Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Kuzan could feel the soft sheets against his skin.
Even with his eyes still closed, heavy with sleep, he could hear the birds singing through the bedroom window.
Beside him, Sakazuki was a furnace—always warm, always comfortable. Their contrast—Kuzan’s natural cold against Sakazuki’s intense heat—created a constant, perfect ambient temperature for cuddling.

Everything was simply perfect.
Their new home, the little nest they had maintained for three years.
Their son, Sakiji, was still asleep in his room, worn out from his birthday weekend. He had just celebrated his third year on this earth.

Everything is perfect.
Nothing is scary anymore.

Until it happens.

Kuzan and Sakazuki bolted upright, an instinctive shiver running down their spines.
Something—someone—had just entered their home.
A dangerous presence, silent yet brutal.

They didn’t hesitate for a single second.
Kuzan strapped on his prosthesis faster than he ever had before.
Sakazuki stumbled out of the room, shirtless, wearing only an old pair of sweatpants.

The admiral instantly became a rabid dog.
He took a brutal shortcut, literally smashing through a wall.

Even in the urgency, Kuzan felt a brief moment of panic. That wall… it might be load-bearing. But his Haki confirmed the truth: the threat was in their son’s room.

So no.
He didn’t blame him.
He would never blame him.

They arrived almost at the same time.

And…

Nothing.
Nothing at all.

No presence. No footprints. No cry.

Their son’s room was empty.

Perfectly tidy.
As if nothing had happened.

Except…

Sakiji’s favorite stuffed toy, caught in the window frame.
Exactly where the thing—or the person—had left with their son.

Sakazuki’s left eye twitched.

Kuzan knew immediately not to get in his way.
His lover could be gentle with him, even tender… but right now, he was nothing but instinct, rage, and fire.

And yet, Kuzan was burning too.
With anger.
With fear.
And with guilt.

He should have sensed the danger earlier.
He should have run.
He should have… done something.

“Sakazuki.”

That voice froze him to the core.
The man of ice shivered as he met his gaze.

“I’m going out. I’m going hunting. I swear I will bring our son back.”

“Sakazuki… maybe we should talk to Headquarters, alert—”

“You handle that.”
His voice was harsh. Irrevocable.
“I’m going to track him down.”

The ground was already melting under each of his steps.

Kuzan bit his lip. Locking Sakazuki in a room full of soldiers, asking him to wait and explain what they had just experienced?
That would be a disaster.
No, it was better to let him go.
To let him find the bastard who had dared steal their Sakiji.

“Alright… I’m counting on you.”

---

Kuzan could only listen to the alarmed whispers of civilians, all witnesses to Sakazuki’s passage across the island—like a furious, uncontrollable beast. Their fear was genuine, and it only fed his anxiety. He regretted letting his lover leave alone, without a plan or coordination. What if the enemy was stronger than expected? What if Sakazuki…

He shook his head, forcing the catastrophic thoughts away.

“It’s going to be fine…” he muttered, more to himself than to convince anyone.

His fingers trembled despite himself. He clasped them together tightly until his knuckles turned white. He had to keep a cool head. For Sakiji. For Sakazuki.

He headed toward headquarters at a brisk pace, his heart pounding. When he finally spotted Garp’s massive silhouette, a wave of relief washed over him. An anchor. A solid presence in the storm.

He rushed to the old marine and spilled everything he knew—or thought he knew—in a breathless, tangled stream of words. Despite Kuzan’s halting tone and palpable panic, Garp stayed calm and attentive, cutting through the chaos to extract the key facts.

“Got it,” he finally grunted. “I’ll assemble a team immediately.”

Hibari, Helmeppo, and Koby were assigned to follow after Sakazuki. Not to stop him—that would be pointless and suicidal—but to support him, follow his trail, and cover his back if necessary.

While the team mobilized, Kuzan was escorted to a meeting room. There, he tried to gather his thoughts to form hypotheses. Who could have done this? And why? Sakiji’s room hadn’t been forced, no signs of entry, no prints. A professional. Someone who knew them.

He stared at the table, fists tight on the cold wood.

Someone had dared to touch their son.
And he would find them—no matter the cost.

---

Kuzan paced in the room like a caged predator. His steps left thin traces of frost on the floor, which he had already frozen over several times without realizing it. More than once, cadets had slipped inside to deliver reports to their superiors, but none dared look at him for long.

He felt trapped.
Anxious.
Unable to stay still, yet unable to make himself useful.

Sakazuki wasn’t there. And until he had news, his mind refused to calm down. Garp had been speaking with those inside the meeting room, but from where Kuzan stood, it felt like nothing was moving forward. Not fast enough. Not for something this vital.

It felt like he had no control. As if the universe was determined to throw him once again into a chain of cruel trials. His breathing grew faster, shallower. His hands trembled. He clenched his fists to stop them, refusing to let tears form. Sakazuki would find their son. He was certain of it. No matter the means. No matter the time. And if the Marines dragged their feet… he knew exactly who else he could ask for help.

The meeting room door finally opened, breaking the tense silence. Sengoku and Garp stepped out, looking grim. Two old marines, weighed down by the gravity of what had been said. Kuzan immediately stepped forward, voice taut.

“What did they say?”

Garp sighed, his broad chest rising heavily.
“They said they’d investigate on their end.”
The tone was anything but reassuring, and the frown on his face betrayed his frustration.
“And they added that Sakazuki shouldn’t have acted so impulsively. I had to fight them when they complained because I sent an improvised team without a written report.”

Sengoku raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms.
“In short, they’re a pain in the ass. Garp and I will draft a full report, quickly. So they won’t have any excuses to drag their feet.”

Garp placed a heavy but warm hand on Kuzan’s icy shoulder.
“In the meantime, you should rest a bit. Have some tea, eat something… sleep, if you can.”

Sengoku, a half-smile on his lips, added:
“Or maybe a little workout. Might clear your head.”

Garp gave him a nudge, like he was teasing him. Kuzan rolled his eyes. Even in the middle of a crisis, those two found a way to joke. And, to his own surprise, that touch of absurdity did him good. Just enough to ease some of the crushing tension in his shoulders.

“Sakazuki won’t take long,” Garp concluded before pulling him into a firm embrace.

Kuzan felt awkward, but comforted by the gesture.
“Yeah… I’ll head home. If you hear anything, call me.”

“Promise,” Garp replied, his tone grave but steady.

---

Kuzan went home. He wouldn’t go as far as to say he felt better than when he left, but at least the calmer air of the street let him think without being assaulted by the worst scenarios. Civilians had gone back to their lives, unaware of what was really happening beyond their small world.

And, in a way, he thought he wasn’t that different. Everyone has their battles. Everyone their own world. Not everything is perfect.

As Garp had advised, he decided to take a pause. Just a few minutes. Once in the living room, he almost automatically headed for the kitchen. His hands knew the way, preparing tea and setting some cookies on a plate.
In passing, he glanced at the wall Sakazuki had smashed earlier that day to reach their child’s room as fast as possible. A gesture of pure urgency… but the house had suffered. Kuzan had frozen the area to prevent any collapse. It was temporary, but enough until repairs came.

He sighed as he poured the steaming herbal tea into his cup. The gentle scent of the herbs eased his nerves a little. In their bedroom, he slid into bed, leaning back against Sakazuki’s still-creased pillow. That mess, that hollow space left by his absent body… it was a silent reminder that he would return. Soon. He had to.

He ate a cookie, then another, and a third. The crumbs cracked softly between his fingers. Halfway through the pack, he stopped, a little ashamed. Bad for his figure. His gaze dropped to his stomach, round and firm, a lingering reminder of the fifteen kilos he still hadn’t managed to lose since the pregnancy.

He gave a bitter smile: this body reminded him of Sakiji, of the warmth of holding his son close… and, at the same time, the painful absence he felt now.

A tear slid down his cheek. He prayed with all his heart that their boy wasn’t being hurt, that he wasn’t crying somewhere, calling for his parents. Instinctively, he placed a hand over his belly, as if to find an echo of that old connection.
No… he couldn’t think like that. This wasn’t about going back—it was about moving forward.

Sakazuki would come back. That was a certainty.
His lover never abandoned a fight—especially not when it came to their son.

---

Chapter Text

Sakazuki strode forward, his temples pounding in rhythm with his heart. With every step, the magma under his skin rumbled. His mind was racing — strategies, hypotheses, worry.

Maybe he should have stayed with Kuzan… No — he wanted to stay. But how could he, when someone had dared lay a hand on their child?

He couldn’t stop imagining Sakiji, torn from his bed. And Kuzan, alone in that house, pacing around — probably convinced he had been abandoned again.

I’ll come back.

Of course he would. He wouldn’t let anyone believe, not for a single second, that he’d abandon them.

His steps suddenly stopped.

At his feet, in the tall grass, the tracks were clear: deep footprints, poorly concealed, curving toward the forest. Heavy. Weighted.

A man. Large build. But fast. And extremely discreet.

A trap?
A cynical game?

Magma bubbled along his arm. He inhaled sharply.

Behind him, silhouettes were rapidly approaching, breathless. Helmeppo, Koby and Hibari burst from between the trees, cheeks flushed and gasping for breath.

“Hibari,” Sakazuki said gravely, without even turning.

“Y-yes… Uncle Sakazuki,” the young woman answered, instantly straightening despite her labored breathing.

He remained silent for a few moments, studying the tracks at his feet, then slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke from a cigar lit by his own heat.

“I want you to go with your boyfriend and Koby. Follow this trail and keep tracking that person.”

Hibari’s mouth fell open in surprise. “Huh? But who even is that person?”

Sakazuki clenched his jaw. “I judge it to be a man. Judging by the weight of the steps… and the silhouette I sensed with my Haki. Massive. Fast. Skilled enough to conceal his presence.”

The air around them grew warmer. A few leaves crackled from the heat radiating off the Fleet Admiral.

“We’ll take care of it, Uncle—” Hibari tried.

“You’ll take care of nothing,” Sakazuki cut in, voice burning. “You follow, and only follow. No confrontation. You inform me at the slightest suspicious movement. If things get dangerous… you fall back immediately.”

The three young soldiers stood to attention in unison. “Yes, Fleet Admiral!”

He gazed at them for another second — his glance dark, incandescent.

“One last thing. If anything happens to my son… I want to know within a second.”

“Yes!” they answered in one voice.

Sakazuki gave a slow nod, then turned toward Koby, stopping him with a gesture.

“Koby. Two seconds.”

The young officer froze. “Y-yes… Sakazuki-san?”

The Fleet Admiral leaned toward him, his shadow almost completely covering the cadet. His voice dropped a tone — lower, more dangerous:

“You and Helmeppo… you watch over my niece. One false move, and don’t forget that I can bury you alive. And if I do… you’ll never see your red-haired Emperor again. Understood?”

Koby went pale. He tried a tiny awkward smile. “Y-yes, Admiral… Very clear.”

“Good.”

Sakazuki exhaled another puff of smoke and turned away, his coat snapping in the wind. He cast one last look toward the forest, fist clenched.

Something cold settled in his chest. A dull dread.

But he shook his head and walked back.

Kuzan is waiting… and those damned bureaucrats too.

First the paperwork. Then… the hunt.

---

Hibari moved between the tight trunks of the forest, her boots sinking into damp soil covered in pine needles and cold moss. The wind slipped between the branches, rustling like a disquieting whisper, and every crack of wood seemed far too loud in the silence.

She stayed close to Koby and Helmeppo, clutching her rifle to her chest. She tried to keep her thoughts clear — mission above all. Yet a heavy weight crushed her chest ever since they had left HQ. She tried to focus, but one thought kept returning, hollow and insistent: Sakiji is out there somewhere. A baby… alone.

Helmeppo stopped for a moment and simply held out his hand. Not a word.

Just that — a quiet, reassuring gesture that allowed her to breathe more normally. She slipped her fingers into his — a brief, real, living pressure — and felt a little less overwhelmed by fear.

They kept walking, even more cautiously. Foliage passed by like a dark curtain all around them. Hibari shot glances at Koby, who walked slightly ahead, alert, haki stretched as far as possible. He hadn’t spoken in ten whole minutes, focused, tense — but his posture betrayed fierce determination.

With the two of them at her side — her best friend, and the man she loved — she knew she was safe.

Deep down, it wasn’t herself that she feared for.

It was her uncle. Both of them, actually.

She prayed Sakazuki wouldn’t lose his mind… although, honestly, she doubted it. Her mother had always said he was stubborn and rushed in without thinking when it came to protecting his own.

And this time, it was his own son.

She squeezed Helmeppo’s hand harder, then let go to grip her weapon again.

Don’t worry, Uncle Kuzan… she thought, raising her eyes to the dark canopy.
I swear… I’ll find your little boy.

---

Hibari felt they had been walking for hours.

The landscape had begun to blur together: the same trees, the same roots, the same gusts slicing the treetops like an invisible blade. Even the sound of their footsteps — rhythmic, steady — had become a distant roar.
How long would this pursuit last?

And how far did this stranger intend to lead them?

Ever cautious, she handed a bottle of water and a few cereal bars to Koby and Helmeppo. Always anticipate the worst, her uncle used to say. It had become a reflex. All three of them obeyed that reflex tonight… even though, ironically, it was Sakazuki Akainu himself who had acted impulsively.

Even Hibari began to feel the fatigue in her legs. Her thighs burned, and her palms were sweaty on her rifle. The man they were chasing never seemed to slow down.

Was he even human, to keep such a pace without stopping?

And Sakiji… Her heart clenched at the thought.

Had they given him anything to eat?

Was he crying? Was someone holding him properly?

Or was he just an object, a bargaining chip? A pawn in a trap meant for Sakazuki?

She bit her inner cheek and sat on the edge of a mossy log while Koby and Helmeppo contacted Garp — and then Sakazuki. The transmission was brief. Efficient.

Her uncle announced he was turning back to Kuzan.

Hibari immediately got back to her feet. She couldn’t stay still. The calmness of the little fire Helmeppo had lit almost made her nauseous — too soft for this kind of situation.

She decided to patrol around the camp. Just a few dozen meters.

Branches snapped beneath her boots. The air smelled of wet earth and decaying leaves. Every rustle between the branches made her heart race.

She pressed the rifle to her chest, trying to convince herself everything was fine.

But it was dark.

And this heavy, muffled silence made it feel like something was waiting.

She inhaled, long and deep.

Calm down, Hibari.

Her uncle was counting on her. Kuzan was counting on her. Sakiji was counting on her.

But the farther she moved from the fire, the heavier the unease grew — almost tangible. As if a pair of eyes were fixed on the back of her neck.
She swallowed, lowering her rifle slightly, ready to shoot at the slightest twitch.

Maybe… maybe she should go back to the camp. Take up a defensive position with the boys.

She didn’t like this feeling.

Something was wrong.

And for the first time since the mission started, Hibari felt a cold bead of sweat slide down her spine.

---

Then, without warning, a strange pressure — almost imperceptible — tightened around her throat.

A heavy sensation… as if the air itself had thickened.

She thought she felt a breath against her neck.

She spun around instantly, arms raised, finger on the trigger.

No one.

Only trees, motionless, and shadows shifting with the wind. Her heart hammered wildly.

I’m imagining things…

She turned back toward the fire — toward Koby and Helmeppo, toward the light.

One step.

Two.

And then she saw him.

A man. Motionless. Standing between two trunks, only a few meters away. Appearing from nowhere.

Hibari froze. Completely unable to move or breathe. She should have screamed. Raised her weapon. Reacted.

But her blood had turned to ice.

Her gaze dropped to the ground… and caught on a small silhouette. Tiny.

A child’s hand, held in that man’s.

…Sakiji.

Her heart crashed in her chest.

She tried to shout his name, to step forward, to run and rip his hand away — but the moment her body tried to move…

He vanished.

A shadow. A blur.

And suddenly — he was right in front of her.

A scream tore from her throat. She fired on instinct, a bullet cracking through the air, hoping Koby or Helmeppo would hear. The rifle’s explosion thundered through the forest.

But the man didn’t move.

He just watched her. Expressionless.

Something emanated from him. Something inhuman. Heavy. Vile.

A presence that made her nauseous.

Hibari felt her legs give way. Panic forced her to whirl around and run blindly, crashing through trees, scraping against branches, slipping on wet leaves.

Helmeppo… Koby… help me…

Her foot caught on a root. Her ankle twisted in a dry crack and she tumbled down a steep slope, slamming into trunks as she fell.

She hit the ground heavily, breath knocked out of her.

A second of silence.

Then the snap of a branch — just behind her.

A voice, low, emotionless:

“Don’t move.”

A shadow loomed over her. The man stood above, enormous, his dark silhouette etched against the moonlit sky.

“Hibari. Niece of Akainu Sakazuki.”

She tried to crawl, to scream… but only one name escaped her lips:

“Uncle… SAKAZUKI…!”

A desperate shout — useless — he wasn’t there.

He had trusted her. And she had failed.

The blow to her head was blunt and precise.

Then nothing.

Total blackness.

---

The crack tore through the forest like a whip.

Koby snapped his head up, the snail-transceiver still pressed to his ear. The sound had been brief, but powerful enough to freeze the blood in his veins.

It wasn’t a branch. Nor an animal.

It was a gunshot.

Helmeppo straightened in the same instant, a log still in his hand. His eyes met Koby's — no words were needed:

Hibari.

Their bodies moved before their minds. Koby leapt to his feet, haki already pushed out at full strength, sweeping the area. His heart pounded so fast — too fast — as if his body tried to warn him something had happened.

