threw Sabo a look. "I know! But no one else is asking the obvious question! The old man is crying his eyes out over some poor schmuck we don't know, and you two want me to talk about the weather? I'm just trying to be a functioning human for once!"

Sabo pulled his hand away in defeat. "Being a functioning human doesn't mean having the emotional subtlety of a cannonball!"

"He's right, you brainless thug!" Dadan bellowed. "That was the rudest thing I've ever heard! I raised you in the woods, not in a pigsty! I would never teach you to be such a callous, direct monster!"

Ace glared back, utterly unimpressed. "You're the one who threatened to skin me if I wasn't direct about dinner, Dadan! This is exactly how I was raised!"

"See, Dadan?" Sabo interjected wearily. "This is why environment and peer influence are so critical. Ace's bluntness is a complex blend of genetics, his early anti-social environment, which is here, and your constant emotional volatility. You are definitely a contributing factor to his lack of tact!"

Dadan shrieked, pointing an accusing finger at Sabo. "Why you little know-it-all scarf rat! You sound exactly like those pompous, useless teachers in the high town! I'll break your glasses!"

Before the chaos could escalate, Garp slammed his fist lightly on the table, the muffled thump silencing everyone instantly. He looked up, his eyes bleak and tired. "Luffy," he rasped, his voice raw. "He turned five a month and a half ago. I lost him. Someone took him."

Silence held the room hostage.

Sabo finally broke it. "He was kidnapped, then? And if he was taken almost two months ago, why are you here now, sir?"

Ace slammed his hands on the table, mirroring his grandfather’s earlier gesture. "Exactly! Stop crying and be a Marine! You drag us out here to say you lost someone, but you haven't even gone after him! What use is being the 'Hero' if you can't save your own family?"

Dadan agreed. "Go, Garp! Get the boy! I'll watch these two hellions!"

"Because I can't! I can't do a damn thing! I can't fight the government! My hands are tied by this uniform! He was taken by a member of the Figarland family! They are untouchable! My whole life—all my duty, all my sacrifice—it all means absolutely nothing because I cannot raise a finger against the monster who took my grandson! I am the Marine Hero, and I am utterly, utterly useless!"

Ace stared at the trembling Vice Admiral. "A... what? Celestial Dragon? What the hell is that, Gramps? Some kind of super-pirate?"

Sabo's expression was grim. He leaned forward, his voice low and serious. "No, Ace. They're much worse. They are the World Nobles. The descendants of the twenty kings who founded the World Government. They live in Mariejois. They believe they are gods, and they literally own people. My noble family, for all our privilege, was nothing compared to them. They are untouchable—you can't even look at them wrong without inviting an Admiral to wipe out the area."

"And that's why they're trash!" Dadan spat. "The Marines protect those inbred, slack-jawed, rich cowards! Every time you see a Navy ship, you know they're prioritising those disgusting slobs over real people!"

Ace slowly sank back onto the chair. He looked at his sobbing grandfather. "Holy hell, Gramps. You dedicated your entire life to those worthless maggots? You work for the people who let this happen? No wonder you're crying. That's gotta be the most pathetic waste of a life I've ever heard of."

Sabo began to open his mouth, likely to scold Ace for his brutal honesty, but Dadan cut him off.

"Pathetic is too kind!" she roared, slamming her fists on the table. "I knew you were an idiot, Garp, but I didn't know you were a hypocrite! You talk about duty, but your duty is a joke! You had the power! You could have quit, you could have defected, you could have done anything to fight the true evil, but you clung to your title!"

Dadan choked on a sob. "And that little boy! Five years old! What are those freaks going to do with him? Turn him into a pet? An errand boy? A slave for their disgusting, inbred pleasure?! They'll twist him until he doesn't know his own name! He'll be broken and used up because you chose your rank over true justice! And you have to sit here and cry because you can't touch them!"

She stumbled backward, overwhelmed.

Ace, suddenly the calmest person in the room, darted out and wrapped his arms around her leg, holding her steady. Sabo quickly moved to Ace's side, placing a grounding hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Dadan, that's enough! Stop it!" Ace whispered.

Dadan barely heard him. She pointed a trembling finger at Garp's bowed head. "Don't you dare come here crying about the grandson you lost, Garp, when you still have this one! Is that it?! Did you come here to pet Ace and Sabo now, trying to make yourself feel better because you couldn't save the other one?! Are we just your consolation prize?! Your backup family?!"

"Dadan, please! You're scaring us!" Sabo pleaded quietly.

Dadan choked back a fresh wave of tears, her voice dropping to a snarl aimed solely at Garp. "You want to save someone? You should have saved yourself from your pathetic job years ago! You sold your soul to those devils, and now they've come to collect! You deserve to feel this pain!"

"EVERYONE SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU! WE GET IT! DADAN, YOU'RE GOING TO BURST A VEIN! GRAMPS IS GOING TO DROWN IN HIS OWN TEARS!"

Ace screamed, silencing the entire room. 

He  planted himself in front of the table, hands on his hips.

"Yes, Dadan, Gramps screwed up! But we're done yelling at him! Gramps! You fought for your justice! You fought for your rank! You might be an idiot who follows rules, but you did your job because you believed you were protecting people!"

Ace took a calming breath. "I hate your job. I'm going to be a pirate. But I get it now. You were doing what you loved. You stuck to your code, even if your bosses are scum. You were just loyal to the wrong people. That's sad, but it doesn't erase all the good fights you won. You gave your life to that. You don't throw that away just because you met a bad guy you can't punch."

Dadan stared at Ace, her mouth agape.

Ace took a few steps around the table.

Garp, still hunched over, his hands covering his face, slowly lowered them. He looked up, his eyes swollen and red, meeting Ace's intense, determined gaze. Ace didn't hesitate to reach out and wrapped his arms awkwardly around Garp's neck, pulling himself close to the stunned Marine. Garp gasped, utterly shocked, then his huge arms came up, crushing Ace against his chest in a hug.

Ace kept talking, his voice muffled.

"Yeah, you messed up, Gramps, but you're family. And family doesn't let go. That kid, Luffy—he's family too. He's my little brother now. So stop crying and tell us what you know. Where is Mariejois? Because you might not be able to touch them, but we sure as hell can."