Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rosinante stood at the edge of the dimly lit room, his ears filled with the smooth, persuasive nonsense of his brother. Doflamingo was in one of his moods—preaching, plotting, intoxicated by his own delusions of grandeur.

Then, suddenly, the doors slammed open.

A small figure stormed in, his coat too big for his tiny frame, his face twisted in rage.

“I’LL KILL YOU ALL!” the boy screamed, breath ragged, fury radiating off him in waves. His little hands clenched around the live explosives strapped across his chest, his fingers twitching over the detonators.

The room fell silent. Even Doflamingo paused, a smirk tugging at his lips.

That night, Rosinante observed the boy more closely.

The haunted eyes, the spotted skin. The cautious way he moved. The unmistakable bitterness of a survivor. Rosinante knew, without a doubt, that this boy was from Flevance.

His grip tightened around his cigarette. Should he report this to his father?

Instead, he exhaled, watching as Law sat hunched over, twirling the grenade absentmindedly between his fingers.

Rosinante decided to let it be. Tonight was a victory. With that thought, he retired to his room.

As soon as he sat on the bed—everything changed.

The air shifted. The mattress beneath him dissolved. A blinding white light swallowed his vision, so intense it felt like staring into the sun.

“Marco, son… where are we?”

Rosinante turned, disoriented, only to find himself staring up at a towering figure.

Whitebeard.

“Newgate,” a second voice interjected, older, composed. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

Dark King Rayleigh.

Then, the unmistakable, sharp voice that sent a jolt through Rosinante’s spine—

“Rosinante—what? Why are YOU here?!”

His heart pounded. He whipped around, barely able to process the face he never thought he’d see here.“… Fleet Admiral Sengoku?”

“Don’t Fleet Admiral Sengoku me,” the man grumbled. “I have no idea where we are, but that buffoon of your uncle is also here, and I have no patience for whatever this is.”

From the corner of the room, Garp gave a hearty laugh, stepping beside Sengoku with his usual careless ease.

“Shitty Gramps—what the hell are you doing here?” a young voice growled.

Garp blinked—then grinned. “BRAT!”

He lunged forward, grabbing the boy and lifting him off the ground with alarming enthusiasm.

“Hoho! What a fascinating group we have he—AAAGH!!”

A young voice shrieked in pain as Rayleigh smacked him over the red-haired head.

“You stupid brat!” Rayleigh bellowed, hitting him repeatedly. “Why don’t you EVER call?!”

Shanks, rubbing his head furiously, scowled. “Dammit, old man—quit hitting me!!”

Then—two more voices.

“Oh.” “…no.”

All heads turned to the newcomers.

Sir Crocodile stood with his arms crossed, his gaze sharp and unreadable. Beside him, another figure in a deep green cloak muttered something under his breath.

“What the hell did you do this time you stupid brat?” Garp asked, frowning at the cloaked man.

Before anyone could respond—

More figures stumbled through the mist.

Sabo was the first to react, skidding to a halt as his eyes darted around the room. His breath hitched. He barely had a second to process everything before his gaze locked onto someone familiar.

His whole body tensed. “…Ace?”

Ace, who had been watching the chaos unfold with his arms crossed, froze.

His head snapped toward the blond, his pupils shrinking.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then—Sabo’s eyes flickered past him. He saw the old man standing beside Sengoku—the one Ace had cursed for years.

His expression darkened instantly.

“…You.”

His voice was quiet—deadly. His fists clenched at his sides.

Garp turned at the voice, raising a brow. “Hah? Do I know you, brat?”

Sabo grit his teeth, rage boiling in his chest.

Before he could explode, another voice cut in.

“W-What’s happening?!” A trembling figure stumbled forward.

A white-furred Mink. Bepo.

His ears flattened against his head as he took in the dangerous presences around him. His instincts screamed at him to run. He tried to step back, but his legs trembled. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps.

Sabo, still tense, turned at the whimper. His anger faded instantly.

“Hey, hey—it’s okay,” he said quickly, crouching beside Bepo. “Everything's fine.”

Bepo whimpered, shaking. “T-There are too many strong people here,” he whispered.

Sabo nodded, keeping his voice calm and gentle. “I know. But no one’s going to hurt you, alright? Take deep breaths.”

Bepo swallowed, his small paws clutching his sides. He tried to inhale deeply but hiccupped instead.

Sabo reached out and gently placed a hand on the young Mink’s shoulder. “That’s good. Just keep breathing.”

Bepo trembled but nodded.

Meanwhile, green-haired boy in a ragged yukata stood a few feet away, arms crossed. His eyes darted between the chaos unfolding around him.

Zoro.

He took one look at the crying Mink, the tension between the blonde child and the old Marine, and the presence of other old men standing in one room, and then sighed.

“…Okay,” he muttered. “Can someone please explain what the hell is going on?”

A beat of silence.

Whitebeard let out a booming laugh. “GUHAHAHA!” He grinned at Zoro. “Boy, I like your spirit!”

Zoro blinked. “…Uh. Thanks?”

Crocodile exhaled sharply. “This is going to be a long conversation.”

A voice, calm and ethereal, cut through the noise like a blade through still water.

"Welcome. Please, sit down."

The room fell into complete silence. Even Whitebeard and Rayleigh, men who had faced the seas’ greatest storms, found themselves pausing and listening.

"You are part of the final stage of the Heavenly Tribulation of our youngest gods." The voice carried no malice, no warmth—only the weight of something ancient and absolute. "Each of you was chosen because you were either a guardian from their past lives, a parent, a grandparent, their right-hand-men or a figure they loved as family."

The air in the room seemed to vibrate with unseen energy, as if the very fabric of reality was shifting around them.

Then, the voice softened, though it did not lose its divine authority.

"The elder of our young gods has no living biological family among you."

A beat of silence.

"But do not grieve. They await the Heavenly Couple in the realm beyond, watching with pride, tending to their offspring, eager for the day they will be reunited."

For a brief moment, something flickered across Rosinante’s face—something unreadable, heavy, yet hopeful.

Then—

"One among you is not only the biological grandparent of our younger god, but was also deeply loved as a parent by the guardian of this god."

A shift in the atmosphere, Rosinante felt something in his chest tighten.

“The gods thank you, humans. The gods are indebted to you, for the sacrifices you made.”

A chill ran through the room. The voice continued.

“We have gathered here because the first guardian—Donquixote Rosinante—has just made contact with his charge. The elder of our young gods.”

Rosinante’s breath hitched.

Rosinante’s breath caught in his throat, his pulse quickening. The child he had only just met today was more than a mere boy. He was a god.

The voice carried on, unrelenting.

“Meanwhile, our other god is currently fighting his way through the jungle… at the age of three.”

Garp choked on his cracker. “Damn it, Luffy...” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

“Now,” it said, as though it had all the time in the universe, “allow me to introduce our youngest god.”

A hologram-like, yet tangible image flickered to life in the center of the room, its light casting eerie shadows on their faces.

A radiant, fiery bird. Its body stands about one and a half meters tall, feathers were an impossible blend of crimson and gold, glowing with an inner flame that seemed to burn like the heart of the sun itself. The creature stretched its wings—magnificent, vast—and the air around it seemed to shimmer with heat. The room seemed to glow, as if the sun itself had descended to earth. Golden embers scattered from the tips of its wings, cascading like fireflies in a summer sky.

“The God of Freedom, Joy, Chaos, Fertility, and Mercy,” the voice continued, the words echoing through the room, “He has also inherited the title of Nika, successor of the Sun God.”

The room remained still as the panther held them all captive in its gaze.

“Luffy, the Sun Phoenix. Formerly known as Monkey D. Luffy, formerly known as Mugiwara no Luffy, King of the Pirates and Joy Boy, son of former Celestial Dragon Figarland Shanks, biological son of Monkey D. Dragon and Edward Crocodile, known as Sir Crocodile, biological grandson of Monkey D. Garp, known as Garp the Fist and Edward Newgate, known as Whitebeard. Brother of Gol D. Ace, formerly known as Portgas D. Ace and Fire Fist Ace, and Sabo, formerly known as Flame Emperor Sabo. Charge of Gol D. Ace and Silvers Rayleigh, known as Dark King. Captain to Roronoa Zoro, formerly known as Pirate Hunter Zoro and King of Hell.”

The silence that followed wasn’t mere shock—it was staggering, all-consuming disbelief.

Crocodile, standing frozen, his usual calm demeanor completely gone, blinked in confusion, his fingers twitching involuntarily. “What the hell is this?” His voice came out as a harsh whisper. “My child is dead. Dead.” His eyes narrowed as he turned to Dragon, who looked at him with a blank face, his mind racing. “How… how could this happen? Is this true?”

Garp's fist slammed onto the table with a deafening thud. His voice was sharp and cutting, filled with anger. “Oh, shut up, pirate! My son gave him to me! I didn't know you were his other parent!” He was practically yelling at Crocodile now, unable to contain his frustration. “There is NO way my grandson becomes the King of Pirates, and I’ll be damned if some good-for-nothing pirate brat like you gets anywhere near Luffy!” Garp shook his head, now glaring daggers at Shanks.

Shanks swallowed hard, looking at Garp in shock, his face pale. “I… I didn’t know any Luffy, Garp! I swear I don’t.” His voice was strained. “I—”

Whitebeard—the strongest man in the world—had been silent for most of the exchange, watching with an expression of wary intrigue. But now—his massive frame went rigid, and the tremor in his hands wasn’t from age or weakness. “I’m a grandfather,” he muttered, his voice gruff, thick with something indescribable. His massive palm came down on the table with a force that sent cracks spidering through the wood. “Luffy... A boy. MY GRANDSON?” His deep voice shook with a mix of awe and mounting frustration.

Marco, watching the scene unfold with a half-amused expression, spoke up dryly, his voice tinged with disbelief. “King of Pirates. A god. Seems like your grandson is going places, Pops.”

Rayleigh, ever the composed man, looked utterly floored. His lips parted, but no words came. Then, with a hoarse chuckle, he exhaled sharply. “A GOD… will be my charge?” He shook his head, his voice carrying a rare tremor of uncertainty. “Roger has a son who's my charge’s other guardian?”

“This is… insane,” Sabo murmured, eyes wide, still trying to make sense of everything.

Zoro leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “King of Hell, huh?” He scoffed, though there was a hint of awe in his tone.

As Luffy’s wings fluttered gently in the background, Ace felt the warmth emanating from him, a strange familiarity he couldn’t quite put into words. Ace felt something deep in his chest—a pull, an instinct. His small feet carried him forward before he even realized it, his wide, freckled face tilted up toward the blazing creature before him.

The Phoenix stood tall, about a head taller than Ace’s height, its magnificent plumage of crimson and gold burning like a living sunrise. It should have been intimidating, overwhelming—but it wasn’t.

“Chirp! Chirp-chirp-chirp!”

A shrill, ecstatic noise burst from the great bird, its whole form shuddering with unmistakable joy. Its crimson eyes shone brighter, and it bounced in place, talons scraping against the glowing floor. Its enormous wings—vast enough to engulf him in shadow—fluttered, sending a warm rush of wind past Ace’s face.

The Phoenix was happy. Happy to see him.

Ace’s breath hitched. He didn’t fully understand why, didn’t fully understand what this meant, but—his heart knew. 

“Wow,” Ace whispered again, stepping closer, reaching out with hesitant fingers.

Luffy trilled again, his massive wings folding downward, inward—and suddenly, Ace found himself wrapped in warmth. The wings curved around him like a shield, shimmering with flickers of golden flame, heat radiating not to burn but to comfort.

A soft, protective embrace.

Sabo’s fingers twitched. His mind whirred.

Zoro felt a pull, a force that wasn’t physical, but deeper. It felt like an invisible hand had reached inside him and tugged—not painfully, but unmistakably. Like an unspoken command whispered into his very bones.

Sengoku, who had remained stoically quiet for the most part, his face a mask of frustration cracking. He muttered under his breath, his voice filled with disbelief, “This... this doesn’t make sense. Joy Boy is supposed to be a myth.” His eyes darted across the room as he tried to process everything. “And Dragon’s son… Garp, how the hell did this happen? We all thought—” He paused, shaking his head in confusion. “GARP, IT'S YOUR FAMILY AGAIN!.”

And then—

“The heavenly husband,” the voice continued. “The elder of our young gods.”

Ace barely had time to register the shift in the air before a presence—silent, calculated—emerged from the shadows.

A Jaguar. Majestic. Sleek. Untouchable.

It moved like moonlight, its powerful, sleek form slipping forward with effortless grace. Its fur was woven from moonlight and shadow, shifting with an almost ethereal fluidity. Faintly glowing sigils shimmered across its body, pulsing with an eerie rhythm, like breathing stardust.

But it wasn’t just the way it moved that sent a shiver down Ace’s spine.

It was the way it looked at the Phoenix.

Golden eyes—sharp, intelligent, piercing—locked onto the radiant form of the great bird. They held no hesitation, no doubt, only an unwavering sense of recognition.

The Phoenix, still wrapped around Ace, stilled.

“Chirp!” A single, soft, approving sound escaped the fiery bird.

Its crimson eyes met the Jaguar’s, and for a moment, it felt as though they spoke without words.

The Jaguar’s ears flicked slightly, the Jaguar’s attention shifted. His eyes narrowed as he spotted the trembling form of Bepo, who was cowering next to Sabo, his fur bristling with fear. The great feline’s golden gaze softened just for a moment, and in a flash of movement, he leapt forward.

Bepo froze, terror gripping him, but before he could react, the Jaguar’s massive jaws clamped down on the nape of his neck, as a mother would carry her cub. The teeth, strong and precise, didn’t cause harm but held firm and gentle in a way that only the beast understood.

Bepo whimpered, his body going stiff for a moment in fright, but the jaguar’s grip was not painful—it was instinctual, protective. The jaguar let out a soft rumbling purr, calming the small mink as he carefully lifted him from the ground.

The beast’s golden eyes glinted, a silent reassurance, before he turned with purpose and walked back toward his mate. His powerful body carried Bepo as if he weighed nothing, and he moved with determination, like a creature on a mission.

The jaguar lowered Bepo onto the ground with gentleness despite his immense size. The Phoenix, sensing the movement, flared wide, forming a protective barrier around the small mink folded its wings now around Ace and Bepo in an embrace.

With silent, effortless power, the great beast stepped forward, positioning himself directly in front of his mate and the children within his wings. His gaze sweeping over the room with quiet authority, daring anyone to step forward or challenge this protected family. His posture was steady, firm—a predator at full alert, golden eyes flicking across the room with quiet, unshakable authority. His tail gave a slow, deliberate flick, muscles coiled beneath his midnight-black fur.

Daring anyone to challenge him.

The Phoenix, still curled protectively around Ace and Bepo, let out another soft chirp—this time, content.

The Jaguar had taken his place.

Every movement was precise, measured, like the very air bent to its will. Golden eyes gleamed, sharp and ancient, cutting through the stunned silence. And then—

A low, resonant roar tore through the room, deep and commanding, shaking them all to their very cores.

A shudder passed through Marco, his breath hitching as an unfamiliar, primal instinct coiled in his chest. The phoenix in him wanted to run away, to hide.

Even Whitebeard, who had stood unshaken before emperors, beasts, and legends, felt an icy thrill crawl up his spine.

Sengoku's finger curled so tightly around the arms of his chair that the wood splintered beneath them. His pupils shrank to pinpricks, dark irises shaking in their sockets.

“The God of Love, Health, Medicine, and Peace,” the voice announced, deaf to the sheer shock its words had caused. “The successor of the Moon God, Tsuki.”

The room remained still as the panther held them all captive in its gaze.

“Law, the Night Jaguar. Formerly known as Trafalgar D. Water Law, formerly known as Surgeon of Death, son of former Celestial Dragon Donquixote Rosinante, grandson of Sengoku the Buddha. Charge of Donquixote Rosinante and Marco the Phoenix. Captain to Polar Bear Mink Bepo.”

And then, everything—collapsed.

Sengoku shot to his feet, his chair scraping violently against the floor. His face contorted with staggered disbelief, his entire world shattering in an instant. “You’re telling me you—he’s YOUR SON?!”

Rosinante—speechless, breathless—could only stand there. His mind reeled, struggling to grasp something solid, something that made sense.

It was impossible. He had met the boy today. He had never had a son. But—he couldn’t take his eyes off that panther. He couldn’t breathe.

Sengoku looked seconds away from combusting, his hands trembling. “This is some kind of joke—”

“What the hell is going on here?!” Garp’s roar cut through the chaos, his face an alarming shade of red. “Dragon! Is that true?! DID YOU KNOW?!”

Dragon had not moved. Had not spoken. His face remained unreadable, but his fingers twitched slightly, betraying the storm beneath his skin.

The voice had not yet finished.

“The Heavenly Couple,” it declared, and suddenly, it was as though the world had been stripped of air. “Their divine offspring—already growing, already waiting—will one day surpass even the gods before them.”

That was it. That was the final strike, the final blow that shattered any lingering grip on sanity.

Sengoku stumbled back as if he’d been physically hit. “Their… children?” His voice was hoarse, almost broken. “They… have children?”

Rosinante was drowning. He felt like the floor had been yanked from beneath him, like the air had turned to molten lead in his lungs.

The celestial voice resonated once more, cutting through the stunned silence.

"Young guardian, young right-hand man, please step away from the young god. The next revelations will require space."

Ace and Bepo, who had been tucked within the warmth of Luffy’s glowing wings, blinked up at the tangible hologram before hesitantly looking back at the Phoenix. The great bird chirped softly in encouragement.

With careful steps, Ace backed away, making his way toward Garp, who placed a firm but steadying hand on the boy’s shoulder. The old Marine's expression was unreadable—his sharp eyes, however, remained glued to Luffy, scrutinizing every movement.

Dragon, standing off to the side, took in the scene with quiet intensity. How does his father know Gol D. Ace?

But before he could dwell on it further, the voice spoke again.

"Before you see the Heavenly Couple as they appear in your world, allow me to show you their divine forms—the way they exist in the Heavens."

A soft mist—pure white, ethereal—began to rise around the glowing images of the Phoenix and the Jaguar, obscuring their grand forms. The light pulsed, shifting, bending. And then—

The mist cleared.

Before them stood a man—tall, slender but powerful, his entire body adorned with intricate tattoos that seemed to pulse with energy. He wore a flowing dark blue tunic, embroidered with vibrant pink hearts that stood out against the deep color. His shaggy black-blue hair fell messily around his face, his golden eyes burning like smouldering embers. Long sideburns framed his sharp jawline, and a faint shadow of a beard graced his face.

For a moment, the man simply observed the room, his piercing gaze sweeping over each person with an unreadable expression. But then—

His eyes landed on Rosinante. And he stilled.

His golden gaze softened, filled with a love that transcended time, yet behind it lay an undeniable sorrow. The kind that spoke of loss—of things stolen by fate too soon.

Another figure appeared beside him. A woman. Beautiful unlike anything anyone has ever seen, radiant—divine.

She stood tall, elegant, draped in a soft pink tunic, adorned with light blue hearts that shimmered subtly with each movement. The fabric parted gracefully at her abdomen, revealing the gentle curve of a pregnant belly.

Her long, flowing black hair cascaded down her back like silk, and her large, deep black eyes shimmered with raw emotion. She was breathtaking—not simply because of her celestial beauty, but because every piece of her presence felt like warmth, like life itself.

And then—she turned. Her gaze landed on Ace and Garp. And tears began to roll down her cheeks.

A single, choked sob escaped her lips before she covered her mouth with delicate fingers, her shoulders trembling as silent cries wracked her form.

The man beside her immediately moved, brushing his knuckles softly against her wet cheek, wiping away the tears with the utmost tenderness. His voice was low, soothing—filled with unwavering love.

“Lu-ya, you will see them again.” His forehead pressed gently against hers. “My Love, my Sunlight, don’t cry. Your brother and grandfather are alive.”

The room shattered with that single confirmation.

Ace’s breath hitched.

Garp stood stock-still, his throat working, his fists clenched at his sides as if trying to ground himself.

“…Lu… Luffy?”

The woman sniffled, blinking through her tears before nodding.

Garp’s brow twitched. “You’re a woman?” His voice was somewhere between absolute confusion and sheer disbelief.

Luffy let out a soft giggle—light, musical—but nodded again, tilting his head in amusement.

There was a heavy, pregnant pause before Dragon's stunned voice broke the silence. “...You're... stunning.” His voice was low, filled with awe and disbelief. 

Crocodile, still frozen at the scene unfolding before him, stared at the woman, his sharp features slack in surprise. 

Whitebeard was utterly still. His wide, weathered hands gripped the edge of the table, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief as his gaze wandered from Luffy's form to the pregnant belly and back again. “A… grandchild? This child... what am I even looking at?” His voice, usually commanding and firm, cracked with vulnerability. He stared at Luffy as if trying to make sense of what was happening. “This… is my grandchild and my grand grandchild?”

Shanks calm demeanour shattered, jaw dropped as he stared at the radiant woman. He blinked several times, trying to process what was happening and compose himself. He shook his head, swallowing hard.

The room fell into a heavy silence, each of them still processing the enormity of the revelation. Marco, not able to contain himself, let out an appreciative whistle. The sound was louder than expected, ringing out through the room, breaking the silence with a sudden sharpness.

Everyone froze.

For a moment, all eyes turned to Marco, who had the decency to look embarrassed. But before anyone could comment, the female deity, her presence still radiating calm and warmth, let out a soft chuckle, her laughter light and melodic.

“Pineapple is silly,” Luffy said with a teasing smile, his tone warm and filled with affection.

The tension that had gripped the room evaporated instantly. A wave of laughter swept over everyone—some chuckling, others letting out full-hearted laughs at the unexpected humor.

Garp opened his mouth—then closed it. Opened it again. He looked like he was recalculating his entire existence. And then—his sharp eyes landed on the stomach. Again.

“…You’re pregnant?”

Luffy let out another joyful giggle, his hands coming up to rest gently on his swollen belly. He didn’t speak—he didn’t need to.

Before Garp could even attempt to process this, the other god smirked.

“Old man,” the celestial man drawled, slipping an arm securely around Luffy’s waist. “Your grandson is the God of Fertility. And I am the God of Love, Corazon. What exactly did you expect? That we spent our time in heaven twiddling our thumbs? Meditating? Practicing abstinence?”

Luffy whimpered, nosing against Law’s throat, shameless in his desperation. "Don't say that word," he whined, as if the mere thought of abstinence was physically painful.

Dragon looked as though he was reconsidering his entire existence. 

But Law wasn’t done. He exhaled dramatically, looking down at his mate with an exaggerated sort of reverence. "Just look at him. Gorgeous. Irresistible. The most divine creature in all the realms." His golden eyes gleamed with pure, unfiltered smugness. "How could I not?"

Luffy arched against him, his grip on Law's robes tightening, his breath hot against his husband's skin. "You can't," he all but purred, tilting his head for attention. "You never could."

Garp’s eye twitched.

The man snorted, clearly entertained by the disbelief on their faces. “Anyway.” He gave a lazy shrug, then added, “We already have nine children waiting for us with my family. And since we are no longer bound to a mortal lifespan or any concerns of a mortal body, well…” He let the sentence hang in the air before grinning wolfishly.

“Let’s just say we’re never closing shop.”

And with that, Law leaned down and kissed his mate. 

"You know," Law mused, completely ignoring the stunned silence of his in-laws, "I always thought one child per year was plenty."

Garp's entire body jerked. Dragon twitched. Shanks’s eye visibly spasmed.

"But this one—" Law tilted his head down toward Luffy, his voice dropping to something low and indulgent, fingers brushing over his mate’s flushed, eager face. "—this needy, insatiable, divine little thing—" Luffy whined, pressing into his touch, "—is the God of Fertility. And you would not believe the absolute hell that means for me."

Law, watching their reactions like an artist admiring his masterpiece, sighed dramatically. "I tried, you know. I really did. I told him, ‘One child per year, love. A reasonable number. We don’t need to go crazy.’"

Luffy giggled, pressing his face against Law’s shoulder. "You did say that."

Law tilted his head toward Garp, watching the man's slow descent into madness with pure amusement. "But then I learned something. Something crucial. Something life-changing, even."

He grinned, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Your grandson is a fucking menace."

He glanced back up at their horrified audience, completely unrepentant. "I tried to pace us, I really did. But he—"

"Torao, don’t tell them that!" Luffy gasped, except he was grinning, giggling, clinging to his husband as if the idea of separation was physically painful.

Law smirked. "Should I lie, sweetheart?" His hand slid down his mate’s back, holding him in place as Luffy arched into the contact. "Or should I tell them how many times you've begged me—"

"Stop!" Luffy whimpered, hiding his face against Law’s chest.

He turned back to his audience with the smuggest look in existence. "He already begged me at the altar to give him a child. In front of all gods," he continued, voice leisurely, completely unfazed by the horror in the room. "I would’ve stopped at three. Then five. Maybe six."

He sighed dramatically.

"Maybe seven, if I was feeling generous."

Luffy huffed, clearly offended. "I was never stopping at seven, not with a husband like you."

"I didn't exactly have a choice, did I?" Law grumbled, looking pointedly at the way Luffy was still plastered against him. "You just had to give me those eyes every time I even mentioned restraint, didn’t you?"

Luffy grinned, utterly unrepentant. "Mmm, but you like it when I look at you like that, don’t you, Torao?"

Law groaned, pressing his forehead to Luffy’s shoulder. "See? This is what I have to live with. This is my life." He dramatically gestured toward his still-stunned audience.

"And now—ten. Ten! Do you have any idea how exhausting that is?" He huffed, shaking his head. "And the worst part? The absolute worst part?"

He leaned in, voice dropping as if sharing a deadly secret.

"This little menace—" He tilted his chin toward Luffy, "wants more."

Luffy gasped at the contact, clinging tighter. "Want more," he confessed, voice breathy and wrecked with sheer need. "Don’t wanna stop at ten."

Garp made sound that could only be described as soul-wrenching agony.

"More," Law repeated, like it was physically painful to admit. He gestured vaguely at Luffy's already swollen stomach. "As if this isn’t proof enough of my suffering."

"Torao," Luffy whined, "stop talking and kiss me again—"

Law sighed like a martyr, gripping Luffy’s chin and tilting his head up for another kiss—slow, deep, absolutely sinful—so thorough that by the time they pulled apart, Luffy was panting, pupils blown wide, starved for more.

Law, savoring their suffering, sighed. "See what I mean?" He gestured at Luffy with mock helplessness. "What was I supposed to do? Say no? Deny him? Be serious. Have you ever tried telling this brat no? It’s impossible. It’s like telling the tide not to rise."

Luffy nipped at Law’s neck, squirming."Want you."

Law hummed, pretending to consider. "Mm. Later, love. After this."

Luffy groaned, grinding against him."Nooo, now."

Law turned back to their audience without missing a beat.

"By the way, old man," he added lazily, "I know it’s been a lot to take in, but you should probably start breathing again. Wouldn’t want you to drop dead before meeting your grandson again in your world."

Before anyone could break out of their shock—before anyone could even breathe—

The voice spoke one last time. “Behold—the Heavenly Couple.”

As the celestial words faded into silence, the two gods—standing hand in hand in their divine forms—turned toward each other once more.

Without hesitation, the taller god leaned down, pressing another slow, lingering kiss to his mate’s lips. It was a silent promise, a reassurance—one neither of them needed, yet both craved.

Then, as he pulled away, he murmured softly, his voice carrying across the stunned room.

"Lu-ya, don’t cry too much." His golden eyes softened as he cupped Luffy’s face in his palms, his thumbs brushing gently over tear-stained cheeks. "I will find you. I swear on my domain that I'll find you."

Luffy sniffled, eyes wide, still glistening with emotion.

"Cora-san will help me. I’ll come to you. You won’t have to be alone, alright?"

His words were a vow, a certainty that could not be undone.

And before Luffy could even think to answer, the taller god pampered him with kisses—soft, fleeting presses of lips against his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, until a reluctant giggle broke free from Luffy’s lips. "I love you more than anything, Torao."

Only then did the god pull back, smiling in satisfaction at the small nod he received in return.

Rosinante, who had been quiet up until now, was frozen, his eyes wide with shock. “You named yourself after me?” His voice barely a whisper, filled with disbelief.

The white mist began to rise once more.

The celestial forms of the gods blurred, fading into the swirling light, until—

A sound pierced the stillness.

A cry. High-pitched. Desperate. Frantic.

"GRAMPS, HELP ME! PLEASE, HELP ME! I DON'T WANT TO BE ALONE!"

The group barely had time to process the noise before a small, bloodied child stumbled out of the mist.

He was small—too small for his age. No older than three. His body was covered in cuts, bruises, and scratches, his clothes hanging in tatters from his fragile frame. His face, smeared with dirt and blood, was contorted in a silent scream of agony. His breathing was ragged, panicked. His once dark eyes—now wide and filled with terror—darted around the unfamiliar space, searching for something. Or someone.

And then, his gaze locked onto Shanks.

Without a second’s hesitation, he stumbled forward, his tiny feet slapping the ground in a frantic rush. His breath came in ragged sobs, his hands clenched into fists, but the moment his eyes met Shanks, a wave of relief seemed to wash over him.

Luffy hesitated.