“That way!” he shouted, his voice trembling but clear.

Helmeppo grabbed his sword and followed without hesitation. They plunged into the trees, sliding over moss, tearing through branches. Wind slammed their faces. The birds had fallen silent.

Koby, eyes wide, stretched all his senses around them. Nothing. No malevolent energy. No fighting. Only… a void. An immense void where, minutes earlier, Hibari should have been.

“I can’t sense anything…” he whispered in horror.

Helmeppo went pale.

They burst into a small clearing. The tracks were unmistakable: deep footprints in the earth, a slippery slope, the marks of a fall… and on the ground, Hibari’s rifle — snapped clean in two.

Helmeppo nearly threw himself to the ground to grab it, holding it like a piece of her.

“HIBARI!” Koby cried, his voice cracking.

No reply.

Only the strange, heavy silence — as if the entire forest was holding its breath.

Helmeppo clenched his jaw, eyes shining with rage.

“She wouldn’t drop her weapon… Not without a fight.”

Koby’s trembling hand grabbed his transceiver. He inhaled sharply and dialed HQ.

His voice was broken when he spoke:

“This is Koby… Hibari… missing in action… we’ve lost contact…”

Long silence on the other end. Then the icy voice of Sakazuki answered.

“…What?”

Koby closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard, and repeated:

“Hibari is nowhere to be found. She fired once… then nothing. We just found her rifle.”

The silence that followed was worse than any scream.

Helmeppo lowered his head, fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.

Hibari had disappeared. And the one who had taken Sakiji had probably taken her too.

---

Chapter Text

Sakazuki hung up immediately after Koby’s call. His hand stayed clenched around the transponder snail for a moment, his eyes staring into nothingness.

Hibari.

Had he literally thrown her into the wolf’s mouth?
Had he just pushed his own niece down the same path as his son?

And what if the one who’d taken Sakiji… was waiting for them to send a second group?

He felt his stomach twist with rage and guilt.

What am I going to tell Kuzan…?

His husband was already eaten alive by the fear of losing their child.
How was he going to react when he found out that Sakazuki’s niece––someone he considered family––had also disappeared… because he, Sakazuki, hadn’t been capable of staying calm for one moment?

His teeth clenched, a small tremor spreading through his shoulders.

“Sakazuki… what did Koby say?”

The voice made him lift his head.

Kuzan had just come back from the kitchen, a steaming mug in his hand, his features drawn and tired. He would never admit it, but he had devoured three times more biscuits than any normal person could, just to cope with the anxiety.

Sakazuki froze.

“…You didn’t hear?”

“No. I was… in the kitchen. Is… is it Sakiji? Is… is our baby okay??”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Sakazuki straightened up and crossed the room in two strides.

He placed his hands on Kuzan’s cheeks, covering them with his warmth.

“Look at me.”

Kuzan blinked, unable to speak.

“Breathe. Exhale. That’s it… again. Calm down.”
His voice was deep, low… a boulder in the middle of chaos.

“It’s okay. I’m here. And I’m sorry I stormed off this morning.”

Kuzan shook his head gently.

“N-no. I understand. That person took our son… You’re not… you’re not someone who can stay patient. I just… I just wish you had stayed. I feel like all of this… is my fault.”

Sakazuki frowned slightly and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at him.

“…None of this is your fault. Do you hear me, Kuzan? None of it.”

“What would you know?” Kuzan blurted, suddenly pushing him away, his voice harsher than intended. The gesture wasn’t violent… it was just pure distress.

Sakazuki took it without moving. He inhaled deeply.

“Kuzan…”

He came closer again, more gently this time. His fingers rested on his husband’s hands and squeezed them.

“That person… also took Hibari.”

Silence fell brutally over the room.

Kuzan stayed still. His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.

Sakazuki kept his hands around his. He wanted to say that he felt responsible. That he blamed himself. That he should’ve stayed, thought, planned.

But he couldn’t. Not now.

Everything in his head screamed the same thing: Sakiji needs me. Hibari needs me. Kuzan needs me.

He couldn’t break. He couldn’t tremble.

He had no right.

Not until they were back.

---

Kuzan stood motionless, staring at Sakazuki as if he no longer recognized his own husband.

Hibari too…

He felt as if the ground had opened beneath his feet. A brutal, irrational anger suddenly surged up, burning in his chest. A pain so sharp it became unbearable.

Before he even realized it, he screamed—a rough, guttural cry ripped from his very core—and punched Sakazuki in the chest with all his strength.

Again. And again.

His fists slammed into the magma man’s chest with no restraint.

“WHY?! WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO US!?”

His voice cracked as much as his nerves did. He cried without noticing, each punch punctuated by a muffled sob.

Sakazuki didn’t move. He just stood there, solid and silent, arms at his sides. He took the blows, the cries, the tears, without a word.

He didn’t allow himself to dodge. It was his role. To be a wall.

When Kuzan’s strength finally left him, he literally collapsed against him, his legs giving out.
Like a frozen lake split by a blade of magma.

He gasped, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

Why me… I didn’t do anything. Why me again…

He was ashamed of thinking it. He felt selfish.

He had already lived through so much, survived so much.

And now… they were taking what he treasured most.

Sakazuki gently wrapped his arms around him, enveloping him completely.
Kuzan closed his eyes and buried his face against that immense chest, burning like an ember.

He didn’t feel better. But he felt safe.

“I… I’m sorry, Sakazuki…” he murmured, his voice fractured.

“Shh. It’s okay. You needed to let it out.” Sakazuki brushed a thumb over his cheek to wipe the tears away. His voice was unbelievably gentle. “I promise I’ll bring them back. Both of them. I swear it.”

Kuzan sniffled, throat tight.
“Sorry for… putting all this on you… But if… if something happens to them… Sakazuki… I… I won’t make it.”

Sakazuki took both his hands and pressed them against his own heart.

“Then give it all to me,” he whispered. “Your fear. Your pain. I’m your husband. Let me carry that weight for you.”

Kuzan let out a small, softer sob.

“Thank you… darling…”

“I’ll take care of everything. Everything that hurts you.”

He held him a little tighter. For a long time. Then kissed his temple before slowly standing up.

“I’ll make some more tea. And get some biscuits. It’ll help a little.”

“…O-okay… I’m going to end up looking like a whale if I keep stuffing myself like this.”

Sakazuki raised a hand to caress his cheek.

“I don’t care about that. If it helps you… then eat. I’ll love you exactly the same.”

Kuzan nodded, a faint smile forming at the corner of his lips.

“I… I’ll go to our room.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

He watched him slowly walk down the hallway, then exhaled deeply as if air finally returned to his lungs.

In the kitchen, he picked up the teapot, but his hands were shaking.

He immediately pressed them against the metal — his natural heat slowly spreading, melting away the anxiety in an almost automatic reflex.

No time to break. Not now.

Kuzan needs me whole.

He grabbed the biscuits, filled two cups, and took a breath at the doorway.

Then walked back, with that determined look in his eyes he hadn’t worn since the war at Marineford.

---

Kuzan let out a long sigh, finally alone for a few minutes.

He drank the entire cup of tea Sakazuki had brought him – far too hot, obviously, since it had been reheated by the hands of a living volcano. He had even wondered how he was supposed to drink something like that… before almost choking as he devoured all the cookies way too fast.

His stomach was heavy, swollen — but in a way, that sensation soothed him. It was physical. Concrete. Nothing like the dull, acidic fear still lingering in his chest.

In the distance, he could hear the regular sound of the shower. Water running. Pipes softly vibrating in the walls. A domestic sound. Something ordinary.

It gave him a slight sense of normality. As if, for a few seconds, nothing terrible had happened today.

He closed his eyes. He trusted Sakazuki. More than anyone.

But he was afraid of asking too much. Afraid of wearing him down. And yet, he admired him. Sakazuki was strong, solid, confident. He always knew exactly what to say, what to do.

Kuzan… felt vulnerable. Too fragile. Not built to endure this kind of ordeal.

He wished he had broader shoulders. That he could hold himself together.

But he couldn’t. So instead, he was deeply grateful — that he had this kind of man by his side. That he found someone who understood him. Who protected him without ever making him feel ashamed.

Sakazuki was his rampart.
The warmth in the frozen desert he had carried for too long.

The bathroom door opened with a light puff of steam.

“Are you feeling better?” Sakazuki asked, hair still damp, already in his pajamas.

Kuzan nodded softly, slightly ashamed.

“Yes… I’m sorry for earlier.”

Sakazuki set the empty tray down on the desk.

“Kuzan… you don’t need to apologize to me.” His voice was low, steady. “I understand.”

Kuzan lowered his eyes. “I’ll… try.”

“Good.”

Sakazuki lay down beside him, his large body immediately spreading a comforting warmth through the sheets. He placed a hand on his chest, gently.

“Am I dreaming or did you just swallow enough food for an entire regiment?”

Kuzan blushed and looked away. He knew instantly that the admiral was joking to ease the tension – and, despite himself, a small smile formed at the corner of his mouth.

“…Maybe.”

“Come here,” murmured Sakazuki as he moved closer. “I’ll give you a massage.”

Kuzan exhaled, almost relieved. “You know… you really know how to fix everything.”

Sakazuki gave a slight smile — one rarely seen. “Thank you for having such a high opinion of me.”

His fingers moved to his lower back, drawing slow, steady circles. His other hand caressed the underside of his belly, in a gesture both tender and protective.

Kuzan felt his eyelids grow heavy. His body relaxed, muscle by muscle, drawn in by that warmth and touch. The fear slowly withdrew – not completely, but just enough so that he could breathe.

“Yes…” he whispered, already half asleep. “Good night… I love you.”

Sakazuki paused for a moment, gaze fixed on his peaceful face.

“I love you too,” he whispered, before gently kissing his temple.

And he stayed like that, silent and watchful, keeping vigil over him the way one watches over a fragile flame.

---

Chapter Text

Hibari didn’t know how long she had been unconscious. When she finally came to, the first thing she registered was… the smell. A thick, rancid, sticky smell. The smell of old vomit encrusted in the wood, of cheap alcohol spilled and never cleaned up. And something even more acrid, even more sickening — urine, most likely, stagnant in a corner of the room. A wave of nausea rose in her throat.

She tried to straighten up — but her wrists, pulled back behind her, clanged against chains. Her eyes widened. She was tied up, on her knees, in the corner of a dark room. The walls were filthy, swollen with green humidity, the floorboards eaten away by mold. An old cabin. No window. Just a sliver of yellow light filtering through a hole in the roof.

Voices. On the far side of the room.

She didn’t recognize the words, but she could make out murmurs. Two… maybe three voices. All male. And one of them… much deeper. Slow. As if every word had been carefully chosen to cause pain.

She crawled a little – the movement sent her crashing against the floor. Her temple hit a rotten plank.

She grimaced, head buzzing.

They took me off the island? Or maybe… they were still on Marineford, just somewhere isolated. Too isolated. That man had been confident enough to stay on the territory. Arrogant. Arrogant enough to abduct the child of a Fleet Admiral.

I should have reacted. I should have done something.

A tremor shook her shoulders. She swallowed a sob that strangled her in the throat. She thought of Garp. Of Helmeppo. Of Koby. Of her uncle… of Kuzan.

She had wanted to do the right thing. She had insisted on going. And she had failed.

Worse: she had given the kidnapper another leverage. Another hostage. Another weakness.

The tears came without warning, wetting her cheeks. I’m useless… Even mom said so. I’m not made for this.

Something touched her head. A hand. She froze.

Slowly, she looked up.

He was there.

The man.

Crouching in front of her, leaning forward the way you would lean over a wounded animal. Smiling. A calm smile, almost… kind. So unbearably fake.

“Poor Hibari…” he murmured, stroking her blonde hair. “This wasn’t planned, you know. Not at the start. Though… I had considered it.”

The voice sent a shiver down her spine. She felt a retch rising. She wanted to scream, bite, hit — but her body wouldn’t move. Frozen by fear.

“I… I don’t understand…” she whispered, throat tight.

“Oh, I know very well you don’t understand, sweetheart. It’s nothing against you. It’s… strategic. I’ve worked on this plan for a long time. Years. Then that idiot Blackbeard ruined everything… by getting himself killed.”

A terrible chill ran through her.

He… spoke of him like a colleague.

As if it were just a minor setback.

The smile widened — a crazed rictus. He gently wrapped his fingers around her throat.

“But in the end, it works in my favor. It gives me the chance to break Akainu even more. And dear Kuzan as well. You… can be just as useful as the child.”

Hibari tried to move back, but there was nowhere to go. Her wrists rubbed against the chains.

“S-stop…”

He tilted his head, amused.

“Be good, little Hibari. If you behave nicely, I’ll make sure your precious little cousin is… well treated.”

He leaned closer. His breath was hot, acrid, reeking of alcohol.

“Promise me. And everything will go smoothly.”

Her eyes filled with tears again. She nodded frantically.

“I… I promise! Just don’t hurt him… please…”

His smile turned jubilant.

“Good girl.”

He patted her cheek as one would reward a dog… then, in a sugary, perverse tone:

“Now… open your mouth nice and wide.”

---

Hibari lay on the floor, curled up on herself, her body shaking with shivers despite the rough old blanket he had thrown over her — like one covers an animal after slaughter. Every inch of her skin felt filthy. Contaminated. Even the air she breathed made her want to vomit again.

She actually had, earlier. The moment he left the room and the door slammed behind him. Everything she had swallowed on the way — water, cereal bars — ended up splattered on the rotten floorboards with a sickening sound.

Her wrists, held by the cuffs to the edge of her kneeling posture, were trembling. She had pulled against them, over and over, until she made herself bleed. It hadn’t been an escape attempt. It had simply been a way to expel a bit of what she felt.

A faint attempt to regain control over something. Anything.

But there was nothing. Only silence, stench. And the echo of what he had done still resonating inside her body.

She had wanted to scream. Bite. Cry.

Nothing had come out. She had gone completely numb. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

I hate him. I hate them all. I hate myself.

Each thought went round and round, like a rusty blade being pushed again and again into the same wound.

And yet…

In the middle of the void, one idea still clung on — fragile, anaemic, but still alive:

Sakazuki will come. My uncle will find me. At least Sakiji… they will save him. Whatever happens to me.

She held on to that. Not as hope, but as a goal. If she kept breathing for a few more hours… one more day… maybe someone would arrive.

She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes.

A tear slid down her battered face — but this time, there was no shame.

Just… a single thought, stubborn, silent:

Hold on.

---

Three days.

Three days of walking, questioning, searching every corner of forest, every creek, every abandoned farm.

At first, it was just a routine: checking the tracks he had found, following the footprints, running when one of them looked fresh. Always arriving too late. A crumpled leaf. A campfire that had gone out barely an hour before. Sometimes even the fleeting scent of soap, carried by the wind.

But nothing else. No faces. No sound. No trace of Sakiji. No trace of Hibari.

Koby had stopped sleeping properly. He closed his eyes in twenty-minute bursts, back against a rock or a tree stump, one hand always resting on the hilt of his sword.

Helmeppo, despite his determination, had a fading light in his eyes. When he thought no one was looking, he muttered something — a prayer, perhaps.

That morning, though…

Something had changed.

The wind drove grimy grey clouds across the sky. The air was colder. And suddenly, at their feet, the tracks became strangely clearer.

Small, irregular footprints… a child.

Helmeppo crouched immediately, heart in his throat.

“…Sakiji,” he breathed.

Koby followed the trail with his eyes. A line of tiny steps, veering left. And right beside them… another print. Larger. Deeper. An adult.

“He’s still got him with him,” Koby murmured, fingers tightening around his transponder snail. His eyes stung with emotion, but he swallowed it back. Not here. Not now.

Helmeppo lifted his head, scanning the trees keenly.

“They passed through here less than a day ago. Look, the moss hasn’t had time to spring back.”

Koby nodded. He took a long breath, adjusted the strap on his epaulette, and then lit up with a determination-soaked Haki he only ever showed when he had nothing left to lose.

“We won’t miss him this time.”

They moved on. More silent than before. The sound of their boots muffled by the damp earth. The farther they walked, the heavier the air became. As if the forest itself had gone on the defensive.

After a few hundred meters, Helmeppo came to an abrupt stop. He raised an arm — immediate stop signal.

Koby froze too.

There, wedged between two rocks… a piece of fabric. A small sky-blue sleeve… with a white rabbit embroidered on it.

Sakiji’s pajamas.

Helmeppo’s gaze dropped slowly to the cloth, his jaw clenched.

Koby brought the transponder snail to his lips. His voice barely trembled… but his eyes were hard, determined.

“— Admiral Sakazuki… This is Koby. We have a confirmed lead. I repeat: confirmed lead. The suspect is close. He still has the child. We are pursuing, quietly. Coordinates will follow as soon as we have visual.”

He paused, allowed himself one personal breath.

“We’ll bring him back.”

Then he put the transponder snail away and closed his hand around the piece of fabric.

They exchanged a glance. No words, this time. They weren’t needed.

The two men carried on — faster now, but controlled.

Somewhere close, a child was crouched in the shadows.

And this time, no one would get away.

---

Chapter Text

Sakazuki let out a long sigh, as if his entire chest had been compressed for three days.

Three days with almost no sleep. Three days surviving on barely a cup of coffee, unable to keep anything else down.

Kuzan, on the other hand, slept too much. Ate too much. A way to saturate his thoughts so he wouldn’t have to face reality for too long. Sakazuki didn’t blame him. How could he, when their son had simply… disappeared?

He came back into the bedroom, his face drawn, but with a different glimmer in his eyes.

“Kuzan…”
His voice was low, almost gentle. He slid his hand over his cheek, his thumb brushing skin still damp from dried tears.
“They’ve found a lead. Koby and the others. About Sakiji.”

Kuzan abruptly lifted his head, as if waking from a long sleep.

“Really?”

He sat up so quickly the blanket slipped off his legs. His eyes, red but alert, fixed on his husband with a newfound light.

Sakazuki nodded briefly.

“Yes. They haven’t located the hideout yet, but it’s solid. The man left traces… more than I would have expected.”

He sighed — a heavy but freeing breath.
“Seems he’s not as clever as one might have assumed.”

A silent scream surged in Kuzan’s chest — and suddenly, tears fell again, but this time they weren’t of pain.
They were pure relief.

“I… I feel so much lighter…” he whispered, pressing a trembling hand to his mouth. He was crying, but smiling at the same time.

Sakazuki wrapped an arm around him, slowly caressing his back, as if anchoring this new reality into their flesh.

He too breathed a little easier. Finally.

“As soon as I get precise coordinates, I’ll form a special unit. Admirals, vice-admirals. We’ll go and get them. Together.”

He pulled Kuzan gently against him, a large hand resting on his nape.

“You… you’ll go yourself?” Kuzan asked, his voice hoarse.

“Yes.”

The answer rang out as if it were obvious.

“But this time, I’ll be prepared.”
He lifted his head, his black eyes burning with promise.
“And I swear I’ll bring back Sakiji. And Hibari. Alive.”

He bent down, placing a long, tender kiss on his lips. A kiss that said hold on. That said I’m here.
Kuzan closed his eyes, stifling a sob, and clutched his uniform like a lifeline.

“I believe in you, Sakazuki.” He let out a shaky laugh. “You’re stubborn, pigheaded, arrogant… but when you want something, you get it.”

Sakazuki smiled — a real smile, rare, almost shy — before pulling him closer, his chest radiating soothing warmth.

They stayed like that for a while.

And for the first time in three days…

…they could truly believe that everything would end well.

Soon, their son would be home.

---

Helmeppo and Koby had set out immediately the moment the first real lead emerged.

They didn’t even speak — a single exchange of looks had been enough: let’s go.

Koby took the lead, rifle in hand, eyes fixed on the ground and the landscape. Helmeppo covered the rear, tense as a drawn bow, ready to react to the slightest vibration.

It took them several hours of hiking through rough terrain. One step after another, a nervous silence clinging to their boots.

They had to stop twice to drink and catch their breath, even improvising a short night under the trees — just enough not to collapse.

But after the fifth escarpment, the trail revealed itself for real.

Not a ship.
Not a cave in the Grand Line cliffs.

An old, isolated corner of Marineford itself.

A place so abandoned, so remote, no one had cared about it in decades — an old disused pavilion, lost among trees, almost swallowed by vegetation.

Koby’s blood froze.

He… never left the island? He was right here? All this time?!

A mix of rage and unease knotted in his stomach.

He kicked the wooden door hard, which opened with a dark crack.

They entered, weapons raised, hearts pounding.

…and froze.

Sakiji.

Sitting quietly on an old threadbare carpet, playing with a stuffed toy. Alive. Intact. Almost… cheerful.

And beside him, an old gray-haired man, hunched, wearing a battered winter coat, who lifted his eyes, slightly surprised.

“Oh. Are you family?” he asked calmly, almost distractedly. “He said you would come. He… entrusted the child to me.”

Koby blinked, completely lost.

“What?”

Helmeppo’s eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open.

Koby continued, more firmly this time, his weapon still pointed toward the ground:

“Where is the girl? Blonde hair, blue eyes. She was with the child. Where is she?”

The old man seemed to think for a moment, then gently set Sakiji down.

“A… girl, you say? No, no… I’ve only seen the child. He only spoke of a little boy.”

Silence slammed into the room.

Koby felt his neck stiffen.

Helmeppo, ashen, exhaled in a whisper:

“…Hibari wasn’t… with him?”

They looked at each other.

And a cold shiver ran down both their spines at the exact same time.

They’d been outplayed. He had manipulated them. He’d handed over the child to distract them… while keeping Hibari somewhere else.

---

Hibari slowly lifted her head, her eyes still red, but a faint smile trying to break through the despair.

The man had promised her: if she stayed “well-behaved”, if she stopped crying and cooperated, he would let her out of the room.

He had even told her she could see Sakiji again.

So, like an idiot, she had hoped.

She had smoothed her hair with her fingers, straightened the old shirt he had thrown at her to cover her nudity. She had tried to be… presentable.
He hadn’t commented. He had simply smiled.

Then, finally, he’d opened the door, with a theatrical gesture, as if offering her a gift.

Hibari took one step.
Then another.

No one.

No trace of a child.
Not even an abandoned toy or the sound of small footsteps.

The silence was so heavy it became suffocating.

“I-I don’t understand… where is Sakiji…?”

Her voice trembled, small, broken.

The man stood behind her, perfectly calm.

“It would have been easier, indeed, to keep him,” he said in a quiet, almost gentle tone. “But with Admiral Sakazuki… and Kuzan… who would do absolutely anything to find the child, I eventually realized he would only be a useless thorn in my side.”

It felt like falling into a void.
Hibari felt her whole body drop inwardly, as if her soul were crashing to the ground.
He… had been playing with her from the start.

He never intended to return Sakiji.

She didn’t move. Her gaze emptied, fixed on a corner of the room. Her body refusing to react.

He smiled — a cold smile — letting his disgusting fingers slide over her shoulders.

Hibari shivered. But didn’t move. Numb.

“Even if Sakiji was… special to me,” he continued in an almost dreamy tone, “I thought it would be even better… if you were the one to give me an heir.”

The world collapsed in a single heartbeat.

Hibari felt her blood freeze in her veins.

“You’re fertile, aren’t you?” he whispered, his warm breath brushing her neck. “It won’t be difficult to achieve, if we keep playing together. Right… my sweet, beautiful Hibari?”

She closed her eyes, a single tear rolling down her pale cheek.

Uncle Sakazuki… please… come get me. I want to go home.

---

Chapter Text

Koby and Helmeppo had taken Sakiji with them, without even casting one last glance at the old man. They didn’t want to know if he had lied, nor check his words. Out of sheer paranoia, they had fled as fast as possible, as if every second spent in that place might steal the child from them again.

For two days, they had run. No real meals, barely a few sips of water to keep going, and not a minute of sleep. They had exchanged only short, essential words, meant more to reassure Sakiji than themselves.

The little boy, against all odds, was fine. Too fine. He ate whatever they gave him, drank without issue, slept deeply, and spoke of the man who had kept him without the slightest trace of fear in his voice. No bruises, no marks, no apparent trauma. Nothing. As if that madman had spared him.

No… not spared. Diverted his attention elsewhere.

That thought obsessed Koby and Helmeppo. Deep in their guts, they felt the monster had chosen Hibari instead. And knowing nothing gnawed at them.

When Marineford finally appeared on the horizon, their legs trembled with fatigue, but their steps quickened.

In front of the house, Sakazuki and Kuzan waited. Two frozen silhouettes, like guard dogs. Their faces told everything:

Exhaustion, fear, impatience. Sakazuki looked drained, his features drawn from three sleepless nights. Kuzan, on the other hand, seemed feverish, his eyes dark-ringed from too much coffee, compulsive snacking, and poorly contained anxiety.

But when Sakiji leapt into his arms, relief finally broke over Kuzan’s frozen face. He cried without restraint, pressing his son against him, breathing in his scent, counting each heartbeat as if to make sure he was truly there, real, alive.

Sakazuki, meanwhile, merely gave Koby and Helmeppo a heavy but grateful pat on the shoulder. His gaze briefly softened.

“Thank you for bringing him back.” His voice vibrated with rare warmth. Then, serious, he asked:

“Where’s Hibari? Is she being taken care of? I would have wanted to do it myself.”

A silence. Too long.

Helmeppo opened his mouth, but words stuck in his throat. His jaw trembled, unable to articulate anything.

Sakazuki frowned.
“What is it?” His voice deepened. “Is she hurt? In the infirmary?”

Koby hugged Sakiji tighter against his chest, his face tense. He didn’t dare meet the fleet admiral’s gaze. His lower lip trembled, bitten until it bled.

“N-no… Sakazuki-san…” he whispered, strangled. A silence. Then:
“Hibari… Hibari wasn’t there when we found Sakiji.”

The sentence fell like a blade.

“He… he tricked us.”

It was worse than a punch. Worse than lava’s impact. Sakazuki staggered back a step, his face emptied of all expression. A chasm opened beneath his feet.

Kuzan reached for him, a desperate reflex — but Sakazuki brushed his hand away without even looking.

Helmeppo stammered apologies, trying to explain, to justify. Koby repeated his name, almost pleading:

“Admiral! We’ll find her! I swear, we’ll find her!”

But Sakazuki didn’t respond.
There was only emptiness.

A heavy, suffocating silence that swallowed everything.

---

Sakazuki’s hatred was such he no longer knew what to do with it. Everything around him faded. He saw only red. Red like blood. Red like the lava boiling in his veins. Red like a rabid dog ready to bite.

It boiled inside him, like a volcano on the verge of eruption. His breath came short, ragged, each inhale burning his lungs. Even the simplest movements triggered fits of rage, as if his own flesh insulted him. One thought echoed on repeat in his mind: find that man, hunt him down, destroy him. Not simply kill — crush him, make him scream, finish him in a violence that would bring Hibari justice.

But still he held back. Reluctantly. And that control gnawed at him, frustrated him, as if his chains were more unbearable than his fury itself. He had his son, yes… but his niece, little Hibari, his pride, his princess… she had been torn away. And it was worse than a knife to the heart.

“Honey… maybe we should just be glad Sakiji is with us—”

Sakazuki turned on Kuzan. His gaze locked onto his, heavy, terrible, filled with a disgust he had never shown so openly.

“That’s all you care about?!” he roared. “He came back, great! But the flesh of my blood, you don’t give a damn!”

The shout cracked through the room like an explosion. Kuzan recoiled instinctively, clutching Sakiji to him, his face pale, his hands trembling. He froze, unable to speak. He had never seen Sakazuki like this. And never been so wounded by him.

“Sakazuki-san!” Koby cut in, his voice firm but shaky. “Hold your son.” He nodded at Sakiji in Kuzan’s arms. “That’s what Kuzan meant. You’re on edge… it’ll help you.”

Those words pierced the volcano’s armor.

“I… I’m sorry.” Sakazuki’s voice dropped lower, almost hoarse. He stepped toward Kuzan, slowly, as if afraid to break him further. Kuzan hesitated, but let his husband take Sakiji in his arms. The boy clung to his father without a trace of fear. And Sakazuki held his son as if he were his last anchor. “I didn’t mean that… not about our son.”

“I-I know…” Kuzan murmured, still trembling. “But it hurt… You’re always so strong, so hard. And me, I… I lean on you too much. It’s too heavy for you, and I hate myself for it.”

“It’s alright.” Sakazuki laid a firm hand on his back and pulled both his husband and son against him, holding them as if to shield himself. “It’s just…” He drew a long breath, trying to calm the fire inside.

Kuzan bit his lip, eyes shining. “I should have seen it sooner. That you’re suffering too. I only thought about my own pain…”

“Easy, Kuzan. Breathe. No one’s to blame. Do you hear me? No one.”

“But—”

“Everyone is at fault… and no one, all at once,” he replied gravely.

Kuzan closed his eyes and nodded, surrendering against his chest. “I understand…”

“Here. Take Sakiji back.”

Kuzan obeyed silently, taking their son once more.

“Sakazuki… where are you going?” he asked worriedly.

The fleet admiral cast one last look at his husband and son. Then he turned his head to Koby and Helmeppo, his gaze hardening.

“Watch them.” His voice cracked like an irrevocable order.

He grabbed his coat, his heavy steps echoing against the floor. His hand trembled, but his aura radiated with suffocating heat. He strode to the door, opened it, and without another word, left.

“I’m going to unleash the volcanic eruption.”

The door slammed shut behind him, and heavy silence fell over the room.

---

Sakazuki marched with heavy, relentless steps. His boots hammered the stone as if each step were a threat. He ignored the civilians shouting, calling to him, begging for answers. Outside, he looked calm. Too calm. But his voice, hoarse and tight, betrayed the storm.

He picked up his Den Den Mushi, the device trembling in his clenched hand.

“Sakazuki.” Fujitora’s voice, soft and steady, resonated at the other end. It contrasted sharply with the fleet admiral’s state. “Tell me.”

The blind man needed no frills. No pretenses, no politeness. He knew. He sensed. And he knew Sakazuki, in this state, wouldn’t waste time playing with words.

“Trigger the island’s red code.” The fleet admiral’s voice cracked, sharp, cutting.

A silence, then Fujitora answered, surprised:

“What are you saying? That’s a volcanic alert, Sakazuki.”

“Do it.” he spat, jaw clenched, eyes blazing like furnaces. “Just do it!”

Lava already seeped from his steps. The ground cracked behind him, rocks blackened, and heat rose as he neared the mountain. The air shimmered around him, warping the horizon.

Fujitora hesitated, then asked in a low, grave voice:

“… Is it… ?”

“Yes.” Sakazuki exhaled, panting, as if fire seared his throat.

The blind man understood without needing details.

“I see,” he replied simply. Then, turning to his subordinates, he shouted firmly:
“Sound the red alert! Everyone to the shelters!”

A metallic din engulfed the island. Alarms roared like wounded beasts. The entire island glowed crimson.

“I did it,” Fujitora added into the Den Den Mushi. “I’ll handle the evacuation. Don’t think about the damage. We’ll track everything.”

“Thank you.” Sakazuki muttered, before cutting the line abruptly.

Fujitora stood still for a moment, receiver still pressed to his ear, but didn’t take offense. Sakazuki had never been one for pleasantries. And in this state… it was better he unleashed his fury far from home.

Meanwhile, panicked civilians were guided by marines into underground shelters. Families crammed together, terrified, but military order left no room for chaos.

Kuzan, however, remained confused, lost, unable to truly understand. His eyes stayed fixed on the door through which his husband had vanished.

“Don’t worry, Kuzan-san.” A soldier placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “The fleet admiral… he knows what he’s doing.”

But Kuzan’s icy fingers trembled nonetheless. He let himself be guided, followed closely by Koby, Helmeppo, and Sakiji, who didn’t understand why everyone was running.

---

Sakazuki entered the volcano’s heart, where cracked rock still bore memories of past eruptions. The air was already suffocating, saturated with sulfur and burning dust, but it wasn’t enough to calm the blaze of his body.

He screamed with all his strength. A raw, animal cry that echoed in the mountain’s guts like a detonation. His skin glowed, his sweat evaporated before it formed, and his heat surpassed that of a furnace. Any other man would already be dead, reduced to ashes in this inferno. But he lived. No — he fueled the furnace.

The air grew heavy, almost unbreathable. Even in the underground shelters, people thought they felt the heat rise, a menacing weight seeping beneath protective stone. Marines watched the walls vibrate, unease mounting, but none dared doubt their fleet admiral.

Sakazuki struck the rock with bare fists, each punch exploding in bursts of magma. Each blow made the mountain tremble, each roar split the silence like a blade. It was a childish tantrum, magnified by demonic power. Like a six-year-old raging for denied candy… except this child woke a volcano.

The ground growled under his feet, the walls blackened, weakened, until the dull noise of breaking earth resounded: a long, sinister rumble, that of a colossus awakening. After years of sleep, the volcano stirred.

All because Sakazuki refused to give up. Because he could not accept Hibari was lost. Because in his mind, there were only visions of atrocities, bloody punishments, a thousand ways to reduce that man to nothing.

The mountain shook, and the volcano spewed its first wave of lava, red and incandescent, erupting like a furious beast. The burning blast nearly carried him away, but he stood his ground, rooted. His feet anchored in liquefying stone, his devil fruit fusing with the flowing magma.

He was one with the eruption.
One body, one rage, one volcano.

---

Outside the volcano, the world shifted.

A deep rumble rose from the island’s depths, faint at first, like a distant rolling, then stronger and stronger, until it made every wall, every floor, every chest vibrate. Birds fled in panicked flocks, dogs barked relentlessly, and even the nearby sea stirred, swelling with erratic waves.

Civilians, already guided to shelters after Fujitora’s order, screamed at the sound of the first rock explosions. The alarm still blared, but no longer drowned out the cries. Children sobbed, families prayed, and some watched the glowing sky through shutter cracks, convinced the end was near.

In the underground shelters, heat rose suddenly. The air was stifling, heavy as if fire crawled beneath their feet. Torches and lamps flickered, threatening to go out, and dust fell from cracked ceilings.

Kuzan leapt to his feet, hands trembling. His breath froze the moment the mountain roared louder. He needed no explanation: he knew what Sakazuki was doing. His pale lips whispered, almost to himself:
“Idiot… you’ll burn yourself out with it.”

Koby, pale too, clutched Sakiji tighter to shield him from the surrounding panic. The child, meanwhile, stared at the trembling walls without understanding. Helmeppo took a step toward Kuzan, as if to ask whether to intervene, but didn’t dare.

Fujitora, for his part, remained unmoving. He stood at the shelter’s center, his cane firmly planted in the ground, absorbing the panic like a rock. His voice rang out, clear and calm despite the chaos:
“Stay together. Trust your fleet admiral. If this volcano lives, it is because he commands it.”