His small, battered body swayed where he stood, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. His lips trembled, and his large, watery eyes darted around the unfamiliar faces before landing back on Shanks.

He took another shaky step forward. Then another.

His fingers clutched the tattered remains of his shirt, gripping the fabric so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“The lady and her husband in my dream…” His voice was barely above a whisper, hoarse and weak, as if every word took all the strength he had left. “They… they said I have a dad.”

Shanks’ chest ached.

Luffy sniffled, his tiny shoulders shaking. “She… she said he has red hair and a special hat he's got from someone special.” He swallowed hard, his lips pressing together before he continued, more hesitant this time. “And… and she said his name is ‘Dad.’”

A sharp, stunned silence fell over the room.

Luffy’s small hands unclenched, only to fidget nervously. “I—I dunno what a dad is.” His voice cracked, and his brows furrowed in confusion. “But… but the man said dad’ll love me.” His wide, pleading eyes searched Shanks’ face, desperate for something he didn’t have the words for. “Do you love me?”

Shanks felt his heart lurch in his chest, he wasn’t ready for this. He's only 23—practically a baby!

Five minutes ago, he had learned about Luffy—a god, a king, his son in all but blood—had suffered, been abandoned, been alone. And now, this tiny, bruised child stood before him, trembling, asking him if he was loved.

There were many things he could say—many ways he could respond. But looking at the trembling, tear-streaked child in front of him, there was only one thing that mattered. He wasn’t ready. He had no answers. But when Luffy swayed unsteadily, his body moved on instinct. He dropped to one knee, arms open, his voice thick with emotion.

“Come here,” he said softly, gently. “You're safe now.”

Luffy’s breath hitched. For a split second, he hesitated—reminder of abandonment whispering ugly things in the back of his little mind. But then, with a quiet, shuddering sob, he threw himself forward.

Shanks caught him effortlessly, pulling him into the safest, warmest embrace he had ever known.

Strong arms wrapped securely around the tiny frame, holding him close, cradling him like something precious, something irreplaceable.

Shanks pressed a hand to the back of Luffy’s head, his fingers threading through the tangled mess of black hair as he whispered, voice steady, sure.

“I’m your daddy” he murmured, firm and sure. “And I'll love you.”

Luffy, gasping for air, didn’t hesitate. His tiny body pushing even into Shanks’ body with a frantic sob. His hands clung to Shanks’ cloak, fingers trembling with desperation. His head buried into Shanks' chest as his entire body shook violently.

Shanks felt his heart tighten in his chest, an overwhelming flood of emotions washing over him. Anger. Fear. A crushing guilt. But more than anything, an uncontrollable desire to protect this little soul.

"I’ve got you,” Shanks repeated softly, lifting the child onto his lap with surprising tenderness, despite the panic rising in his chest.

Luffy’s body trembled, his breathing shallow as he continued to sob, his cries muffled against Shanks’ chest. Shanks could feel the warmth of his little body, but there was something else. Something far more unsettling. The boy was burning with fever. His skin was hot to the touch, sweat dripping down his face as his small frame jerked with each breath.

Shanks felt his heart tighten in his chest, a burning pit forming in his stomach as the child’s words echoed in his mind.

“Why are you crying, little one?” Shanks whispered, his voice thick with emotion, unable to keep the tremor out of his words. He gently cupped Luffy’s face, trying to soothe him, but the boy wouldn’t look up. His eyes, bloodshot and filled with pain, remained fixed on the ground.

"Dad, I—I’m so hungry…" Luffy whimpered, his voice breaking as his little body shook uncontrollably. “I’m all alone... no food... no water... Gramps left me in the jungle. He said I had to train… to be a Marine. But I don’t want to be a Marine. I just don’t want to be alone anymore..."

Shanks’ chest tightened, a burning pit forming in his stomach as the boy’s words echoed in his mind.

“I don’t want to be alone…” Luffy repeated, his voice small and cracked, as though the weight of the world was pressing down on his tiny shoulders. He reached out weakly, his hands trembling as he clutched at Shanks’ shirt. “Please… don’t leave me. Please… I'm so lonely.”

Shanks could feel the tears soaking through his cloak, his own breath hitching in his throat as the boy sobbed against him. The intensity of Luffy’s pain was palpable, raw, and it sliced through the room like a blade.

Suddenly, Luffy extended his tiny hands, showing five fingers on one hand, and two on the other.

"Seven," he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

Shanks froze. The weight of the number hit him like a physical blow.

Shanks’ hands clenched around the boy’s frail body as if trying to keep him together, but he could feel the desperation, the raw, open wound that was Luffy’s heart. The little boy was holding on to him for dear life, clinging to him like a lifeline.

Across the room, Dragon’s face had gone ashen. His fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles were turning white, his entire body radiating a quiet fury as he looked at his son. His son’s name left his lips in a breathless exhale. "Luffy."

"Father, you left him there... alone... for seven days?" Dragon's voice cut through the silence, low and tinged with disbelief. 

Crocodile, who had always kept his emotions under wraps, now stood frozen, his gaze fixed on Luffy as if the boy had stolen the air from his lungs.

Whitebeard, too, stood in stunned silence, his eyes flickering between Luffy and the scene unfolding. His massive frame, always so imposing, now seemed to shrink in sorrow as he looked at the child—his grandchild.

Even Marco, who usually exuded a calm confidence, stood frozen, his mouth hanging open slightly in disbelief.

Shanks’s heart pounded painfully in his chest. “I won’t leave you,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he brushed the sweaty strands of hair from Luffy’s forehead. “I won’t let you be alone.”

But Luffy’s tear-filled eyes remained fixed on the ground, and his next words shattered Shanks to his core. "Gramps left me... I’m nothing… I’m nothing… Everyone leaves me."

The boy's sobs turned into desperate gasps for air, and Shanks tightened his hold on him, rocking him gently in his arms. “No, Luffy,” he murmured. “You’re everything. You’re everything to me now. I swear, I’ll never leave you. I'm your dad and good dads never, NEVER leave their children. And I'll be the BEST dad!”

The room went dead silent.

Garp stood frozen in place, his mind reeling. He had been so determined to toughen Luffy up, to make him into a strong Marine, but this—this was not strength. This was a child who had been abandoned.

The words echoed in his mind, each one a heavy, painful blow. His breath hitched, his heart clenched. He couldn’t look at Luffy. He couldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. He had done this. He had left his grandson to fend for himself, to survive on his own, with nothing.

The accusation was heavy, unspoken, but it hit Garp like a ton of bricks. He could feel their eyes on him—his comrade, his son, even the old pirate Whitebeard. He was ashamed. 

Shanks held Luffy tighter, his own eyes moistening as he ran his hand through the boy’s messy black hair. He gently kissed the top of Luffy’s head, his voice barely a whisper. "No one should ever be made to go through that, Luffy. Not like this. Never."

The child clung to him, his small body trembling with each sob. Shanks wanted to promise him everything would be okay, but he knew it would take far more than words to heal the pain this child had endured.

Garp stood motionless, the weight of his failure crushing him. He had thought he was teaching Luffy to survive. Instead, he had created a wound in the boy’s heart that might never heal.

Seven days that had broken both of them—Garp, for his misguided decisions, and Luffy, for the abandonment he had suffered.

"I… I...was on my way to pick him up." Garp’s voice faltered, his hands shaking.

But there were no words that could fix this. No excuses.

Shanks tightened his hold on Luffy, who was now clinging to him like a lifeline, tears still soaking his cloak.

And in that moment, as the room stood still in stunned silence, Shanks whispered once more, his voice filled with quiet resolve.

"I’ve got you now, Luffy. You’re not alone anymore. I'll pick you up and you'll have a whole crew of uncles around you."

But before anyone could fully absorb the sight of the tiny god clinging to his father, another figure stepped forward.

This time—it was a pre-teen.

He was sickly, his pale skin blotchy, his lips cracked, his eyes sunken with exhaustion. His dark hair hung limply over his forehead, and though he stood with an air of quiet defiance, his body betrayed his suffering.

The second his gaze landed on Rosinante, his breath hitched. "Corazon."

Rosinante felt his own breath stop. "Law."

The name came out softer than he intended, the rawness in his voice startling even to himself.

Law’s gaze hardened. He took another slow step forward, his tired, piercing eyes locked onto Rosinante’s face with unwavering intensity.

"You can talk."

Rosinante blinked.

Law nodded to himself. "Then my older self was right, I'm glad."

His voice was flat—matter-of-fact—but his hands trembled at his sides. Suspended between the past and the future. Between loss and something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hope for.

With his usual deadpan expression, he walked away from his guardian, looking entirely unimpressed despite the whirlwind of emotions in the room. His golden eyes swept over Luffy, taking in his exhausted frame, the way he clung to Shanks, and the streaks of dried tears on his dirt-smudged cheeks.

Then, with a small huff, Law muttered, “Your eyes and hair look different than what I've been told but it's cute. Come on, we should go. I'm sure he will come for you soon.”

Luffy blinked up at him, sniffling slightly. His red-rimmed eyes searched Law’s face for something—reassurance, familiarity—but as always, Law remained stoic.

Still, Luffy didn’t hesitate. He reached out, his small fingers slipping into Law’s larger, steady hand. His grip was tiny but warm, trusting.

Slowly, Luffy climbed down from Shanks’ lap, his movements a little wobbly. Once his feet were on the ground, he turned back to look at the red-haired man, his expression still raw with emotion. But then—he smiled. A small, tired, but genuine smile.

With his free hand, he waved. “Bye-bye, Dad!”

And just like that, he let Law lead him away.

It was only then—only now—that everyone truly saw it.

The wild, messy strands of jet black were gone. In their place, brilliant red gleamed under the dim light, unruly and untamed, falling over his tear-streaked face in soft, feathery waves.

His eyes were the exact same shade as Shanks’.

A collective, stunned realisation hit them all at once.

Shanks himself felt his breath hitch as he stared. He had been too overwhelmed, too caught up in the sheer weight of the moment to see it before—but now, there was no mistaking it. This tiny, trembling child looked like him, like his biological child would look like.

Before the weight of it could crush anyone, the celestial voice echoed once more.

"Do not be alarmed, humans."

And just like that—Luffy and Law vanished.

Gasps rippled through the room. A heavy silence followed.

"The young gods have departed."

The voice carried no emotion, no remorse. It simply continued.

"They have been granted fragments of their memories—visions woven into their dreams. "

A pause.

"Now, you will witness the memories of the younger god."

A quiet hum filled the space—ancient, celestial, weaving through the very fabric of existence.
"For every god, there is a constant. A singular, unwavering point in time that shapes them, binds them, defines them. And for these two it's related to their father figures."
The voice reverberated through the air, and in that instant, the world around them shifted.
Light and shadow twisted together, forming shapes—memories.

The first was small. Simple.
A chest bursting open, revealing a single, round purple fruit with a strange, swirling pattern. The little boy holding it had wide, gleaming eyes—eyes full of awe and curiosity.
Then, the memories came faster.
Foosha Village. Makino’s gentle smile as she handed Luffy a drink, tousling his wild hair. The warmth of a small town that was home.
Shanks. A towering, carefree figure laughing heartily, a straw hat resting on his head, then later, resting atop the small boy’s own.
The Fruit. Luffy grinning, taking a careless bite. Shanks’ horrified realization.
Ace. A river. A chase. A boy with fire in his veins scowling at the reckless intruder who refused to leave him alone. Sabo
Porchemy. A child's scream. Pain. Blood. But Luffy’s lips stayed sealed.
Brothers. A sake cup raised to the sky, three small hands clutching it in unison.
Loss. Flames. A sinking ship. Sabo’s hat drifting on the waves.
Separation. Ace’s back disappearing into the distance.
Zoro. A stubborn swordsman tied to a post, refusing to break. The strongest swordsman.
Nami. Tears hidden behind a forced smile, a plea for help carved into her skin.
Usopp. A liar who dreamed of grander things, standing tall for his home.
Sanji. A cook who fought like a demon, yet gave everything to feed others.
Chopper. A reindeer with a heart of gold, fighting to heal and protect.
Arabasta. A drought and a tyrant. A hook piercing through his body.
Robin. A scholar with a painful past, finding hope in a new family.
Franky. A cyborg with a passion for creation, building a future from his dreams.
Brook. A skeleton with a song in his heart, laughter echoing even in the darkest times.
Sabaody. A palm striking upward. A Celestial Dragon soaring, knocked unconscious. Chaos.
Law. A smirk. An outstretched hand.
The images flickered faster.
Marineford. Ace’s execution. Whitebeard’s final roar. Akainu’s fist. Ace’s body falling limp in Luffy’s arms. Law fighting so save Luffy's life.
Amazon Lily. A lovestruck empress.
Jinbe. A fish-man with the strength to defend, a captain who stood for peace.
Darkness. A hand gripping Luffy’s shoulder. Rayleigh.
Sabo. A forgotten brother, memories returning in an instant.
Big Mom. A Yonko furious, a wedding cake ruined.
Doflamingo. Puppets and their puppeteer, freed by an alliance. Law.
Wano. A country in chains, freed by a god. Law.
Gear Fifth. Lightning crackling, drums beating, laughter that defied death itself.
Egghead. Elbaph. Laugh Tale. Dawn. Law.

The scenes blurred.

Then—the final moment.
Luffy, standing tall in front of Imu. His crew behind him. His hat tilted forward.
A battle. The final breath of Luffy—beheaded with a smile on his face, his blade buried in the heart of the tyrant who had shaped the world. A draw. A sacrifice.
The sun set behind him, casting a golden glow over the ocean.
“Pirate King Mugiwara no Luffy lost his life at 27. He freed the world in exchange for his own life.”

Then—the light shifted.

White stone. A path winding through a sea of clouds.
Luffy in a flowing white and light blue toga, holding hands with a girl with pigtails, walking towards a grand temple, his form ethereal—no longer mortal, but something beyond. A new beginning.
The vision flickered.
A festival in the heavens. A wedding.
Law and Luffy, standing together, golden laurel crowns on their heads, hands intertwined.
Laughter. Celebration.
Children—tiny hands grasping at their fathers, big golden eyes filled with mischief and wonder.

The visions faded, leaving only the stunned, gaping expressions of those who had witnessed a lifetime in mere moments. 

"Now, you will witness the memories of the elder god."

Flevance. A young boy and his family, working together to heal the sick. Flames.
Amber Lead. The plague. Hiding between dead bodies. The boys world burning.
Doflamingo.
Corazon. His hand reaching for Law’s, offering hope in a cruel world.
Force-feeding him the Ope Ope no Mi, saving him even when his life was at risk. A flash of warmth in the darkest of times. The man who protected him, hidden in a treasure chest, who fought to keep Law alive, even at the cost of his own. Corazon’s final words—his smile through the pain. A symbol of everything Law lost and everything he would avenge. The blood, the loss, the silence that followed.
Wolf. The man who offered refuge. 
Bepo. The soft and fearless right-hand man.
Shachi, Penguin. The Heart Pirates
The Polar Tang. Carrying them forward.
Sabaody Archipelago. The Celestial Dragons. Law watching the Straw Hat kid, Luffy, who stood tall in front of the false gods. Law’s gaze fixed on Luffy.
Marineford. War. Death. Fighting for his patients survival. Luffy, his voice breaking as he tried to save his brother. Law’s heart twisted.
Punk Hazard. An alliance.
Dressrosa. For Corazon, for revenge, for justice. The puppet strings were severed.

Then the memories came faster.

Then—the final moment.
Law, holding Luffy's head. His crew, his family, standing beside him. His face sporting a feral D. grin, his hand gripping his sword.

“Surgeon of Death Trafalgar D. Water Law lost his life at 34. He avenged his partner, who fought for the freedom of those he loved.”

Then—the light shifted.

Law, dressed in flowing dark blue and white, holding hands with a very pregnant Luffy. The happy laughter of children ran past them as they played. "Law, please tell your children to calm down. Their grandparents only want to examine them," said the girl with pigtails.

"Lami, you're saying that like they wouldn't all take after their mother," Law smiled back. He turned to the children, his voice suddenly booming, "Sora, Zara, Aurelia, Amara, Leander, Shizu, Ai, if you don’t go with your aunt to your grandparents right now, no dessert tonight!"

The children froze, their eyes wide with guilt.

"Sorry, Dad, sorry, Mom, we love you, please give us dessert tonight," they said in perfect unison and bowed, causing Luffy to laugh loudly.

"They all look just like you, but they've definitely inherited my appetite for food," Luffy chuckled, and Law, still smiling, leaned in to kiss him softly on the cheek.

Garp’s fists trembled. His jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Dragon stood frozen, his mind racing, emotions warring in his chest.

Crocodile’s throat worked, something raw clawing at the edges of his carefully guarded composure. “I tried to kill my son...”

Shanks had a hand over his mouth, his eyes burning with something visceral.

Whitebeard’s grip tightened on his weapon. His grandson—his granddaughter—was dead.

Marco exhaled sharply, eyes shadowed. “That’s… a hell of a story, yoi.”

Rayleigh stared, his usual composure shattered. “These brats…” He swallowed. “Laughed all the way to the end.”

Zoro's hand instinctively reached for his not present sword.

Sabo's chest tightened, a lump forming in his throat. 

Ave's fists clenched, a mix of pride and sorrow regarding his future brother filling him.

Rosinante's eyes welled with tears, a bittersweet smile forming on his lips. “You did it, Law...”

Sengok's gaze hardened, fists clenched, struggling to hold back his emotions. “Stupid D.'s, always causing trouble.”

Bepo's eyes widened, heart heavy with both pride and sadness.

The voice echoed, its celestial tone resonating deep within everyone present.

“Dear guardians, be warned. Once both gods have passed through the only mortal trial, which lies in the acquisition of the Devil Fruit necessary for their growth, they will stop at nothing to reunite. They will also be able to take on their celestial forms, though their memories will not be whole. The heavenly tribulation awaits them—peace must be found without self-sacrifice. There is no need to prove themselves in battle; they have done that enough. Their domains are not defined by war, but by something far greater.”

The voice paused, as if weighing its words. “The trial lies in their ability to relax, to let go of the weight of the world and simply... live. To find love, peace and joy, without the sacrifice of their lives.”

The room grew still, a collective confusion hanging in the air as everyone tried to process the magnitude of the task ahead.

Rosinante was the first to understand, his expression thoughtful as he muttered to himself, “So we’re supposed to give them a family, so they don’t turn into suicidal maniacs... and when they eventually free the world, we make sure they actually let others take charge, without dying themselves?”

The voice responded softly, “Precisely. The young gods deserve to live their lives in peace, without being forced to witness the darkest aspects of this world—trauma, war, loss, and sacrifice—at such a young age. They must not be pushed to the self-destructive paths they’ve walked before. It is also beneficial that the highest-ranking Marine is present. The gods judge the false gods, and those who carry out their cruel orders—these are the ones who must be dealt with."

There was a brief, heavy silence. Sengoku, Dragon, and the others exchanged uneasy glances. It was a task greater than any of them had expected.

Chapter Text

The celestial voice rang through the room once more, its presence absolute.

"Blood relatives, Guardians, Right Hands, and Parental Figures, the time has come. To guide the young gods through their tribulation, you shall regain the memories of your past lives."

The voice continued, carrying with it an air of finality.

"You have two choices," the voice explained. "You can retain only the memories that directly relate to your god—your charge—and remain unburdened by the future. This will allow you to focus solely on your duty and bond with them, without the weight of what is to come."

A long pause hung in the air. The guardians shifted, clearly unsure, and Shanks’ gaze tightened with focus.

"But," the voice continued, almost playfully, "the second option is far more... complicated. If you choose to overwrite your memories, everything will return. You will regain all memories, emotions, and experiences from the time before you were separated from your god—or before your death. Your memories, your full personalities, and all of your abilities will come flooding back, including the power you once wielded, with the exception of your Devil Fruit powers."

The voice wasn’t done.

"But be warned: the consequences will be severe. The past cannot be erased. The pain of lost comrades, unhealed wounds, and the sorrow of time wasted will flood back into your heart. You will know the future, but you will also carry its emotional weight. You will remember everything—every mistake, every regret. Your mind will be practically overwritten by the person you were in the future."

One by one, the guardians made their choice.

"Overwrite," Rosinante murmured as the first one, his voice heavy with the ghosts of Law’s past.

"Overwrite," Bepo whispered, gentle but unwavering.

"Overwrite," Ace declared, firm and absolute.

"Overwrite," Rayleigh said, solemn and certain.

"Overwrite," Marco echoed, his tone steady as steel.

"Overwrite," Zoro stated, unshaken, as if it had never been a question to begin with.

Finally, Shanks looked at them, his gaze meeting each of theirs. He took a breath and spoke with resolve.

“Overwrite,” he said.

Ace’s eyes went wide, his breath hitching before he let out a strangled, desperate cry.

“LUFFY—!!” His voice cracked, wild and panicked. “POPS?! SABO!” He whipped around, searching, his chest rising and falling in short, shallow gasps.

Marco was already moving, closing the distance between them in seconds. “Ace,” he said, relief and disbelief laced in his tone. “Ace, you’re—damn it, you’re alive.”

Ace barely registered it. His hands clenched into fists, his entire body trembling with a storm of emotions that didn’t belong in this too-small, too-quiet room.

On the other side, Rayleigh stood frozen, his sharp gaze darting between every familiar face. His throat bobbed as he exhaled sharply, eyes widening as he landed on red hair. Without another word, he strode forward and pulled Shanks into a tight embrace.

Shanks didn’t resist. He gritted his teeth, his breath uneven as he shakily lifted his left hand to grip his right arm, where once was an empty space. A sob tore from his throat as he buried his face against Rayleigh’s shoulder.

“It was all for him,” he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “And he’s gone.”

Rayleigh held him tighter, his own chest tightening. “You did good, kid.” His voice wavered, but his grip didn’t. “You did good.”

Meanwhile, Bepo’s entire frame shook as his own memories crashed into place. His vision blurred with tears, but his feet moved on instinct—toward the tall, cloaked figure whose world had visibly shattered before everyone's eyes.

Rosinante stood motionless, lips parted in a silent gasp, his entire body trembling. His breath came in short, uneven bursts. His hands twitched as if reaching for something—someone—who wasn’t there. Then, finally, in the smallest, most broken voice, he whimpered, “I left him alone… I left Law alone.”

Bepo’s heart clenched, and without hesitation, he ran to him. “You didn’t,” he said, voice thick, grabbing onto Rosinante’s arm like an anchor. “You never did. Captain cherished your sacrifice. He named his crew after you. He loved you like a parent.”

Sengoku stepped forward, reaching for his son with unsteady hands. His palm landed hesitantly on Rosinante’s shoulder.

“I—I died,” Rosinante whispered hoarsely, his breath shuddering. “I was twenty-six. I—” His voice cracked, his entire frame collapsing under the weight of it all.

Sengoku stiffened. He had no idea how to comfort, no idea how to soothe the pain in his son's heart. He awkwardly squeezed Rosinante’s shoulder. “You’ll live this time.” It wasn’t enough, but it was all he could offer.

A sharp, broken sob tore through the room.

Everyone jolted, heads snapping toward the source of the sound.

Zoro had collapsed onto the floor, his entire body curled in on itself, arms wrapped around his own shaking form. His face was hidden, but his entire frame trembled, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps.

Rayleigh approached him slowly, his voice as steady as he could manage. “Zoro.” A pause. A breath. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Zoro's head shot up, his bloodshot eyes burning with fury. “If it wasn’t my fault—THEN WHOSE WAS IT?!” His voice cracked, raw and full of something ugly and broken. “If I had just been stronger, if I had just been faster—” His breath hitched, his nails digging into his arms. “He wouldn’t have had to—he wouldn’t—” His words crumbled into silence, his entire body folding under the weight of it.

The room was chaos.

Shaken breaths, quiet sobs, broken laughter, and the overwhelming weight of memory filled the space, suffocating and undeniable.

Then, cutting through the thick tension, Zoro groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I need a fucking drink.”

Everyone froze.

“The hell? Why is a kid asking for alcohol?” someone muttered, eyeing him with confusion.

A pause. Then, a hesitant voice: “Wait… how old are you?”

Zoro frowned, looking genuinely stumped. “Last thing I remember, I was 29.”

Muttering curses under his breath, he turned sharply. His sharp glare landed on one person. “Oi, Shanks. Give me something. I know you always hide booze in that wanky coat of yours.”

Shanks blinked before bursting into laughter, shaking his head in amusement. “Sorry, kid—our drinking contests will have to wait until you grow up again.”

Zoro gaped at him, looking utterly betrayed. “You bastard—”

The red-haired pirate just grinned. “Guess you’ll have to suffer, huh?”

Zoro let out a strangled noise of despair, dropping his head into his hands as the others tried (and mostly failed) to smother their laughter.

Ace stood in the center, his breath still sharp and uneven, his whole body rigid. His chest heaved as another realisation struck him, a horrifying, brain-breaking realisation. Luffy, his little brother, the reckless, meat-obsessed idiot he died for, is his Pops biological grandson

His eye twitched. His fists clenched. His Haki surged before he could even think about stopping it. He turned and launched himself at Dragon.

“OI, YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!”

Dragon barely had time to react before Ace’s fist, crackling with Haki and raw emotion, slammed into his face with enough force to shake the walls.

The Revolutionary leader stumbled back, but didn’t fall. His head snapped to the side, a red mark forming where Ace’s fist had connected. He blinked in surprise, not expecting to be hit by someone who wasn’t Garp.

Ace wasn’t done.

“THAT WAS FOR ABANDONING YOUR OWN KID, YOU COWARDLY BASTARD!” he roared, eyes blazing with fury. “MY OLD MAN DIED FOR HIS SONS! HE DIED TO PROTECT HIS FAMILY! AND YOU—” Ace’s chest heaved, his voice breaking. “YOU GAVE HIM TO FUCKING GARP! I FUCKING HATE YOU!”

Whitebeard blinked. Crocodile frowned. Garp looked disturbingly proud for a moment.

Dragon, who had barely moved from the punch, just sighed, rubbing his jaw. “…I deserved that.”

Ace huffed, stepping back, still shaking with emotion. “…fucker.”

Whitebeard had been watching the whole exchange with narrowed eyes, arms crossed over his chest. He glanced at Garp, who now looked… oddly resigned.

Crocodile, on the other hand, had been lazily observing the chaos. “Well, this is a goddamn mess,” he muttered under his breath, taking a slow drag of his cigar.

Whitebeard exhaled loudly, still processing the revelation. “My son and grandson, a guardian and his god,” he rumbled, voice thoughtful. “Interesting.”

Ace turned, locking eyes with Whitebeard, his expression shifting from rage to something darker. Something final.

“Pops, nice to meet you again. My name is Portgas D. Ace and I'm your Second Division Commander and Teach has to die,” Ace said, his voice steady, but carrying the weight of absolute conviction.

Whitebeard’s brows furrowed.

Ace stepped forward, his shoulders squared, his fists clenched. “He killed Thatch. He sold me to the Marines to get his Warlord status.” His throat tightened. “And you—” His voice wavered for the first time. “You died at Marineford.”

Silence.

Whitebeard’s expression darkened, his grip tightening on his bisento. Crocodile frowned, his grip tightening around his cigar.

“FIST OF LOVE!”

A fist of love crashed down on his head with enough force to rattle his brain, and he yelled in pain, whipping around to see a very unamused Garp standing behind him.

“GRAAAAH—WHAT THE HELL, OLD MAN?!” Ace clutched his head, glaring up at his grandfather.

Garp just huffed. “That’s for getting yourself caught you fucking IDIOT! I trained you better. Why did you have to become a pirate?!?”

Ace’s eye twitched. “You didn't do shit! Dying at twenty is still better than being a stupid MARINE!”

Marco, still hovering nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Huh. I think that's debatable, Ace, yoi.”

Ace looked about five seconds away from catching on fire.

Meanwhile, Whitebeard let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple. “Brat, you need to explain things properly.”

Ace groaned, still holding his head. “Yeah, yeah. But first, Teach. He doesn’t get to walk away from this.”

The celestial voice returned, its presence undeniable as it resonated through the room.

“You have thirty minutes to form your first plans for the young gods. Ensure that their paths are set in a way that leads them toward peace.”

The words had barely faded when—

“I’LL TAKE LUFFY—”

“LIKE HELL YOU WILL, OLD MAN!”

Shanks and Garp were immediately in each other’s faces, voices booming as they glared each other down.

“HE’S MY GRANDSON, RED-HAIR!”

“AND HE’S MY DAMN SON, YOU GREY BEARDED MENACE!” Shanks shot back. “You wanna raise him? Oh yeah? Where are you when he is starving in the jungle where you left him ON PURPOSE? Off playing hero? You don’t get to claim him now!”

Garp growled, “I RAISED HIM—”

“RAISED?!” Shanks practically screeched. “YOU THREW HIM INTO THE WILD LIKE A FERAL DOG!”

Garp gritted his teeth. “He got stronger, didn’t he?”

Shanks looked ready to swing. “I swear to every celestial force here, old man, if you don’t get your wrinkly ass moving to Foosha RIGHT NOW, grab your grandkid, tell him that you will never abandon him again, drop him at Makino’s, get some damn medicine, AND LEAVE, I will—”

“Fine! DAMN BRAT!” Garp barked, throwing his hands in the air.