But inside, he was less serene. His sharpened senses felt the lava rising, the mountain splitting, and Sakazuki’s uncontrollable power merging with the molten rock. It wasn’t a man screaming up there. It was a wounded beast, threatening to engulf the island in its pain.

Outside, a first lava flow burst from the volcano’s flank, like a bloody wound torn in stone. Marines on site recoiled, terrified of the incandescent wave. Orders flew, lines formed to evacuate stragglers. Some soldiers, frozen with fear, stared at the descending lava and whispered:
“This can’t be… is Sakazuki doing this?”

The nearby sea boiled on contact with the lava. A column of steam shot into the sky, darkening the already crimson horizon. The stench of sulfur and burnt stone stung the throat, each breath a trial.

Kuzan felt his heart collapsing. Each tremor echoed through him like fresh pain. He didn’t fear lava, nor heat: he feared losing Sakazuki to his rage. His husband was no longer fighting an enemy, but the whole world… and himself.

He clenched his fists, ready to act despite the marines trying to hold him back. Because if anyone could bring Sakazuki back to reason, it would be him.

---

Chapter Text

Kuzan slipped out of the shelter in silence, leaving his son in Koby’s arms without another word. He didn’t need to look back: he knew the boy would guard Sakiji with his life. Behind him, Garp had already distracted the soldiers with his booming laugh, a simple gesture that gave Kuzan the opening he needed.

The outside air hit him like a wall. A suffocating heat, heavy and thick, as if even breathing wanted to rip his throat apart. He raised an arm to shield his face from the orange glow that devoured everything.

Part of the island was gone: whole forests reduced to charred skeletons, trunks blackened to shadows still spitting thin streams of smoke. The ground cracked beneath his steps, split by lava that slithered in glowing veins. The stench of sulfur and scorched stone saturated the air, burning the eyes, filling the mouth with a metallic, bitter taste.

Kuzan pressed forward, each step heavy but determined. His fingers trembled in the heat, so he did what he knew best: he froze. With every breath, patches of ice spread beneath his feet, slowing the advance of the fiery cracks. Cold and fire clashed, filling the air with bursts of searing steam that lashed against his skin, but he didn’t stop.

He focused for a moment on his artificial leg. Vegapunk’s engineers had promised it would hold. And indeed, even in this furnace, with lava close enough to scorch, it endured. He let out a bitter smile—just what he needed now, for it to melt in the middle of hell.

Short of breath, he lifted his eyes to the volcano’s silhouette. The air shimmered at the summit, distorted by the heat like a mirage. A red light pulsed there, beating like a monstrous heart. It was him. It was Sakazuki.

The closer he drew, the more Kuzan felt his husband’s burning rage. Raw, uncontained fury that warped the air like a storm. Every rumble of the volcano echoed in his chest like an accusation: you weren’t fast enough, you didn’t protect Hibari, you didn’t protect your son.

He clenched his fists. No. He would not let Sakazuki destroy himself like this. Not alone. Not now.

He took a deep breath—the scorching air nearly tearing his throat apart—and kept climbing. His steps cracked across molten rock, every fissure closing beneath the frozen trail he laid down to keep from collapsing. He didn’t yet know what he would say… but he knew he had to say it.

Because behind that mountain of fire and fury, it was his husband who was screaming. And he couldn’t just stand by.

---

Kuzan had managed to freeze a section of the slope, forming a bluish platform along the volcano’s side. The ice already cracked beneath the heat, but he pressed on, step by step. Sweat ran down his brow despite his power, his breathing short, but there was no turning back. Not this time.

Around him, the air vibrated, heavy with heat and ash. Lava thundered in thick, glowing streams, painting the crater’s depths in blood-red light. And amid that inferno… he felt him. Sakazuki. His presence was a burn, a roar, a storm of magma and rage.

Kuzan raised his frost-covered hand, trembling fingers glistening with ice.

“Sakazuki… I know you can hear me…” His voice was nearly drowned by the volcano’s rumble, but he pressed on. “Darling.”

He cast a wave of frost against the lava threatening to burst, forcing it to harden with a hiss of steam. The burning air clashed with his freezing breath, raining scalding shards around him.

“I know this is hard for you. I’ve asked too much of you… we’ve both carried too much. And now, Hibari…” He inhaled, painfully. “I understand your anger.”

Silence. The lava still flowed, but slower, as though the words carried weight.

“You don’t have to face this alone. I know… I haven’t been the support you deserved. But I want to be better, for you. I want us to lean on each other. Like we always have.”

The volcano trembled again, but softer this time—like a slowing heartbeat. The molten streams began to recede, inching back into the mountain’s depths.

“We will find Hibari.” Kuzan stretched out his hand, eyes shining with tears. “I promise you. Together, we’ll find a way.”

A crack split the air. Suddenly, a massive hand—searing hot like hellfire—shot out from the flames to seize his. The touch would have burned him to the bone had he not coated his palm with Haki. The grip was desperate, trembling despite its strength.

“Let me be the one to help you this time…” Kuzan whispered, his fingers closing tightly around that rough hand. “For you. For our son. And for Hibari.”

Then, slowly, a figure emerged from the crater. Sakazuki—his body steaming, skin reddened from strain, eyes burning with rage and tears. Behind him, the volcano stilled, its roars fading like a beast subdued.

Kuzan rushed forward, wrapping his icy arms around the blazing body.

“Darling…” he breathed, feeling the weight of the man, of his despair, against him. “We’ll do whatever it takes. Even if it means asking the Cross Guild for help, or an Emperor… but Hibari will not be left behind. I swear it.”

Sakazuki said nothing. His throat was too tight to form a word. He simply collapsed against Kuzan, his forehead pressing into his cold shoulder. The sobs he had held back for too long finally broke free.

And Kuzan, through his own tears, only held him tighter.

“Alright…” Sakazuki finally rasped, his voice rough. His arms wrapped around his husband like a lifeline in this ocean of grief.

It wasn’t victory. Not yet. But it was an anchor. And, for the first time in hours, the volcano fell silent.

---

Kuzan supported Sakazuki, nearly carrying him, his husband drained to the core. He himself was spent, but he couldn’t falter. Not yet. Not until he’d brought Sakazuki somewhere safe, away from the mountain’s embers.

Crossing their home’s threshold, he informed the soldiers that the crisis was over. Then he stepped into the living room, where Koby still held Sakiji close against him. Seeing his son so calm, his small face nestled against the young officer’s uniform, tightened Kuzan’s chest. But there was no time to linger—he guided Sakazuki into their room and eased him onto their bed.

He cleaned his husband’s wounds with steady, precise hands. Despite his magma powers, Sakazuki had managed to burn himself—and the paradox stung Kuzan’s heart. Yet the fleet admiral didn’t flinch. His eyes were distant, calm in a way almost unnerving after the storm of fury he had unleashed.

Kuzan knew. The headlines tomorrow would read: The Volcano of Marineford Awakens.

“Sakazuki… don’t think right now, please.” Kuzan squeezed his hand, his voice soft, almost pleading. “Rest. You don’t need to think yet. Leave it for tomorrow. For now, just recover.”

Sakazuki didn’t answer. But his silence was peaceful, and Kuzan knew he’d been heard.

“I’d like Koby to stay the night. To watch over Sakiji,” Sakazuki finally said, his voice hoarse.

“You don’t need to explain further.” Kuzan nodded. “I’m sure Koby won’t refuse. And Helmeppo can stay too.”

“Good.”

Kuzan finished bandaging the wounds, then gently lifted his husband’s face. “There. I’ve cleaned everything.”

Sakazuki narrowed his eyes. “And you, Kuzan? You’re not hurt?”

“No. Just some reddened skin. I already put on ointment.” He tried to smile reassuringly.

“And the civilians?” Sakazuki pressed, still on edge.

Kuzan sighed softly. “You didn’t hurt anyone. Even if, in hindsight… it was reckless. But I know you wouldn’t harm anyone but yourself out there.” He rested his head against Sakazuki’s chest, simply grateful to feel him alive, here.

Silence. Then Sakazuki’s deep voice: “I won’t do it again. I promise. I’m sorry.”

Kuzan looked up at him. “Don’t apologize. You don’t need to.” He nestled closer, embracing him fully.

Then Sakazuki let his large, warm hands slip beneath Kuzan’s shirt. His fingers caressed his back, his sides, brushing over the new softness of his body. He still remembered the chilling thinness he had found when Kuzan had escaped Blackbeard. But now, beneath his palms, he felt the gentle curves left by pregnancy, the love handles that proved he was healing.

It didn’t matter if Kuzan gorged on cookies when anxious. It didn’t matter that Sakiji wasn’t his blood. What mattered was that they were here, together, and he could surrender to the man who had saved him a thousand times already.

“I love you,” he whispered simply.

Kuzan smiled, his eyes wet but shining. “I love you too, Sakazuki.”

Silence filled the room. Not heavy. Not uneasy. But the silence of a cocoon rediscovered.

---

Chapter Text

Kuzan was lying against Sakazuki, their son asleep between them, a tiny island of peace in the vast marital bed. His hand moved absently through Sakiji’s black hair, slow and repetitive strokes that soothed him almost as much as they did the child. Fatigue weighed on his shoulders like a sheet of ice; the past hours had drained him, body and mind.

Beside him, Sakazuki seemed just as crushed by exhaustion. His eyelids drooped, but his muscles remained tense, as though he was incapable of surrendering fully to sleep. In the guest room, the steady breathing of Koby and Helmeppo could be faintly heard, both of them lying there at Kuzan’s insistence. One more precaution, one more safety net, even if he knew it bordered on paranoia.

In the muffled darkness, Kuzan whispered softly, so as not to wake their son:
“Are you alright, Sakazuki?”

A silence, then the deep, rough reply:
“I’m better. But I have to admit, I’m really worried about Hibari.”

The words seemed to slip from him against his will. Sakazuki wasn’t the type to pour his heart out, least of all about his own feelings. Normally, he focused on Kuzan’s, not his own.

“So am I,” Kuzan admitted. His fingers brushed Sakiji’s temple. “But we’ll find her. I promise you… I’ve contacted Shanks. And the Cross Guild.”

Sakazuki sat up sharply, his dark eyes flashing in the dim light.
“Kuzan, sweetheart—”

“I know,” Kuzan cut in gently. “We’d talked about it vaguely. But you’re not doing well, Sakazuki. I’m doing this for all of us. If you fall, I’ll fall too. And then… who will take care of Sakiji?”

The words dropped like a verdict—simple, but unshakable.

Sakazuki inhaled deeply, then let the breath out in a rough sigh. Slowly, he lay back down, his shoulders finally loosening.
“I’m sorry. You’re right. We need help.”

Kuzan nodded, a faint smile curving his lips.
“Then rest. Tomorrow, we’ll need to be sharp.”

“You’re right.”

This time, Sakazuki yielded completely. He gathered them both into his arms, pulling Kuzan and Sakiji against his broad, burning chest. His hands drew the blanket over them like a protective barrier, and his warmth spread around their weary bodies.

Inside this improvised cocoon, despite the chaos outside, their small world gradually surrendered to sleep. Their breaths fell into rhythm, and silence settled in.

---

Blackbeard’s laughter echoed in his skull, heavy, smothering, reverberating like an endless echo within invisible prison walls. Chains clinked at his wrists, icy and yet burning. He pulled with all his strength, but they wouldn’t give way. His breath quickened, his chest crushed by terror.

Then the scene shifted. It wasn’t him anymore, but Hibari. Bound, her eyes wide with fear, her voice tearing in a scream. The man locking her away struck her again and again, just as he once had him. Each sound echoed in his mind, every whimper, every sob dragging him back into his own torment.

“Help me!” Hibari screamed, her voice breaking. “Uncle Kuzan… why aren’t you doing anything?!”

He wanted to move. He wanted to save her. His legs wouldn’t respond, his arms were heavy as lead, the chains trapping him in unbearable inertia. His whole body was a coffin.

“Hibari!” he cried, but his voice drowned in Blackbeard’s monstrous laugh.

A sharp crack. A jolt.

Kuzan woke in panic, gasping, his forehead slick with cold sweat. His hands shook as he searched instinctively for something solid. The white ceiling, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, and… voices.

In the kitchen, he recognized Sakazuki’s deep tones, punctuated by Koby and Helmeppo’s nervous replies. Reality fell back into place, dissolving the nightmare’s shadows.

Against him, warm and safe, Sakiji still slept deeply, curled into his arms. The light, reassuring weight of his son against his chest swept away the last shreds of fear. Kuzan looked down and ran a trembling but tender hand through the boy’s black hair.

“Hn… morning, Mom…” Sakiji mumbled half-asleep, his voice soft, almost a sigh.

A smile, damp but genuine, broke across Kuzan’s lips. That word, Mom, chosen by their son to distinguish between his two parents, pierced his heart with emotion. He kissed the child’s temple gently and hugged him closer.

“Morning, little snowflake,” he murmured, his throat tight.

And for a moment, despite the nightmares, despite Hibari’s absence, despite the fear, reality soothed him.

---

Kuzan inhaled deeply, forcing a smile to his lips as he strapped on his artificial leg. He slipped into his robe, adjusted the collar, then helped Sakiji climb out of bed. The boy immediately scampered toward the kitchen, his little steps echoing cheerfully on the wooden floor.

Kuzan followed more slowly, his heart still heavy with the nightmare. He buried it deep, unwilling to trouble the others.

“Good morning, Kuzan-san.” Koby bowed slightly upon seeing him enter.

“Oh, good morning, Koby,” he replied with a smile, while settling Sakiji on his chair.

Helmeppo, already busy preparing breakfast, set a plate down in front of them. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, his voice gentle, almost concerned.

“As well as I can. Thanks for asking.”

Sakazuki came up behind him and pressed a quick kiss to his temple. “Here, have some tea. It’ll help you relax.”

“Thank you, darling.” Kuzan wrapped his hands around the cup, the warmth immediately soothing his fingers. The first sip slid down his throat, calming.

Koby, however, seemed restless. He twisted his fingers together, then finally blurted out, voice hesitant:
“Uh… Helmeppo and I never had the chance to apologize to you.”

Both Kuzan and Sakazuki looked up at him.

“We should have been more careful… or gotten there sooner…” Koby continued.

“What Koby means,” Helmeppo cut in, jaw tight, “is that we really feel guilty. We didn’t protect Hibari. I’m her boyfriend, and I didn’t watch over her the way I should have.”

Koby lowered his head, voice trembling:
“We’re sorry… you’ll probably bury us alive, Sakazuki-san…”

Kuzan was about to answer, but Sakazuki spoke first, his tone dry and cutting:
“I really should bury you both underground.”

The two young men went pale. But the Fleet Admiral went on, more gravely:
“But you’re not the ones at fault. I am. I rushed out recklessly. Garp had to improvise a team, and despite the danger, I let you go in alone. I should’ve stayed with you, or never entrusted that mission to you at all.”

“Sakazuki-san…” Koby tried, eyes wet.

The admiral leaned closer, cupping Koby’s face between his large, burning hands.
“Shut up, Koby. I’m not angry at you or Helmeppo. And stop crying like a little girl, do you hear me?”

“F-Fleet Admiral! You’re so… kind!” Koby burst into tears anyway, immediately followed by Helmeppo.

Sakazuki sighed loudly, rolling his eyes, before pulling both of them into a clumsy embrace.
“Tsk… bunch of crybabies. Come here. But if you repeat this to anyone, I’ll kill you.”

Both nodded frantically, crying even harder against his shoulder.

Sakazuki clenched his jaw. Of course it wasn’t their fault. The only one responsible was the bastard who had taken Hibari. And his head would end up on a spike—he swore it.

Abruptly, he let them go.
“Alright, that’s enough. Go hug someone who likes it. Kuzan or Sakiji.”

Koby and Helmeppo exchanged an awkward glance, while Kuzan, a small smile tugging at his lips, took another sip of tea. Even in his roughness, Sakazuki’s heart was too soft to truly break them.

---

The tension gradually eased. The heavy atmosphere in the kitchen lifted, replaced by the comforting aroma of tea and the gentle sizzle of the pancakes Sakazuki had left cooking.

Kuzan watched Koby and Helmeppo, still shaky from crying, their shoulders trembling, looking like children who had just confessed their mischief. He sighed softly, then offered them a tired but genuine smile.

“You don’t have to carry this alone.” He ran a hand through his messy hair, then added calmly: “Listen… stay with us, as long as you want. You’re welcome here.”

Koby’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

Helmeppo, wiping his face with a handkerchief, nodded quickly. “We don’t want to impose…”

“You’re not imposing,” Kuzan cut in. “This house needs warmth. And you’re part of that.”

At that moment, a little burst of laughter drew their attention. Sakiji, sitting in his chair, was tapping the table joyfully with his tiny hands. His messy black hair fell into his sparkling eyes.

“Papa! Mama!” he chirped, swinging his legs.

Sakazuki looked up from the pan, a rare but tender smile appearing on his face. “Here’s our real Fleet Admiral.”

Koby, cheeks still streaked with tears, let out a small laugh. He came closer to the child and offered him a piece of fruit. “Here, little hero.”

Sakiji grabbed it eagerly, his tiny fingers clutching clumsily at Koby’s hand. Helmeppo, moved, patted his head, his large fingers sinking into the boy’s thick hair.

“He’s… incredible,” Helmeppo whispered.

“He’s the one keeping us standing,” Kuzan confessed in a murmur.