Shanks rubbed his temples. “Holy shit, finally.”

Shanks exhaled slowly, relief flickering across his face. At least that was settled.

Then, turning to Ace, he asked, “So, Fire Fist what do we do with Anchor?”

Ace crossed his arms. “We'll find him in the jungle, take care of him until his beloved Gramps picks him up, then we'll wait at Makino's. After that he’ll stay with me and Sabo, wherever that will be... We should probably stay on your ship since he recognised you as his dad.”

Shanks raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Guess I’m breaking my ‘no kids onboard’ rule.” His lips quirked into a smirk. “But in three years, we’re going back to the East Blue to get Anchor’s Devil Fruit.”

Sabo lifted a brow but said nothing, just quietly observing.

Meanwhile, Whitebeard just sighed.

Then, casually, he rumbled, “Well, my grandson, his guardian—who’s apparently my Second Division Commander—and their third brother could just come with us.”

Shanks' eye twitched violently. “You wanna steal my son, you giant old bastard?”

Whitebeard simply took a deep sip from his sake cup and smirked. “Steal? No, no. I’m just saying he’d be better off with us.”

Ace crossed his arms. “I literally just said Luffy’s staying with me and Sabo.”

Whitebeard hummed. “And where are you staying?”

Ace froze. Shanks’ smirk returned full force.

“On. My. Ship.” The redhead said, drawing out every word. “Which means Anchor stays with me.”

Whitebeard raised a brow. “I don’t see why that follows. You’re just babysitting.”

Shanks looked personally offended. “Babysitting?! That’s my damn son, Whitebeard, don’t you start with me!”

“You adopted him five minutes ago.”

“I IMPRINTED YEARS AGO, OKAY?!”

Garp, from the corner, snorted. “Yeah, yeah, tell yourself that, brat.”

Shanks whirled on him. “YOU DON’T GET A SAY IN THIS, OLD MAN! YOU’RE THE REASON HE THINKS THE JUNGLE AND ABANDONMENT IS NORMAL!”

Garp opened his mouth, looked around, then closed it. “...Fair.”

Ace groaned and turned to Marco. “Back me up here.”

Marco just shrugged. “I mean, technically, Pops has a point, yoi.”

Ace’s head snapped toward him, eyes sharp. “Traitor! Also, Luffy’s not setting foot on the Moby until Teach is dead.”

Marco, standing beside Whitebeard, ran a hand through his hair before exhaling. “I’ll handle the traitor personally, yoi.”

Whitebeard sighed. “Fine, fine. But my grandson is still coming home eventually.”

Shanks snorted. “You keep dreaming, old man.”

Across the room, Rosinante slowly got to his feet.

With careful steps, he approached Shanks, and then he bowed deeply.

“My name is Donquixote Rosinante. I am a Marine Commander, and I am currently undercover in the Donquixote Pirates. If I do not survive this life as I did not in the last… please, save my son.”

The red-haired pirate stilled, looking down at him with something almost unreadable in his gaze. “What exactly is your mission?”

Rosinante’s lips pressed together before he answered, “To monitor the monster that calls itself my brother.”

Shanks hummed. “So, if your brother were dead, and his organisation destroyed… your mission would be complete and you could return to the marines?”

Rosinante hesitated but nodded.

Suddenly, Shanks clapped his hands like a child.

“Well, then!” He turned, grinning as he looked at Whitebeard. “I’ve got a favour to ask for your grandkid and your grandkid-in-law.”

Whitebeard raised a brow, intrigued.

Shanks’ grin widened. “Destroy the Donquixote Pirates and make sure those kids he kidnapped have an actual home.” He waved a hand. “And no, I don’t mean the Moby.”

From the corner, Crocodile huffed. “I’ll back you up. I'll send some agents to gather information.”

Shanks raised an eyebrow. “What’s with you and Doflamingo?”

Crocodile’s face darkened. “That bastard talks too much. He's fucking irritating and his bird outfit is atrocious.”

Everyone just stared at him.

Whitebeard sighed. “Thank you.”

Then, suddenly, Shanks’ eyes widened, and an idea hit him like a lightning bolt.

His entire face lit up as he snapped his fingers. “Oi! We should build a family home in Foosha!”

Now everyone looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

Shanks, unfazed, continued, “A family home. Orphanage. Whatever you wanna call it. Somewhere safe. Not a pirate ship, not a battlefield. A real home.”

Silence.

“That's a great idea. My Captain would be over the moon.” Everyone turned to stare at Zoro.

They all agreed.

The celestial voice echoed once more, gentle yet powerful, carrying a sense of finality.

“We are pleased. The foundation for a peaceful life has been set. The young gods shall have their guardians, their right hands, and their family. You have all taken the first step toward ensuring they walk a path not defined by sacrifice, but by life itself.”

A warm, golden light began to pulse through the room, wrapping around each of them.

“As recognition of your devotion, you shall bear the Mark of the Gods. Its brilliance and size shall reflect the closeness you share with them.”

The light intensified for a moment before settling into a comfortable glow, sinking into their skin. Some gasped, feeling the weight of it—a permanent mark, a bond beyond life and death.

But the voice wasn’t finished.

“A final piece of wisdom—build shrines in their name. The strength of a god is magnified through devotion, through those who believe in them. In time, their power will answer those who call upon them.”

The moment the last word was spoken, the light collapsed inwards and then—nothing.

When awareness returned, they were back in their own reality. No grand hall. No celestial voice.

But each one of them felt it—a deep, pulsing ache right above their heart.

As each of them pressed a hand over the spot, the voice’s final blessing echoed in their minds.

"This mark is your choice. When your mortal life ends, you may ascend to serve your god in the heavens, forever bound to their cause… or you may enter the cycle of reincarnation, to live and love once more."

A vow beyond mortality. A bond that not even time could break.

Rosinante raised out of his bed, moving toward the small mirror by his bedside. 

Above his heart, where nothing had been before, a crescent moon glowed brightly, framed by delicate lines. The Rod of Asclepius stood proudly within it, with a serpent coiled around it. The silver glow from the mark reflected in the mirror, casting a soft light around the room. Rosinante stared at the tattoo, his fingers lightly tracing the lines.

“The Moon of Healing and Peace…” he whispered in awe, feeling an instant connection to the mark as if it had always been a part of him. He could feel its warmth, a gentle, soothing sensation that calmed his racing heart and filled him with quiet strength. It was as if the moon itself was watching over him, offering protection and guidance.

“Law, my beautiful, genius boy… I'm so sorry,” Rosinante mused and let his tears run freely.

Shanks began to stir, his eyelids fluttering open. The pounding headache and sluggishness still lingered, but something was different—something inside him had changed.

He lifted a hand to his chest, feeling an unfamiliar warmth radiating there. His fingers brushed over his skin, and then he froze, eyes widening as his gaze dropped to the mark on his chest.

A golden sun on top of a dark red lotus, radiant and bright, now adorned his skin, glowing with a warmth that felt too familiar. The sun’s rays were contained within a thin, circular border, and at the center, a spiral pattern swirled, glowing with an energy that pulsed gently in rhythm with his heartbeat. The tattoo was beautiful, full of life, a reminder of the bond they shared. The warmth of the mark spread through him like a protective embrace, like Luffy himself was there, watching over him.

He couldn’t help the tears that welled in his eyes as he whispered, “Luffy…” The name felt like a prayer on his lips. His son—his little Anchor—was reaching out to him, even now.

His breath caught in his throat as he whispered, “I love you…” His voice trembled, his hands hovering over the sun on his chest. This was his son’s mark.

His sun.

Shanks was still a little disoriented, but there was no doubt now. He could feel the connection to Luffy deep within his chest, as if his son's very soul had left a mark.

“My sweet… sweet child,” Shanks said quietly, his voice full of wonder and disbelief. “My little Anchor is protecting me.”

Shanks stepped onto the deck, his movements slow but resolute. His crew had gathered, eyes fixed on him. After hours of unconsciousness, their captain was back—but something had changed. There was a new intensity in his gaze.

He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice steady but filled with urgency.

“Alright, listen up. This is gonna sound insane, but it’s the truth. I’ve been sent back twenty-four years—with help from the gods.”

The crew froze, exchanging confused looks. Shanks wasn’t known for telling tall tales, but this was beyond belief.

“I know it sounds crazy,” Shanks continued, glancing at the glowing golden sun and red lotus on his chest. “This mark... is my son’s. His name is Luffy. He’s the successor of Nika and the god of Joy, Freedom, Fertility, and Peace. And I’ve come back for him.”

The crew stared in stunned silence.

Shanks ran a hand through his hair. “I know, it’s a lot to take in. But I met him in another realm. Garp and Whitebeard were there.”

“Garp? Whitebeard? Gods?” The crew was lost.

“Yeah, you heard me right,” Shanks continued. “Luffy’s grandfather is Garp. Whitebeard’s his other grandfather. But Luffy isn’t just any kid. He’s my son—not biologically, but in every other way. I didn’t know him until I met him there.”

The crew remained silent. A god? Luffy? They couldn’t wrap their heads around it.

“In the original timeline, we met Luffy when he was six,” Shanks said. “You all loved him. I fell in love with the kid who accepted me as his dad. He’ll bring joy and freedom back to the world. But right now, he’s just three. And I need to protect him until then.”

Shanks’ hand rested over the mark on his chest. “I’ve been through a lot, but never anything like this. Luffy’s three, but in spirit, he’s a force of nature. And I’ll always be there for him.”

He took a breath. “His guardian—someone who shares my son's past—will be with him. He was part of Whitebeard’s crew in his last life, his Second Division Commander. We’ll meet him soon, along with the Revolutionary Army’s chief of staff. They're both six years old right now.”

The crew stood stunned, unsure of what to say.

One of them stepped forward. “Wait... your son is a god? And he’s coming here with Whitebeard’s old commander and a Revolutionary?”

Shanks nodded. “Yes. And I’ll stand by him, no matter what.”

His voice grew more certain. “We’re going to Goa Kingdom in the East Blue. That’s where he is. We’ll pick him up and build him a temple. A place to honour his legacy.”

The crew exchanged glances, still processing. But one by one, they nodded. They didn’t fully understand, but they trusted Shanks.

“We’ve got your back, Captain,” one of the crew said.

Shanks grinned. “That’s what I like to hear. Now, let’s get to work.”

With a clap of his hands, he gave the orders. “We sail. To the East Blue, Goa Kingdom. My son is waiting.”

And with that, the Red Hair Pirates set sail.

Thanks to Ace’s Observation Haki, they had been able to pinpoint his location in the dense jungle after a couple of hours, but neither of them had expected to find him like this. He looked worse than in the other realm. He whimpered softly, shifting in pain even in his sleep. His clothes were tattered, barely holding together, and his breathing was ragged. He

Ace furrowed his brows as he got a good look at the kid’s face. He didn’t look quite like the Luffy he remembered. His hair—bright red instead of black—threw him off for a moment. But none of that mattered.

Luffy stirred, his eyelids fluttering weakly as he slowly looked up at them. His eyes, wide and glassy with exhaustion, met Ace’s.

“Are you my brothers? Where's my dad?” Luffy croaked, his voice hoarse from dehydration.

Ace’s breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, tears welled up in his eyes. He dropped to his knees beside Luffy, gently pulling the trembling boy into his arms, cradling him against his chest.

“Yeah,” Ace whispered, holding him close. “Yeah, we’re your brothers.”

Luffy let out a small, relieved sigh, his tiny fingers curling weakly into Ace’s shirt.

Ace swallowed hard before forcing himself to speak, keeping his voice soft and reassuring. “Your Gramps is on his way, but he told us to take you to Makino first. That okay? You'll meet your dad there.”

Luffy blinked up at him, confusion flickering across his face. “Gramps didn’t forget me?”

Ace shook his head, his grip on Luffy tightening protectively. “No way. Your Gramps could never forget you—he loves you a lot.” A small grin ghosted over his lips. “Not as much as Sabo and I love you, but still a lot.”

Sabo chuckled beside them, playing along easily. “It’s true. We’re gonna take care of you, Luffy.”

Luffy gave them a tiny, grateful smile—then his body suddenly went limp.

“Luffy?” Ace’s heart stopped for a moment. He shook him lightly. “Luffy?! Hey, stay with me—Luffy!”

Panic surged through him, but before it could fully take hold, Sabo placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “He’s breathing,” Sabo assured him quickly, his own voice trembling slightly. “He just passed out.”

Ace took a shaky breath and nodded. “We need to get him to Foosha. Now.”

Less than an hour later, the two boys finally arrived in Foosha Village, Luffy’s unconscious form still cradled in Ace’s arms. Without hesitation, they pushed open the door to Makino’s bar, the warm light spilling onto them as they stepped inside.

Makino looked up from behind the counter, and her eyes immediately widened in alarm. “Who are you two? And—what happened to Luffy?! Why is his hair red?”

Ace stepped forward, his grip on Luffy protective but gentle. “We’re his brothers—Ace and Sabo. Old man Garp probably hasn’t mentioned us yet, but he speaks highly of you, Makino.” He met her concerned gaze with determined eyes. “Luffy’s not doing well. Can we put him in his bed? We also need a bowl of warm water and a towel.”

Makino stared at him, still processing everything, before quickly nodding. “Of course, come this way.”

Ace turned to Sabo. “Hey, can you take care of Luffy for a second? I need to call the old man.”

Sabo gave him a quick nod, carefully taking Luffy from his arms.

Ace turned back to Makino. “Can I borrow your Den Den Mushi?”

Without hesitation, Makino reached behind the counter, grabbing the snail and handing it to him. “Here.”

Ace snatched up the Den Den Mushi, his grip tight as he turned the dial with practiced urgency. 

purru-purru-purru

Makino watched nervously, hands clenched together as Sabo gently wiped Luffy’s face with a damp cloth, worry clear in his eyes.

Finally, the line clicked.

“GARP SPEAKING! WHO THE HELL—”

“Old man, it’s me,” Ace cut him off sharply, his voice filled with barely restrained anger and panic.

“Ace?” Garp’s voice dropped in surprise before turning gruff. “What’s got your panties in a twist, brat?”

Ace gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm, but his patience was razor-thin. “We found Luffy.”

Silence.

Then, Garp exhaled, slow and heavy. “I see. Good. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Ace snapped, his frustration boiling over. “Old man, bring your damn doctors! Luffy’s unconscious—he hasn’t woken up since we found him! He’s skin and bones, covered in bruises, and he’s burning up! His condition got even worse! If you don’t get here fast, I swear—”

There was a sharp inhale from the other end of the line. Garp, for once, didn’t have a quick remark. Instead, his voice was serious, firm. “I hear you, Ace. I’ll bring my medics. Keep the boy stable until then.”

Ace clenched his jaw. “You better move fast, old man.”

datcha

The call ended, and Ace set the receiver down with a little more force than necessary, his hands trembling with leftover frustration.

Makino stepped forward carefully. “Is he coming?”

Ace took a deep breath, his expression dark. “Yeah. Tomorrow. With doctors.”

Sabo, still tending to Luffy, sighed in relief. “Good. Now we just have to make sure he holds on until then.”

Ace looked over at Luffy’s unconscious form, his tiny frame barely moving with each shallow breath. His chest tightened.

“You hear that, Luffy?” he muttered, brushing red strands of hair out of his brother’s face. “Gramps is coming. You just have to hang in there a little longer.”

purru-purru-purru

Garp sat on the deck of his ship, his jaw tight as he waited for the line to connect.

A groggy voice finally answered.

"Yeah, yeah, this is Shanks—who’s calling me at this ungodly hour?"

“It’s Garp,” the old Marine grunted.

Silence. Then, all traces of sleep vanished from Shanks’ voice. “Luffy?”

Garp exhaled. “Ace and Sabo found him.”

There was a sharp inhale on the other end. “How is he?”

Garp hesitated, his grip tightening on the receiver. “Unconscious. Malnourished. Covered in bruises. Ace was barking at me like a damn mad dog to bring my doctors.”

A long pause. Then—

“We're already on our way.”

Garp sighed. “I figured. When will you arrive?”

“Next week.”

Garp grunted, not liking the delay but knowing it couldn’t be helped.

“Rayleigh’s on his way,” Shanks added, his tone sharper than usual. “Called me the moment he woke up and explained everything to Shakky. He’s swimming over.”

Garp raised a brow. “Swimming?”

"You know him," Shanks muttered. "Crazy old bastard wouldn't wait for a ship. He’ll be there in a few days."

Garp rubbed a hand down his face, already feeling a headache forming. “Fine.”

Shanks let out a humorless chuckle. “Make sure Anchor survives until Hongo gets to him.”

Garp sighed again. “See you in a week, Red-Haired.”

"See you then, old man."

datcha

Garp stared at the receiver for a long moment before shaking his head.

“This damn brat,” he muttered. Then, standing up, he barked to his men, “Full speed ahead to Dawn Island! Move it, you bastards!”

The morning was anything but peaceful. Garp had been dead asleep when the sudden shouting and frantic footsteps of his men jolted him awake.

“WHAT THE HELL IS ALL THE SCREAMING ABOUT?!” he barked, stomping out of his quarters with an irritated scowl.

The deck was in complete chaos—Marines running back and forth, weapons half-raised, shouting over one another. Garp pinched the bridge of his nose before growling, “Someone explain before I start throwing fists.”

One of the men practically stumbled over himself before pointing toward the rail.

Garp followed his gaze—and groaned.

Sitting on the edge of the ship, looking completely at ease, was none other than Silvers Rayleigh.

“What the hell are you doing on my ship?” Garp snapped, crossing his arms.

Rayleigh, as relaxed as ever, smiled at him. “Came to see my cute grandson. Red will take a little longer.”

Garp clicked his tongue. “Tch—should’ve expected you’d show up soon. That airhead told me you'd swim there.” Then, turning to his men, he waved a dismissive hand. “At ease, you idiots. He’s not an active pirate, and he’s not here to fight. Worst case, he finds a corner to take a nap in.”

The Marines hesitated, clearly not liking the idea of Dark King Rayleigh casually sitting on their ship, but Garp wasn’t in the mood for arguments.

He turned back to Rayleigh, rubbing the back of his head. “Damn entitled pirates. Jumping onto a Marine ship like it’s a damn pleasure cruise…” he muttered before sighing. “Ace and Sabo found Luffy yesterday. We’ll be arriving soon, and my doctors will check him the moment we get there. If he’s stable, we’re leaving right after.”

Rayleigh nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll stick around until Red arrives.”

Garp snorted. “Yeah, make sure that idiot doesn’t break anything when he gets there.”

Rayleigh simply chuckled. “In the meantime, I’ll start looking for a good spot to build that little establishment Red has in mind.”

Garp let out a loud huff. “Do whatever you want, old man—just stay outta my way.”

A few hours later, Garp’s ship finally docked at Foosha Village. The moment the gangplank was lowered, the Vice Admiral wasted no time.

“Move it! Get that medical gear to Makino’s now!” he barked, sending his doctors scrambling down the pier with their equipment.

Rayleigh, however, wasn’t waiting for them. With speed that belied his age, he shot ahead, dashing through the village and straight toward the bar.

He slammed the door open, his sharp eyes immediately landing on the small figure lying in the bed. The moment he saw the boy’s face, his breath hitched.

“He looks just like his father…” Rayleigh whispered, voice thick with emotion. His fingers trembled as he wiped away a stray tear.

Ace and Sabo immediately stepped between him and the bed, their postures tense and protective.

Rayleigh, unbothered, knelt down before Ace, leveling him with a steady gaze. “Ace, I hope you remember me. I was your father’s first mate… and with Luffy, I’m your successor.”

Ace hesitated, eyes flickering with recognition before stepping aside. Rayleigh took the opportunity to inch closer to Luffy.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Rayleigh murmured, brushing damp red strands from the boy’s burning forehead. Luffy barely stirred.

Before he could say anything else, a gruff voice barked from the entrance.

“Old man, get out of the way!”

Garp stormed inside, his team of medics flooding the small room.

One of the Marines, who hadn’t been briefed, blinked in confusion. “Vice Admiral… who is this child?”

Garp’s glare was sharp enough to cut steel. “That’s my grandson. The most important person in my life.” His voice dropped into something dark, something dangerous. “And if word of this leaves this room, I will personally make sure you regret ever joining the Marines.”

Silence. The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air.

The doctors, wisely, got to work immediately.

Meanwhile, Rayleigh gently nudged Ace and Sabo toward the door. “Come on, let’s give them space to work.”

The three of them, along with Garp, waited in tense silence in the hallway. Minutes stretched unbearably long before the head doctor finally stepped out, removing his gloves with a sigh.

"The boy is in bad shape," he began. "First and foremost, he's severely malnourished and dehydrated. His body has been in starvation mode for days, breaking down his own muscle just to keep going. We'll need to reintroduce food carefully—small portions, easy-to-digest meals. His fluid intake needs to be monitored closely to prevent shock."

Garp's jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides.

The doctor continued. "He's running a high fever, likely due to an untreated infection. Some of his cuts have started festering. We’ll need to clean them properly and administer antibiotics. If the fever doesn't break in the next 24 hours, we may need stronger measures."

Garp exhaled sharply through his nose. His grandson had been alone in a jungle, sick and suffering, while he had been—what? Off doing his duty? Chasing pirates?

The list went on. "His right wrist is fractured, and he has two broken ribs. He’s also suffering from exhaustion and severe sleep deprivation. His body’s been running on fumes, and if he hadn’t been found when he was…" The doctor hesitated for a fraction of a second before finishing, "He wouldn’t have lasted much longer."

Sabo swallowed hard, his grip tightening into fists. Ace bit his lip, his face dark with guilt.

Rayleigh crossed his arms. "How long until he fully recovers?"

The doctor hummed thoughtfully. "The fractures should heal within six to eight weeks, provided he doesn't strain himself. The malnutrition and dehydration will take longer. His body is weak, and he needs time to regain his strength. If we keep his fever under control and prevent further infections, I’d say… two to three months for a full recovery. But he’ll need supervision—rest, proper food, and most importantly, people who make sure he doesn’t push himself too hard."

Garp's face was unreadable, but Rayleigh could see the tension in his shoulders. The Vice Admiral remained silent as the doctor took a deep breath and hesitated before adding, "Vice Admiral, with all due respect… the best place for him right now is not here."

Ace and Sabo stiffened. "What?"

The doctor continued, choosing his words carefully. "We have the proper medical equipment aboard the ship. We can monitor his vitals, adjust his treatment immediately if necessary, and ensure his recovery progresses without complications. He’s stable for now, but if anything takes a turn for the worse, having him on board would be the safest option."

Rayleigh turned his gaze to Garp, expectant.

Garp didn’t react at first. His eyes were locked on the floor, his lips pressed into a thin line. He looked older than he had in years. The weight of his failure pressed down on him with every word the doctor had spoken.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and strode into the room.

Ace and Sabo followed, watching as the old man approached the bed. Luffy lay there, unnaturally still, his small chest rising and falling in weak, shallow breaths. His face was pale, his hair damp with sweat.

Garp sighed. Deeply.

Carefully, as though afraid his touch might break the boy, he bent down and scooped Luffy into his arms. The boy barely stirred.

Ace and Sabo exchanged a glance. It was rare to see Garp so gentle.

Rayleigh, standing in the doorway, simply nodded. "Good choice, old man."

Garp didn't respond. Holding Luffy close, he walked past them and out of the room, carrying his grandson onto the Marine vessel.

Over the next two days, Luffy’s condition worsened. His fever remained high, his breathing grew more labored, and every breath he took was accompanied by a faint, wheezing sound. His small chest rose and fell unevenly, as though each inhale was a struggle.

The medical staff worked tirelessly, but concern crept into their faces as the hours passed. The boy wasn't improving—he was getting worse.

Garp, Rayleigh, Ace, and Sabo barely left his side. They had been tense before, but now, an unbearable pressure settled over them. Every rattling breath Luffy took only added to the weight in their chests.

Finally, the doctors made the call. They needed to do a full examination—X-rays included. Something wasn’t right.

Garp didn’t argue. He just gave a stiff nod and allowed them to wheel Luffy away.

Hours passed.

Six long, agonizing hours.

The tension on the ship was suffocating. Ace paced back and forth, his nails digging into his palms. Sabo sat stiffly in a chair, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles turned white. Rayleigh leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes closed but his mind anything but calm. Garp sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of his mouth, his brows furrowed deeply.

Luffy was strong. They all knew that. But right now, he was too small, too fragile. And no one knew what was happening.

Finally, Garp had enough. He pushed to his feet and stormed toward the medical bay.

He barely had to look before one of the doctors spotted him. “Vice Admiral Garp, good timing.”

Garp’s heart nearly stopped. “What happened?”

The doctor straightened. “Young Luffy had a pneumothorax. We only caught it after we performed the X-ray. One of his broken ribs had been pressing against his lung until the tissue gave way.”

Garp’s hands clenched into fists. He didn’t interrupt.

“The lung partially collapsed,” the doctor continued, “which explains his difficulty breathing. We performed an emergency procedure and stabilised him. The surgery was successful—he should make a full recovery now.”

For the first time in hours, Garp allowed himself to breathe.

He gave a short nod, then turned on his heel, heading straight back to the others to deliver the news.

The nurses wheeled the small hospital bed back into the room, carefully maneuvering it into place. As they adjusted the blankets around the tiny patient, they couldn’t help but exchange amused glances.

Sprawled out on the floor beside the bed, Vice Admiral Garp was fast asleep—right next to the Dark King, Silvers Rayleigh. Between them, curled up snugly in the middle, were two small children, their breathing slow and steady.

It was an odd sight. A former pirate, a Marine hero, and two scrappy kids—huddled together on the floor like a mismatched family. The nurses stifled their chuckles and quietly slipped out of the room, leaving them to rest.

The four remained like that until morning.

At dawn, Garp stirred. With a heavy grunt, he sat up, stretched his stiff limbs, and cracked his neck. He glanced at the still-sleeping trio before getting to his feet and heading straight for the ship’s kitchen.

“I need a full cart of food,” he grumbled to the staff. “For the medical room.”

The chefs, long used to Garp’s absurd eating habits, didn’t ask questions. Within minutes, a cart piled high with plates of eggs, rice, fish, fruit, and—most importantly—meat was ready. Garp personally wheeled it back, kicking open the door with his foot.

When the smell of food filled the room, Ace and Sabo groggily sat up, rubbing their eyes. Rayleigh merely chuckled, stretching his arms over his head.

“Food!” Ace mumbled.

Sabo yawned and nodded. “Yeah... food.”

They all sat on the floor, plates in hand, eating their breakfast in a comfortable silence—until they noticed movement from the bed.

All four of them immediately froze.

A tiny hand twitched against the blankets. Then, slowly, hazy black eyes fluttered open. Luffy blinked sluggishly at the ceiling before muttering, in the smallest, raspiest voice—

“Meat.”

Rayleigh let out a loud, delighted laugh. “Just as adorable as Red,” he mused.

But Luffy wasn’t looking at him. His tired, empty eyes were fixed solely on Garp and Ace.

Then, without another word, he turned onto his back and went still again.

The group hesitated for a moment, then went back to eating. Luffy had just woken up after surgery—he was probably exhausted. But after a few minutes, Rayleigh set his plate down and got up, making his way to the bedside.

As he leaned down to check on the toddler, something felt... off.

“Garp,” Rayleigh said, his voice unusually serious. “You should call your doctors. I don’t know if this is normal.”

Garp immediately stood, moving toward the bed.

Luffy blinked a few times, his expression distant. Then, sluggishly, his gaze shifted—away from Garp, away from Ace, and directly onto Rayleigh.

His tiny hands clenched. His breathing hitched.

Then, suddenly, the child lurched away from Rayleigh—only to freeze. A split second later, an ear-piercing scream tore from Luffy’s throat.

Ace was at his side instantly. “Lu!”

Luffy’s wide, terrified eyes locked onto Ace. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps, his body trembling violently. His tiny fingers twitched toward his brother—then, before he could reach him, his eyes rolled back, and he slumped forward, unconscious.

The room went deathly silent.

A doctor rushed in at the commotion, eyes scanning over the scene. “What happened?”

Rayleigh exhaled sharply. “That was a panic attack.”

The doctor’s brows furrowed. “Has the child recently experienced anything traumatic?”

Garp clenched his jaw and gave a stiff nod.

The doctor sighed. “Then this reaction isn’t unexpected. His mind is still processing everything. He’s too young to fully understand, so his body is reacting in the only way it knows how. Episodes like this may continue.”

Ace and Sabo sat frozen, their stomachs twisting uncomfortably.

Over the next few days, Luffy’s physical condition steadily improved. His fever faded, the bruises on his tiny body darkened and then lightened, and his breathing grew more stable. The doctors were pleased with his recovery.

But his consciousness was fleeting.

One moment, he was awake, staring blankly at the ceiling or clinging onto whoever was nearest. The next, his eyes would flutter shut, and he’d drift away again.

Despite the progress, a heavy tension loomed over the medical bay. Ace and Sabo never left his side. Rayleigh watched over them, quiet and patient. And Garp—Garp had never felt so exhausted in his life.

The crew experienced an overwhelming sense of déjà vu when, once again, chaos erupted on deck.

This time, it wasn’t Rayleigh. It was Shanks.

Vice Admiral Garp sighed deeply as his men scrambled into position, but before anyone could draw a weapon, Bogard stepped forward, unfazed.

“Follow me,” he said simply.

Shanks barely acknowledged him. Instead, he turned over his shoulder. “Beck! Hongo! Hurry up!”

The two Red-Haired Pirates quickened their pace, but Shanks was already moving.

As they strode through the halls, Shanks’ expression hardened. “How’s the kid?” he asked.

Bogard barely glanced at him. “We don’t know much. All we’ve heard is that three kids and a pirate have barely left the medical bay. Beyond that, nothing.”

Shanks nodded once. That was enough for now.

“Red!”

Rayleigh’s voice boomed through the hallway. Shanks barely had time to react before the older man wrapped him in a crushing embrace.

“Old man, later,” Shanks muttered, prying Rayleigh off him. “I need to see my son first.”

Rayleigh grinned but stepped aside. Shanks wasted no time. He shoved the door open and immediately rushed to the bed.

Bogard raised an eyebrow at the dramatics but simply sighed, closed the door, and disappeared back down the hall.

Shanks crouched beside the bed, eyes scanning over the tiny boy in front of him.

“Anchor, baby, wake up,” he murmured, brushing Luffy’s hair out of his face. “You’re way too small. Rayleigh, do three-year-olds usually look this small?”

Rayleigh chuckled. “You were bigger. And heavier.”

Shanks huffed.

A tiny, hoarse voice croaked, “Dad?”

The pirate captain’s breath hitched. Without hesitation, he clambered onto the bed, pulling Luffy close.

“I’m here, Anchor,” Shanks whispered, holding him tightly.

Luffy trembled. His tiny hands clenched into Shanks’ shirt. His breathing was unsteady. Then, in the softest voice—

“Dad… I see ghosts.”

Garp and Ace stiffened. Memories crashed into them. Luffy, in his celestial form—crying over them being alive. Now, it clicked.

Shanks tightened his hold. “I know you're scared, Anchor,” he murmured. “But they’re both alive. I promise you, they’re alive.”

Luffy sniffled. “Really?”

Shanks smiled, pressing a kiss to Luffy’s forehead. “Really. When you’re older, I’ll explain why you have such big feelings about it. But for now, just know that they love you. And they’re safe.”

Luffy nodded weakly. His small fingers curled into Shanks’ cloak. Slowly, he buried his face into his father’s chest.

Shanks held him close.

And for the first time in days—Luffy slept peacefully.

After watching Luffy sleep for hours, Shanks quietly rose and grabbed a large sheet from the medical supplies. With the care and precision he'd seen from mothers in the past, he wrapped it around his body, ensuring the fabric was secure and Luffy would stay close to his chest. This would allow Shanks to keep both hands free, but still hold his son safe and close. He lifted Luffy carefully, cradling him in the folds of the sheet. His eyes softened as he looked down at the fragile child, Luffy’s red hair resting against his chest.

Shanks adjusted the blanket one last time, his heart aching as he watched the small, vulnerable form in his arms. But there was no turning back now. Luffy needed to be with him. He would keep his son safe.

With determination settling over him like a cloak, Shanks stood, his posture shifting from the soft protectiveness to the commanding presence of a father who would do anything to keep his child safe. He glanced down at Ace and Sabo, who had been silently waiting. His voice was low but firm. “Come on, boys,” he said softly, taking each of their hands in his own.

Turning to Rayleigh, Shanks gave a brief nod. The old pirate understood immediately. They were leaving, and nothing was going to stop them now. Rayleigh followed without a word.

Before they exited, Shanks called to the crew, his voice loud enough to carry over the deck. “Beck! Hongo! We’re going!”

Shanks stepped onto the deck, a striking shift from the calm leader he had been moments ago. The crew watched in stunned silence as he emerged, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by a razor-sharp intensity. Wrapped tightly against him in the blanket was Luffy—his son. The boy’s fragile form lay nestled against Shanks’s chest, his breathing shallow but peaceful. Ace and Sabo flanked their captain, both walking with purposeful steps, their eyes set ahead.

On the deck, Garp was already waiting. The anger in his eyes was unmistakable as he stormed toward Shanks, his voice bellowing over the quiet. “Shanks! That’s my grandchild!”

Shanks didn’t flinch. He slowly let go of Ace and Sabo’s hands, to wrap his arms around Luffy in a protective manner. Slowly, he stepped forward. “We had an agreement, Garp,” he said, his voice cold and resolute. “My child with me.”

Garp’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His face reddened with fury. “A child isn't some pirate trophy!”

Shanks didn’t flinch at the insult. His gaze hardened. “You agreed, Garp. Don't go back on your words,” he shot back, his voice firm. “Do you want me to call the other grandfather?” He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “I’m protecting my son and he belongs with me.”

Shanks took deliberate steps towards the edge of the ship, his posture unyielding. His first mate, Beck, and the ship’s doctor, Hongo, remained behind him, quiet but ready.

For a moment, the two men locked eyes. It was a standoff—Garp, the proud Marine Vice-Admiral, and Shanks, the fierce pirate captain. The whole deck seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the explosion that was bound to come.

Then, just as Shanks started moving again, his foot hovering over the edge, a small, weak voice broke through the tension.

“Dad?”

Luffy blinked, groggy from sleep, his small face scrunching in confusion. His voice, weak and barely audible, managed to cut through the air. “Dad... are you taking me to your home?”

The words hit like a wave. The deck went silent, every eye on the child in Shanks’s arms. It was as though time had stopped.

Shanks gently stroked Luffy’s hair, his voice soft and reassuring. “I’m taking you home, Anchor,” he whispered, his eyes warm as he looked down at his son. “Wherever you want to go, we’ll go. But right now, we’re leaving here. I promise you, we’re leaving.”

Luffy’s small hands tightened around Shanks’s chest. His eyes softened with relief as he mumbled, “I don’t want to stay here, Dad.”

Shanks’s heart swelled as he leaned down and kissed his son’s forehead. He stood tall, his grip on Luffy unwavering. He turned toward Garp, who was still seething with anger, his voice now cold and unyielding.

“I’m taking him with me, Garp,” Shanks said, his voice like steel. “The two other boys as well. I’ll protect them. As long as they're with me, they’ll be safe. You understand?”

Garp’s face twisted with frustration. “I can keep him safe in Marineford!”

Shanks’s voice was calm, but there was fire in it. “No, Garp. You heard him, he doesn't want to stay here. End of discussion.”

A heavy silence followed. The tension was suffocating. Garp stood frozen for a moment, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions. The grandson he’d loved, the boy whose mark settled above his heart, was being taken from him by a pirate. His family was slipping through his fingers.

Shanks held his ground, unwavering. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the occasional whisper of the wind.

Then, with a final, sharp breath, Garp threw his hands up in defeat. “Damn it, Shanks!”

But Shanks didn’t respond. He turned on his heel, stepping onto the ship’s gangway, Luffy held tightly against him. The crew followed closely, Beck and Hongo at his side. As Shanks made his way to the ship, he called out over his shoulder.

“We’ll meet again, Garp!”

The ship began to pull away, the Red-Haired Pirates sailing toward the horizon, Luffy safe with them, and the world shifting once more.

After more than a week of trying to adjust to his new reality and sneaking glances at Corazon, Law found himself slipping quietly through the hallway, making his way toward Rosinante's room. He stood in front of the door, hesitating for a moment, then gently knocked.

The door creaked open, revealing Rosinante sitting at the edge of his bed, eyes wide with surprise but also a warmth that Law had longed for. Law stepped in, his heart beating a little faster as Rosinante looked up and put his finger on his lips, signalling Law to stay quiet.

In the blink of an eye, they were surrounded by a glowing, rose-colored bubble, a protective space that felt both gentle and all-encompassing. The world outside seemed distant, and for the first time since leaving his family behind, Law felt truly safe.

Rosinante didn't say anything at first, but his face softened, and then, almost as if a force beyond his control was pulling him, he reached out his hand.

Rosinante’s voice broke the silence. "Can I... can I hug you, Law?"

Law's heart swelled. He nodded without hesitation. "I love you too. I remember what you said to me before closing the chest," he said, his voice breaking as he spoke the words he never thought he'd get to say again.

Rosinante’s eyes filled with tears, and he pulled Law into an embrace, his arms enveloping him tightly. Law could feel the warmth of Rosinante’s embrace, the kind of love and comfort he had missed for so long.

“I’ve missed you,” Rosinante whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much.”

They stood there in silence for a few moments, the only sound the soft rhythm of their breathing, the bubble shimmering around them like a cocoon, keeping the world at bay.

“What do we do now?” Law sniffled, his voice muffled by Rosinante’s shoulder. “All I know is that you gave me a fruit and protected me with your life... and I’ve missed you so much.”

Rosinante pulled back slightly, looking down at Law with a soft, reassuring smile. “There are two factions that will take down the Donquixote Pirates. After that, we’ll get you your fruit, and you can heal in peace. What happens after that... we’ll figure it out. Alright?”

Law looked up at him, uncertainty in his eyes. “And... what about everything else?”

Rosinante gently stroked his hair, his smile never faltering. “We’ll handle it. One step at a time. But for now, just know you’re not alone.”

Law’s heart fluttered in his chest, the words sinking deep into his soul. “Can I... can I sleep here, Cora-san?”

Rosinante’s smile softened even more. He nodded, pulling Law close again, his embrace warm and comforting.

“Of course, Law. You can sleep here. Always.”

Law closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the day finally lift as he settled into Rosinante’s arms. The world outside didn’t matter anymore. In this moment, with his father by his side, Law felt like he was finally home.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Several hours had passed since Marco had last checked in on them. When he entered the room, he found Rosinante sitting by Baby Dellinger’s cot, carefully feeding the infant with the newly bought formula. The soft glow of the lanterns cast warm shadows over the quiet scene.

Marco paused for a moment, watching Rosinante cradle the tiny child. The girls were already asleep.

Marco’s lips curled into a small smile as he approached. “How’re they doing?” he asked quietly, careful not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere.

Rosinante glanced up. “He’s doing well. Just needs to eat properly. Should be fine now.” He gave the baby a final glance before adjusting the bottle. “Marcia realised that her 'home' and in Sugar's case, also her sister, is gone.”

“Oh,” Marco said with a nod.

His gaze shifted to Law, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor a short distance away, elbows resting on his knees, eyes focused on nothing in particular.

At Marco’s presence, Law stirred slightly, his sharp golden irises flicking up to meet Marco’s. He hesitated for a brief second, then said, “Marco, I’d like to talk to you.” His voice was steady, but there was something else underneath—something thoughtful, almost uncertain.

Marco’s brows lifted slightly in interest before he gave a small nod. “Of course.” He gestured toward the door. “Let’s go.”

As they walked through the corridors of the Moby Dick, silence stretched between them. Marco didn’t push—he knew better than to rush Law into speaking before he was ready. Instead, he led him through the dimly lit hallways, the steady rhythm of the ship beneath their feet a quiet comfort.

Eventually, they stopped in front of a large set of doors. Marco pushed them open, revealing Whitebeard’s private office.

Law stepped in hesitantly, his eyes scanning the massive room before settling on the giant himself, seated behind his desk. Whitebeard’s sheer presence was overwhelming for the boy.

The moment Whitebeard looked up, his deep, rumbling laughter filled the space. “Ahh, so you finally brought him, huh?” His gaze landed on Law, then flicked back to Marco. “Now I see what you meant when you talked about your mark.”

Law frowned, his brows furrowing in confusion. “What mark?”

Marco sighed, then turned slightly, lifting the hem of his shirt just enough to reveal the faintly glowing mark on his side. A soft, bluish-silver hue shimmered under the light, pulsing faintly.

Law’s breath hitched. His eyes locked onto the mark, his expression shifting between shock and recognition.

“That’s…”

Marco nodded. “Yeah. It’s yours.” He met Law’s gaze, his voice steady but laced with something deeper. “I’ve had it since we were in that other realm.”

Something in Law’s fingers twitched. Slowly, as if drawn by instinct, he stepped forward, reaching out. His fingertips barely brushed against the glowing mark when Marco let out a quiet chuckle.

“Sounds like future me is laughing,” Law murmured, his voice laced with something close to wonder.

Marco smirked. “Yeah, I feel like I’m being laughed at. Constantly.” He exhaled through his nose before adding, “Probably because he watches us and thinks it's funny that you’re already smarter than me.”

A small, almost imperceptible twitch of Law’s lips betrayed his amusement.

Whitebeard, who had been watching silently, suddenly cleared his throat. His usual commanding voice was quieter than usual, almost hesitant. “So this mark… reacts to touch?”

Marco glanced at him, then nodded.

Whitebeard exhaled slowly, his deep voice uncharacteristically subdued. “I’d like to know what happens if you'd touch mine. When I put my hand on it, nothing happened.”

Law’s brows pulled together. “But I don’t feel anything when I look at you,” he admitted. His voice wasn’t dismissive—just stating a fact. “Not like with Cora-san and Marco.” His gaze shifted back to Marco. “I don’t know if anything will happen.”

Marco considered that for a moment before responding, “Still… try it. Please.”

Law sighed but didn’t argue. He stepped closer as Whitebeard extended his massive palm, and with ease, Marco lifted Law onto the giant’s hand. Whitebeard carefully brought the boy up to his chest, positioning him near the red-gold mark on his skin.

Law hesitated. Then, with a breath, he pressed his hand against it.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then a faint warmth seeped into Law’s fingers, not burning, not searing—just… warm, alive. Like the first warm sun rays on a cold winter day.

Law’s expression shifted. His fingers curled slightly.

Then he pulled back, brows furrowed in thought. After a beat of silence, he spoke. “Can I… listen to it?”

Whitebeard blinked. “Listen to it?” he echoed, as if the request was entirely foreign to him.

Law didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing his ear gently against Whitebeard’s chest, right over the mark.

A deep, steady silence filled the room.

Law remained still for what felt like an eternity. His brows knit together. His eyes widened, just slightly. His breath hitched.

And then, his whole body tensed.

Slowly, he pulled back, and when he did, his eyes were wet. “That…” He swallowed thickly. His voice came out hoarse. “That was beautiful...”

Whitebeard frowned slightly. “What did you hear, boy?”

Law wiped at his eyes roughly, but his hands were shaking. He exhaled, voice tight. “She was singing.” A pause. “A lullaby.”

Marco stilled. Whitebeard’s expression remained unreadable, though something flickered in his gaze.

Law let out a shaky breath. “I think…” His voice wavered. “I think that was future me’s wife or husband.” His lips pressed together, then he let out a broken chuckle. “I don’t even know. But…” His shoulders trembled slightly. “I feel like I’ve lost something I haven’t even found yet.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Without a second thought, Marco flew up from Whitebeard’s palm and wrapped his arms around Law. The boy stiffened slightly before leaning into the embrace, his fingers gripping Marco’s sleeve.

For a long moment, nothing was said.

Then, Marco murmured, “I think when you eat your Devil Fruit… and when we meet Luffy, a lot of things will start making sense.”

Law didn’t respond immediately. But after a beat, he nodded against Marco’s shoulder.

Whitebeard, still cradling them both in his massive hand, watched in silence. 

For the first two days, Law had tried—really tried—to stay with the girls. He sympathized with them, he truly did. He knew how it feels to loose everything. Their chatter reminded him of Lami, and for a while, that was enough to keep him anchored. But as time passed, it became too much.

On the fifth evening, he found himself standing in front of Marco’s door, hands clenched at his sides.

Marco didn’t look surprised in the slightest when he opened the door to find the boy there. Instead, he leaned casually against the frame, one brow lifting as he studied Law’s tired expression.

“What can I do for you, Law?” Marco asked, his tone amused yet patient.

Law shifted on his feet. “Do you have books I can read?”

Marco blinked before letting out a soft chuckle. “I figured you’d ask sooner or later,” he said, stepping aside to let Law in. “On the last island, I picked up a few books on surgical procedures. Thought they might interest you.”

Law’s eyes flickered with something—maybe appreciation, maybe relief. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched as Marco pulled a thick, leather-bound book from the shelf and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” Law muttered, cradling the book as if it were something precious.

Marco smiled. “You can read it here if you want.”

Law didn’t hesitate. He found a corner of the room, tucked himself into it, and immediately flipped the book open.

Marco watched him for a moment before turning back to his own work. But not even five minutes later, a soft, almost imperceptible sound reached his ears.

A quiet snore.

He turned back, glancing toward the corner. Law had slumped against the wall, the book still open in his lap, his head tilted at an awkward angle as he dozed off.

Marco chuckled, shaking his head. He placed a hand over the glowing mark on his chest, feeling something he hadn’t felt before, a quiet warmth radiating from it.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you feel safe, you little asshole,” he whispered under his breath.

Marco prided himself on his patience. He had to. Being Whitebeard’s second in command, the crew’s lead doctor, and a seasoned fighter meant he was used to handling chaos. But after an entire week of being shadowed by a ten-year-old with the personality of a grumpy old man, his patience was officially hanging by a thread.

Law wasn’t just following him around. No, that would’ve been manageable. He was studying him. It was constant. Unrelenting. Like a ghost haunting his every move. A small, quiet ghost with far too much audacity.

Every step. Every movement. Every diagnosis. Every minor decision Marco made was met with silent, soul-piercing observation. Law never spoke. At first, Marco ignored it. He was a patient man. He had survived far worse than a nosy, too-smart-for-his-own-good gremlin. It was infuriating.

And now, as Marco performed a check-up on Rakuyo, who had taken a hit during training, that frayed thread finally snapped.

And that was when the little shit finally spoke. “Marco, you’re too low.”

Marco’s hands stilled. His eye twitched. He took a slow breath through his nose before lifting his gaze.

Law stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching him with that ever-present unreadable stare. His expression was neutral. Too neutral.

Marco had come to learn that this was Law’s version of looking smug.

"WHAT," Marco said, his voice already louder than necessary, "WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK DO YOU WANT, LAW?!?!"

Rakuyo flinched. Marco never yelled. Ever.

Law, of course, did not react. He simply took a step closer and pointed. “If you’re checking for internal swelling, you need to palpate here.”

Marco’s jaw clenched. “I know what I’m doing, yoi.”

Law tilted his head. “Are you sure?”

Rakuyo inhaled sharply.

"I HAVE BEEN A DOCTOR FOR DECADES, BRAT!!!" Marco bellowed, throwing his hands in the air.

Law blinked. “But you’re wrong.”

Rakuyo made a choked noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh but immediately covered it with a cough.

Marco inhaled deeply, mentally counting to ten.

Against his better judgment, he pressed his fingers where Law had indicated. And immediately felt the very obvious swelling. Marco froze.

Law smirked.

Rakuyo sat as still as a statue, as if any movement might set Marco off like an active volcano.

For a long, agonising second, Marco simply stood there, staring down at his own treacherous hands as if they had personally betrayed him.

Then, in a single, furious motion, he whipped around to face Law. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, YOI?!”

The sheer volume of it made Rakuyo nearly fall off the damn examination table.

Law did not react.

Marco’s nostrils flared. "DO YOU ENJOY MAKING ME LOOK LIKE A GODDAMN IDIOT?!"

Law lifted a single brow. “I don’t need to. You do that yourself.”

Rakuyo wheeze-laughed but immediately covered his mouth when Marco turned his blazing glare on him.

Marco whirled back to Law, jabbing a finger in his direction. “LISTEN HERE, YOU LITTLE—!” He stopped, physically restraining himself from strangling a child.

Law tilted his head, that insufferable glint in his eye. “You’re mad because I’m right.”

Marco exhaled sharply. “I’M MAD BECAUSE YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO STAY IN YOUR DAMN LANE, YOI!!!”

Law shrugged. “You overlook simple things. My dad always said to take time, maybe you're too rushed?”

“SIMPLE?!” Marco had to physically stop himself from throwing his clipboard against Law's little head.

Rakuyo was now red-faced from suppressed laughter.

Marco took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and then, calmly (not really) said, “Law.” His voice was technically even, but only in the way a volcano is technically dormant before an eruption. “I know you don’t remember your future, but we have had this conversation before many, many times before and I'm absolutely sick of it, yoi. I'll tell you once and for all: You. Will. Be. A. Surgeon. Stick. To. Surgery.”

Law’s lips twitched. “General practice is also important.”

Marco made a noise. A horrible, strangled, inhuman noise.

Law stepped closer, completely unfazed. “I just want to learn since I can't watch my parents,” he said, voice utterly innocent, which only made Marco’s blood pressure spike further.

Marco gritted his teeth. “THEN ASK. ASK, YOI! STOP WATCHING ME LIKE A DAMN HAWK WAITING FOR ME TO SCREW UP!”

Law’s smirk widened. “You don’t screw up, you just take inefficient routes to the correct answer.”

Rakuyo audibly choked. Marco’s eye twitched so hard he saw colours. “FUCK OFF!”

Law turned, sauntering out of the room, snickering to himself. The absolute little bastard.

Marco watched him go, fuming.

Finally, he turned back to Rakuyo, who was still recovering from secondhand trauma, wisely remained silent.

Marco inhaled deeply, exhaled through his nose, and then, voice utterly drained, muttered, “FUCKING ASSHOLE. No matter how old he is, he’s always a goddamn bastard.”

Rakuyo wisely said nothing.

Marco shook his head and rubbed his temples. “Do you know what the worst part is, yoi?”

Rakuyo hesitated, then shook his head.

Marco sighed heavily. “Law is always right.” He let the horrible truth settle in before adding, “Always.”

Rakuyo frowned. “That’s... a good thing, though, isn’t it?”

Marco shot him a dead-eyed glare and groaned. “I swear, I’d throw him overboard if I didn’t think he’d just swim back out of pure spite.”

Rakuyo snorted.

Then, after a moment of silence, Rakuyo hesitated before asking, “But isn't... is that kid really your Guardian God?”

Marco blinked. “My what?”

Rakuyo shrugged. “You know, like… your Guardian God.”

Marco stared at him as if he had lost his mind. “Tch. You got it backwards, yoi. I’m the guardian.” He crossed his arms, his head tilting toward the ceiling as if seeking divine patience. “That little bastard is the god.”

Rakuyo considered that for a moment. Then, with a slow nod, he muttered, “Yeah, that actually makes sense.”

Marco exhaled. “It really does, doesn’t it?”

Rakuyo tilted his head. “So, what are his domains again?”

Marco groaned, counting them off on his fingers like they personally offended him. “Love, Health, Medicine, and—” He stopped, pressing his lips into a thin line before continuing, voice tight with disbelief, “Peace, yoi.”

Rakuyo blinked. Then he snorted.

Marco shot him a glare. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, asshole.”

Rakuyo was grinning now, his shoulders shaking. “No, no—just, him?” He gestured vaguely toward the door. “The kid who just made you lose your goddamn mind? The God of Peace?”

Marco threw his hands in the air. “THANK YOU! I HAVE BEEN ASKING MYSELF THAT SAME QUESTION FOR WEEKS!” He pointed aggressively at nothing in particular. “How the fuck did that little shit get ‘Peace’, yoi? Peace, Rakuyo. PEACE. He doesn’t even know how to give ME peace!”

Rakuyo was outright cackling now. “Oh man, who hands out these domains?”

Marco scowled. “If I ever meet whoever the hell is in charge of this divine bullshit, I’m kicking their ass, yoi.”

Rakuyo grinned. “Maybe you should take it up with your god.”

Marco groaned so hard it sounded soul-deep. “Rakuyo, I swear to every deity in existence, if you ever call that little bastard ‘my god’ again, I’m throwing YOU overboard.”

Rakuyo chuckled. “But… if he’s the god, does that mean you’re his High Priest?”

Marco rubbed his temples. “Shut the fuck up.” He pointed toward the door. “Out. Before I start handing out medical malpractice.”

Rakuyo, still chuckling, took that as his cue to leave.

Marco sat back, exhaling sharply. He glanced down at his chest, where his mark pulsed faintly beneath his shirt.

“…‘Peace,’ my ass, you fucking asshole,” he muttered, shaking his head, utterly exhausted. “I need a drink.”

While walking over to his Pops office to get a drink, he grumbled to himself, muttering under his breath about “fucking cosmic mistakes” and “bullshit divine intervention”.

The mess hall was bustling as usual. The crew, having just returned from collecting money for the Family Home in Foosha by looting a Marine Base.

Rina, one of the newer crew members, carefully approached the food line. After a brief hesitation, she picked up a bowl of stew, setting it on her plate. Marco, distracted by his own meal, didn’t notice anything. It wasn’t until a familiar voice cut through the noise of the mess hall that Marco looked up.

"Rina-ya," Law’s voice was flat, his gaze fixed on her, "Are you sure you should be eating that?"

Rina paused mid-reach, lifting her eyes to meet Law’s. She frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You’re allergic to shellfish," Law said, his tone dry but laced with a certain sharpness.

Rina blinked, suddenly paling as she looked down at her food. "Oh... I didn’t think—"

Law interrupted her before she could finish her sentence. "It’s your responsibility to know what’s safe for you. Especially when you know you have allergies. You can't expect others to think for you." His words, though calm, were cutting, as if trying to cut through any excuse she might offer.

Marco's stomach dropped as he stared at the stew in front of Rina. 

Rina looked mortified, pushing the bowl aside immediately. "I didn’t mean to—"

Law’s gaze remained steady, his tone matter-of-fact. "I’m just saying. You know you have an allergy, and you know how bad it can get. You have to keep track of that. It’s not anyone else’s responsibility to be your personal food monitor."

Marco, feeling uncomfortable, opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Law’s eyes narrowed slightly. "If you make a mistake like this, you’ve got no one to blame but yourself. Just think about the inconvenience to the crew if you die because ‘you didn’t mean to take that stew.’"

Rina was trying to stammer an apology, but Marco’s gaze flicked between her and Law, feeling the weight of the conversation. Law had made his point, and as usual, it wasn’t sugar-coated. Still, Marco couldn’t help but think that the sharpness in Law’s voice wasn’t completely out of line. Rina had been careless.

"Law, can you be a little nicer?" Rosinante muttered from the side, giving Law an exaggerated pleading look.

"Yeah, you're mean," Marcia said and Sugar nodded.

Law didn’t even blink. "Sorry, but I can't exactly control my temper when dealing with stupidity."

The tension in the room thickened for a moment before Rakuyo, who had been quietly observing from the corner of the room, suddenly burst out laughing. The sound was so unexpected it caught everyone off guard. His laughter echoed through the hall, and Marco couldn’t help but glance at him, startled.

"HA! I love it! You really have no filter, Law!" Rakuyo chuckled between breaths, clearly entertained by the way Law had called it like it was. "Just a few days ago, this brat was calling Marco out because his patient exams were ‘inefficient’! HAHAHAH!"

Rina looked even more flustered now, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but even she couldn’t help but crack a smile. Marco rubbed his face, realizing that as much as Law’s methods might sting, they were never wrong.

Law, ever the picture of indifference, shrugged slightly, his gaze returning to his meal. "People don’t learn unless they get called out for being idiots."

Rina, still a little shaken, glanced at Marco, who gave her a small, reassuring nod. "Just pay attention next time, alright?" he said, his voice softer than Law’s but just as serious.

Rina nodded sheepishly. "Yeah... I will. Thanks, Marco."

Marco gave her a small smile, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of unease. He’d been too caught up in his own thoughts, and Law’s bluntness was a reminder that he couldn’t always catch every mistake for everyone else.

"Yeah, yeah," Marco sighed, rubbing his temple.

Law, still sitting perfectly composed, barely glanced up. "From now on, I won’t babysit anyone who can’t be bothered to think for themselves."

Rakuyo, still laughing, gave Marco an exaggerated thumbs-up. "At least you got a good laugh out of it, right?"

Marco just gave him a tired look. "I swear, Rakuyo, if you don’t stop laughing, I’ll throw you overboard."

Rakuyo merely snorted, his laughter dying down, but the tension in the room was broken. Everyone had learned their lesson, and despite the rough edges of Law’s words, the crew had a strange way of working through their moments of discomfort.

"Just say it," Rakuyo continued with a grin, nudging Marco. "You’re bitter because that little brat’s already better than you."

Marco gave him a deadpan look but couldn’t hold back a wry smile. "At least he keeps us alive, even if I want to strangle him, yoi."

The ship had been unnervingly peaceful for the past week. Too peaceful.

Marco wasn’t one to complain about a lack of disturbances, but something about the silence didn’t sit right. The absence of a certain sharp-eyed brat who usually haunted the medical bay, scrutinising his every move, was unsettling.

At first, it had been a welcome relief. He could go about his work without the constant pressure of those piercing golden eyes watching his every action, waiting for him to slip up. But as the days passed, Marco found himself getting more and more irritated. Something was off.

With a frustrated sigh, Marco pushed off from the wall and made his way down the corridor. He stopped in front of a door, knocked once, then entered without waiting for permission.

Inside, Law sat cross-legged on his bed, reading a book, looking entirely uninterested in anything around him. He didn’t even flinch when Marco entered.

Marco crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You haven’t been around to pester me. What’s the deal, yoi?”

Law didn’t look up, his voice flat. “I can’t learn anything from you.”

Marco’s brows furrowed in disbelief. Of course, he'd say that. Asshole.

"You can’t learn anything from me?" Marco repeated, his tone dripping with mockery. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "That’s rich, yoi. Real rich. Coming from the guy who, in the future, spent more time picking apart everything I do than actually doing something useful."