They stayed like that for a while, the five of them gathered around the table. The child, blissfully unaware of the weight around him, babbled happily, handing them his toys, dropping his spoon on purpose so they’d pick it up.

With every burst of laughter from Sakiji, the heaviness in their hearts eased a little more.

Sakazuki, sitting beside his son, lifted him onto his lap for a moment, placing his large calloused hand on the boy’s small back. He gazed at him with rare, almost reverent intensity. Then, he raised his eyes to Kuzan, then to Koby and Helmeppo.

“Take care of him too. As long as you’re here, Sakiji is your priority.”

Koby nodded earnestly. Helmeppo raised his hand as though swearing an oath.

Kuzan gave a small, moved smile. He clasped Sakazuki’s hand, pressing it gently. “Thank you… all of you, really.”

And in that kitchen, warmed by tea and the laughter of a child, the fear lifted—if only for a moment.

---

Chapter Text

Sengoku’s office was bathed in a gentle light, illuminated only by an oil lamp. The piles of files around him looked like fortress walls, but for once, he wasn’t buried in them.

Seated on the couch, he had removed his glasses and was massaging his temples. Beside him, Garp crunched loudly on a bag of crackers, as if he had no idea of the chaos raging outside.

“You know, old monkey,” Sengoku grumbled, casting him an exasperated look, “you could at least pretend to take this seriously.”

Garp chewed, then shrugged. “If I start gnawing on my worries, it won’t help anyone.”

He slumped back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. But his tone shifted, unusually grave. “Blackbeard… that bastard left his marks everywhere. Even dead, he stirs up shit.”

Sengoku slowly nodded. “And Kuzan was the first to pay the price. I see him like my son, you know. When I think of what he went through…” His fist clenched on his knee. “And now Hibari. It reeks of a connection.”

“You think it’s a coincidence?” Garp’s expression darkened, finally stopping his chewing. “I don’t. That bastard always had family, allies hidden in the shadows. Maybe a brother, a bastard child, who knows.”

“I thought of that,” Sengoku admitted. He slid his glasses back on and watched the flickering lamp flame. “Everything lines up too well. The timing, the method. It looks like revenge against Sakazuki and Kuzan. Not some random attack.”

A heavy silence followed.

Then Garp sighed. “Koby… the poor kid. He must be blaming himself. Like it’s his fault Hibari’s in danger.”

“You see him as your grandson.” Sengoku gave a faint, gentle smile.

“Yeah.” Garp let his head fall against his companion’s shoulder. “Kuzan like a son, Koby like a grandson… makes me feel like I’ve still got a damned family. But I’m shit at protecting them.”

Sengoku laid his large, steady hand over Garp’s. “You’ve carried enough weight already. Stop thinking you have to save everyone. Kuzan is strong. Koby too. And Sakazuki…” He sighed. “Even he needs help sometimes. But he’s not weak.”

“Hmf.” Garp grunted, but his eyes grew moist. He turned his head, ashamed of the vulnerability.

Sengoku took advantage of it, tugged gently on his collar, and stole a kiss. At first, it was tender, almost shy, but Garp quickly gave in, answering with more passion. His calloused hands gripped Sengoku’s hips, pulling him closer.

“We shouldn’t…” Sengoku murmured, though he was already giving in.

“Exactly,” Garp rumbled, low and husky. “We should. Forget, just for an hour. Or we’ll go mad.”

Their lips met again, harder this time. Sengoku’s hands slid over Garp’s neck, brushing the gray-streaked hair. The smell of crackers and stale tobacco vanished, replaced by their familiar warmth.

They kissed for a long time, forgetting files, wars, and disappearances. Just two old lovers trying to push back the darkness of the world outside.

---

The couch creaked when Garp pulled Sengoku closer, his strong arms wrapping him in a protective cage. Their mouths had already met, but this time, Garp deepened the kiss, savoring each second as if erasing years of stress and regret.

“You’re stubborn,” Sengoku whispered between kisses, his warm breath brushing against his lover’s salt-and-pepper beard.

“And you’re too serious,” Garp retorted, lips dragging down to his neck, drawing out a sigh Sengoku tried to hold back.

The files and lamp were quickly forgotten. Sengoku leaned back, his hands searching Garp’s broad chest—still firm despite his age. Each touch carried reassurance and heat. It wasn’t the ardor of youth, but a patient flame, built from years of trust and companionship.

Their clothes slipped off slowly, as if they both knew there was no rush. Sengoku’s fingers trembled, but Garp covered his hand with his own, guiding him.

“Look at me,” Sengoku murmured. With his glasses discarded, his eyes were bare, vulnerable, shining. “Even old, even battered… you’re still my rock.”

A rare smile split Garp’s face. He kissed him again, gentler this time, and their bodies joined with a slowness that felt almost ceremonial. Nothing frantic—just the need to be together, to fill the void left by fear and nightmares.

Their breaths mingled, heavy and uneven. Sengoku’s low, husky moans muffled against his lover’s massive chest. The movements were simple, but every gesture carried immense weight: the love of a lifetime, the silent promise to keep going no matter what.

When calm finally returned, they stayed pressed together, still panting. The lamp flickered softly, bathing them in golden light.

“You know what, Sengoku?” Garp muttered, burying his face in his companion’s hair. “As long as we can still do this… it means we’re not done for.”

Sengoku chuckled softly, broken but sincere, caressing his shoulder. “Old fool…”

They fell asleep like that, clinging to each other, finally finding a sliver of peace in the storm of the night.

---

Sleep had been brief, heavy, and healing. The two veterans had given in to a rare intimacy, a stolen reprieve from chaos. But barely had dawn broken when pounding rattled Sengoku’s office door.

A messenger rushed in, breathless, clutching a transponder snail and an envelope sealed with the Cross Guild’s crest.

“Urgent report… from outside.”

Sengoku straightened, still unsettled from the night before, and grabbed the file. Garp stood, grumpy but sharp-eyed.

Inside: a stack of sheets, a terse note signed by Mihawk and Crocodile, and above all… a crumpled black-and-white photograph.

Sengoku’s brow furrowed.
“By all the sea gods…”

The photo showed a massive male silhouette, poorly framed. Beside him, a young woman bound, head bowed, blond hair in disarray. Blurry, but unmistakable: Hibari.

“Tch…” Garp clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. “That rat dares drag her around like merchandise?!”

Sengoku traced the picture with a finger, his face grim. “They say she was seen on Endopointo… taken to a clinic. Likely to keep her alive. But for what purpose?”

The messenger blurted out: “According to Mihawk, the man is cautious but has already drawn attention. Crocodile mentions a ‘transaction’ in preparation. Buggy confirms they’ll move immediately if the fleet admiral authorizes their intervention.”

“Transaction…” Garp growled. “That stinks.”

He raised his eyes to Sengoku. Both old warriors felt the same familiarity in the man’s stance, in the way he gripped Hibari’s arm. A déjà vu, like a ghost from a past they wished they’d buried.

“You think what I think?” Garp asked, jaw tight.

“That this man might be tied to Teach. By blood… or by shadow.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, until Garp slammed his fist on the table.

“I won’t let that bastard get away with this. And especially not if Hibari suffers. Kuzan was right to hire the Cross Guild behind our backs. With Mihawk in it, the blade will cut to the end.”

Sengoku nodded slowly. He knew they’d have to show this to Sakazuki and Kuzan soon… but how to tell them without unleashing another storm?

---

Kuzan had sat down, but he couldn’t stop fidgeting, crossing and uncrossing his long legs awkwardly. He felt like a teenager caught in the act. His gaze flicked toward Sakazuki, who sat rigid, jaw tight, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“…I’m sorry,” Kuzan finally blurted, fingers nervously tracing the warm ceramic of his cup. “I know we’d talked about it vaguely… but I panicked. I paid the Cross Guild without telling you properly. I didn’t mean to take that role from you… I just—”

“Darling.” Sakazuki cut him off, his deep voice steady rather than harsh, steel eyes locked on him. “We’ll talk about this later.”

A heavy silence fell. The floor creaked as Garp stepped forward, his looming shadow falling across the coffee table. Sengoku, beside him, already wore the expression of someone who hated being the bearer of bad news.

Koby understood before anyone else. His eyes darted from Sakazuki’s rigid frame to Kuzan’s evasive gaze. He sprang up, gently taking little Sakiji in his arms.
“Come on, buddy, let’s go play in your room with Helmeppo.”

The boy followed without a clue of what he was leaving behind. The door shut softly. The silence thickened.

Then Sengoku pulled a sheet from his coat. He didn’t speak at first, his fingers crumpling the paper slightly. At last, he laid it on the table and slid the photo toward Sakazuki and Kuzan.

A grainy black-and-white shot. Hibari. Blond hair in disarray, face gaunt, arms restrained. Beside her, a massive silhouette, half in shadow.

Kuzan gagged, breath catching in his throat. His hand clutched the table’s edge, frost blooming immediately beneath his grip.
“That’s… Hibari…”

Sakazuki hadn’t moved. His dark eyes bore into the photo. The room seemed to heat up by several degrees, the air heavy. His lips pressed thin, his temple throbbed, his fingers trembled against the armrest.

“Who. Is. The man,” he finally demanded, each word vibrating with menace.

“We don’t have a precise ID yet,” Sengoku answered, bracing his hands on the table as if to anchor his own voice. “But he’s been seen with her. He drags her around Endopointo. According to Mihawk and Crocodile, he frequents a clinic there.”

Garp crossed his arms, growling, his voice rumbling.
“Not gonna lie, this stinks. The guy looks familiar. We think he might be connected to Teach.”

At those words, Sakazuki shot to his feet, his chair screeching back. His fist slammed down on the table, cracking it.

Kuzan, pale, laid a frozen hand over his burning arm. “Sakazuki…” he whispered, pleading.

But in the admiral’s blazing eyes, there was only one promise: if this man had any tie to Blackbeard, he wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.

---

“Sakazuki-san.” Sengoku’s calm voice cut in, his firm hand pressing on the table like an anchor in the storm. “We need to calm down. If we charge blindly, we’ll only play into his game.”

Sakazuki’s clenched fists still trembled on the cracked table. Kuzan slid his icy hand over his husband’s burning forearm, whispering a barely audible, “Breathe.”

“Sengoku’s right.” Garp rubbed his beard, his weathered face tightening. His eyes stayed on the photo, searching his memory like a sailor lost at sea. “Let’s plan instead of burning half the island down.”

“This man doesn’t act at random,” Sengoku added, eyes narrowing at the shadowy figure in the photo. “Like Teach, he’s a planner. There’s something… calculated. And he reminds me of a relative. Disgusting, but familiar.”

The silence weighed heavy. The ticking clock filled the room, each second pressing on their dread. Kuzan lowered his eyes, unable to bear looking at the photo. Sakazuki didn’t blink, frozen like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

For long minutes, Garp stayed silent, brow furrowed, lips pressed tight, turning the photo over and over in his rough hands. He looked as if chewing on his own memories.

“Garp, darling, you’ll hurt your eyes,” Sengoku finally muttered softly, almost soothing. But his tone shifted when he noticed Garp’s silence. “What is it?”

The old man didn’t answer right away. His gaze, darker than ever, stayed fixed on the picture. At last, he lifted it to eye level, clutching it so hard his knuckles turned white.

“This man, Sengoku…” His voice trembled, deep, cracked by dreadful certainty. “He looks like Xebec.”

A leaden silence fell over the room. A violent shiver ran through Kuzan. Sakazuki’s eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat. For the first time in years, Sengoku froze, unable to mask his own shock.

The name Rocks D. Xebec, spoken aloud, rang through the room like a cursed bell.

---

Chapter Text

“He looks like Xebec.”

Garp’s words hung in the air like an icy blade. No one dared breathe or move for several seconds.

“Xebec…” Sengoku repeated in a dull voice, as if simply pronouncing that name stirred up old ghosts. His hands tightened on the table. “Garp, do you realize what you’re saying? That man has been dead since God Valley.”

“Dead, yes… but not his blood,” Garp breathed, jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the photograph with fierce intensity. “Look at that build, those eyes. I fought that monster, Sengoku. I will never forget his presence. It’s… too similar.”

Kuzan rose abruptly, his fingers trembling against the table. His cold eyes were wide, his voice breaking. “You mean… the one who kidnapped Hibari… could be of his line?”

Sakazuki slammed his fist down, cracking the already fragile table. His ragged breath sounded like a roar. “You’re saying an heir of that bastard… dares to lay hands on my niece?!” Heat already radiated from his body, smoke seeming to rise from his shoulders.

“Calm down!” Sengoku placed a firm hand on his forearm to contain the explosion. “We have no certainty yet. But if it’s true, it would explain a lot… the preparation, the composure, the way he hits where it hurts most.”

Kuzan felt himself sway. His legs threatened to give out, his heart pounding in his chest. Hibari, in the clutches of a man tied to Rocks… This was not only a kidnapping — it was a blood war stirring again. “Why her? Why Sakiji? What does he want…?” His voice broke, and he sank into his chair, hands pressed to his face.

“Because he doesn’t only target you,” Garp replied, somber. “Xebec already wanted to destroy the balance of the world… If this is his descendant, perhaps he wants to finish what he started. And he begins where it hurts most. Family.”

Sakazuki gritted his teeth, his red eyes locked on the photo. “I swear I will crush him. Whatever his name, his blood, or his heritage. I will tear Hibari from his hands.”

“And I swear we’ll do it smartly,” Sengoku cut in with a dry tone, his old strategist mask returning to his face. “No God Valley number two. We cannot afford a slaughter that swallows everyone.”

Kuzan lifted his head, eyes still wet, but a cold glint shone in his pupils. “Then let’s do it together. For Hibari. For Sakiji. So this man doesn’t leave a new scar on the world.”

A heavy silence fell over them. But this time it wasn’t the weight of despair; it was the weight of a shared resolve.

---

“Should we tell Shanks? Or even the Cross Guild?” Kuzan asked, his grave voice echoing through the room like a cold breath.

A heavy silence settled, broken by the sharp snap of Sengoku’s fingers on the table. “If what we suspect is true, we mustn’t underestimate the scale of the threat. Shanks and the Cross Guild could be useful… but at what cost?”

“Shanks is an ally of convenience,” Garp interjected, crossing his massive arms. “I’d trust him to protect a child… but he has his own interests. You know that, Kuzan. He does nothing without reason.”

Sakazuki growled, his fists gripping the back of his chair. “As for the Cross Guild… Crocodile and Mihawk aren’t saints. Buggy even less. But Mihawk doesn’t betray a mission once he commits. If Kuzan has already paid, then they’ll be involved.”

“Exactly,” Sengoku replied, his glasses sliding slightly down his nose. “The more players we multiply, the more we risk losing control. This is not just a rescue mission. It may be a war against Rocks’ legacy.”

Kuzan clenched the photo between his fingers, staring at it as if it could give him answers. “No matter. Hibari is out there. And every second counts. If these people can help us find her, then I’m willing to pay the price.”

“You don’t have to pay,” Sakazuki growled, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. His burning gaze met his husband’s. “It’s my role to protect our family. I’ll decide what we must offer in return.”

“And if your impulsiveness makes us lose someone again?” Sengoku snapped harshly. “Do you want a second God Valley?”

Silence fell, brutal and heavy. Even Garp looked away, jaw clenched.

Sakazuki inhaled deeply, his shoulders taut, then said in a grave, controlled voice: “Then we need a plan. Clear. Fast. And merciless.”

Sengoku nodded, resuming his strategist role. “Step one: confirm the exact location. The Endopointo is vast, unstable, and watched. We must send a recon team before deploying the main forces.”

“Step two: diversion,” Garp added, fist closed. “If the enemy has Xebec’s blood, he’s clever. We must occupy him, make him think we attack from one side while the main squad moves elsewhere.”

“Step three: extraction,” Kuzan completed, his gaze hardened by determination. “Hibari must be removed alive before any direct confrontation. Whatever it costs.”

“And step four…” Sakazuki’s voice rolled like a magma rumble. “Elimination. That man must not breathe another second once Hibari is freed.”

Sengoku sighed but did not contradict him. He knew Sakazuki would not back down this time.

The photo remained at the center of the table, silent, a reminder of the danger to come.

---

“WHERE IS MY LITTLE RABBIT?!” Shanks yelled, veins bulging in his neck. His voice boomed through the Den Den Mushi, making Kuzan and Garp jump.

“Shut up, red menace,” Sakazuki spat, his eyes aflame. “Koby is with my son. We’re not here to hear your cooing.”

A approving silence followed. Mihawk raised an eyebrow, his tone as sharp as a blade. “I agree.”

“Hn.” Crocodile crushed his cigar in an ashtray, his voice dragging and cold. “Especially since we actually have a deal here. We won’t waste time listening to your whining, Redhead.”

Then Buggy spoke, surprisingly calm. His words fell like a cleaver: “Have you even considered that this fake Xebec might rape Hibari?”

Silence fell brutally, as if even the Den Den Mushi had frozen.

“…What?” Shanks muttered, his laugh stuck in his throat.

Buggy, unusually serious, continued with crossed arms: “In the photo, she’s bent, hunched like a child being broken. And he has his hand on her neck to force her down. You want me to pretend I don’t see that? Considering what he did to Kuzan, no disrespect… this scoundrel is of the same breed.”

Sengoku pinched the bridge of his nose, ashamed.

“…Am I the only one who hadn’t thought of that before Buggy said it?” he muttered, bitterly.