He crossed his arms, giving Law a slow, deliberate once-over. "And the Law I know—one of the smartest damn people I’ve ever met and definitely the best doctor in the world—wouldn’t be holed up in his room if he had the opportunity to mock my inability at something that’s not even his forte."

Marco tilted his head, watching the way Law tensed at his words. "So, tell me, yoi…" His smirk widened, voice laced with something dangerously amused. "What exactly is stopping you from stepping into the medical bay? Afraid you might actually learn something?"

Law turned a page in his book, his fingers curling tightly around it, but he didn’t respond.

Marco’s patience was wearing thin. He pushed off from the doorframe, his voice low and controlled but sharp. “Alright, let’s try this again. Why aren’t you in the medical bay where you belong, yoi?”

Law’s sigh was almost inaudible. He shut the book with a soft thud. “Cora-san told me to stay out of the way for a few days.”

Marco’s frown deepened. “Why?”

“After I pointed out Rina-ya’s mistake and probably saved her life,” Law replied, his voice devoid of any emotion. “Some of your crew members decided to make their displeasure very clear. Cora-san wasn’t happy and told me not to go anywhere alone. And since we’re leaving in four months, I figured I’d enjoy some peace and quiet and skip the unnecessary visits.”

Marco’s heart rate quickened, anger bubbling beneath the surface. He wasn’t sure what angered him more—the fact that Law was being pushed out, or the fact that Law was acting like it didn’t matter.

“They what?” Marco’s voice cracked like thunder.

Law didn’t answer, his gaze now fixed on the floor, his expression unreadable.

Marco studied him closely, his mind racing. The frustration and hurt in Law’s words had caught him off guard. There was no anger, no defiance—just cold acceptance, like he had already resigned himself to being the scapegoat. He knows how to read Law well enough. And that pissed Marco off more than anything.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, a dangerous calm in his eyes. “Thanks for your honesty, Law, yoi,” he said flatly, before turning to leave. But the anger was still simmering beneath his words.

Marco had to talk to his Pops. This was a situation that needed addressing, and he wasn’t going to let it slide.

The old man listened intently as Marco explained the events. Whitebeard’s massive hands rested on the arms of his chair, his gaze thoughtful.

“It’s unfortunate, son,” Whitebeard said after a long pause. “The boy might already be an excellent doctor. But it’s hard to blame my children for their feelings. No Pirate likes being corrected by a child, they think, doesn’t know their place.” His eyes met Marco’s. “And you, son, your frustrations haven’t gone unnoticed. They see how you react to him, celestial charge or not. They just know that he's someone who makes you actually lose your temper.”

Marco clenched his jaw, biting back the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. He wasn’t wrong. His own frustrations had been bubbling for a while. But it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t frustrated because Law was a child right now who doesn't even have his former abilities. He was frustrated because the kid had a damn good point, and nobody wanted to hear it.

“Fine,” Marco said through gritted teeth, walking toward the door. “But it’s still not right, yoi.”

“Think about it,” Whitebeard’s voice rumbled behind him, “but remember, son, this isn’t just about you. They’ll never respect a child telling them what to do, they don't really see him as a young god like we do.”

Marco left the room, but Whitebeard’s words stayed with him.

The wind was crisp as Marco stepped onto the deck, the cool air stinging his face as he leaned against the railing. His arms rested on the wood, and he stared out at the endless ocean, trying to push the storm brewing inside him back down.

When the sun began to set, the murmured voices reached his ears.

"Man, that kid is a real pain. I'm glad he's not around us."

"Yeah, and Marco just lets him get away with it. You’d think he'd get tired of being bossed around by a brat."

"He should be grateful we saved him. He’s just a little arrogant bastard."

Marco froze. His chest tightened, and his pulse quickened.

He straightened, his calm demeanor shifting into something colder, darker.

"Oi," he called out.

The group fell silent, and Marco slowly turned to face them.

"What the hell did you just say, yoi?" Marco’s voice was smooth, but there was an unmistakable edge that made the air thick with tension.

One of the men took a step back, eyes wide. "I—I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just—he doesn’t belong here, Marco. He’s just a—"

Marco’s eyes narrowed, his body tensing with barely controlled fury. "A kid? So, what? He can’t correct your mistakes? He can’t save lives, yoi?"

The group of crew members shrank back, unsure how to react to Marco’s sudden shift in demeanour.

"Don’t stand there and act like you’re better than him," Marco continued, his voice dangerously calm, a subtle growl beneath it. 

He took another step closer, his gaze hardening. "You really think it’s okay to bully a ten-year-old, yoi? That’s low."

The men fell into a stunned silence, none of them daring to speak.

Marco’s eyes scanned the group, colder than the sea breeze itself. "You got a problem with Law? You better take it up with the sea. Because he’s mine to deal with."

Marco turned and began to walk away, leaving the men frozen in place.

As he left, he muttered under his breath, "If you ever speak about him like that again, you’ll have me to answer to, yoi."

Law might be a brat. An arrogant, insufferable little menace who made and makes Marco’s life a living hell. But that was Marco’s problem to handle.

The wind bit at Marco’s skin as he strode down the corridor toward Law's room. He had to get Law back on track and maybe teach the crew a lesson while he was at it.

Without knocking, Marco threw the door open. Without a word, he marched over to Law, grabbed him by the arm, and threw him effortlessly over his shoulder. Law squirmed, but Marco’s hold was ironclad.

"You’re coming with me," Marco ordered, his tone cold and final.

"What the hell, old man?" Law hissed, flailing slightly, his voice muffled by Marco’s shoulder.

Marco didn’t flinch at the insult. "We’re going to the deck. Time for a proper introduction." He didn’t give Law a chance to argue.

As Marco turned to leave, Rosinante and the girls, who had been lounging nearby, looked up with a surprised expression. “Marco?” Rosinante asked, half-laughing at the sight.

"Rosinante, Marcia, Sugar," Marco said without breaking stride, his voice firm. "Law’s going to be spending every day with me from now on. Feel free to come by with the girls if you like." He didn’t wait for a response, already making his way toward the deck with the squirming Law over his shoulder.

"Oi!" Law muttered angrily, still grumbling under his breath as they walked. "What's wrong with you?"

“We're going to the deck,” Marco said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You’ll see."

When they arrived on the deck, the crew froze, eyes wide as Marco marched past them, Law still slung over his shoulder. The sight of Marco carrying the little brat so casually was jarring to them, and whispers began to spread through the crew.

At the center of it all, Whitebeard sat on his massive chair, looking as imposing as ever. Marco strode directly towards him, his eyes hardening with purpose.

Without missing a beat, Marco lifted Law from his shoulder and set him down on Whitebeard’s thigh. The boy winced slightly, adjusting to the uncomfortable position, but Marco didn’t let it phase him.

“Listen up, yoi,” Marco’s voice boomed across the deck, commanding attention and silencing the murmurs. "For the next months, Law’s going to be with me in the medical bay. What he says is final. If any of you has a problem with that, you take it up with me. Don’t think just because I lose my temper with him, you have the right to do the same. I’m the only one who gets to bitch about him, yoi. You don’t have the right to say a damn thing about him—not unless you plan on building him a shrine and offering him your respect. That’s the only way you’ll make my life easier.”

The crew shifted uneasily, uncomfortable with the sharp edge in Marco’s tone. They had never seen him like this before.

Marco continued, his voice low but filled with conviction, "The kid’s almost better than me, and he’s ten, yoi. I get pissed off because my pride as a doctor’s been bruised. You’re upset because he’s not some sunshine-and-rainbows child? Tough shit. The boy’s had it harder than most of you combined. So stop whining about him not being the picture-perfect, cheerful kid you imagined."

Marco paused, his gaze hardening as he addressed the crew. “I’m the one responsible for him, yoi. I bear his mark" He stepped forward, his presence overwhelming, his words cutting through the air like a blade. "I’m responsible for his safety. His well-being. Respect him, or keep quiet. This brat may end up being your captain's husband when Pops dies. Don’t look at me to be captain, I’ll give the fleet to Luffy in a heartbeat, yoi. Sorry Pops.”

Without waiting for a response, Marco gently lifted Law from Whitebeard’s lap and turned towards the door. Whitebeard’s voice boomed across the deck, stopping them in their tracks.

“Listen to your brother,” Whitebeard said, his tone firm. “I know it’s not easy, but Law is here for a reason. He’s important. And I won’t let my crew make him miserable.”

The crew froze, eyes wide with surprise at Whitebeard’s rare shift in tone. But Whitebeard wasn’t finished yet. His voice deepened, growing more resolute. “And the truth is, I’d planned to introduce you all to Luffy as my successor when the time was right—when you could see him for yourselves. But I don’t have the luxury of waiting anymore. You need to understand something: that brat of a kid might just be your future captain’s husband. So treat him accordingly.”

The crew stiffened, and the realisation hit hard. Whitebeard’s gaze swept over them like a storm, his chuckle now replaced by a quiet, stern authority. “I wasn’t going to tell you about my plans yet. I wanted you all to meet him first, love him like a nephew before being confronted with these news. I didn’t want you to think I was passing the torch to someone you unworthy of my beloved children. But the situation... From now on, you will treat Law with respect, because he’s the one who’ll be by Luffy’s side when he takes over.”

The crew was silent, the gravity of Whitebeard’s words sinking in. The tension on the deck was palpable as they absorbed what they had just been told. Whitebeard’s voice cut through the silence, low but powerful, “And if you don’t want to see your nephew miserable on his fourth birthday, treat Law right. This isn’t just for Law—it’s for all of us. You’ll all be expected to accept Luffy, and respect him, just like you do with me and the rest of the family. Understand?”

The crew nodded, the weight of Whitebeard’s words sinking in. As Marco walked away, Law still slung over his shoulder, the crew knew they had no choice but to accept the future that was being set before them.

Over the next few weeks, Law became a steady presence in the medical bay. The crew was still wary of him—his sharp tongue and detached demeanour made him an unusual fit. But slowly, they adapted. They learned that Law wasn’t as cold as he seemed; he simply didn’t waste words. His knowledge, however, was undeniable. Even the most stubborn crew members began trusting the child's expertise.

Occasionally, Law spent time with Thatch, discussing the nutritional habits of the crew. It wasn’t uncommon to see the two of them in the galley, Law criticizing meal plans and Hongo countering with practicality. The sight of the small, serious child debating a fully grown man over protein intake had become oddly normal.

Then, nearly three months in, a crewmember approached Marco and Law in the medical bay. “Come to the deck,” he said, barely able to contain his excitement.

Curious, the two followed.

As they stepped onto the deck, Law blinked. The entire crew stood in two perfectly straight lines, forming a path toward something covered with cloth near one of the doors. The air buzzed with anticipation.

Marco exchanged a glance with Law before stepping forward. The crowd barely breathed as they approached the veiled object.

Whitebeard, lounging on his massive throne, chuckled. “Well? What do you think?”

Law gave Marco a pointed side-eye. Marco folded his arms. “Pops… what exactly is this, yoi?”

Whitebeard grinned. “An altar! Gurarararara!”

Marco and Law turned back to the makeshift shrine. The large, repurposed dresser now had a prominent carving of Luffy’s celestial mark on one of its doors.

“Son,” Whitebeard continued, clearly pleased with himself, “do you know what Luffy likes to eat? We should make proper offerings. And show them your mark too—so they know to honor Law as well.”

Marco stared, then sighed. “Meat. Luffy likes meat.”

Before anyone could react, Thatch gasped dramatically. “I’LL BE RIGHT BACK!” He vanished below deck in a blur of motion.

Law squinted at the structure. “…Ossan, that’s… uh, very considerate.”

Marco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Pops, this is really something, but they’re not ready to be—”

Before he could finish, Thatch reappeared, triumphantly hoisting a platter piled high with steaming meat. “MEAT FOR LUFFY!” he declared, setting it down reverently before the altar. He stepped back, placed a hand over his heart, and bowed. “I pray you enjoy it, dear nephew.”

Law nudged Marco. “What do they think is going to happen?” he whispered.

Marco shrugged.

Deciding to cut this off before it got out of hand, Marco suddenly called out, “Alright! Who wants to be examined by our young doctor?”

Law smirked as the crew instinctively recoiled. “Smart,” he muttered.

Before Marco could bask in his victory, something rang from Whitebeard’s coat.

purru-purru-purru

The crew stilled.

Whitebeard pulled out his Den Den Mushi. “Whitebe—”

“I KNOW, OLD MAN!!! SOMETHING’S HAPPENED WITH LUFFY!” Shanks’ panicked voice bellowed through the receiver.

The crew surged forward.

Marco’s eyes sharpened. “What happened to Luffy, yoi?”

Shanks sounded borderline hysterical. “He—he’s been talking to the Klabautermann of the Red Force for months, right? And he’s got some red dragon friend—keeps calling him a lizard, but apparently, Dearg, that's their name, corrects him every time. Whatever, not the point! Listen—Luffy was fine! He was so happy today, Marco! We just finished three houses! People are moving in! He was grinning all day and on our way to grab some snacks, then out of nowhere, he froze. He just stopped talking, his eyes went blank, and then—”

Shanks' voice cracked. “He floated, Marco. Floated. For a few seconds. Then he thanked someone, said he couldn’t hear them properly, and then he just… collapsed. He’s not waking up.”

The deck fell into a suffocating silence.

Then Marco swore under his breath. His mind raced. The timing. He turned sharply to the altar. To the steaming plate of meat.

“That’s… oddly specific,” Law murmured beside him.

Marco inhaled sharply, then exhaled, his grip tightening at his sides. “Thatch,” he said carefully. “You just made an offering to Luffy, yoi.”

The crew paled.

Thatch blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

Marco turned back to the Den Den Mushi. “Shanks—this happened right now?”

“Yes!”

Marco clenched his jaw. “Shit.”

Shanks’ panic doubled. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHIT?! DON’T JUST SAY SHIT—WHAT HAPPENED?!”

Marco didn’t answer immediately. His mind worked at rapid speed. Celestial beings. Offerings. Sudden unconsciousness.

“Marco.” Whitebeard’s voice was steady, but firm. “Explain.”

Marco exhaled. “It’s possible… Luffy felt the offering.”

The crew collectively flinched.

Shanks nearly screeched. “WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE FELT IT?! HE’S ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD!”

Law frowned, deep in thought. “Maybe he can already tap into his celestial powers... there may be a connection,” he murmured.

Shanks was breathing fast, trying—and failing—to calm himself. “Okay—okay—so what do we do?!”

Marco ran a hand through his hair, then his gaze hardened. “Keep him comfortable. Let Hongo monitor his vitals. And tell me immediately if anything changes, yoi.”

“I—I will,” Shanks stammered, still shaken. 

Marco swallowed.

“Hold on, Luffy,” Marco murmured. “We’ll figure this out, yoi.”

The Den Den Mushi crackled.

datcha

The call ended, leaving the ship in eerie silence.

Marco exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Next time,” he muttered, “listen to me when I tell you they are not ready, yoi. The boy is not even four!”

Whitebeard hummed thoughtfully. The crew remained deathly still.

Somewhere below deck, Thatch quietly hid the rest of the meat.

The deck of the Moby Dick remained frozen. No one moved. No one spoke.

The weight of what had just happened pressed down on them like an anchor, keeping them all rooted to their spots. The altar stood silent, the offering of meat untouched. The Den Den Mushi in Whitebeard’s hand lay still.

Then again: purru-purru-purru.

Every head snapped toward the snail.

Whitebeard answered immediately. “And?”

At first, there was only silence.

Then, a very young, hesitant voice drifted through.

“…Hello?”

The entire ship inhaled at once.

Whitebeard’s grip on the receiver tightened. “Luffy?”

A pause. Then—

“Jiichan?”

Relief surged through the crew, but no one dared to exhale yet.

“I—I dunno what happened,” Luffy admitted, his voice still a little drowsy. “We had a big feast to celebrate! Then all of a sudden, I got really sleepy, and then… I dunno. I woke up, and Dearg was there.”

“Dearg?” Marco frowned.

“Mm-hmm! He said, ‘You should call the last number the Captain dialed, boy.’ So I did!”

A low murmur spread through the crew.

Marco inhaled, steadying himself. “Luffy, listen to me, yoi. How do you feel? Any dizziness? Nausea? Headaches?”

Luffy made a confused noise. “What's a nizziness? I'm hungry.”

Marco blinked. “You just ate, like two hours ago right?”

“I know! But I’m awake now, so I gotta eat again.”

Marco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Right. Of course.”

The tension in the crew started to ease slightly.

Then, Law suddenly spoke up. “Are you okay?”

For a second, there was only silence.

Then Luffy let out a soft giggle.

“You sound like you're really pretty,” he said simply.

The silence that followed Luffy’s words stretched unbearably.

Law sat frozen, eyes wide, the faintest tinge of red dusting his cheeks. The entire crew stared at him, their shock turning into barely contained chaos.

And then—

datcha

For a moment, no one moved. No one breathed.

Then, “PFFFFT—”

The first snicker broke the silence. Then another. And another. Until the entire deck exploded into raucous, uncontrollable laughter.

Marco was the first to recover. He turned ever so slowly toward Law, his lips already curling into a dangerous smirk. “Well, well, well, yoi.” His voice was practically dripping with amusement. “Seems like you have a celestial admirer.”

Law finally snapped out of his trance, eyes narrowing. “Shut up.”

That only made it worse.

“DID YOU SEE HIS FACE?” Thatch howled, slapping his knee. “KID’S BLUSHING!”

“Oi, don’t make fun of the brat, he’s got a fiancé now!” Vista teased.

“Oh man, oh man,” Rakuyo wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Did he just flirt and then HANG UP?”

“That was smooth,” Haruta added, grinning. “Luffy’s got game.”

Law’s face darkened even further, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. “I said shut up.”

“Gurararara!” Whitebeard’s booming laughter rose above the crew’s antics. “I did not expect this! But I must say, my grandson knows how to claim what’s his.”

Law let out a strangled noise, his entire body tensing. “I swear, if you old men don’t—”

But there was no stopping it now.

Marco chuckled, ruffling Law’s hair like he was a particularly irritable kitten. “Relax, yoi. You just got your first compliment from your future husband.”

Law smacked his hand away, grumbling.

“Oh, come on, Law, say it back,” Izo teased, winking. “Tell us how you feel.”

“I feel like murdering every single one of you,” Law deadpanned.

That only sent the crew into another round of laughter.

Finally, Whitebeard held up a hand, signaling for silence. “Enough, children,” he said, his voice still tinged with amusement. “We have more important things to discuss.”

Marco hummed, crossing his arms. “Though, yoi… can’t say I’d turn down a compliment from Luffy either.”

The crew blinked, the shift in Marco’s tone catching them off guard.

“What?” Haruta asked, confused. 

Law, who had just barely begun to recover from his own embarrassment, suddenly dawned on what Marco was hinting at.

Marco smirked. “I mean, after seeing what Luffy grows into…” He let the sentence hang in the air, eyes gleaming with mischief.

The crew exchanged confused glances.

“What are you talking about, Marco?” Vista asked, brow furrowing.

Law, standing stiffly beside him, had his arms crossed so tightly it was a miracle he hadn’t fractured a rib. His scowl deepened, knowing exactly where Marco was going with this.

Marco exhaled through his nose, feigning patience. “Finally! I've waited MONTHS for someone to finally ask! Let me paint you a clearer picture, yoi.”

Law’s eyes widened. “Don’t.”

Marco smirked and did exactly that.

“Imagine the most breathtaking woman you’ve ever seen,” Marco began, voice low and deliberate. “The kind that makes your knees weak, that makes your hands itch to touch. Now—make her five times more beautiful. More divine. And then, yoi—” Marco’s voice dropped, “picture her standing there in the softest pink tunic, a slit revealing long, flawless legs and a very pregnant belly, the fabric draping over a body built to drive men insane. Black hair cascading down her back, curling slightly at the ends. A slender neck leading to soft, plump lips, the kind that—” His smirk widened. “When we saw Luffy in his celestial form, not a single one of us could keep our mouths closed. Some poor soul even whistled because they couldn’t hold it in, yoi.”

Silence.

Law stiffened beside him, his brain desperately trying not to conjure the image Marco was referring to. But of course, he had seen it. He remembered the radiant figure standing beside his future self. The very pregnant goddess. He could see that she was pretty but he didn't see her like Marco did. Anyway, no one should talk about the partner of his older self like this!

“SHUT UP!” Law lunged at Marco, slapping a hand over his mouth. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Marco, utterly unbothered, just raised a brow, speaking against Law’s palm. “M’not finished, yoi.”

Law tightened his grip, but Marco effortlessly pried his hand away, grinning.

“Where was I? Ah—right. The eyes, yoi. Deep, endless, like staring into the very heart of the universe. And when he smiles—” Marco exhaled, shaking his head as if the sheer memory of it was ruining him. “It’s like the whole damn world stops. Like the sun itself rises just for her. I have never seen something that beautiful in my entire life, yoi.”

His voice turned almost reverent. “And the worst part?” He ran a hand through his hair, looking more lost in admiration by the second. “Future Law told Garp that Luffy tires him out. Relentlessly. And Luffy just grinned, all smug, yoi.” Marco looked personally victimized. “And then—” He placed a hand over his heart like he was about to swear an oath. “Luffy tried to jump Law with us in the room.”

A collective wheeze swept through the crew. Someone muttered a quiet Jesus Christ.

Thatch, looking pale, finally found his voice. “You’re telling me that’s what our nephew becomes?”

“Oh yeah,” Marco drawled. “And let’s not forget—when Pops and I saw him, he was carrying their tenth child.”

That broke them.

Haruta sat down. Just… sat down. Vista took his hat off like he was in mourning.

Izo, ever composed, pinched the bridge of his nose. “You do realize, Marco, that you’ve just ruined half the crew.”

Marco only smirked, far too pleased. “They’ll live, yoi.”

Then he tilted his head. “Ah, right. And Shanks? When he saw the woman and didn't know Luffy yet?” Marco let out a low chuckle. “The man had to physically hold onto something. Gripped his chair like his life depended on it, yoi. He looked like he was having a religious experience.”

The crew stared at Marco.

Marco, still utterly lost in the memory, just sighed wistfully. “And honestly? Same, yoi.”

Law grabbed his face with both hands, fingers digging into his temples as if he could physically scrub this conversation out of existence. “Why. Are. You. Like. This.”

Marco, still looking far too blissful, just waved him off. “You don’t get it, yoi.”

“No, I don’t, but you are talking about my future partner!”

Marco simply turned to Whitebeard, ignoring Law’s rising hysteria. “Pops, do you understand what I’m saying?”

Whitebeard, who had been silently rubbing his temples for the past five minutes, slowly raised his head.

“Understand?” His voice rumbled, heavy with something dangerously close to dread. “I understand that my grandson is doomed.”

The crew blinked.

“…Doomed?” Thatch echoed.

Whitebeard exhaled deeply, staring out into the sea like it would somehow provide an answer to the chaos in front of him.

“My grandson,” he said, voice slow and heavy, “is not going to have a crew when I die.” His expression darkened. “He is going to have fanatical worshippers.”

Marco, still looking hopelessly whipped, just sighed dreamily. “Yeah, yoi.”

Whitebeard narrowed his eyes. “You will not be weird about this when you meet him.”

Silence.

Marco just blinked. “Define ‘weird,’ yoi.”

Whitebeard let out a slow, exhausted breath. “I know my sons.” His gaze swept across the crew, who were all still somewhere between traumatized and intrigued. “And none of you will do anything strange when you meet my grandson. Remember: he's a child! He's not even four!”

No one spoke.

Whitebeard’s grip on his bisento tightened.

“I said none of you will do anything strange!”

The crew immediately snapped into agreement.

“Yes, Pops!”

“Of course, Pops!”

“No weirdness, got it!”

Whitebeard eyed them for a long, suspicious moment before sighing. “Good.”

Law, whose face was burning at this point, gritted his teeth. “You all need therapy.”

Whitebeard pointed directly at Marco. “And you, son—stop corrupting your brothers!”

Marco, utterly unrepentant, only smirked. “Can’t promise anything, yoi.”

For a few moments, the entire Moby Dick fell into an awkward, slightly traumatized silence.

“Gurararara,” Whitebeard suddenly laughed, shaking his head before sighing dramatically. “And here I thought I was going to have trouble convincing my sons to accept Luffy. Now I fear they’ll be building him an even bigger shrine than this.”

Law groaned, rubbing his temples. “I hate this family.”

Marco just clapped him on the shoulder. “Too late, yoi. You'll marry in.”

The crew gradually settled, though more than a few stifled chuckles lingered in the air.

Whitebeard’s smirk faded slightly. “We still have a problem. My grandson collapsed,” he reminded them. 

Marco hummed. “And it coincided with Thatch’s… offering, yoi.”

The crew turned to look at Thatch, who was still crouched near the altar, blinking.

“Uh.” Thatch scratched his head. “I mean… yeah? But I didn’t think it would do anything. It’s just meat.”

Marco frowned. “It’s never just meat with Luffy, yoi.”

The gravity of that statement hung between them.

“Shit,” Thatch muttered, rubbing his face. “You think—what, he felt it?”

“It is a shrine,” Vista mused. “And if Luffy’s powers are already divine, maybe… maybe the act of offering something actually reached him?”

Silence.

“That’s so fucking weird,” Law muttered.

Marco exhaled. “Agreed, yoi. I’ll reach out to Shanks again. We need to keep an eye on Luffy’s health.”

Law, who had managed to recover from his embarrassment, crossed his arms. “And maybe,” he added, voice firm, “you should not be randomly sacrificing meat to my fiancé. It would be best if you stop thinking about him completely!”

The crew howled all over again.

Over the next few days, Law did his absolute best to avoid that particular corner of the deck.

It had started innocently enough with the dresser. But then someone brought offerings again. At first, candles. And then, somehow, flowers. Where did they get the flowers? Luckily, Shanks didn't call again that Luffy's unwell.

So Law simply chose not to look at it. If he ignored it, it wasn’t real. Simple as that. Unfortunately, Rosinante had other ideas.

"Come on," Rosinante said, practically dragging him by the collar. "The girls want to see it."

“I don’t,” Law grumbled, trying to resist, but Rosinante was three times his size and determined.

As they approached, he could hear Izo and Haruta whispering excitedly.

“She’s so beautiful,” Izo murmured.

Haruta sighed dreamily. “A real goddess.”

Law stiffened. Oh, no.

With a growing sense of dread, he turned his gaze toward the altar—and felt his stomach drop.

Because someone—some absolute menace—had painted a large, highly detailed mural of his future partner in his celestial form across the wall behind the altar.

And of course, it was exactly how Marco had described him.

Long, flowing black hair. Deep, endless eyes. A soft, knowing smile that radiated warmth. A sheer pink tunic that barely concealed an unmistakably heavily pregnant belly.

Law’s left eye twitched. Slowly, very slowly, he turned to look at Rosinante.

Rosinante, the absolute traitor, was just sipping his coffee. “Huh,” he said, as if he wasn’t the one who dragged Law here. “That’s some impressive work. It really looks like Luffy. Beautiful.”

Law immediately turned on his heel and stormed toward the medical bay.

“MARCO!”

Laughter.

Law slammed the door open to find Marco leaning back lazily in a chair, smirking like he had been waiting for this.

“Why the hell did you do that?!” Law seethed.

Marco simply stretched, looking utterly unrepentant. “What, you mean the painting, yoi?” He shrugged. “Relax, we’re adding you next.”

Law blinked. “What.”

Marco grinned. “Well, obviously, yoi. The others need to know what you’ll look like in the future. It’s only fair.”

Law’s eye twitched again. “How, exactly, does that help anything?” He pointed wildly toward the deck. “People are already giving that damn mural weird looks! What if someone defiles the mural or that altar because they can't handle a picture? It's like pornography for those creeps!”

Marco was having the time of his life.

“Oh man, this is even better than I thought, yoi,” he said, grinning like a damn cat with a canary in its claws. “You’re already getting possessive, and you haven’t even met him yet.”

Law, who was about two seconds away from throwing the entire medical bay overboard, clenched his jaw so hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack.

“That’s not—” He inhaled sharply. “I just don’t want to watch people drooling over a picture of someone they’re supposed to respect!”

Marco hummed, tapping his chin. “Right, right. And you pacing around, getting all worked up about it, totally doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that it’s your future husband they’re ogling, yoi.”

“I don’t even know him!” Law snapped.

Marco leaned in, smirking. “But you will.”

Law made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“And when you do,” Marco continued, shameless and unstoppable, “you’re gonna take one look at him and just melt, yoi. It’s gonna be beautiful.”

Law grabbed a scalpel. “Marco.”

Marco ignored the very real threat of bodily harm. “Actually, maybe I should paint that instead—you looking all love-struck while Luffy glows like the divine being he is—”

Law threw the scalpel. Marco dodged, still laughing.

“Alright, alright, I’ll paint you next to him,” Marco said, grinning as he backed toward the door. “Can’t have anyone thinking he’s single, huh, yoi?”

Law’s brows furrowed as he let out a sharp breath, running a hand down his face. “I don’t—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t even know him,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Why the hell am I acting like this?”