“No,” Kuzan breathed, jaw tightened, his cold gaze steady. “But now that it’s said out loud… we can’t afford to wait.”

Sakazuki planted his heavy fist on the table, cracking the wood.

“Then no detours. We find this bastard. We bring Hibari back. And I will grind him under lava until there’s not a single cinder left.”

Mihawk nodded, his expression dark.

“I’ll lead reconnaissance. No one gets away when I have a trail.”

Crocodile showed a predatory smile. “I’ll handle logistics. But you know nothing comes free.”

Shanks straightened, arms folded, but for once without boastfulness. “If Hibari is in danger… I’m coming. Not for your Marines. Not for you. But for Koby.”

Buggy shrugged, almost resigned. “And I’m coming because if I go through all this and they say the Emperor Clown fled, I’ll have to hear about it.”

Silence returned, heavy, but this time united by a single idea: the hunt had begun.

No one answered. But in that silence Sakazuki’s anger became almost tangible. His fists spat sparks of lava, his breathing rumbling like a volcano.

Kuzan stared at the table, his jaws clenched, breath trembling. The mere idea chilled him to the bone, reopening his own scars.

Only then did Koby dare to break the tension by fleshing out the theory and restarting the discussion.

“Buggy-san’s theory isn’t bad,” Koby said suddenly, voice tight.

A startle and a simultaneous “AAH!” from Garp and Kuzan — not very virile, to be honest — because they hadn’t heard him speak.

“Oh, Koby, my darling!” Shanks immediately lit up, eyes shining with affection.

“Shut up,” Koby shot back without looking at him, cheeks flushed. Shanks slumped back, hand on his heart, whining: “My adorable rabbit told me to shut up…”

Koby, unperturbed despite red ears, continued: “What I mean is… Buggy-san said Hibari could… undergo things that are not… well… nice. Maybe that’s why he took her to a clinic.”

A heavy, oppressive silence followed.

“You mean… uh… wait, what exactly are you saying?” Garp said nervously, scratching his neck.

“Darling… don’t say anything,” Sengoku snapped, teeth clenched. “Unless you want to look even more foolish than usual.”

Koby inhaled, searching for words. “What I mean, Garp-san… is that this man could want to… well… you know… plant a little seed…”

Buggy gaped, horrified: “No… you mean he wants to put a seed in her belly?!”

“IDIOTS!” Crocodile snapped, slamming his fist on the table in anger. His voice lashed like a whip. “He’s talking about forced pregnancy.”

Silence fell again, brutal and suffocating. Faces closed into identical grimaces of rage or horror.

Kuzan clenched his fists, lips trembling with fury. Sakazuki bowed his head, lava already crackling between his fingers.

Even Shanks, usually so carefree, had lost his smile.

“ENOUGH!” Sengoku’s voice cracked like a cannon shot, enforcing silence. His glasses gleamed under the escargophone light. “We are soldiers, not a pack of carrion-flyers shrieking at hypotheses. I have competent professionals who know what to do if this scenario is confirmed.”

“That’s what you were doing while everyone panicked and got angry, huh?” Garp grumbled, crossing his arms.

Suddenly the door to the room opened with a long creak. Two female silhouettes entered: Tsuru, upright and cold as a blade honed by experience, followed by a young blonde woman with a provocative smile.

“Kujaku!” Koby exclaimed, eyes wide.

“Yo, Koby,” she said lightly, flashing a two-finger salute. “I heard someone dared harm my little Hibari. Needless to say, I’m on the case.” Her smile widened, but her eyes gleamed icy.

Tsuru seated herself slowly, her gaze sweeping the assembly with an almost maternal severity. She folded her hands on the table. “Gentlemen… you are so focused on your rage that you forget the essential. If Hibari is truly the victim of what we fear… she will probably not want to be approached by men. For obvious reasons.”

A heavy silence followed. Even Sakazuki, jaw tight, averted his eyes. Kuzan clenched his fists, breath trembling, but finally nodded slowly, aware of the logic.

Tsuru continued in a firm but measured voice: “That’s why we are here. Kujaku and I will handle the first contacts with Hibari. If she’s traumatized, the presence of men — especially authoritative figures like you — could worsen her state. Your role will be to prepare the ground and eliminate the threat. Ours is to save Hibari, body and mind.”

Kujaku added, crossing her arms defiantly: “And I warn you… if you hurt her further through clumsiness, I’ll kick your asses, admiral or not.”

Buggy burst out laughing, but choked almost immediately as he met Crocodile’s murderous glare.

Calm gradually returned, but with a different texture: less explosive, more grave, more resolute.

---

Chapter Text

The room was still saturated with tension. The words “forced pregnancy” hung in the air like a condemnation. No one dared break the silence until Tsuru, implacable, spoke.

“Gentlemen, you are all war strategists. But this situation is not just a war. It is an intimate wound, a weapon aimed at the flesh and mind of a young woman.”

Her icy voice cut through the last murmurs. Even Sakazuki, his fist still smoking, lowered his head slightly.

Kujaku, seated beside him, slammed her palm flat on the table. “Let’s make things clear. I am Hibari’s friend. I refuse to let her be spoken of as a pawn in your strategies. If she is broken psychologically, saving her physically will mean nothing.”

Koby nodded, fists clenched. Helmeppo, pale, lowered his eyes.

Tsuru went on, her hands clasped before her:

“Our plan must have two branches. One military — extraction, neutralization of the enemy. The other psychological — Hibari’s care. And it will be up to Kujaku and me to lead that second part. She will only trust women.”

Sengoku sighed but nodded. “It makes sense. If it really is Xebec’s blood… he struck where it hurts most. We must free her from his grip before even thinking about what he wants.”

Kujaku clenched her teeth, her voice trembling with rage:

“I swear, if that man laid a hand on her… he will regret ever existing.”

A heavy silence followed, filled with nods.

Then, in a drier tone, Tsuru brought everyone back to the plan:

“First step: reconnaissance and confirmation of the location. Mihawk will take the lead.”

“Second step: diversion. Garp and Sengoku will lead the false offensive.”

“Third step: extraction. Kujaku and I will recover Hibari on the front line. Not a single man will approach her until she is stabilized.”

“Fourth step: elimination. There… I suppose Sakazuki won’t let anyone else have the pleasure.”

A growl of magma was his only answer.

Buggy, surprisingly serious, raised his hand:

“And what do I do in all this?”

Crocodile rolled his eyes, but Tsuru answered calmly:

“You’ll make sure your Cross Guild doesn’t change its mind halfway.”

An awkward chuckle escaped the clown, but Mihawk ignored him.

The meeting ended in grave silence. Each had their role, each bore their burden. But one certainty remained: time was running out.

As they left, Kuzan ran a trembling hand over his face. Sakazuki grabbed his shoulders.

“Hold on. We’re going to bring her back.”

Kuzan nodded, though his heart was frozen with fear.

Because deep down, he already felt… the enemy would soon reveal his true face.

---

In a side corridor, Koby pulled out his Den Den Mushi. His fingers trembled slightly, but he dialed anyway. After a few seconds, Shanks’ deep, familiar voice echoed.

“Koby, my little rabbit… are you okay? I heard during the meeting that things looked bad. But I didn’t want to bring it up in front of everyone.”

A shaky breath escaped the young man. “I’m trying. But Hibari… she’s…” His voice broke, and he pressed his fist to his forehead. “She’s like a sister to me. I can’t stand the thought that she might be living through… that.”

Silence followed, then Shanks replied, more serious than usual:

“You’re not alone. You have me, Koby. And believe me, whatever happens, I’ll fight by your side for Hibari. Because she’s your friend… and whatever touches your heart touches mine too.”

Koby drew a deep breath, his eyes damp. A small smile formed despite everything.
“Thank you, Shanks… that reassures me.”

“Then hold on. And remember: we never lose when we fight for those we love.”

---

Meanwhile, in an adjoining lounge, Kuzan had collapsed into an armchair, his hands clenched on his knees. Sakazuki stood behind him, a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know if I can hold on, Sakazuki…” Kuzan whispered, eyes distant. “I still hear her screams… and the thought that Hibari might be living them now…”

Sakazuki, jaw tight, pulled him into his arms without a word. His burning chest enveloped Kuzan’s trembling cold.

Then Garp entered. He laid his huge calloused hands on their shoulders, as if to anchor them.
“Listen to me, both of you. Hibari is strong. So are you. You don’t have the right to fall apart. Because Sakiji needs his parents. And Hibari… will need you when we bring her back.”

Kuzan weakly nodded. Sakazuki remained silent, but his blazing gaze said it all: he would never give up.

---

Further away, in the hall, Helmeppo lingered in the shadows, leaning against a wall, his gaze lost. His fingers trembled on his sword’s hilt.

Sengoku approached quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re standing upright, but inside you’re collapsing.”

Helmeppo flinched, lowering his eyes. “I… it’s my fault. I’m her boyfriend. I should have protected her. I failed.”

“No.” Sengoku’s voice was firm, sharp, but not harsh. “The culprit is the man who took her. Not you. Your role is not to carry guilt that isn’t yours. Your role now is to be ready. When Hibari comes back, she’ll need you.”

Helmeppo bit his lip, eyes brimming.

“Do you think… she’ll still want me, after this?”

Sengoku sighed, squeezing his shoulder tighter.

“That’s not for you to decide. But I know this: if you give up now, then yes, you’ll lose her. So hold on.”

A silence passed, then Helmeppo nodded, determined despite the pain.

---

Night fell on Marineford. Each, in their own way, was preparing their heart for the storm ahead.

But deep inside them all, one idea shone: Hibari had to come back. Alive. No matter the cost.

---

Chapter Text

Buggy was still chewing a chunk of greasy meat when the package was dropped in front of him. A black glop, roughly sealed, with a note cut out of newspaper letters:

"I know you're involved, Cross Guild."

A cold shiver ran down the clown's spine. His survival instincts, honed by a life spent fleeing the worst monsters of the seas, screamed. He opened it, stumbled at what he saw, and choked in a panic on his food.

“GHKH-PFFHH-!!!” he spat, eyes bulging, flailing his arms.

His men froze, but Buggy was already tearing down the corridor, skidding toward Mihawk and Crocodile. His voice scattered, incomprehensible, gasping, punctuated with “horror!” and “you have to see this!”

“Buggy, for pity’s sake, calm down.” Mihawk finally grabbed him by the collar, holding him still with one firm hand. His piercing gaze pierced the hysterical clown. “You’ve been agitated for ten minutes. We’re waiting.”

“Y-yes! Yes!” Buggy grabbed the den-den phone with a trembling hand. “You’ll never believe—”

He plugged in the den-den camera. The screen crackled. Then the video started.

---

A man’s voice sounded, deep, laced with a laugh that sent a chill through the spine. The image, at first dark, showed the interior of a dilapidated shack. Empty bottles, rotten wooden planks, chains clanking in a corner. The smell almost seemed to seep through the screen: stale liquor, rank sweat, piss.

“Oh, my darling…” the voice sneered. “Today is the surprise we talked about.”

A click, and the light snapped on. The camera revealed Hibari, curled against the wall, trembling under a filthy blanket. Her gaze was empty, as if every spark had been torn away.

A metallic sound rang out. The taut chain.

“Come on…” The man yanked violently on the leash attached to her neck. Hibari choked, forced to move.

“We practiced this already, didn’t we?” The voice turned sweet, almost tender, but every word dripped poison.

He crouched, stroked her face… then slapped it hard. The slap echoed through the room. Hibari whimpered, clutching the blanket to herself.

“What did we say, my dear?” His huge hand grabbed her jaw, forcing her eyes to meet his.

“Uh…” Her voice trembled, extinguished.

“When I speak, you look at me.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “You obey what I say. You are my wife, remember?!”

Hibari shook her head, desperate. Her eyes begged the camera, as if she knew someone was watching.

The man burst out laughing, straightened up, and continued, venomous:

“You can scream if you like. I love it when you beg to be saved. Like you do in your sleep…”

He shoved her over with a shove; her skull hit the floor with a dull thud. Hibari stifled a cry.

The man then leaned into the lens, his eyes shining with a mad light.

“Ah… I remember now. Sakazuki-san. ~ Zuhaha… come on, sweetheart, do it for him. Scream it again.”

He shook her, forcing her to speak. Hibari whimpered, her voice broken:

“…Uncle… Sakazuki… help…”

His laugh burst, grating, unbearable.

“Ahahahaha! I love that sound. I love that despair. Keep giving it to me, again and again.”

The screen cut off abruptly.

---

A deathly silence fell over the room.

Buggy stood with his mouth half-open, as pale as a corpse. Crocodile crushed his cigar so hard it snapped. Mihawk didn’t move, but his eyes burned with a cold rage.

At the Marines’ headquarters, it was worse.

Kuzan trembled, tears already running down his cheeks. Sakazuki hadn’t said a word. But the table under his fists began to smoke, the wood cracking from the heat.

“...I will kill him.” he breathed in a hoarse, monstrous voice. “I will grind him to dust.”

No one dared stop him.

---

The video restarted. The shaky image revealed a squalid room lit by a single flickering bulb. The smell was almost legible on screen: damp, old piss, rancid alcohol. Hibari sat on the floor, curled under a dirty blanket. Her face was dusty, her eyes hollow, her breath short.

A silhouette approached the camera, voice sliding into a phony whisper:

“Good girl, Hibari. I’m sure your uncle is proud of you.”

The man tilted his head slowly toward the lens as if presenting a trophy. He clicked his tongue, savoring the fear.

Hibari raised empty eyes to the device. When she finally spoke, her voice was broken: “I hate you…”

A cruel laugh snapped. “That’s mean. What would your uncle say, huh?”

She broke into tears. The man made her stand with a brutal movement and, off-screen, the sound of a sink running, water pouring, hurried movements. He almost shoved her toward the bathtub, forcing her to wash like one cleans an object. The next shots simply showed Hibari dragging herself into an oversized shirt; her hands trembled. You could see dried blood at her temple, a bruise on her lip. She tried to look at the camera; her eyes seemed to scream.

The man, at the edge of the frame, breathed: “If you think your uncle will come, you can dream, sweetheart. You belong to me.” His voice was low and final.

The video stopped abruptly. The screen fell to black, heavy as a slab.

In the room where the video had been played, breaths became scarce. Kuzan let go of his chair, which trembled. Sakazuki remained motionless for a moment, then the magma already latent under his skin rose another notch. Garp bit his lip, his gaze hard as an anvil.

Sengoku took Kuzan’s hand, but his eyes were already searching for a strategy. Tsuru pivoted in one motion, her face implacable. Kujaku clenched her fists—no word passed her lips, but her jaw betrayed cold anger.

Shanks balled his hands into fists, his voice breaking like a wounded animal: “Where is that shack? Who did this?”

Mihawk narrowed his eyes. Crocodile crushed the last stub of his cigarette, a dry smile crossing his lips: “He sent us a message. Very clear.”

Sakazuki, voice low and controlled, announced: “We move now. Reconnaissance only—no assault until we know exactly where she is and in what condition. Kujaku, Tsuru, you make contact. Mihawk, you scout from the air. Buggy, Crocodile—logistics and diversion. Garp, Sengoku, arrange the legal cover. Koby, Helmeppo—stay ready. I want Hibari brought back alive. Understood?”

A murmur of agreement ran through the room, but the atmosphere remained heavy with guilt and silent rage. The video had done more than show Hibari chained to fear: it had triggered a war machine focused on a single idea: bring the niece home.

---

The silence was crushing. Only the crackle of the den-den phone still echoed in the room like a provocation.

Kuzan, pale, was short of breath. His frozen fingers had clenched the edge of the table, the wood creaking under the cold he radiated despite himself. His eyes fixed on the black screen, but what he still saw was Hibari’s empty look, her trembling lips, her broken voice.

He murmured, almost to himself: “She’s nothing but a shell… Like me, back then…”

Sakazuki turned abruptly toward him, heart tight. His own body boiled like lava—his temples throbbed, his fists trembled, his jaw ground. But the fear of seeing Kuzan collapse again kept him from shouting. He placed his burning hand on the icy one of his husband. “Listen to me. Hibari is still there. As long as I breathe, I will bring her back.”

Kuzan nodded, but his cold tears were already welling.

Garp looked away, his throat tight. He hadn’t cried since Roger’s death, but the sight of that ruined girl—his little granddaughter of heart—already haunted him.

“Sick world…” he growled. “I swear to you, Hibari-chan, we’ll get you out of there.”

Sengoku remained upright, but his fingers nervously played with his beard. His mind was already calculating, cold and implacable: shadow zones, probability of traps, logistics. Behind his bright glasses, a dull rage throbbed.

And Tsuru kept her arms crossed. Her steel-gray eyes fixed the still-black screen. When she finally spoke, her voice cut like a blade:

“This is not just a military operation. It’s psychological warfare.”

Kujaku, standing beside her, clenched her fists. Her lips still wore that provocative smile she used like armor—but her gaze burned.

“If Hibari has held on until now, it’s because she’s clinging to one thing: hope. If we storm in like brutes, we risk breaking that last thread.”

Sakazuki frowned. “You expect us to stand idle?!”

Tsuru raised a hand, imposing calm.

“No. I mean an extraction purely by force is not sufficient. When she sees men in uniform, she might think another nightmare is starting. She’s heard too many male voices. She’s felt too much violence.”

Kuzan nodded slowly, immediately understanding where she was heading.

Kujaku continued, voice firm: “Hibari must see faces she can associate with safety. It’ll be me and my grandmother who go get her first. Not you. You neutralize the enemy. You shake the earth, if need be. But when we lay eyes on her, it must be us.”