Marco, who had been watching him carefully, tilted his head. “Huh,” he said, tapping his chin. “Hey, when you saw future Luffy, you saw yourself too, right?”

Law blinked, caught off guard. “…Yeah.”

Marco’s gaze sharpened. “And?”

Law hesitated.

There was a moment, just before he was pulled back into his own time, when he had locked eyes with his future self. A moment where it had felt like everything was being laid bare.

Law exhaled through his nose. “He told me I had to look after Luffy,” he admitted quietly.

Marco’s expression softened, but he didn’t say anything, waiting for Law to continue.

“He said…” Law clenched his fists, his voice almost a whisper. “That Luffy is the best thing that’s happened to him since Flevance.”

Marco’s eyes widened slightly.

“And then,” Law swallowed, feeling his throat tighten for a reason he didn’t want to examine too closely, “he told me to enjoy my ‘heavenly trial’ before I could go back to Luffy. Back to our kids. To our family. I hope things'll make sense when I get my Devil Fruit.”

Silence. For once, even Marco had nothing to say.

Law scoffed, shaking his head. “I don’t get it. I barely even looked at the woman he becomes, and yet—” He exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Why does it feel like I already—” He cut himself off again, jaw clenching.

Marco, watching him closely, finally smirked.

Law glared. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything, yoi.”

“You thought it.”

Marco chuckled. “Well,” he said, stepping past Law and patting him on the shoulder, “guess we’ll find out soon enough, huh?”

Law scowled. “I hate you.”

Marco just laughed. “Nah, you just don’t know how much you love Luffy yet.”

Law snatched up another scalpel, but Marco was already gone, laughter echoing down the hall.

The next day, Marco continued his work on the mural, the image of Law and the celestial Luffy taking shape on the wall. Law sat beside him, eyes fixed on the image of Luffy.

Marco was in his element, enjoying every moment of teasing Law, but Law remained unusually quiet, his mind clearly spinning with thoughts he couldn’t quite place.

Finally, unable to keep the questions at bay, Law spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“Marco... can you tell me more about him? Luffy. What is he really like?” Law asked, glancing at Marco as he tried to hide the hint of vulnerability in his voice.

Marco smirked, clearly having anticipated this moment. “Ah, finally, yoi,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag before leaning back in his chair. “Alright, where do I begin?”

He leaned forward slightly, his expression softening as he began to speak. “I first saw Luffy in Marineford. Before that, all I knew were his wanted posters and Ace's stories. Ace is obsessed with his little brother. I knew he was the kind of kid who’d throw a punch at a Celestial Dragon without thinking twice. Reckless, impulsive, didn’t care much for rules, yoi. But when I saw him in Marineford, it was like something clicked for me.”

Marco paused, a faraway look in his eyes as he remembered the chaos of that day. “Luffy’s the kind of guy who doesn’t think about the consequences. He acts on instinct, on what feels right in the moment. He charged into Marineford like a storm, no care for his own safety, just going after what he believed in—Ace. He’s reckless, but that’s just the surface, yoi.”

Law shifted in his seat, brow furrowed as he processed the words. 

Marco chuckled, shaking his head. “Luffy's also one of the most emotionally intelligent people I’ve ever met. People think he’s just some fool, but Luffy has this uncanny way of understanding people. It’s like he can sense when someone’s struggling, and he’ll step up without a second thought to help them. He doesn’t do it out of obligation. It’s just who he is. He connects with people in a way no one else can.”

Law nodded slowly, trying to wrap his mind around what Marco was saying. 

Marco’s grin softened, a knowing look in his eyes. “You’ll see it for yourself when you'll meet him again. For real this time, not just to bring him to some crazy dimension portal. Luffy’s not perfect, but he’s got this heart, yoi. He makes you want to be better, makes you want to protect him.” Marco leaned in closer, his tone growing more serious. “That’s why people follow him. He doesn’t have to force anyone to listen. They just want to. Because when you’re around him, you know he’ll never let you down. Not in the ways that matter.”

Law was quiet for a moment, staring at the painting as though he could will Luffy’s personality into the brushstrokes. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all just too... much. He wasn’t ready to feel so strongly about someone he hadn’t properly met.

“Sounds too good to be true,” Law muttered.

Marco chuckled. “Oh, it’s true, yoi. But you know, there’s one thing I should probably mention. It might help you understand Luffy a little better."

Law looked at him, clearly intrigued. "What’s that?"

Marco’s grin widened mischievously. “Your future self, yoi. He told me something that might surprise you. He told me he realised he fell in love with Luffy at Sabaody, when Luffy punched a Celestial Dragon, yoi.”

Law’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected that. “My future self… in love with him? After that?”

Marco nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Yeah. It wasn’t the punch, though. It was the way Luffy stood up to all that cruelty. He didn’t care about the danger or the consequences. He just did it.”

Law stared at Marco, stunned. He shook his head, trying to wrap his mind around the idea that his future self had fallen for someone like Luffy.

Marco’s smile softened into something more understanding. “I know it’s hard to believe right now, yoi. But your future self was in denial about it for a long time. He wouldn’t admit it, even to himself. It took him a while, years actually, to come to terms with it, yoi.”

Law swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. “But… I, he, future me really loved him?”

Marco gave a small nod. “Yeah. He did. More than anything, more than himself. And he told me that Luffy... Luffy’s the best thing that ever happened to him, yoi. Like he said to you.”

For a moment, there was silence between them. Law shifted uncomfortably, trying to process what Marco had said. But then, Marco added one last thing, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, and just so you know, yoi,” Marco continued casually, “when your future self heard some random guy calling Luffy an idiot, he didn’t even hesitate. He took that guy’s tongue right out of his mouth.”

Law blinked, momentarily taken aback. “What?!”

Marco shrugged with a grin. “Yeah, yoi. Future Law’s protective when it comes to Luffy. I wouldn’t want to cross him in that situation, yoi.”

Law felt his face heat up, both surprised and a little embarrassed. “That’s… extreme.”

Marco leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. “Nah, yoi. You’ll understand when it’s your turn to protect him. Luffy’s not someone you let anyone insult, yoi.”

Law ran a hand through his hair, his thoughts racing. “I don’t know...”

Marco gave him a knowing smile. “Don't worry, nothing’s wrong with you, yoi. It’s just that Luffy has a way of making people feel that way. Just wait, Law. You’ll see.”

Law sighed, glancing at the mural again. Maybe Marco was right. Maybe this was something he’d feel when he met Luffy. He just hoped when the time came, he’d be ready.

After an hour, Rakuyo checked in on Marco. He saw Law leaving the altar and took his chance to tease his brother, “You know, Marco... drawing his mural makes you look like his High Priest.”

Without waiting for a reaction, Rakuyo runs away, laughing like a madman.

The Moby Dick finally docked in Foosha Village, its massive hull rocking slightly as it settled into place. The crew, lively and excited, gathered on the deck as the town slowly came into view. The Red Hair Pirates stood at the dock, along with Rayleigh, Ace, and Sabo, waiting for their visitors. The air was buzzing with energy, and everyone was eager to see the reunion that was about to unfold.

Luffy, ever the bundle of energy, was already clambering up Shanks's back, grinning ear to ear. Shanks, chuckling softly, hoisted Luffy onto his shoulders, the little boy's arms wrapped around his neck as he looked around eagerly.

With a deep breath, Shanks raised his voice, booming over the sounds of the crew below. “Permission to board?”

Whitebeard, who was standing at the edge of the deck with his arms crossed, let out a hearty laugh that rumbled through the ship. “Permission granted, brat!” he called, his voice full of affection and amusement.

With that, Shanks jumped, landing gracefully on the deck of the Moby Dick with Luffy still securely perched on his shoulders. The crew quickly made space for their captain, and Shanks set Luffy down gently on the ground, crouching down to be eye level with him. Luffy’s big eyes darted around, taking in the faces of his new family with wonder.

After a moment of silence, Luffy’s gaze locked onto Marco, and he tilted his head curiously. “You look funny,” he said innocently, eyes wide in unfiltered curiosity.

The entire crew burst into laughter, and Marco raised an eyebrow, looking at Luffy with a mix of surprise and amusement.

Shanks grinned and patted Luffy on the head. “I warn you,” Marco growled, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

Shanks looked at Marco, an exaggerated look of innocence in his eyes. “OF COURSE! Thanks, Marco!” he said, lifting Luffy by the armpits and holding him right in front of Marco’s face. “Luffy, baby, don’t you think Uncle Marco looks like a pineapple?”

Luffy’s eyes lit up like a light bulb, and with a huge grin, he squealed, “UNCLE PINEAPPLE!” His laughter rang out across the deck, and the entire crew joined in, roaring with laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

Shanks swung Luffy around a bit, letting him see the rest of the crew, as the boy’s giggles filled the air. Just as the laughter started to die down, a loud, dramatic ahem broke through the noise.

The crew fell silent, turning to see Whitebeard, who had a mischievous glint in his eye as he stepped forward. “Hello, Luffy,” he rumbled in a voice that was as warm as it was imposing. “I’m your Jiichan.”

Luffy blinked at him, a little confused. “You’ve got something on your face,” he said, his brow furrowing as he pointed at Whitebeard’s mustache.

Whitebeard laughed heartily, the sound booming like thunder. “That’s my mustache, brat,” he said, amused by Luffy’s candidness.

Luffy shrugged nonchalantly. “Looks like a banana,” he remarked, causing the crew to erupt in laughter once again.

Shanks nearly doubled over, laughing so hard that he had to hold Luffy tighter to keep him steady. “That’s my boy!” he cheered, delighted by Luffy’s wit.

But just as the laughter was dying down, Luffy’s sharp eyes spotted someone else in the crowd—a figure standing quietly off to the side.

Without hesitation, Luffy wiggled out of Shanks’s grip, his small legs carrying him as he dashed towards Law, who had been watching the interaction with an unreadable expression. Luffy’s small hands grabbed onto Law’s coat, and he looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

"You're the pretty boy from when I met my daddy!" Luffy declared, his voice unfiltered and full of genuine curiosity. His small feet shuffled excitedly on the deck, and the words tumbled out as if they had been waiting to burst free. "You took me to a door! And then I met my brothers!"

The entire deck fell into stunned silence.

Law stiffened. His heart skipped a beat, and for a long moment, he couldn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure why, but Luffy’s words, so pure, so unassuming, hit him harder than he could have anticipated. His throat went dry, and his gaze flickered to Marco, who gave him a look that was a mix of surprise and something far more knowing.

After what felt like an eternity, Law managed to choke out, “Cu-cute,” his voice barely above a whisper. His cheeks burned immediately.

Luffy’s eyes widened with delight, as if he had just uncovered the biggest secret in the world. He tugged at the hem of Law’s coat again, his small hands gripping the fabric with determination. "Hey, are you Torao?" he asked, his voice filled with innocent excitement. "The pretty lady said Torao wears a hat with dots, and the nice man with the cool drawings on his skin said Torao has cool skin!"

Law felt his stomach drop. He had no idea yet what Luffy was talking about, but the way the boy spoke—so certain, so trusting—made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

His mind raced. It had to be the future versions of Luffy and himself. The nice man with the cool drawings—that had to be his future self with those badass tattoos and the pretty lady must be Luffy himself.

His future self had told Luffy about him. And now, here was little Luffy, looking up at him with those big, shining eyes, so sure, so hopeful.

"Luffy..." Law started, but he hesitated, his throat dry. How was he supposed to answer this?

Luffy, impatient as ever, tugged harder on Law’s sleeve. "You’re Torao, right?" he asked again, still beaming with that same innocent joy. "You must be! The nice man with the cool drawings said that Torao will never leave me, that I won’t be alone when I find my Torao because my Torao will be my house band and we love each other. Are you Torao? You look very pretty."

Law’s breath caught in his throat. His future self had said that?

His head felt light, like he was standing at the edge of something far bigger than himself. He glanced at Marco, desperate for some kind of guidance, but the blonde only raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

Law swallowed hard. He didn’t know what else to do, what else to say, except...

"I guess I’m Torao...?" he muttered uncertainly.

The moment the words left his mouth, Marco and Shanks burst out laughing.

"Oh man, you really haven't changed," Shanks cackled, wiping a tear from his eye.

Marco grinned, his blue flames flickering faintly around his shoulders as he smirked. "That was his nickname for you last time as well."

"WHAT?" Law snapped, his voice going an octave higher than he would have liked.

But before he could even begin to process that revelation, Luffy’s entire face lit up.

"TORAO!!" Luffy shrieked in absolute delight, his tiny hands tightening further around Law’s coat. And then—before Law could react—Luffy threw himself forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Law’s waist in a full-bodied hug.

Law froze. Completely and utterly froze.

Luffy nuzzled into his stomach like an overenthusiastic puppy, his little hands gripping the fabric of Law’s coat. "I knew I’d find you!" he cheered, his voice muffled against Law’s clothes. "You’re my Torao and I already love you!"

Law’s brain short-circuited. He had no idea how to deal with this. He had survived Flevance, but this? He was not prepared for a tiny, sunshine-filled menace hugging him like they had known each other forever.

Marco and Shanks, meanwhile, were practically howling with laughter.

"Well, guess you're stuck with him now," Marco teased, nudging Law in the ribs.

"Better get used to it, kid," Shanks added, grinning. "Luffy’s not the type to let go of someone he likes."

Law opened his mouth to argue, but Luffy only hugged him tighter, radiating warmth and absolute joy.

Law sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. He was so doomed.

Luffy let go of him for only a brief second—just long enough to grab Law’s hand in his tiny fingers.

And then he ran.

Law barely had time to react before he was being dragged across the deck, Luffy’s grip surprisingly strong for such a small kid. “H-Hey—wait—Luffy—!” Law sputtered, but Luffy was a force of nature, and there was no stopping him.

The crew parted as the tiny whirlwind of energy pulled the confused boy forward, and Law could do nothing but stumble after him, trying not to trip.

Then, just as suddenly as he had started, Luffy came to a sharp halt, causing Law to nearly crash into him.

They were standing in front of the altar.

Law’s stomach dropped.

Luffy’s wide, shining eyes locked onto the mural, and he let out a delighted noise. “There! See?” He pointed enthusiastically at the painting, bouncing on his heels. “That’s the pretty lady and the nice man with the cool drawings!”

Law inhaled sharply, dread curling in his chest. Behind them, heavy footsteps approached, and then—

A low whistle.

Law didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. His eye twitched violently as he threw a sharp glare over his shoulder.

Shanks grinned at him, utterly unrepentant.

Meanwhile, Marco was laughing. “I had to capture it, yoi,” he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Before I ever forgot what Lu—our goddess looked like.”

Law twitched again.

Shanks, surprisingly, just nodded, his gaze fixed on the mural with something almost reverent beneath his teasing exterior. “Yeah,” he murmured, his usual carefree tone laced with something deeper. “I get that. The goddess looked fucking ho—” Shanks feels Luffy tugging on his trousers.

“Holy. Very holy.”

Law, who was still standing there, frozen in front of the massive painting of future Luffy and future him, felt like the world had tilted sideways.

Luffy, however, was completely oblivious to the sheer existential crisis unfolding beside him.

Instead, he turned to Law again, with the biggest, brightest grin and beamed. “You really are Torao!” he said with absolute certainty. Then, as if sealing the declaration, he squeezed Law’s hand and added, “I'll always love you, I feel it!”

Law felt his soul leave his body.

Chapter Text

Walking away from the mural, Luffy wrapped his tiny arms around Law with a happy squeal, “I found you, I found you, I found you!!”

Law made a strange sound, like someone had punched him in the stomach. His hands hovered awkwardly in the air, like he didn’t know what to do with them.

Law walked ahead, leading Luffy towards the small group waiting near the railing of the Moby Dick. Luffy’s tiny fingers curled around his own, warm and determined, as if he had no intention of letting go.

Rosinante, towering as ever, tilted his head and gave Luffy an easy grin. "So, this is him, huh?" His voice was deep, but warm, the kind that promised no harm. He crouched slightly to meet Luffy’s eye level. “Luffy, right? I’m Rosinante.”

Luffy tilted his head, big eyes scanning Rosinante’s face with quiet curiosity before he grinned. "You're really big," he finally said.

Rosinante chuckled. "Yeah, I get that a lot. And you're adorable."

Next to him, Marcia introduced herself. "My name's Marcia," she nudged a smaller figure forward. “And this,” she introduced smoothly, “is Sugar.”

Luffy’s eyes flickered to the small girl with blue eyes.

His fingers tightened around Law’s hand. It was a barely noticeable movement, just the faintest squeeze—but Law felt it.

Luffy’s shoulders tensed, his body shifting ever so slightly toward him, like an unconscious attempt to make himself smaller. He didn’t step back, didn’t outwardly react, but it was there—a heartbeat of hesitation.

Shanks, standing just behind them, exhaled quietly through his nose. He didn’t need to see Luffy’s face to know.

His hand came down lightly on the boy’s messy hair. “It’s alright, Anchor. Only friends here.”

Luffy hesitated for half a second before exhaling, releasing the tension in his shoulders.

And just like that, the moment passed.

A bright, practiced smile spread across his face. "Ah... I'm Luffy!" His voice was just as cheerful as ever, but his fingers remained firmly latched onto Law's.

Then, without missing a beat, Luffy turned to Law with an easy grin. "I’ll look around a bit, okay?"

Law narrowed his eyes slightly, his brain working to piece together what had just happened.

But before he could say anything, Luffy let go.

He spun on his heel, his sandals slapping softly against the deck as he wandered off toward the ship’s main structure.

Nobody stopped him.

Because nobody, except maybe Law and Shanks, had even realised something had just happened.

Marco, however, moved to stand beside Shanks, his voice low. Shanks listened, his expression unreadable before he exhaled sharply and murmured, “Oh… I see.”

His fingers twitched. Then, with a nod to Marco, he clapped a hand on his shoulder. "C’mon. Let’s go check on my kid."

With that, the two of them disappeared below deck.

Whitebeard, watching them go, sat heavily in his chair, arms crossed, a deep frown settling on his face.

Ace, grinning, clapped a hand on the old man’s massive chin. “Pops, no need to pout.”

The crew stared at the freckled boy like he had just declared war on the Yonko.

Ace only laughed harder. Turning to the assembled Whitebeard Pirates, he crossed his arms. "Alright, listen up. My name’s Gol D. Ace, but I prefer Portgas D. Ace. I was Luffy’s first guardian before I died when I was 20. After that, Rayleigh took over and looked after my adorable crybaby little brother."

Rayleigh scoffed. "He wasn’t that much of a crybaby."

Ace smirked. "Sure, let’s go with that."

Then his expression sobered slightly as he turned back to Whitebeard. "In my past life, I was your Second Division Commander. Maybe I’ll be that again—who knows? But right now, my only priority is Luffy. Sorry, Pops.”

For a long moment, Whitebeard simply stared at him. Then, he threw his head back and laughed.

"Gurararara! Even in my crew, Luffy would be your priority. Especially when he becomes your Captain.”

Ace blinked.

“…Huh?”

He wasn’t the only one confused.

Thatch rubbed his temples. “Eh… Ace, right? What Pops means is, after his death, he intends to leave the Grand Fleet to Luffy.”

A collective jaw drop from the Red Hair Pirates, Ace, Sabo, and Rayleigh.

Ace and Rayleigh turned to each other in unison, deadpan.

“…Oh no.”

Then they both burst out laughing.

Marco and Shanks moved quickly through the ship, their search methodical but unhurried, at least on the surface. Were anyone to ask, they'd say Luffy was simply playing hide-and-seek. Nothing unusual. Nothing concerning. They were too proud to admit that they just can't find him.

But between them, it was clear that something wasn’t right earlier.

This Luffy was almost four years old. His instincts were sharper than most adults, and his energy was boundless, but he wasn’t trained—he couldn’t mask himself from Observation Haki. Yet no matter where they looked, no matter how deeply they reached out with their senses, they found nothing.

It was as if the boy had vanished into thin air.

Shanks let out a low whistle, rubbing his chin. “You know, if I wasn’t me, I’d almost be impressed.”

Marco wasn’t amused. “This isn’t funny, yoi. The brat shouldn’t be able to just disappear.”

They had searched everywhere a little boy might hide. The galley, the crow’s nest, the infirmary, even under Jozu’s bunk. Nothing.

No heartbeat.
No warmth.
No tiny, flickering presence of a boy who was usually impossible to miss.

And that was the most unsettling part.

If Luffy had been afraid, his presence would have pulsed in their Haki, bright and raw and trembling like a newborn star. But this was different. There was nothing. As if Luffy had simply chosen not to be found.

Shanks sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Well, guess we keep looking.”

Marco huffed but nodded, and they pressed on.

It was nearly an hour later when they finally crossed paths with Rosinante and the children.

The tall blond raised an eyebrow as they approached, noting the way their eyes subtly scanned the group.

“Something wrong?” Rosinante asked, his voice even.

Shanks, ever the performer, let out a chuckle, waving a dismissive hand. “Nah, nothing serious. Just wondering if you guys have seen a certain tiny hurricane running around.”

Rosinante glanced at the kids, who all shook their heads. “Luffy? Haven’t seen him since earlier.”

Law, standing slightly behind his father figure, narrowed his eyes.

“You lost him?” Law asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Marco scoffed. “Not lost. He’s playing hide-and-seek, yoi.”

Law’s frown deepened. 

Shanks, ever the picture of ease, simply grinned.

He tilted his head towards Rosinante, who was leading Marcia, Sugar, and Law across the deck. "Yo, where are you guys heading?"

Rosinante gave him a suspicious look before sighing. "I was about to bring them to our quarters, but if you've got something better to do with them..."

Shanks waved a hand. "Nah, sounds perfect. Actually, do me a favour—get someone from Whitebeard's crew to take you to Beckman. He’ll show you around your new home."

Rosinante raised a brow but didn’t argue. He turned, gesturing for one of the nearby Whitebeard Pirates to lead them.

Law was still staring. His mind was working, pieces shifting into place, but Shanks and Marco weren’t explaining anything.

“…Whatever,” Law muttered at last, following the rest of his family as they were led away.

Only when they were gone did Marco exhale.

“This is a pain in the ass, yoi.”

Shanks hummed in agreement. “Yup. But let’s be real—it’s Luffy. You really thought anything would be normal?”

Marco gave him a flat look. “…Fair point.”

And so, as the sun dipped down the horizon, two of the most powerful men in the world resumed their search—more determined than ever to find the one person who should have been the easiest to find.

The mess hall was dimly lit, the remnants of dinner still scattered across the long wooden tables. The crew was winding down for the night, laughter and idle chatter filling the space. But as Shanks and Marco walked in, their expressions grim, the atmosphere shifted.

Whitebeard, seated at the head of the room, immediately took notice. His sharp eyes flicked between the two, noting the tension in their shoulders, the exhaustion beneath the surface.

Marco sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before speaking. “We can’t find Luffy, yoi.”

Silence.

Whitebeard frowned, setting down his sake cup. “What do you mean, yoi?”

Shanks exhaled heavily. “We’ve been looking all day. He’s nowhere on the ship.”

A hush fell over the room. The weight of the words settled in like a storm rolling over the sea.

Then, Whitebeard stood.

“All hands on deck.”

His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the power behind the order. Within moments, the entirety of the Whitebeards and Red Hair Pirates were mobilised. Rayleigh and Ace joined without question. The search spread across the ship like wildfire.

They scoured every inch of the Moby Dick. Every hidden crevice, every supply closet, every tucked-away space where an almost four-year-old might have squeezed into. Nothing.

The search extended beyond the ship—crew members searched the docks, the nearby coastline, the dense tree lines beyond the shore. But Luffy’s presence wasn’t anywhere. Not a sound, not a trace.

By the time the sun began to rise, exhaustion had set in.

The mess hall was eerily quiet before breakfast. No one had slept. Some sat with their heads in their hands, others barely picking at their food. The most precious child in the world had vanished into thin air.

Just as the oppressive silence threatened to consume them all, the doors swung open. Thatch walked in from the kitchen, an odd expression on his face.

“…I don’t know how to explain this, but a large portion of our meat supply is missing.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Shanks, Marco, Ace, and Rayleigh all visibly relaxed.

“If meat was stolen,” Shanks said, grinning, “that means Anchor is at least fine.”

Marco exhaled, shaking his head. “Of course, the brat would be hiding like a ghost and still manage to raid the food supplies, yoi.”

“I’m getting some sleep,” Shanks announced, stretching his arms. “I’ll be up in three to four hours.” Without another word, he walked out.

Despite their renewed efforts, Luffy was still nowhere to be found.

Another day passed with no sign of him.

Luffy was having the time of his life.

Not only had he found his Torao yesterday, he had also made a new friend, Morfil. A little whale with cool fins who could tell him endless stories about his Jiichan, uncles, and all their adventures, but he was also having the best game of hide-and-seek he had ever played.

For the second day now, Luffy had been hiding right under everyone's noses—on deck. No one could find him. Not even with Observation Haki. He was nestled comfortably in the pretty blue house Morfil lives in, tucked securely beneath the big chair on deck. Luffy was laughing to himself as he listened to the crew search high and low, completely unaware of his whereabouts.

It was hilarious.

Whenever they were outside and someone walked by, Morfil would shift slightly, creating just enough of a shadow or a convenient obstacle for Luffy to stay hidden. And if Luffy giggled too loudly? Morfil would fake a loud yawn and then the ship made sounds to cover up the noise. Genius.

Even better? Morfil brought him food!

Morfil would wait until no one was looking, then snag some meat from the kitchen with frightening precision. The first time, Luffy had stared in wide-eyed awe as the whale delivered a perfect stack of roasted meat skewers right into his waiting hands.

“You’re the best!” Luffy had whispered excitedly, grinning ear to ear as he dug in.

Morfil had huffed proudly.

And so the game continued.

Every time someone walked past looking for him, Luffy would have to shove meat into his mouth to keep from laughing. He had never been this good at hide-and-seek before. Even Ace and Sabo would’ve been impressed!

Then, the next morning, just as the crew was beginning to feel true concern, Thatch walked in again.

“…The rest of the meat is gone. There is nothing left. You'll have a vegetarian breakfast and don't come for me, it's not my fault.”

There was a pause.

“My Den Den Mushi is missing.” Whitebeard’s voice was even, but Shanks, Marco and Rayleigh all snapped to attention.

Meat theft was one thing. But stealing a giant Den Den Mushi?

By the third day, Luffy was unstoppable.

He had eaten well, slept in the best hiding spot ever, and Morfil was still not done with his stories. The only downside? He hadn’t gotten to play with Torao again yet. But that was okay! He’d surprise him later.

Today, though, Morfil had brought him something different.

A huge Den Den Mushi.

It was bigger than the others Luffy had ever seen and it had the same white moustache as his Jiichan.

Luffy blinked. “Eh?”

Morfil grumbled something, nudging the Den Den Mushi closer with his nose.

“Call your other Jiichan,” the whale said firmly. “It’s your birthday.”

Luffy tilted his head. “Birthday?”

Morfil sighed. “Yes, Birthday. Now call your other Jiichan. The one with the scary face.”

Luffy’s eyes lit up.

“OH! Gramps!”

Morfil huffed again. “Tell him not to worry if he can’t talk to you over your dad's Den Den Mushi. Your dad grew up to be a capable man—” the whale said begrudgingly, as if this fact personally annoyed him. “He knows you’re safe.”

Luffy grinned. “You're so smart!”

At that, Morfil’s chest puffed up proudly. “That’s right! And I'm your family!”

Luffy beamed, clutching the receiver. His family was the best.

Luffy sat cross-legged in front of the Den Den Mushi Morfil had brought him. His fingers fumbled excitedly with the receiver before he pressed the button and under Morfil's instructions, the snail’s eyes opening lazily.

After a few moments, a gruff, slightly irritated voice answered.

“What do you want this early, old man? Bragging that you get to celebrate his birthday with him?” Garp’s tone was already suspicious.

Luffy giggled. “It’s Luffy!”

There was a pause. Then a heavy sigh.

“…Brat? What the hell are you doing? And why are you calling me from his line?”

Luffy rocked back and forth, his grin never fading. “I’ve been playing hide and seek for three whole days, Gramps! And no one can find me!” His voice practically oozed pride. “Morfil is helping me!”

Silence.

Then, Garp’s tone dropped to something between exasperation and reluctant concern. “Morfil?”

Luffy nodded, even though Garp couldn’t see him. “Yeah! He’s my new friend! He’s super cool, and he knows so many stories about you and Jiichan!”

Another pause. Then another sigh—this one slower, heavier.

“…Luffy.” Garp’s voice was oddly calm now, almost resigned. “Brat. Tell me something. Is this ‘Morfil’ of yours someone that anyone else can see?”

Luffy blinked, tilting his head. “Of course! He’s right here!”

The Den Den Mushi looked pained. “Uh-huh. And has anyone besides you talked to him?”

Luffy pouted, thinking. “…I talk to him all the time! And he talks to me!” He looked at Morfil, who was wagging his tail happily. “Oh, wait! He wants me to tell you something. He says, ‘Tell Gramps...the go...goldring is safe, the ship will protect him.’ What's a goldring, Gramps?”

Garp let out a long, suffering groan. “Nothing important, brat. Be good for Morfil, can you do that for me?”

Luffy giggled again, oblivious to the weight of what Garp had just said. “Of course, Morfil’s the best! He even brings me meat!”

Garp, at this point, simply accepted it. This was Luffy. Of course, his idiot god of a grandson would end up befriending the Klabautermann of Whitebeard’s ship.

“…Alright, brat. Fine. As long as you’re safe.” He sounded almost tired now. “But listen, make sure you actually show up later. They’re throwing a feast for your birthday, and I know your dumbass of a dad is probably making sure it’s big enough for a bottomless pit like you.”

Luffy gasped. “A feast?! FOR ME?!”

“Yeah, yeah, it's your Birthday Luffy,” Garp grumbled. “Just don’t keep everyone waiting later. And tell Morfil that next time, I wanna have a word with him.”

Luffy turned to Morfil, eyes shining. “Gramps says he wants to talk to you next time!”

Morfil’s tail wagged even faster. “Of course! I’ll tell him anything he wants to know!”

Luffy grinned wide and shouted into the receiver, “Okay, Gramps! I’ll eat so much meat! Thanks for telling me! Bye-bye!”

Before Garp could respond, Luffy hung up, bouncing excitedly in place. He turned to Morfil, practically vibrating with joy.

“A party and a feast! My first big birthday!”

Morfil nodded eagerly. “Of course! It’s your special day, Luffy! You deserve all the fun!”

Luffy flopped back, arms spread out, his laughter ringing through his hidden little home. No one could find him, he had all the meat he could eat, and now there was a feast waiting for him?

This really was the best birthday ever

The mess hall of the Moby Dick was steeped in exhaustion at breakfast. Red Hair Pirates and Whitebeards alike slumped over tables, some with their heads in their hands, others just staring blankly into their drinks. The last three days had been hell.

At the center of it all, Shanks, Marco, Beckman, and a few others sat in heavy silence, dread settling in their stomachs as the birthday boy remained missing on his big day.

The sharp purru-purru-purru of a Den Den Mushi shattered the quiet, making more than one pirate jolt.

Shanks exhaled through his nose and pulled the receiver from his coat.

“BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” The laughter that blasted through the Den Den Mushi made several pirates jolt in their seats. Even Whitebeard, who had just entered the mess hall, raised a brow.

Shanks groaned, rubbing his temple. “You already know, don’t you?”

“I KNOW EVERYTHING, BRAT!” Garp howled. “Three days—THREE DAMN DAYS—and you still haven’t found my grandson?! BAHAHAHA!!”

The entire mess hall went dead silent.

Shanks narrowed his eyes. “Garp… where is my son?”

“Why the hell should I tell you?! You think I’d spoil his fun?” Garp wheezed, clearly enjoying himself. “That little rascal is outsmarting you of all people! The oh so great Red-Haired Shanks, the oh so strong Old Man Ed and even Dark King Rayleigh! What a fucking joke you are. Not a single one of you brainless fools can find a now four-year-old! You should all be ashamed!”

Marco groaned, slumping into his seat. “You know, that’s not making us feel better, yoi.”

“I know! That’s what makes it so funny, Birdy!”

Beckman sighed, lighting a cigarette. “You’re really not gonna tell us?”

“Why the hell would I?! Someone very close to you gave my grandson your Den Den Mushi, Old Ed, and told him to call me instead of calling, oh, I don't know—their own crew or the stupid idiot who gave my baby his annoyingly bright red hair... You lot better start praying that brat never goes missing for real, because if a whole fleet of Haki users can’t find him, what’s that say about the rest of the world, huh?!” Garp cackled.

“Oh? I see,” Whitebeard grinned, his deep voice full of amusement. “The ship has already claimed him, after all.”

Shanks stiffened. Marco’s eyes widened.

Garp grumbled, but there was no real heat in it. “Tch. Figures you'd figure it out, old man.”

Shanks looked between the two legends, his fingers tightening on the receiver. “Wait, wait, wait—what did you just say?”

Whitebeard chuckled. “The ship has claimed him.”

Marco exhaled slowly. “So that’s why we can’t find him…”

“Took you long enough,” Garp said smugly. “That brat made friends with your damn Klabautermann. That little bastard’s apparently called Morfil. Your ship is looking after my grandson better than you lot are!”

The entire mess hall gawked at the Den Den Mushi.

Shanks’ eye twitched. “I knew it was something stupid.”

Garp just kept laughing. “You mean to tell me you lot have been running around like headless chickens for three days, losing sleep, panicking—and the whole time, my grandson has just been playing?! BAHAHAHA! OH, THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!!”

Marco dropped his face into his hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

Beckman sighed. “It really is.”

“Gurararara!” Whitebeard shook his head in amusement. “Well, I guess that means we don’t have to worry. Let the brat have his fun.”

Shanks groaned. “You do realize he’s eating all your meat, right?”

“AS HE SHOULD!” Garp barked. “It’s his birthday, you damn fool!”

Shanks blinked. Then groaned even louder. “Goddamn it, Anchor's killing me…”

Garp smirked. “You might be his old man by some cruel twist of fate, but you still have a lot to learn about my grandson, Himbo. Anyway, I told him to have fun and show up for his birthday feast—his dad’s probably losing his mind over it by now. I'll let you get back to not finding him. This was fun!”

And with that, he hung up.

The entire hall sat in stunned silence for a moment.

Then, Whitebeard laughed loudly. "Gurararara… Damn brat."

Shanks buried his face in his hands. "I'm never hearing the end of this."

Marco sighed and stood. "I need a drink. Thatch, please make him a cake and we'll bait him like an animal, yoi."

Ace just cackled. "Oh man, Luffy really got you guys good!"

The Red Hair and Whitebeard crews groaned in unison.

Meanwhile, somewhere very close, a little boy and his tiny whale giggled in their perfect hiding spot.

At noon, the deck of the Moby Dick was alive with warmth and celebration. The crews, along with the children, Rosinante and Makino, had gathered for the occasion. The altar, beautifully decorated, stood at the center, and atop it sat an extravagant cake, rich with decorations and tempting in its decadence. Laughter rang through the air, mingling with music and the clinking of glasses as the birthday festivities reached their peak.

Then, suddenly, Luffy appeared.

One moment, the space between Whitebeard’s feet was empty. The next, a small figure materialized out of nowhere, stumbling forward before crashing face-first onto the deck.

Silence.

The entire deck froze in stunned shock.

Before anyone could react, Law moved.

His body acted faster than his mind, instincts taking over. He stepped forward immediately, crouching down, hands reaching out to check on the small, unconscious child. Marco was right behind him, but Law was the first to reach Luffy. His fingers hovered over him, his mind racing. Was he breathing? Had he hit his head? Was his pulse steady?

Then a brilliant, pulsating glow erupted from Luffy’s small frame, golden and crimson hues flickering like fire and sunlight entwined. The air itself seemed to shift, thick with something otherworldly.

Law barely had time to recoil before he was forced to stumble back, shielding his eyes as something rose from within the toddler’s body.

The divine energy pulsed outward, like a heartbeat that belonged to something far greater than a human body could contain.

A celestial figure emerged.

A radiant, ethereal form stood before them, bathed in golden and red hues, his wings unfolding from his back like a divine halo.

Those who had already witnessed the young gods recognised the phenomenon immediately.

And yet, even knowing, none of them could breathe.

His presence was overwhelming. Too much. Like staring into the sun, too bright, too powerful—yet somehow, impossibly gentle.

Celestial Luffy approached Shanks first, his smile playful, though the others could only watch in awe.

Shanks’ lips quirked into a smirk, even as disbelief flickered in his gaze as he mustered his celestial charge. “Looking sharp, Anchor. How’s the baby?”

Celestial Luffy’s grin widened as he reached out, fingertips brushing Shanks’ cheek. The touch was barely there, nothing more than the whisper of a breeze.

But Shanks felt it.

Not just the ghost of a touch, but a warmth that spread from his mark, unfurling like the tide, flooding his body with something deep and steady—home, family, love, life.

“Babies,” Luffy corrected with a soft giggle. “When we get back, our twins will be born.” His voice was warm, filled with quiet joy. “I can’t wait for you to meet them all if you decide to join me in the afterlife. But please, don’t feel pressured, I’d only want you to come willingly.”

His gaze softened, fondness settling into every line of his expression. “Torao was so excited in those final moments. Joy and Dawn, this time, I got to pick the names.”

Shanks stared at him, stunned into rare silence.

But Luffy was already turning.

Luffy’s gaze landed on Ace, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Ace felt the breath stall in his lungs, his body suddenly too tight, too small to contain the storm inside him.

He had died in Luffy’s arms. He had felt the warmth of his little brother’s tears on his skin, had heard his broken sobs, his desperate pleads.

And now, Luffy stood before him, bathed in light, an ethereal beauty, his presence vast and unshakable, but still his Luffy. Still that reckless, impossible little brother Ace had sworn to love and protect. And Ace had failed.

Luffy took a step forward, and Ace’s hands twitched at his sides, his body instinctively wanting to move. To reach for him. To make sure he was real.

But before he could, Luffy smiled. Soft. Familiar. Warm enough to melt stone.

And then, just as easily as breathing, he said, "Thank you for loving me, Ace."

Ace froze. His throat locked up, something sharp and overwhelming clawing its way up from deep inside him.

“Luffy—” His voice cracked, raw, but he didn’t care. “I—”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. Luffy tilted his head, his expression unchanging.

Ace’s heart pounded. “You—” He exhaled sharply, frustrated.

“You died, Luffy.” The words came out harsher than he intended, his voice almost shaking. “You died saving the world.”

Luffy just looked at him.

Ace’s fists tightened. “I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to keep you safe, and I—” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t. I—”

“Would do it again,” Luffy finished, still watching him with that soft, steady gaze. “Just like I would.”

Ace sucked in a breath.

Luffy took another step closer. “You were the reason I was able to free the world.”

Ace felt everything inside him shatter all over again.

“Idiot,” Ace muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re a complete idiot.”

Luffy grinned. “So are you.”

Ace huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. His hands were still clenched, but this time, they trembled for a different reason.

A warmth unlike anything Ace had ever felt surged through him—too much, too big, too Luffy. It burned and soothed at the same time, filling every crack and empty space that had been left behind.

Ace squeezed his eyes shut. His throat felt thick, his breath unsteady.

Luffy leaned in slightly, his voice so close, so quiet, "Thank you for living for me now."

Ace’s breath hitched.

"I love you."

Ace's eyes flew open, his entire body locking up. Luffy smiled again, his touch lingering for a second longer before he pulled away.

Ace almost reached for him but Luffy was already turning, already moving forward, already leaving warmth and light and everything in his wake.

And Ace stood there, fists clenched, chest too tight, the weight of his mark burning bright over his heart.

But for the first time since regaining his memories, he felt relieved of an unbearable burden. 

The crew watched as Shanks’ and Ace’s marks glowed—a visible, undeniable radiance, their bonds burning bright.

Celestial Luffy turned, his gaze gently landing on Rosinante, who stood quietly off to the side with the girls, reserved and distant.

Luffy’s wings wrapped around him like a soft cocoon as he approached with slow, deliberate steps, his expression one of quiet understanding. He stopped in front of Rosinante, looking at him intently, as though searching for something deeper within.

Finally, Celestial Luffy spoke, his voice soft yet heavy with the weight of unsaid words. “Cora-san,” he began, his tone carrying the depth of centuries of love and longing. “My Torao… he always missed you. He spoke of you often.” Luffy’s eyes softened, sadness lingering in them, as if he could feel the weight of that lost connection. “I would’ve loved to meet you. Also, you’re very pretty for being Mingo’s brother.”

Luffy’s gaze never faltered, his smile a mixture of affection and melancholy. “Your love gave him a purpose in life… Cora-san, you would’ve been so proud of my Torao. Please, protect the young Torao with everything you have, even if that means one day returning to your father when Torao is older. And Little Luffy… he needs you to help Torao understand.” Luffy’s voice cracked ever so slightly, emotion betraying him. “Please, take care of yourself. You mean everything to him.”

Rosinante was frozen, unsure how to respond. All the words he had held in for so long, everything he had buried deep within since coming back, suddenly rushed to the surface, flooding his chest with emotion. Yet, despite the overwhelming wave of feelings, the words just wouldn’t come.

Luffy’s gaze softened even further as he stepped closer, his presence calming. With a tenderness almost reverent, he placed his hand on Rosinante’s shoulder.

Luffy's feathery touch , something surged within Rosinante—an intense, fiery warmth that spread through his body. Through the fabric of his shirt, a soft golden-red hue began to glow faintly. The warmth was pure, divine, and it flooded through him, soothing the deep wounds that had festered within for so long.

As quickly as he had come, Luffy pulled away. Rosinante stood still, his heart and mind in turmoil, emotions battling within him. His hand, where Luffy had touched him, still trembled slightly, and the warmth lingered, a gentle fire that refused to fade.

Celestial Luffy had already found Law. Law, who was still crouched from when he had reached for little Luffy.

He hadn’t moved. His breath was shallow, his hands still trembling at his sides, caught between disbelief and something he wasn’t ready to name.

And then Celestial Luffy knelt before him.

“Torao.”

The name was spoken softly, but it carried weight. Fondness. Warmth. Affection. Something so deep it made Law’s throat tighten.

Luffy chuckled, his wings folding inward, enclosing the space between them. “Little Luffy’s going to be so happy when he wakes up and sees you.” His expression softened, turning unbearably tender. “Please, take care of yourself. You already mean more to him than your nerves can handle at any age, shishishi.”

Law swallowed. His fingers curled into fists against his knees.

Luffy smiled, tilting his head. “Get healthy. Don’t hurt yourself. Promise me, okay? I need you.”

Then, with a gentle movement, he leaned in and pressed a featherlight kiss to Law’s forehead.

Law barely felt it, but the moment it happened, something shifted inside him—an ache, deep and endless, soothed for just a moment.

“I miss you,” Luffy whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

And then, just as quickly as he had come, Celestial Luffy was pulling away. He stood with the same effortless grace, his presence still lingering like the aftertaste of a dream.

Law exhaled sharply, hands still trembling at his sides. But he didn’t move.

Luffy was already standing before Marco now, raising a hand over his phoenix skin. Gold and crimson light flared briefly, and Law’s celestial mark gained a delicate outer ring of swirling, glowing patterns, infused with divine hues.

“Ups, seems like I marked you too. Shishishishishi,” Luffy chuckled, his voice playful, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Take care of the kids for me, Pineapple,” he added, a little wink in his tone. “They need you. And please don’t give these uncles any weird ideas.”

Marco huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

Law’s heart still thudded in his chest, a quiet storm inside him he couldn’t quiet. Luffy loved him. Law knew that whatever happened, whatever trials they faced, he would be there. For Luffy. For Little Luffy. For everything they were to him.

Then, Luffy turned to the crew, addressing them all at once. “Don’t give little Luffy any food offerings. He won’t be able to handle it yet, and he’ll pass out. Flowers are nice, they feel like someone pats his head affectionately,” His grin turned slightly teasing. “Wait with the big offerings until he’s ready—Pineapple, Ace, Ray-ossan, Shanks, and Torao will know when, just ask them.”

He moved to kneel beside his small, unconscious self but then—

His head suddenly snapped up, eyes wide with realization. Then, just as suddenly, he laughed, bright and delighted.

“Oh, Morfil!” Luffy’s excitement was unmistakable. “I wanna thank you for taking care of little Luffy! Come on, oh my god, you're so cute!”

A flash of light—

And suddenly, in front of the stunned crew, a small whale appeared, floating in the space for just a brief moment before vanishing once more.

Luffy grinned. “Oops, time’s up.”

Luffy turned back to the crew, his gaze swept over them all one last time, fond and full of warmth before his wings fold around him like a protective cloak. Before he fully left, he spoke one last time: “Take care of Torao. He’s been through so much. And Little Luffy… make sure he’s alright. He has a lot to learn, but he’s lucky to have all of you. Don't make him feel lonely, I hate that. Bye!”

With those final words, Celestial Luffy began to fade from view, his divine form dissipating like the stars at dawn. And just like that, he was gone.

The silence that followed was deafening. No one moved. No one spoke.

Marco let out a long, suffering sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose before turning to Shanks.

“We’re really never going to live this down, are we?”

Sabo glanced at Ace, who was still trying to regain his composure, eyes red-rimmed but determinedly dry. “So… that’s the version of Luffy you told me about?”

Meanwhile, Marco looked toward Whitebeard, only to find the old man sulking.

Again.

Marco raised a brow. “Seriously, Pops, yoi?”

Whitebeard looked away, arms crossed, his usual booming voice absent.

Ace, finally recovering, let out a laugh. “Come on, don’t be jealous, old man. Luffy doesn’t even know you’re his grandfather. You’d have to press his face against your mark for him to notice.”

Whitebeard only grumbled in response. “My son’s and the little doctors Dad's mark glow with Luffys power and got all fancy, but I just get colours. It’s unfair. I'm his grandfather!”

Marco and Ace laughed.

A few moments passed as the crew remained still, processing the celestial transformation they had just witnessed. Then, Shanks, his expression softening as the last trace of surprise left his face, walked over to Luffy next to Law—still lying on the deck, looking more vulnerable than ever.

With a grin, Shanks scooped Luffy into his arms, shaking his head fondly. "You little skunk," Shanks chuckled, his voice filled with affection. "I’m going to give you a bath before you get any cake, you hear me?"

Luffy giggled, too exhausted to resist, but still wearing that mischievous grin as Shanks carried him off the deck and towards the Red Force.

As soon as the two were out of sight and earshot, a number of Whitebeard's crew members turned to Marco, eyes wide and filled with disbelief. They had all just witnessed the ethereal, divine beauty that Luffy possessed in his celestial form, the kind of beauty no mortal could hope to describe.

One of the men couldn’t hold back any longer and blurted out, “Marco… How the hell did you manage to hide just howbeautiful Luffy is as a goddess? The mural doesn’t do him—her—ugh, Luffy justice.”

Another pirate, his voice thick with awe, added, “I swear, I thought I’d seen everything in this world… but that… that was beyond anything I could’ve imagined. That beauty… It was like staring straight into the heart of the cosmos.”

Marco rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, caught off guard by the sheer reverence in their voices. “Well, uh…” He sighed, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I told you, and I’m sorry if a mural doesn’t quite match the real thing. Not exactly my fault, yoi?”

Beckman, ever the skeptic, leaned forward with an amused smirk. “Now it makes sense why Shanks always got so damn flustered whenever we asked about Luffy.”

Marco’s face darkened a shade, the weight of the situation finally sinking in. He scratched his chin, avoiding eye contact. “Well… Meeting Luffy like that was… special.”

Ace, who had been quiet up until now, suddenly snorted, his voice filled with a mix of humor and lingering disbelief. “I’m not gonna lie… After getting my memories back, I kinda forgot how Luffy looked in that form, but—holy shit, my brother is hot.”

The crew broke into laughter at that. Even in his celestial form, Luffy was still… Luffy.

One of Whitebeard’s men exhaled deeply, shaking his head as if trying to process what he had just witnessed. “What I wouldn’t give to see that form again. Just for a second. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Marco, however, only chuckled and held up a hand to calm them down. “I wouldn’t be so eager for that,” he warned, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Next time we see the goddess and if the little guy next to me ever gets his powers back, you might end up missing a limb if you gawk too long.”

At that, a few of Whitebeard’s men turned to Law, still dazed from what they had just seen.

“Damn, Trafalgar,” one of them muttered, shaking his head. “If your future wife looks that divine, I think I might be a little jealous.”

Another groaned, rubbing his face. “Seriously, how do you get that kind of luck?”

The child, who had been quiet up until now, merely crossed his arms and smirked. “Tch. Guess some of us are just lucky.” His golden eyes gleamed with unmistakable satisfaction.

“Smug bastard,” one of them grumbled, but there was no real heat behind it.

Whitebeard let out a low grumble, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I told you not to be weird about it, sons…” His deep voice carried across the deck, drawing the attention of the still-stunned men. “Listen well, treat the boy like the four-year-old he is, not like the celestial being you just saw. And remember, no more offerings.”

A few pirates gulped and nodded, while others looked thoroughly embarrassed.

"Yes, Pops…" came the collective murmur of agreement.

But even as they fell into an uneasy silence, there was no denying it—none of them would ever forget what they had just witnessed.

The birthday celebration was in full swing in the afternoon. The deck of the ship was alive with music, laughter, and the delicious smells of food and drink. Pirates from both crews were scattered about, chatting, celebrating, and enjoying themselves. Bright decorations swayed in the breeze.

Some of the crew members had ventured into the jungle earlier to pick fresh flowers for the altar, for their goddess. One of them returned with a handful of blossoms, proud to have found an especially pretty flower in the jungle.

He excitedly approached the altar with the bouquet. As he moved to arrange them in a vase, however, one of the thorns on its stem pricked his hand, causing him to let out a yelp of pain. He cursed softly, but quickly set the flowers down on the altar, ignoring the small sting in his hand. He stepped back, admiring his work, unaware that this would be the last calm moment for a while.

Suddenly, a scream ripped through the air—a scream that could only belong to one person.

"TORAO! SOMEONE HELP!!!!"

Luffy’s voice was filled with panic, and the whole deck froze. The joyful atmosphere instantly shifted, replaced by tension and confusion. The pirates turned, eyes wide, looking for the source of Luffy’s distress.

And there, on the edge of the crowd, was Law. But he was floating.

His body was suspended in midair, his form glowing with a soft, silver light. He seemed unconscious, his limbs hanging limp as he hovered above the deck. His face was pale, his expression blank, and his breathing shallow.

Luffy, eyes wide with terror, was standing below Law, his tiny arms outstretched as he shouted, "TORAOOOO! HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP HIM!"

The pirate who had placed the roses on the altar stood frozen, his eyes locked on Law, unable to comprehend what was happening. Around them, whispers spread as the crew members exchanged confused and worried glances.

As panic began to ripple through the crowd, the chaos slowly started to build, but before it could reach its peak, Shanks was by Luffy’s side. He placed a steady hand on the younger man’s shoulder, his voice calm, but firm.

"Anchor," Shanks said, his tone low and reassuring, "It’s okay. Breathe, alright? It’s going to be alright. It’ll be over soon."

Luffy’s frantic eyes locked with Shanks, his breath shallow and erratic, his little body trembling as he stood beneath Law’s floating form. "But Dad! What’s happening to him?"

"Anchor, trust me," Shanks continued, gently but with a weight of experience that softened Luffy’s panic. "He’ll be fine."

The crew stood still, watching intently as Shanks tried to calm Luffy, his words working like a grounding force. Luffy’s panicked gasps slowed as he absorbed Shanks' steady confidence. Slowly, Luffy’s shoulders relaxed and his breath became less ragged.

"He just needs to rest, Anchor," Shanks added softly, his hand still resting on Luffy’s shoulder. 

Luffy nodded, though his eyes never left Law, still suspended in the air.

Then, as if Shanks’ words were a trigger, Law’s floating body began to descend toward the ground. The tension in the air thickened, and for a brief, terrifying moment, it looked as though the situation was only going to get worse.

And then, just as Law’s body hit the floor with a soft thud, a silver light blazed from within him, a blinding flash that illuminated the entire deck, like the glow of stars crashing to earth. A ripple of blue lightning streaked through the air, and for a split second, everything seemed to crackle with energy.

Luffy gasped in awe as the silver light swirled around Law’s body, his form beginning to shift. 

From the silver light, a figure emerged, tall, powerful in an understated way. His body was adorned with intricate, glowing tattoos that pulsed in rhythm with some unseen force, swirling across his skin like celestial constellations. He was clad in a flowing dark blue tunic, embroidered with striking pink hearts that stood out vibrantly against the deep color. His shaggy black-blue hair fell in disheveled waves around his face, the strands catching the light with an almost iridescent sheen.

But it was his eyes that held the deck captive—golden, like molten metal, burning with the quiet intensity of smouldering embers. Long sideburns and a faint shadow of a beard adding a rough yet regal edge to his presence. And perched atop his head, shifting ever so slightly with every movement, were jaguar ears, their sleek fur the same deep blue-black as his hair. Behind him, a long, feline tail flicked lazily through the air, as if testing its newfound presence in the material world.

Luffy’s eyes went wide as he took in the sight, his lips parting in awe before a bright, delighted grin spread across his face. "Oh! It’s the nice man!" he chirped excitedly, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. But his expression quickly fell into a worried pout as his gaze flickered to where Law’s unconscious form still rested. "But… Torao…"

Law, sensing the his young husband’s distress, crouched down before him, his glowing gaze locking onto Luffy’s with an intensity that made the air around them hum. Slowly, with a tenderness that felt almost reverent, he reached out and stroked Luffy’s head, his fingers brushing through the unruly crimson strands.

Law hummed, crouching down. “Don’t worry about your Torao,” he reassured him, his golden eyes shimmering like molten light. “He’s just fine, like your dad told you.”

Luffy’s jaw nearly hit the floor as he got a proper look at the nice man. His eyes, already wide with excitement, grew impossibly larger, shimmering with pure, unfiltered awe.

“Woooow,” he breathed, blinking up at the man like he had just discovered the greatest treasure in the world. He wiggled slightly in place, utterly mesmerized. “You’re so pretty!”

Law tilted his head, clearly amused.

Luffy, completely oblivious to the sheer reverence in the air, pointed at the golden eyes staring down at him, his grin stretching even wider. “You have really, really pretty eyes, like my Torao! He's going to be my husband!” he declared, his voice filled with uncontainable joy. He reached up instinctively, tiny fingers just barely brushing against the celestial’s jawline before retracting, like he wasn’t sure if he was even allowed to touch something so cool.

But that wasn’t all.

Luffy gasped as his gaze dropped to the intricate, glowing patterns that swirled across Law’s skin. His whole face lit up like he had just uncovered the greatest mystery in existence. “And your drawings!” he squeaked, practically vibrating in excitement. “They’re soooo cool!”

He reached out, his small fingers hovering just over the pulsing tattoos, mesmerized by the way they seemed to shift and glow with every breath the celestial took. “They move,” he whispered in wonder, utterly captivated.

Law chuckled, the sound deep and warm, and Luffy’s tiny brain nearly short-circuited at how nice even that was.

“Are you not the sweetest little sunflower in the whole world?” Law murmured, reaching out to stroke Luffy’s hair again.

Luffy’s breath hitched slightly, his heart doing a weird little flip at the gentle touch.

And before Luffy could respond, he was effortlessly lifted into Celestial Law’s arms.

He barely had time to let out a surprised squeak before the man started to hum—a melody that wrapped around him like a warm breeze.

And then, softly, he began to sing.

Luffy’s delighted squeals filled the air, kicking his little legs happily as he clung onto Celestial Law. Every note, every gentle vibration of the celestial’s voice, made his entire body buzz with joy. He giggled so much he nearly hiccupped, utterly overwhelmed by how warm and nice and perfect this moment was.

The crew could only watch, still caught between shock and reverence, as the god before them—this celestial being of impossible beauty and strength, held a giggling, wriggling birthday boy in his arms and sang to him like he was the most precious thing in the entire world. Letting them know just how enamoured he is by his husband, even as a four-year-old.

Celestial Law holding Luffy in his arms and seemed utterly mesmerised by the giggling child, his golden eyes softening. The way Luffy cuddled into him without hesitation, without even a sliver of fear or doubt—made something deep within Law ache, makes him remember just how much he actually missed his clingy husband.

The little boy fit perfectly in his arms, small hands clutching at the fabric of his tunic, his body warm and trusting. Luffy nuzzled against his chest, his laughter vibrating against Law’s skin, filling the air with pure, unfiltered joy.

For a moment, the Law simply held him, basking in the warmth of the tiny body snuggled into his embrace. Then, as he glanced up, his gaze met a very familiar red-haired man watching him with barely concealed irritation.

A slow, sardonically amused grin spread across Law’s face.

“Jealous, old man?” he drawled, tilting his head slightly.

Shanks' eye twitched. His grin was still in place, but there was an undeniable spark of annoyance beneath it.

Before Shanks could respond, Luffy tilted his head up, staring at Law with wide, curious eyes. “What's wrong?” he asked softly.

Law looked down at him, the amusement in his gaze melting into something infinitely gentler. He pressed a soft kiss to Luffy’s temple, his voice nothing but a quiet murmur. “All good, my Sun.”

Luffy giggled again, his tiny hands clinging tighter to Law, and Shanks now looked even more irritated than before.

Before he could snap back, however, Ace stepped forward, his expression serious as he studied the god before him.

“I’m Ace,” he stated, staring up at the taller man. “Luffy’s brother.”

Law turned his gaze toward him, expression unreadable. “I know.” His golden eyes flickered with something unreadable as he studied the freckled young man before him.

Then, his lips curled slightly as he added, “Thank you for sacrificing yourself back then.”

Ace stiffened.

Law continued, completely unfazed by the way Ace’s expression twisted. “He mourned you every day,” he said, voice soft but firm. “If you hadn’t been so reckless, things might’ve turned out differently.” He hummed, tilting his head in thought. “But who knows when I would’ve had another chance to land myself with Lu-ya? Or if he and Rayleigh-ya would’ve met under other circumstances?”

Ace blinked, processing the words. Then, slowly, his expression shifted into one of utter offense.

“Are you telling me,” he said slowly, voice flat, “that the most significant thing I’ve ever done in my life was die?”