Buggy, unusually serious, clicked his tongue. “Makes sense…”

Mihawk crossed his arms, impassive. “If it spares her from collapsing when she meets her rescuers, I approve.”

Crocodile crushed his cigar in an ashtray, his amber eyes cold. “In the meantime, we prepare a diversion to scatter the men of this… pseudo-Xebec.”

Shanks growled: “But I’m coming. I don’t want to leave Koby and Hibari alone in this mess.”

“You’ll come.” Tsuru cut him off. “But not on first contact. You handle the outer guard.”

Shanks opened his mouth to protest, then met Tsuru’s icy gaze and kept silent.

The old strategist concluded, fingers laced on the table:

“It’s simple. We will divide the mission into two fronts. A male front: attack, diversion, neutralize the target. And a female front: recovery and first aid. If we succeed, Hibari will survive… not only her body, but her mind too.”

Kuzan closed his eyes. For the first time in days, a spark of hope warmed his frozen heart.

---

Chapter Text

When the meeting ended, the house was steeped in a heavy atmosphere, saturated with the weight of decisions. Kuzan entered their room first, his steps dragging, his body still numb from the tension. Sakazuki closed the door behind him, his broad shoulders slumped, as though every word spoken around the table had pressed him down further.

A heavy silence settled. Only the distant creaks of the house and the breathing of Sakiji, asleep in the next room, reminded them the world was still turning.

Kuzan, seated on the edge of the bed, ran a trembling hand over his face. “I can’t get her eyes out of my head… She reminds me…” His voice cracked. “…what I used to be, Sakazuki.”

The admiral clenched his fists. Every tear Kuzan held back was a knife in his chest. He stepped forward, laying his massive hands on his husband’s frozen shoulders.

“Don’t say that. You’re not her. And she’s not you.”

Kuzan raised his wet eyes to him.

“And if she doesn’t survive this? If we’re too late?”

Sakazuki held his gaze, his incandescent eyes softened by a tenderness he reserved only for him. “Then I’ll burn this entire world until nothing is left. But as long as I breathe, as long as you breathe, we don’t give up.”

Kuzan pressed his forehead against the blazing chest, letting the warmth envelop him. He inhaled deeply, calmed despite himself by that protective furnace.

“Promise me… we’ll bring her back.”

Sakazuki wrapped an arm around his waist, the other stroking his hair.
“I swear it, Kuzan. On my life. On yours. On our son’s.”

Their lips brushed—timid, trembling—before sealing in a kiss both desperate and reassuring. A suspended moment where anger and fear fell silent, leaving only their love, their anchor in the storm.

---

The next day, the frenzy resumed. In the improvised strategy room, marine charts and reports piled up. The grave faces of Sengoku, Tsuru and Garp dominated the table, surrounded by Kuzan, Sakazuki, Koby, Helmeppo, and the transponder snail linking them to the Cross Guild and Shanks.

Tsuru drew a line on the End Point map. “Latest reports indicate unusual activity in this remote zone. Movements too discreet to be mere smugglers.”

Mihawk’s icy voice came through the Den Den: “I’ll take reconnaissance. I never let a trail slip.”

Crocodile, a cigar between his lips, added: “And I’ll prepare the terrain. If we need a diversion, my sands will cover your blind spots.”

“Buggy?” Sengoku asked.

The clown fidgeted with his red nose. “Well… me… I’ll bring the panic effect!” Mihawk raised a blasé eyebrow, Crocodile sighed, but Sengoku nodded:
“Perfect. Panic will be useful.”

Tsuru pressed a firm finger on the map. “Male team: attack, distract, neutralize. Female team: Kujaku and I will make first contact with Hibari. She must not be approached by you until we have her consent.”

“Understood,” Sakazuki growled, though his jaw tightened.

Koby timidly raised his hand.

“And us?”

Sengoku answered without hesitation:

“You, Koby and Helmeppo, stay in direct support. You’ll be our communication relays and, if necessary, the first to secure Sakiji.”

A solemn silence followed. Everyone understood the countdown had begun.

---

When the meeting ended, silence weighed on the house. Voices were gone, the transponder snails lay still, but tension hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Kuzan had left the room first, without a word. His steps carried him almost against his will to his son’s bedroom.

Sakiji was half asleep, his cheeks still pink from playing with Koby and Helmeppo all afternoon. His small chest rose and fell gently, steady, peaceful, untouched by the chaos brewing around him.

Kuzan stood at the doorway for a long moment, throat tight. Then he stepped closer, sat on the edge of the bed, and ran a trembling hand through the boy’s black hair.
“Sleeping well, little one?” he murmured, knowing Sakiji might not hear.

But the child’s heavy eyelids fluttered, and he turned toward him, murmuring drowsily:

“Mama…”

Kuzan felt his heart split and warm at once. That word—the one Sakiji had chosen for him—burned in his chest like a promise. He lay down beside him, letting the small warm body curl against his torso.

Tears welled up despite himself. He stroked his son’s back slowly, searching in that touch for a reason to keep standing.

“I’m here. And I’ll never… ever… let anyone hurt you.”

Sakiji, already slipping back into half-sleep, tightened his small arms around him.

Kuzan closed his eyes, heart pounding painfully, but in that embrace he found the strength to believe again. Even if the world collapsed, even if Hibari screamed somewhere in the shadows, he swore to protect what remained.

He kissed his son’s hair softly, a whisper escaping his lips:
“Sleep well, my treasure. Papa and I will bring your cousin back. I promise.”

The room filled with a fragile calm, as though time itself held its breath. And in that silence, Kuzan finally found a bit of peace.

---

The sea stretched out beneath him, heavy with black vapors. End Point. The place where the New World’s magma boiled, contained by fragile barriers. A single imbalance, and it would all explode.

Mihawk sailed alone, his cloak whipped by scorching winds. Unlike the others, he was not troubled by the idea of a trap. His mind was clear: find, observe, report. Nothing else.

He set foot on the island. The ground trembled beneath his boots. Each step made lava seep from the cracks. His hawk eyes scanned the horizon, every charred tree, every abandoned shack.

A sound. A shadow. He froze.

His gaze caught a taut rope, then crushed footprints in the ash. Fine. Light. Hibari. Next to them, heavier, regular prints. The man.

Mihawk followed the trail. It led him to an old house with broken shutters. Everything was silent except for the crackle of wood gnawed by heat. He stepped closer, laid his hand on the door… then stopped.

Behind it, a breath. Irregular. Oppressive. Not that of a frightened child, but of a patient predator.

Mihawk didn’t push. Not yet.

He stepped back, eyes fixed on the cabin’s shadows. A silhouette moved inside, massive, distorted by the red glow of distant flames.

Mihawk moved noiselessly, sliding between shadows. His gaze caught a small opening in the rotten wood, a window with shattered glass.

He leaned in.

Hibari was there.

Curled up in a corner, an oversized old shirt hanging from her shoulders, her hair stuck with sweat. Her eyes, once lively and bright, were empty, extinguished. She wasn’t even crying. She stared at the floor, as though her mind had fled elsewhere to escape suffering.

A movement. The man entered her field of vision. Huge, heavy, a silhouette warped by the dirty lamp’s glow. He laid a hand on Hibari’s shoulder. She barely flinched.

Mihawk, impassive, watched. His hand tightened on Yoru’s hilt. Every hunting instinct screamed at him to leap through that window and decapitate the man on the spot. But he didn’t move.

It wasn’t his mission. Not yet.

The man spoke with a syrupy, falsely gentle voice. Mihawk couldn’t catch every word, but he heard enough: “…my wife… no one will come… you belong to me.”

Hibari’s lips trembled, she whispered something. Maybe a “no,” maybe a prayer. The man laughed, a deep laugh, familiar, echoing like something from the past.

Mihawk closed his eyes briefly. Yes, he recognized that laugh. Rocks D. Xebec’s, or at least an heir steeped enough in his shadow to share the same madness.

He finally moved back, slipping again into the darkness. The transponder snail vibrated in his hand.
“This is Mihawk. Visual confirmation. Hibari alive. Prisoner. End Point, northeast sector. The man is with her.”

Silence, then muffled voices answered him through the line. But he was no longer listening.

His eyes were still on that cabin, that window where Hibari sat like a trapped animal.

He put the snail away, fingers brushing Yoru’s hilt one last time.

“Enjoy your final moments, impostor,” he murmured, his voice low and icy.

Then he vanished into the shadows, ready to guide the storm soon to crash upon the island.

---

Chapter Text

The improvised Marineford meeting room thrummed with electric tension. The Den Den Mushi had gone silent after Mihawk’s curt report; everyone held their breath, hanging on to the smallest piece of information that might make the next hour less dark.

“She’s alive.” Kuzan repeated the phrase as if to convince himself. His voice trembled, yet his eyes were hard blue, fixed on the photograph lying on the table. “That’s all that matters.”

Sakazuki remained mute. His fists, clenched so tight the wood creaked, made the air around him tremble. Anger roiled in his chest like molten metal—but he knew how to contain it; he waited for the right moment to strike. Here, one mistake could cost a life.

Tsuru spoke, cold and cutting: “Good. Confirmation received. We can’t improvise. We move methodically.”

Kujaku, arms crossed, added in a firm tone: “Plan for an immediate medical extraction. If Hibari’s condition matches Mihawk’s report, she won’t withstand a rough removal. My grandmother and I will make the first approach.”

“Absolutely not.” Sakazuki’s voice snapped like a smoldering ember. “I’m getting her out.”

Tsuru fixed him with an implacable stare. “And that is precisely what could finish her. You are her uncle—an authority figure. If she’s traumatised, your presence might exacerbate her fear.”

Silence fell again, heavy; even Garp averted his gaze, teeth clenched. Sengoku restored logic with measured calm: “Mihawk has eyes on the sector. Crocodile takes the perimeter. Buggy will create a diversion.”

“WHAT?!” Buggy seemed to choke. “Me?! Me, diversion?!”

“You want your pay, clown? Then be useful.” Crocodile didn’t bother to soften his words.

Shanks concluded in a sharp voice: “I’ll handle neutralising him if he tries to flee. No one escapes me.”

Koby timidly raised his hand: “Helmeppo and I will support the medical extraction. We know Hibari—she might listen to us.”

Sakazuki finally fixed his red eyes on the two youngsters. “You better not drop her this time.”

Koby nodded, jaw tight. Helmeppo nodded, pale but resolved.

Kuzan, who had been staring at the photo for minutes, murmured: “And me?”

They all turned to him. Tired, pale, but with a cold flame in his gaze: “I’m coming. Not to fight. To be there when she comes out. She’ll need to know there’s a family waiting for her.”

Garp laid a heavy hand on Sakazuki’s shoulder. “Let him. That’s what’s needed.”

Sengoku outlined the strategy: “We strike End Point in three days. Hibari won’t spend another night there.”

---

Three days later, the team converged on the End Point forest. The atmosphere was sliced into precise commands and contained breaths; no one smiled. Buggy, however, couldn’t keep a serious face, humming half-sung: “Action plan! Super Buggy the clown to the front!”

He’d come too close. In the shadow of the pines, the man from the video emerged—massive, silent like a beast. Buggy’s laugh cut off.

“You think I’m an idiot, clown?” the raspy voice echoed among the trunks.

Buggy panicked, backed away, stumbled and vanished into the woods, screaming for help in a ridiculous, pitiful repertoire: “MIHAWK, HELP! CROCODILE, MY LOVE! SAKAZUKI MY BROTHER, I’M BEING RIPPED APART!”

The forest filled with rapid footsteps. Mihawk, Crocodile and Sakazuki appeared like shadow and blade: Mihawk, silent and precise; Crocodile, patient and relentless; Sakazuki, a volcano in motion. The man barely had time to react before he was immobilised: a blade, a blast of sand, a pressure of heat that pinned him in place. In seconds he was on the ground, groggy.

“Search him,” Sakazuki ordered, voice rough but controlled. “Find a signal, a clue. No one speaks to him yet.”

Mihawk produced a small hidden packet: a crumpled letter, a fragment of a recording. He frowned. “This isn’t amateur work. Someone’s financing this, someone who knows our movements.”

The trail lit up like a blade in the night: someone was pulling strings, and they weren’t alone. Sakazuki nodded, already unfolding the next phase. “We’ll trace it back. We’ll unearth whoever’s behind this plan. Hibari: we’re bringing you back.”

The forest exhaled. The hunt continued, more determined than ever—cold, methodical, merciless.

---

“Ah!” Buggy exclaimed, hand on his heart, as dramatic as ever. “You thought you’d take down the great Buggy and his harem of super-sexy men!” He burst into laughter, booming through the forest as he pointed at the half-bitten, curled-up man. “Look at him! Pathetic!”

A sharp BAM cracked behind his head. Crocodile had slapped him.

“Cut the nonsense for five minutes. We’re not here for your show, clown. We’re here for the money—”

“Hibari,” Mihawk reminded, his dark gaze fixed on the man on the ground, slicing the air like a blade.

Crocodile grimaced, drew on his cigar and sighed. “…That’s exactly what I’m saying. You think the old woman and the girl grabbed her?”

Sakazuki, who until then had contained the lava roaring within him, exploded. His voice made the trunks tremble. “WHO ARE YOU WORKING WITH?!”

The prisoner screamed, sand pinning him down, eyes rolling. “I-I don’t know!! I was just paid to pretend with that girl while she was gone—!”

A brutal silence fell. Everyone held their breath.

“HIS NAME?!” Sakazuki roared, steam escaping from his skin.

The man sobbed like a trapped rat. “I… I don’t remember well! His name was weird… like… Chebreque? No, wait… Chexeque?” His teeth chattered, his voice breaking. “No… that’s it! It was Xebec! YES! Don’t kill me, I swear, I needed the money!”

The name rang like a curse in the clearing. Even the wind seemed to stop. Buggy, normally quick with words, froze. Mihawk lowered his sword imperceptibly, but his icy eyes said enough. Crocodile growled a curse through clenched teeth.

As for Sakazuki, his eyes glowed with pure rage. The forest vibrated beneath his feet as if the whole volcano had woken with him.

The man, covered in mud and dried blood, had been dragged to the ship. The rank scent of wet wood and blood still hung in the air. Seasons wouldn’t have been enough to wash away the smell of fear clinging to his skin.

Sengoku looked from the prisoner to the assembled team, voice calm but demanding: “So? Is it him?”

Sakazuki studied him a moment before exhaling, disdainful: “A fake. This man is nothing but a coward. Worse than a Buggy who botched his routine.”

“Hey!” Buggy protested with an outraged cry, red with humiliation.

Koby, brows furrowed, judged him coldly: “We all heard you call for help, Buggy-san.”

Buggy straightened, voice quavering between apology and wounded pride: “It was… it was a signal, I swear! A signal to say I’d found him!”

Mihawk, impassive, answered in a dry tone that tolerated no sentimentality: “We believe you. But I could have handled it alone.”

“Oh Mihawk, don’t be jealous,” Buggy muttered, trying to regain his composure.

Mihawk shot him a look. “Don’t confuse desire with skill.”

Crocodile, casually leaning against a strap on the ship, crushed the tip of his cigarette into his palm and grumbled: “We’ll deal with the money later. Search this man. If he worked for someone, there must be clues.”

Sengoku refocused attention on the essentials, icy and authoritative: “Let’s continue. Tsuru and Kujaku have brought Hibari. They’re treating her in the mobile infirmary. We won’t stay longer.”

Sakazuki wanted to retort, the anger still a hot ember: “But Xebec—”

Kuzan cut him off, voice firm but controlled: “Sakazuki, not now. We can’t afford to be carried away.”

Sengoku pressed, cutting: “He’s clearly not here. We move forward now, without excess zeal.”

Sakazuki inhaled heavily, the contained lava still rumbling beneath his words. He sniffed, furrowed his brow, then took a step back, seemingly restrained by collective reason: “Fine. We go. But trace this back to the last link. If someone’s pulling the strings… I’ll find them.”

Koby nodded, face pale but determined: “We also need to check the recording and the fragment Mihawk recovered. There’s probably a network.”

Mihawk nodded, already heading toward the hold where the captive was restrained: “I’ll handle it. Search the rest of the ship and the immediate surroundings. Crocodile, keep him locked up. No pointless questions until we know who he’s connected to.”

Crocodile cracked his knuckles. “I’ll take care of it. And if anyone tries anything, I’ll dry them out to the bone.”

The wind stirred the sea, carrying a salty scent and the promise of work with no delay. Tsuru and Kujaku, returning from the hold, acknowledged with grave nods. The machine was in motion: trace leads, consolidate evidence, prepare extraction. Everyone knew that the name dropped—Xebec—had put something older and more dangerous on the table. But for the moment, the priority remained clear and immutable: bring Hibari home, safe.

Sakazuki, gaze still burning, met Kuzan’s eyes. No speech, just a mute agreement. They were ready.

---

Chapter Text

Hibari opened her eyes to a soft, clean light — so different from the stench and darkness of the shack. The bed was unnervingly pristine, the white sheets almost foreign to her. Her body protested every movement; something was bandaged, but the pain was muted, dulled. Around her lingered the smell of disinfectant and sea air, which at first made her wary: was this a trap? Had she only been moved from one hell to another?

The panic rose swiftly. She tried to get up, but her legs gave way. The ship rocked beneath her — a slow, steady motion that should have been reassuring but instead made her dizzy. Her heart pounded furiously. She sat up too quickly, terror clawing at her insides: had they left her there out of negligence? Would the man return? She had to escape. She needed to find Sakiji, Kuzan, her uncle… anyone.

She slipped out of bed, staggering, panic climbing with each step. The door was open — open by mistake? — and the salty wind slapped her face. The sea breeze whipped at her skin, and the vastness of the deck felt far too open, too exposed. She had no plan, only instinct: flee.

She collided headlong into someone.

The shock made her recoil instantly. The stranger spoke in a calm voice; the words drowned in the chaos of her mind. Her primal instinct surged: she screamed.

“Help! H-help me!” she cried, thrashing, scratching, her breath ragged. Her trembling hands clawed to break free, ready to strike again. Footsteps pounded across the deck, worried voices rushing closer.

The man backed away, eyes wide — and for a moment, the world slowed. There was no threat in his posture; instead, he looked as startled and frightened as she was. He raised his hands, palms open in surrender, keeping his distance.

“Hibari?” he whispered, his voice strangled with emotion. “It’s… it’s Kuzan. Please, calm down. I’m here, I won’t hurt you.”

The sound of her name froze the scream in her throat. The syllables were familiar, warm — but the fear did not vanish instantly. She stared at him, searching for truth in his gaze. There was sincerity there, nothing like the face of her captor. He blinked, awkward, clearly shaken to see her this way.

“I… I just wanted to help,” Kuzan added, voice low, every word careful. “Tsuru and Kujaku brought you here. We treated your wounds. Breathe with me, if you want. You’re not alone.”

He made no sudden moves. He knelt at a distance, respecting her space, speaking softly like one would to someone teetering on the edge. His hands only moved after a silent permission — a flicker of lashes, a tiny retreat, then a fragile moment where Hibari, still trembling, allowed her guard to crack.

The tears came, slow at first, then flowing freely. Her cry collapsed into sobs. Around them, voices hurried closer — familiar silhouettes, promises in the making. Hibari drew in a deep breath, clutching Kuzan’s shirt like a lifeline.

“I… I just want to go home,” she whispered, her voice broken.

Kuzan nodded, his eyes brimming with the same restrained fury his husband knew so well, but also with a gentleness that belonged only to him. “We’ll take you. We’ll bring you home.”

---

The incident had woken several on the ship. Rushed steps, worried voices, too many men, too many eyes. For Hibari, it was all a trap, a storm that suffocated her.

“It’s me, Kuzan!” the former admiral insisted, his voice low. But his name only deepened her terror. Her mind screamed that this was another performance, another illusion to shatter her further. She screamed louder, hands clamped over her ears.

Then a clear voice cut through the chaos:

“Move aside.”

Kujaku stepped forward, her gaze sharp as it swept the men who had come too close. She even pushed Kuzan back with a firm gesture. “Hibari, look at me. It’s me, Kujaku.”

The young woman lifted her eyes, hesitant, breath ragged, still trapped in her survival instinct.

“Breathe with me, alright?” Kujaku placed her own hand over her chest in demonstration. “Inhale… exhale… We’re going to stand up slowly and return to the cabin.”

Hibari shook her head, tears blurring her vision. “B-but… the men… the men…”

“It’s alright.” Kujaku’s voice never faltered — steady, gentle. “They’ll leave. You won’t have to see them. I’ll stay with you, even sleep in the infirmary if you want. You won’t be alone.”

Still she hesitated, her fingers clutching the edge of the bulkhead.

“It’s just an infirmary. Do you understand?” Kujaku waited, patient.

“An… infirmary…” Hibari repeated in a broken whisper, as if the word felt strange and familiar at once.

“Yes, exactly.” Kujaku gently extended her hand, never forcing it. “And that’s where you’ll be safe.”

Slowly, the cries faded. Hibari, still shaking, edged closer, guided only by that one voice that inspired no fear.

---

Kuzan remained rooted to the spot, his arms limp at his sides. He hadn’t moved when Kujaku pushed him away. Yet inside, something had snapped cleanly. To see Hibari scream at his presence, as if he were the man who had destroyed her, drove a frozen needle into his chest.

“I… I only wanted to help…” he murmured, head bowed, voice strangled.

Sakazuki had stepped forward, heavy-footed, but stopped at the sight of his husband’s state. His own face tightened, caught between anger and a muted grief.

“It’s not you, Kuzan,” he said at last, softer than usual. His fists were still clenched, but his voice carried an unfamiliar tremor. “She’s lost in her fear. She didn’t see you. She saw a man.”

Kuzan turned away, hand pressed to his forehead. “But I am a man, Sakazuki. And I scared her… worse than her nightmare itself.”

A heavy silence fell. Hibari’s screams had ceased, replaced by Kujaku’s soothing words behind the door. On deck, the soldiers drifted away, ashamed, not knowing where to look.

Sakazuki stepped closer, resting a broad, burning hand on his husband’s icy shoulder. “You think I’d have fared better? She’d scream even louder at me. I’m her uncle… the very image of the authority she rejects.”

Kuzan looked up, startled. In Sakazuki’s crimson eyes burned the same fury at the aggressor — but softened by a painful truth: they could do nothing for Hibari right now. Not directly.

“So what do we do?” Kuzan asked, his voice low, almost childlike.

“We wait,” Sakazuki replied, jaw tight. “We wait for Tsuru and Kujaku to bring her back to us. We don’t force it. Even if it kills me to stand here doing nothing…”

He exhaled heavily, squeezing Kuzan’s shoulder harder, as if lending him strength. “We’re not her saviors this time, Kuzan. Not yet. We just have to be here… when she’s ready.”

Kuzan nodded faintly, finally leaning into his husband, eyes closed. Sakazuki held him there, as if to contain both his own lava and Kuzan’s fractured ice.

---

The cabin was silent, only the roll of the ship and the distant murmur of waves against the hull. Kuzan, still tense, sat on the bed without removing his coat. His face was pale, marked by exhaustion and shame that weighed heavily on him.

Sakazuki closed the door softly behind them. His massive frame seemed to fill the room, but his gaze was strangely fragile, almost worried.

“Kuzan.”

The ice man barely lifted his eyes. His broken voice slipped into the air.
“She saw me as him. As… the other.”

Sakazuki stepped closer, kneeling in front of him. His large hands took Kuzan’s, cold and trembling.
“She didn’t see you. She saw a shadow in her mind. That’s not the same.”

“But… I am a man, Sakazuki. I should’ve known… I couldn’t be the one to approach her.” Kuzan turned away, jaw tight. “I only made things worse. Like always.”

Sakazuki cupped his cheek, gently forcing him to meet his burning gaze.
“Don’t say that. You’re my balance, Kuzan. You’re the one who keeps me from burning the whole world when I lose control. You’re the one who brought Sakiji back to life, who holds our family together when I just want to turn it all to ash.”

Kuzan swallowed hard, finally meeting his eyes through a film of tears.

“You think you’re useless because she screamed at you?” Sakazuki shook his head. “No. You’re hurting for her. You want to be there for her. That’s what matters. That’s what will make her one day see you as an anchor, not a threat.”

The silence thickened, broken only by their mingled breaths. Kuzan felt a tear slide down his cheek, and Sakazuki brushed it away with his thumb.

“Stay with me,” Kuzan whispered, almost pleading.

“Always,” Sakazuki rumbled, pressing his forehead to his husband’s. “And together, we’ll be there when Hibari is ready. We’ll be her pillars, even if she can’t see it yet.”

Kuzan sighed, finally letting his body relax against Sakazuki’s burning chest. For the first time in days, he felt warmth that did not frighten him.

---

“Mama… papa…”

The small voice startled them both. The door had cracked open, and Sakiji had already slipped inside, barefoot, his blanket trailing behind him like a cape. He had slipped past Koby and Helmeppo, who slept like stones after days without rest.

“Hibari… she sleep in the sick room,” he announced with the solemn air of a child convinced he bore important news.

Then, without asking permission, he climbed onto the bed. His small body bounced against the mattress before vanishing under the covers like a puppy finding its nest.

“Mama, are you sad?” he asked, raising wide eyes to Kuzan, who froze. In his tiny hands, he clutched a worn-out stuffed toy, its seams frayed by years of hugs. He held it out with all the seriousness in the world. “You can borrow it if you want.”

Kuzan’s throat tightened. The simple, pure gesture cut deeper than any blade. He stifled a sob and pulled his son close, holding him tight, almost too tight, as if anchoring himself to reality.

“Thank you, Sakiji…” His voice cracked, but he continued, stroking the boy’s dark hair. “You’re so strong, you know that? Sometimes stronger than me.”

Sakiji nodded with the confidence of a child who believed he understood everything, then turned to Sakazuki, who watched in silence, his stern face softened by a gentler light.

“Papa, you can’t be mad, or mama will cry again.”

Sakazuki blinked, caught off guard, then exhaled deeply. He wrapped both his husband and son into his blazing embrace, protective and unyielding.

“I’m not angry, Sakiji,” he murmured, his deep voice vibrating with sincerity. “Not at you. Never.”

The boy nodded, satisfied, then nestled against them, his toy squished between him and Kuzan. Within minutes, his steady breathing betrayed sleep.

Kuzan cast a tearful glance at Sakazuki, whispering almost soundlessly:
“He really is our light.”

“Yeah,” Sakazuki breathed, pressing a kiss to his son’s temple before holding his husband even closer. “Him… and you.”

The roll of the ship, Sakazuki’s warmth, the small body asleep between them… it all finally soothed Kuzan. For the first time in days, he closed his eyes, and sleep came — fragile, but welcome.

---

Chapter Text

A few days had passed since the rescue. The ship drifted slowly over the sea, its steady hum blending with the whistling wind. And yet, for Hibari, every wave felt like a reminder of her captivity — a moving prison, without land, without direction. She barely slept. The nights came and went, all the same, suffocating. Even when she closed her eyes, she could still see that man’s face.

His voice.
His laughter.

That morning, Kujaku entered the infirmary without a word.
Hibari was staring at the sea through the small porthole, her knees pulled tight against her chest. Her skin still bore traces of bandages. Kujaku set a bowl of soup on the table but didn’t insist. The silence between them stretched for a long time — until Hibari whispered, her voice hoarse:

“When I close my eyes, it feels like he’s still here.”

Kujaku slowly approached. “That’s normal,” she replied simply.

No empty words, no false gentleness — just presence.
Hibari dared to look at her. “Even here… on the ship… I’m scared. The sounds, the footsteps… I’m always afraid he’ll come back.”

Kujaku nodded quietly. “I know. The body remembers before the heart does. You got out of there, but a part of you is still trapped.”

Tears rose instantly in Hibari’s eyes, unstoppable.
She wasn’t really crying — she was suffocating. “I just… I just want him to stop existing in my head.”

Kujaku pulled up a chair and sat beside her, without touching her. Her voice, lower now, vibrated with restrained anger. “What he did to you doesn’t define you. You don’t have to be ashamed of being afraid.”

Hibari nodded, but her trembling hands betrayed her. “I don’t want to… be with Helmeppo anymore.”

Kujaku said nothing. Hibari continued, breathless: “It’s not his fault. He never hurt me. But when I see him… my body panics. I hear his voice, and it’s like it’s happening all over again. And I’m scared. I’m scared of him.”

Kujaku leaned in slightly. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“No…” Hibari whispered, eyes downcast. “I just want him to know. I don’t want to be his girlfriend anymore. I can’t. And I think… I’ll never be able to love a man again.”
She bit her lip, ashamed. “I’m weird, right?”

Kujaku shook her head. “No. You’re hurt. And you’re clear-headed. There’s nothing weird about that. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”

She set her hand gently on the table, between them. “What you’re feeling is your body trying to protect you. It says ‘no’ before you can even think. And that’s good. You’re listening to it.”

Hibari closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Kujaku stayed beside her until her breathing slowed.
Then she stood and draped a blanket over her shoulders.

“I’ll tell him. For you. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.”

Her hand came to rest softly on Hibari’s head. “And you know… just because you’re refusing men doesn’t mean you’re refusing love. You can love differently, in your own time. That’s a kind of healing too.”

Hibari nodded, unable to speak. When Kujaku left the room, the young woman kept her gaze on the sea, trying to understand if the horizon could ever look like a future.

---

Hours later, Kujaku found Helmeppo in the mess hall. He looked drained, dark circles shadowing his face. He jumped to his feet when he saw her, full of a hope he didn’t dare to name. But the letter in Kujaku’s hand made him falter before she even spoke.

“Hibari asked me to give you this,” she said, placing the paper on the table. “And to stay, in case you don’t understand everything.”

Helmeppo read.
Slowly.

The paper trembled between his fingers.
Each word cut deep.

I can’t anymore. It’s not you. But I can’t be with a man. I can’t be with you.

He set the letter down. His throat tightened. “She… she hates me, doesn’t she?”

“No,” Kujaku answered without hesitation. “She doesn’t hate you. She’s afraid. And she’s hurting.” She sat across from him, elbows on the table. “You were the kindest thing in her world before all this. And now your face reminds her that kindness wasn’t enough to save her. It’s not your fault, but it’s real.”

Helmeppo ran a hand over his face, holding back a sob. “I just wanted her to get better. To look at me like before. To feel… safe.”

Kujaku took a slow breath, her voice calm but firm. “Do you really think she can feel safe if you want her to go back to who she was? That version of her doesn’t exist anymore.
You have to learn to love who she is now.”

Silence settled around them.
The words sank in slowly, painfully.
Helmeppo lowered his head.

“Then… what should I do?”

Kujaku gave him a sad smile. “Nothing. You don’t have to do anything. Just be there. Not as a lover. Not as a savior.
As a friend. And maybe one day, that’ll be enough for her to look at you without fear.”

Helmeppo nodded, eyes glistening. “I understand.” His voice cracked. “But it hurts.”

Kujaku briefly squeezed his shoulder before standing.“Then it means you really loved her.”

---

The cabin was quiet, bathed in a pale light filtering through the porthole. Hibari stared at the ceiling without really seeing it. She had counted the minutes since Kujaku had left — each heartbeat echoing like a cannon blast in her chest.

When the door finally opened, she jumped.

“Kujaku!” Her voice trembled. “Did he say anything? Helmeppo… did he hate you? Or me?”

Kujaku closed the door softly before answering.
Her face showed no anger, no pity — just gentle exhaustion.

“He doesn’t hate you, Hibari. He’s sad, of course. But he understood.” She approached slowly, resting a comforting hand on the edge of the bed. “He doesn’t hate you. He just wants… you to heal.”

Hibari nodded faintly, her lips trembling. “I didn’t want to hurt him. I just… couldn’t keep pretending.”

“You did the right thing,” Kujaku replied calmly. But as she moved to sit down, Hibari suddenly covered her mouth and bent over the side of the bed. A violent retch shook her, and she barely managed to grab the bucket at her feet before vomiting.

“Hey, hey… easy,” Kujaku murmured, rushing to steady her. “Breathe. It’s over, it’s over…”

Hibari was trembling, her eyes blurred with tears and shame. “I-I’m sorry… I made a mess…”

“Shh. It’s fine.” Kujaku took a towel, gently wiping her mouth and forehead. But something in Hibari’s breathing made her tense. The girl had gone pale to the lips, her stomach clenching as though this wasn’t the first time.

Kujaku frowned. “Is this the first time it’s happened?”

A long silence. Then Hibari slowly shook her head. “No…” she murmured. “It happens… a lot. For maybe two weeks now, or more. I thought it was stress, or the sea…”

Kujaku froze. Her soldier’s instinct whispered poisoning, infection, but her woman’s instinct said something else.
She placed a steady hand on the trembling girl’s shoulder.

“Hibari… when was your last period?”

Hibari blinked, confused. “My… period?”
She searched her memory — the days had blurred together since her captivity. “I… I don’t remember. It’s been… a while.”

Kujaku straightened abruptly. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

She left with firm strides, her boots thudding against the deck. A few minutes later, she returned with the ship’s nurse — a woman in her fifties with a kind but steady gaze.
Hibari, frightened, shrank back in bed.

“N-no, I don’t want anyone to touch me…”

Kujaku sat beside her, her voice low, almost maternal. “I know, I know. But it’s important. No one will hurt you, I promise. We just need to check something.”

The nurse spoke gently, making no sudden moves. “I’m just going to place my fingers here, all right? Breathe slowly.”

The minutes stretched in silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of the waves. Then the nurse slowly lifted her head, meeting Kujaku’s eyes. Their silent exchange said everything.

Kujaku felt her throat tighten. She placed a firm hand on Hibari’s arm.

“Hibari…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You’re pregnant.”

Hibari froze. The words didn’t seem to reach her right away.
She blinked once, twice, three times, before her lips began to tremble.

“…No.”

Kujaku tried to speak, but Hibari recoiled, shaking her head violently, her hands clutching the sheets as if to tear them apart.

“No. That’s not possible. He… he did… but… no… no…”

Her breathing turned erratic, a strangled cry rising in her throat. Kujaku caught her before she fell from the bed, holding her tightly, firmly.

“Breathe, Hibari. Breathe. You’re here. You’re safe.”

But the young woman no longer heard her.
Her hands trembled, her body rejecting the reality forced upon her. Then the sobs came — violent, raw — as everything she had kept buried finally broke free.

Kujaku held her close, eyes burning, until the cries dwindled into silent, shuddering gasps. The nurse quietly stepped back, leaving them alone. And when silence finally fell again — heavy and salt-laden — Kujaku understood that this battle, the one to rebuild Hibari, was only just beginning.

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