Luffy, who had been happily cuddling into Law’s chest, suddenly looked at Ace, his tiny face scrunching up in distress. “Ace isn't allowed to die,” he murmured, his voice small and fragile, and Law immediately saw the tears welling up in his sunbeam’s eyes.

The celestial let out a soft sigh. “He won’t, Sunlight,” he reassured him gently. Then, before Ace could continue being dramatic, Law shifted slightly, drawing Luffy’s attention back to him. “Look,” he said, tilting his shoulder toward the toddler, “the drawings on my skin are moving again. If you want, I can add some other colours.” The marks on his shoulder shifted, swirling with new colours, shifting like living ink under his skin.

Luffy gasped, his distress forgotten in an instant. “Ohhh!!!” he squeaked excitedly, eyes sparkling with wonder as he reached out to trace the glowing patterns.

Ace narrowed his eyes at the celestial.

"Asshole," he muttered. "I don’t like you."

Law barely spared him a glance, his smirk curving just enough to be insufferable. "No problem." A beat. A slow blink. "I don’t have patience for idiots either."

Ace scowled, but Law was already turning away, adjusting Luffy in his arms with effortless ease.

"Honestly," he mused, tone light—too light, too casual—"it’s a shame Sabo isn’t his guardian. At least he thinks before throwing himself into trouble." His voice dipped just enough to make it sting. "But then again, I suppose not everyone is as useful as Sabo."

"What the hell?" Ace sputtered, fully offended, while Luffy let out another delighted giggle.

Law exhaled dramatically. "Oh, I’ve got a great idea!"

And with that, the celestial turned away, his tiny husband still happily nestled in his arms, and strolled over to where Sabo stood, quietly observing the exchange.

"It’s honestly impressive," Law muttered, his irritation barely restrained. "My idiot husband is so ridiculous… I love him so much." He sighed heavily, rubbing his temple as if suffering. "If that fool over there had just gotten himself injured three hours earlier, I could’ve at least held him and reminded him to mark you as one of his, Sabo. But no, here we are."

He exhaled sharply, the kind of sigh that carried the weight of deep, long-suffering exasperation—not at Sabo, but at the blind stupidity of his beloved husband.

"I’ve always liked you, Sabo," Law said, voice even. No sarcasm. No sharp edge. Just fact. "And I know how much you mean to my husband. That’s why it’s frustrating." His lips curled, just slightly. "He gets so caught up in my younger self, so completely obsessed with that one-track mind of his, that he forgets everything else, including marking you when he had the chance."

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Law’s golden eyes before he tilted his head, tone turning deceptively light. "If you want, Sabo, I can mark you instead. You’d serve under me, of course—but ultimately, you'd be in my husband's service."

He let the words settle, watching Sabo carefully. "At least you’d be useful. Unlike the rest of these morons." His voice was dry, almost mocking.

Then, softer—more thoughtful. "You’d be part of my family. You’d stay in the loop, remain connected to us. I won’t force you into anything, but when your time comes, you’ll have a choice—reincarnate or join us in heaven. I don’t know if you’ll regain any memories, but… maybe."

Sabo’s jaw tightened, his expression unreadable. He stood silent for a long moment, weighing his options.

Then, finally, he nodded. "Alright… I’ll do it."

Law’s smirk sharpened, satisfied. "Perfect."

He clapped Sabo lightly on the shoulder before pressing a hand flat against his chest. Sabo inhaled sharply as a faint glow spread across his skin—above his heart, a softly shining Rod of Asclepius appeared. Not the same mark Marco and Rosinante bore, but divine nonetheless.

Law withdrew his hand, then lifted two fingers to Sabo’s forehead. "Good. In time, you’ll recover some memories. With that knowledge, you’ll serve my husband better."

And just like that, Law gave him a conspiring wink and turned away.

He stepped forward, Luffy still securely cradled in his arms, and stopped in front of Rosinante. For a long moment, he simply looked at him, his golden eyes unreadable, something deep and unfathomable lingering behind them.

A strong arm wrapped around Rosinante in a rare, unguarded embrace, and before the stunned man could even react, a tiny giggle filled the space between them.

Luffy, squished between them, wiggled happily. "Warm!" he declared, muffled against Law’s chest, his small hands patting at both of them like he fully intended to stay there forever.

Rosinante finally blinked, his arms slowly rising to return the hug, his body trembling slightly from the sheer emotion crashing over him.

When Law pulled away, his face was calm, composed, but his voice, when he spoke, carried the weight of a lifetime.

“Thank you.” He paused, searching for the right words before finally settling on the only ones that mattered. “Thank you for the life you gave me. Thank you for the love you gave me. Dad.”

Rosinante froze.

Then, without warning, he burst into tears.

Loud, unfiltered sobs wracked his frame as he crumpled slightly, hands rising to cover his face, his entire being overwhelmed with a storm of emotions he couldn’t possibly contain.

Law, god or not, immediately looked like he regretted everything. He stiffened, utterly lost on what to do, his gaze darting to the tiny toddler still comfortably lounging in his arms.

Luffy, utterly unbothered, stuck a finger in his nose.

Law stared.

Then, ever so slowly, he nodded. “Of course, my genius Sunlight,” he murmured, as if Luffy had just imparted divine wisdom upon him.

The entire deck, watching this interaction unfold, stared at the celestial like he had officially lost his mind.

Without further explanation, Law turned back to Rosinante, reaching out. “Here, Cora-san,” he said, voice gentler than before, “take care of Lu-ya for me and get him some food. Can you do that for me, dad?”

Rosinante, still sniffling, barely had time to react before Law carefully placed Luffy into his arms. The toddler, now secured against Rosinante’s chest, beamed up at him, patting at his soaked cheeks. “Giant, let's get some meat!”

Before stepping away, Law smiled softly, leaned down once more, pressing a soft kiss to Luffy’s forehead.

Then, without another word, he turned and moved towards Rayleigh, leaving behind one utterly wrecked Rosinante, a confused but delighted toddler, and an entire crew who no longer had any idea what was happening.

Law approached Rayleigh with an easy stride, placing a firm hand on the older man’s shoulder. "The extra strength might come in handy when your age finally catches up to you," he said smoothly, marking Rayleigh with an additional ring, like Luffy did earlier to Rosinante and Marco.

Rayleigh’s eye twitched.

Law snickered, an actual, amused, borderline disrespectful snicker, before turning away, making his way toward Shanks.

He stopped just within arm’s reach of the redhead, tilting his head in mock contemplation before sighing dramatically. “Unfortunately, I can’t grant you intelligence,” he lamented, “but the stronger you are, the better you can serve my husband.”

A faint glow pulsed beneath on the redhead’s chest for everyone to see,  deep blue and silver, coiling around the mark on his chest, wrapping around the symbol already burned into his skin by Luffy’s claim.

Then, to everyone’s utter shock, he laughed. Again.

Rayleigh and Shanks both went rigid, their fingers twitching as if barely resisting the urge to throttle the god standing before them. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut, and though they didn’t move, the surrounding crew mates could very clearly hear the expletives both men were muttering under their breath.

Before the situation could escalate further, Marco cut in, arms crossed. “Law, what do you even want here, yoi?”

Law turned to him, blinking slowly. Then, he tilted his head. “Hm… what do I want here? Good question. Nothing, really, but I was sent down, so I’m taking the opportunity to cuddle the birthday boy.”

Marco’s brows furrowed. “And why were you sent down, yoi?”

Law smirked. “Medical emergency.”

Immediately, Marco tensed, his instincts flaring. “Who?”

“Like I said earlier, that idiot over there who picked the green flower in the jungle and pricked himself before placing it on the altar,” Law answered nonchalantly.

Marco snapped his gaze toward the altar, stepping forward to examine the plant. It was delicate, still half-bloomed, its petals a deceptively soft-looking green.

Marco frowned. “What’s wrong with it, yoi?”

Behind him, Law let out a loud, amused laugh.

Marco’s frown deepened. He turned, scowling. “What?”

Law leaned in slightly, his smirk widening. “Weren’t you always the one telling me to stay away from general medicine?” he teased. “Why should I tell you now?”

Marco’s scowl darkened. “Law, this isn’t funny, yoi.”

Law, who was clearly having the time of his life, only snickered again.

Marco exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay calm. He turned back to the flower, eyes narrowing. It looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

Law hummed, tapping a finger against his chin. “Still can’t recognise it? Embarrassing. One hint, left untreated, the poison leads to death in about fifteen minutes and the antidote is almost always accessible on a pirates ship. He has about eleven minutes left.”

Marco was still scowling at the flower when Law hummed, looking almost thoughtful.

“You know, Marco-ya,” he mused, tapping his chin. “Maybe you should just quit medicine altogether.”

Marco shot him an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

Law smirked. “Maybe you should consider a career change. Have you ever thought about becoming my High Priest instead? One of the commanders suggested it already to you, didn't he? High priest to me, Corazon, your guardian god. Maybe I can make you one of my Cupids.”

The surrounding crew members, especially the Whitebeard Pirates, watched in stunned silence. They could hardly believe their eyes as Law, effortlessly tore into Marco without a second thought. The change from the little shit they knew to this was jarring. 

“How the hell did someone like you end up with... our goddess?” someone from the Whitebeard Pirates muttered, eyeing Law incredulously.

Law’s head snapped in their direction, his eyes gleaming with an almost sickening amusement. “Oh, great question! I fell for him at first sight,” he said, voice smooth as honey. “It was love at first punch to a Celestial Dragon’s face. Truly poetic, don’t you think?” He placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “But the real chance came when I saved his life after his brother's death. You could say I got lucky by Ace-ya's cruel fate.”

His grin widened as he looked around the crew, waiting for their reactions. “But honestly, how could I not fall for him? Have you seen my husband?” he continued, his voice full of pride. “I mean, really looked at him? He’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. And the God of Fertility isn’t easily satisfied, but I think I’ve done a good job of keeping him happy with our tenth and eleventh child on the way. I mean, I’ve seen all kinds of people, but no one compares to him. As soon as I saw him at Sabaody I couldn't touch anyone without imagining his face, so I stopped that altogether.” He glanced over at Shanks and the others, an almost smug look on his face. “I think I made the right choice, he's fantastic in every thing he does to me.”

There was a slight pause, and Law leaned in closer, his voice dropping to an almost disturbing level of familiarity. “I could have had anyone, but no one compares to him. I think you’ll understand what I mean when you see him on you. No one’s as beautiful as him. No one. The things we do… sometimes even I don’t know how we manage. But there are... certain needs. Sometimes, I need rest. Like I said, I’m the God of Medicine—but sometimes, even I can’t heal myself without help.”

"I’ve got it so rough," Law sighed, rolling his eyes theatrically. "My husband is insatiable. I can hardly keep up. Exhausting, truly." His mock frustration only made the discomfort in the room sweeter.

Then, with almost inappropriate enthusiasm, he added, "You know, if his subjects behave, maybe I’ll share. He does love an audience and as the God of Fertility, he does love to… perform." He chuckled, golden eyes flicking between Sabo, Ace, Shanks and Rayleigh, revelling in their unease.

"If you were inclined to help," he mused, voice dipping low, "perhaps I could use an extra set of hands. You might think I’m joking, but if my husband insists on testing my limits, well—" He let the words drag, heavy with implication. "Maybe I should consider alternative solutions. Wouldn’t want him running me ragged, after all."

His smirk sharpened.

"And Ace-ya… maybe this is the perfect way to indulge that brother complex of yours?"

Leaning in, voice dropping to a whisper, Law added, "I’ve had some exhausting shifts. The longest before I passed out? Two and a half months. And even then, he only stopped because I was unconscious. And I’m a god. Imagine what that would do to someone mortal."

He let the weight of that settle before continuing, tone light, almost amused.

"That’s where you’d come in. Sometimes he’s so lost in it, he wouldn’t even know the difference. And I know he needs more than I can give, but he never says it."

A slow, deliberate glance at Shanks.

"If some of you were truly devoted, a few demigods might come from it. Some with red hair… green… black and maybe blonde?" He shrugged. "I wouldn’t mind. After all, I am the God of Love and, of course, I'd raise them as my own. And nothing would make me happier than seeing my husband completely, utterly satisfied."

His smirk deepened.

"And if that means I actually get some work done while you keep him entertained? Even better."

The words were light. The look in his eyes was anything but.

Then, soft and dangerous—"But don’t get any delusions."

The deck tensed.

"My husband will only ever love me. And I will only ever love him."

Silence stretched. Then, lazily, Law grinned.

"But I’m sure he'll appreciate the… variety."

His gaze flicked to Rayleigh. "Don’t worry, Rayleigh-ya, even if you join us in heaven, I know you wouldn't want to pursue him. But rest assured—he’s got plenty of other things he needs help with. Paperwork he's too lazy to do or simply unable to, because of his intense domain work."

Rayleigh flinched. Ace trembled. Shanks exhaled slowly. Sabo is confused.

Law let it hang, then turned back to the redhead, eyes gleaming.

"You know…" he murmured, voice almost silky, "out of all of them, you might be the least in denial."

His smile was knowing, cruel. "I’ve seen the way you look at him. That flicker of restraint, that careful separation in your mind—my celestial husband versus the little glutton. Impressive discipline."

Shanks didn’t move, but Law saw it, the slightest twitch of his jaw.

Leaning in just enough, Law whispered, "But you wouldn’t resist, would you? Not really. If he reached for you, if he asked, just a sliver of permission, and you’d fall to your knees, wouldn’t you? Yeah, I know the feeling."

A muscle in Shanks’ jaw flexed.

Ace made a strangled noise, but Law didn’t even look at him.

"But if you think it’ll be easy, you’re mistaken."

His smirk was razor-sharp. "Zoro-ya is going to be tough competition."

Shanks twitched. Law thrived.

"His kind of devotion is hard to beat. There's probably nothing he wouldn't do for my husband. I'd bet he got lost somewhere on his way to this island." Law snickered.

Then, a long, drawn-out sigh. "That said, if my husband’s needs ever become too much… well, if I’m feeling generous, maybe I’ll let someone step in. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even let him pick."

The words settled, thick as tar.

And as he watched Shanks struggle to keep that easy grin in place, Law’s smirk turned lethal.

"You know," he purred, "I really have to give you credit, Red-Hair. You did such a good job pretending you didn’t want it earlier."

His golden eyes gleamed.

"I think you’ve earned yourself a little something."

Shanks didn’t react outwardly, but Law knew better.

Chapter Text

Law sat comfortably on the deck, Luffy cradled in his arms like the most precious treasure in the world. The former Surgeon of Death, the dreaded Heart Pirate Captain, the young god—currently occupied with a very distinct activity: two straight minutes of shameless, utterly unrestrained adoration for Little Luffy.

Ace, standing nearby, already looked like he wanted to set something on fire.

But Law? Law didn't care.

He traced slow, lazy circles over Luffy’s tiny back, letting the boy rest his head against his chest, small fingers clinging to the fabric of his tunic with unconscious trust. “Look at you,” Law murmured, his voice lower, softer than anyone had probably ever heard it. He tilted his head slightly, golden eyes drinking in every detail. "So little, so perfect."

He adjusted his hold, effortlessly rocking the child with a gentleness that no one would have believed him capable of. "I always knew you were adorable, but this?" He exhaled, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of Luffy’s head. “This is almost unfair, Lu-ya."

Luffy let out a sleepy, happy little noise, nuzzling against him, small hands curling into his coat.

Law nearly melted on the spot.

His smirk softened into something warmer, something dangerously close to fondness. “Even your sleepy face is cute. How is that possible?”

Ace, on the other side of the deck, scowled so hard it looked like it physically hurt.

Law didn’t even glance his way.

Instead, he tilted his head, rubbing his cheek against Luffy’s soft black hair, breathing him in like he was something rare, something fleeting, something that Law was imprinting on his soul for eternity.

“Tch," he muttered, fingers tracing over Luffy’s chubby cheek. "So soft.” His thumb smoothed over the plush skin, brushing along the curve of Luffy’s jaw with featherlight reverence. "Just like I thought."

Luffy stirred slightly at the touch, lips parting in a sleepy yawn before giggling in delight.

Law felt something ache in his chest.

"Your giggles," he exhaled, shaking his head, "heavenly."

Another giggle.

Law chuckled lowly, his smirk returning, but softer, more indulgent. "See? Absolute perfection."

Luffy sighed contently, rubbing his face against Law’s shoulder. Law swore he could die again, this time while he was happy.

Ace, meanwhile, looked like he was about to commit murder. His glare was practically scorching, fists clenched as he watched Law cradle his little brother like he was the most precious thing in existence. Ace KNEW THAT! And how is a wedding hold in heaven even valid on earth?

Law finally flicked his gaze upward, meeting Ace’s burning glare with the smuggest, most self-satisfied look known to man.

Then, with deliberate care, he tucked Luffy in closer, resting his cheek against the boy’s hair once more.

Ace’s eye twitched violently.

Law, ever so casual, hummed under his breath as he gently tapped Luffy’s nose, earning another delighted giggle. As if to prove his own point, he adjusted his hold again, one arm curling tighter around Luffy while the other pulled some of his tunic over the tiny boy like a protective shield. The deck was still buzzing with tension from earlier—Shanks’ disappearance to his own ship, Marco’s frantic pacing, the poisoned crew member—but here, right here, Law had his own perfect little world.

Luffy, equally unconcerned, had his entire attention fixed on Law. Not the frantic voices, not the nervous energy radiating from Shanks’ men—just Law.

It was almost cruel, how utterly unaffected they were by the disaster unfolding around them.

Law smirked.

"Still haven’t figured it out, have you?"

Marco didn’t answer, too busy frowning at the petals as if sheer force of will could make the answer appear.

Law let out a low chuckle, shifting Luffy slightly so he could rest his chin atop the boy’s head. His expression was pure, lazy amusement. "You poor thing," he drawled, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Is your goddess still clouding your senses, Birdbrain-ya?"

He smirked at Marco, relishing the way the older doctor’s fingers twitched with barely restrained irritation.

Marco stiffened. His scowl deepened. “Excuse me?”

Law tilted his head, golden eyes gleaming with sheer enjoyment. “I mean, you missed something this obvious? Maybe you should quit being a pirate and become a High Priest instead.”

Marco’s fingers twitched, dangerously close to turning into claws. “Law.”

Law waved a hand dismissively, his smirk widening. “Relax, Birdbrain. I’m just saying—it’s concerning. You’ve been a doctor, what? A few decades now? And you still didn’t recognize this flower?” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head like a disappointed teacher. “Tragic. Even Little Law would’ve figured it out by now.”

Marco stiffened, but before he could speak, another voice interrupted.

"Law." Rosinante’s tone was quiet, but firm, the kind of voice that Law could never quite ignore. The tall man crossed his arms, giving his adult celestial son a pointed look.

Law rolled his eyes. "Killjoy," he murmured under his breath.

But he sighed, finally peeling his attention away from his personal entertainment to focus on the real problem at hand.

Law exhaled dramatically. “Tsk, tsk. And here I thought Whitebeard’s crew had standards.” He reached out, brushing a gloved finger over the petals, unbothered by the danger. “It’s called Falsum Venenum Rosa. Anything at all ringing a bell, Birdbrain-ya?”

Marco clenched his jaw. “A what?”

Law grinned, slow and sharp, dragging out the moment. “Oh, you really don’t know?” He let the silence stretch, relishing Marco’s increasing frustration. “Wow. And here I thought I was the young one in this conversation.” He let out a low chuckle. “Alright, I’ll be generous. It’s better known as the Fake Rose. Pretty rare, thrives in humid climates, and has petals soft enough to trick idiots into touching them. The thorns?” He gestured lazily to the poisoned pirate, now gasping for breath. “They inject a lovely little neurotoxin. Symptoms include dizziness, vomiting—though we’ve been spared that mess—hallucinations, paralysis, and, oh yeah, death. Slow death. Suffocation while fully conscious. Isn’t nature beautiful?”

Marco’s stomach sank. He moved fast, checking the man’s pulse, already too weak.

Law leaned in, his voice a mockery of sympathy. “That’s why I was summoned. Not just to make the birthday boy giggle, but to clean up your mess.” He let that sink in, then, perfectly timed, “Three minutes left.”

Marco’s head snapped up, his glare murderous. “My mess?! I didn’t tell that dumbass to go picking random plants and throwing them on the damn altar, yoi!”

Law sighed, rolling his shoulders like this entire conversation was exhausting. “And yet,” he said smoothly, “here we are.”

Marco inhaled sharply through his nose, visibly restraining himself.

Law, of course, took this as encouragement.

He smirked, shifting Luffy in his arms so he could tap the boy’s nose again. Another giggle.

Marco looked like he wanted to throttle him.

Law grinned.

“This is not funny.” Marco barks.

“Oh, I disagree,” Law corrected, smirk widening. “But since I am merciful, I’ll grant you the cure.” He flicked a hand, almost lazily. “Now, ideally, you’d need Honjōzō-shu, Sake with at least 70% alcohol content. The longer you wait, the stronger it needs to be. Make him drink it, and try not to let him choke.”

Marco muttered a string of curses under his breath as he turned to grab what he needed.

Law rocked back on his heels, watching with open amusement. “You really should rethink medicine, Priest-ya. I mean, if even Little Law could out-diagnose you, maybe it’s time to move on.”

The growl that left Marco’s throat could’ve sent lesser men running. “I swear to Pops—”

“—you swear to me now,” Law cut in, thriving on Marco’s barely restrained fury. “Since, you know, I’m your god and all.” Then, after a beat, “Or would you rather devote yourself to your goddess instead? Maybe someone can change the mark on your skin... Have you tried calling Celestial Complaint Management?”

Marco turned so fast it was a miracle he didn’t dislocate something. “Law. If you ask me one more time to become your damn High Priest, I will burn down every single one of your temples, shrines, and altars.”

Law clapped a hand to his chest, mockingly touched. “Ah, devotion. See? You’re perfect for the role. But for my husband, you’d do it, wouldn’t you? Sweet.”

Marco gritted his teeth, but this time, he didn’t snap back.

Law had been holding onto Luffy for as long as he possibly could. The tiny boy was still curled up in his arms, completely content as Law pressed soft, absentminded kisses to his messy red hair.

Every so often, he nuzzled Luffy’s cheek, let his fingers trace over the round curve of his face, and just... held him. With each little giggle, each sleepy sigh, Law felt something deep in his chest tighten, something that made him want to never let go.

Luffy was his. His tiny sunshine, his Lu-ya. But time was running out.

Law felt it in his bones, in the quiet, inevitable pull that reminded him his presence here was temporary. He sighed, pressing one last lingering kiss to Luffy’s forehead before shifting the boy in his arms.

“Come on, my Sun,” he murmured, voice softer than silk, “let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Luffy hummed in contentment, clinging to him for just a second longer before allowing himself to be transferred.

Rosinante accepted the boy into his arms with ease, his expression unreadable as he adjusted Luffy against his chest. Law met his father’s gaze, golden eyes serious.

“Take good care of him, Dad,” he said, voice quieter now. Then, after a beat, he added with absolute sincerity, “If little Law acts like an ass to Lu-ya, smack him. Hard.”

Rosinante snorted, shifting Luffy slightly in his hold. “Hah. And you always yelled at me when I smacked you before.”

Law shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “See? Full circle.”

Rosinante huffed, but didn’t argue.

Luffy, however, was watching Law intently now, wide-eyed and curious. His tiny hands curled into Rosinante’s coat, but his gaze never wavered.

“Bye bye, Torao,” Luffy said, voice small but sure.

Law stilled.

For just a moment, he blinked at Luffy, caught entirely off guard. Then, a slow, soft smile tugged at his lips.

“…When did you realize I was your Torao?”

Luffy didn’t even hesitate. He pointed to his chest. “Feels the same,” he said simply. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he continued. “Same warm feeling in my tummy.”

Law felt something twist inside him. His throat went tight, and for a second, he could only look at Luffy. He’d always known his husband was special, always known that there was something about him that defied logic.

Then Luffy pressed his little hand against his chest, tapped over his own heart, eyes bright and unwavering.

“Fast bumbumbum,” he explained, voice utterly serious.

Law exhaled a quiet chuckle, something unbearably soft in his expression.

“Ah… Lu-ya,” he murmured, reaching out to cup Luffy’s cheek one last time. He rubbed his thumb over the soft skin, golden eyes impossibly fond. “I love you too.”

Then, without another word, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Luffy’s forehead, lingering just a little longer than necessary.

Finally, he straightened, gaze flickering to the other side of the deck—where Little Law still was unconscious.

He turned to face the gathered crews, his expression shifting from warmth to warning.

“One last time.” His voice was calm, even—but there was no room for argument. “No more offerings on the altar until Lu-ya and Little Law are older. Flowers are fine for Lu-ya.” A brief pause. “Books for me.”

His golden eyes gleamed. “If someone gets poisoned again, I won’t be here.”

A beat of silence.

“Happy dying. Bye.”

And just like that, Law was gone.

The deck was still.

Rosinante stood in place for a long moment, staring at the space where Law had been, his expression unreadable. Then, carefully, he shifted his grip on Luffy, holding him close.

“…Come on,” he murmured, adjusting Luffy gently in his arms. “Let’s go to Law.”

And with that, he carried Luffy to Law.

For the rest of the evening, Law and Luffy were completely inseparable.

Wherever Law went, Luffy followed.
Wherever Luffy sat, Law pulled him closer.
If Luffy so much as shifted, Law adjusted his hold, making sure the tiny boy stayed pressed right against him.

And it was driving Ace insane.

Ace didn't get it.

Sure, Luffy was adorable, Ace would fight anyone who said otherwise, but this? This obsession Law seemed to have with him after five hours? The way the guy treated Luffy like some kind of rare treasure, refusing to let him out of his sight, looking at him with that smug, smitten expression. It made no sense.

Law wasn’t just indulging Luffy. He wasn’t just being affectionate. Law was hoarding him.

And Ace hated it.

Every time Luffy nuzzled into Law’s chest, Law had the audacity to look pleased with himself. Every time Luffy giggled at something, Law's entire expression melted into dangerously soft fondness.

Ace wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t.

…No, actually, maybe he was.

Because Luffy was supposed to be Ace’s baby brother. His charge. His to protect. His to care for. His to cuddle. And yet here Law was, acting like he had sole ownership over Luffy’s affection.

Ace narrowed his eyes from across the deck, glowering at the pair as Law casually adjusted Luffy against his chest, letting the toddler curl into him with a sleepy sigh.

Law, of course, noticed.

And the worst part?

He smirked.

Ace's eye twitched violently. He wants to set that fucker on fire, alleged Husband or not.

Meanwhile, Whitebeard was also irritated to no end.

Not by the sight of Law and Luffy clinging to each other like star-crossed lovers. Not by the way Ace looked like he was five seconds from setting something on fire. Not even by the faint headache he could feel brewing after dealing with the aftermath of the day’s earlier disasters.

No. What truly irritated him, was them.

Marco and Shanks.

For the past hours, those two had been sitting together on the opposite end of the deck, hunched over, whispering.

Whitebeard hated it when people whispered on his ship.

He was a patient man. A wise man. A man who had spent decades dealing with troublesome brats of all kinds. A man who had even seen the future.

But there was nothing more annoying than watching his oldest son and that bastard gossip like a couple of teenagers.

And what was worse, every time he looked at them, they stopped. Like they weren’t just whispering about something. Like they were whispering about him.

Whitebeard scowled.

Marco, his son—his first commander—was sitting too close to that damn Red-Haired menace. And Shanks, the absolute little shit that he was, wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement.

Whitebeard had no idea what they were talking about. But he didn’t like it.

He especially didn’t like the way Shanks kept smirking at him over Marco’s shoulder.

His fingers twitched around his sake cup.

"Brats," he muttered under his breath.

Marco and Shanks did not stop whispering.

As the night stretched on, Rosinante adjusted Luffy in his arms. Law had latched onto him too, small fingers curled tightly into the fabric of Rosinante’s coat.

Rosinante approached carefully. “Shanks,” he started, voice measured, “if it’s alright with you, I’d like to take Luffy with us tonight.”

Shanks, half-listening, rolled his shoulder. “Mm? Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

He didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t think about it. Didn’t look up right away.

His hand reached for one of the sake bottles between him and Marco, attention already shifting back to their conversation.

Luffy blinked, unsure for a second if he’d misheard. His dad didn’t say no. But he didn’t say anything else, either.

No, of course, Anchor.
No, but I’ll see you in the morning.
No, I love you. Happy birthday.
Nothing. Just that’s fine.

And then, as if it were an afterthought, he added, “Oh, I’m heading out tomorrow, by the way.”

Luffy’s heart sank. His fingers, still clutching Rosinante’s coat, trembled slightly. It was as if everything he had hoped for in that moment just slipped away. 

Luffy buried his face in Rosinante’s coat, he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but it was hard to ignore how much it hurt. He had wanted something more, something to make him feel seen, but instead, he was left feeling empty.

Abandoned. Again.

Cold.

The air seemed to shift. Shanks' hand, still wrapped around his sake bottle, twitched. His fingers flexed around the glass, an instinctive reaction to a feeling he couldn’t quite place.

It wasn’t the wind. It wasn’t the drop in temperature. Something was wrong.

Shanks' entire body seized in that moment, muscles locking up, his breath hitching as if something had reached deep into him, into his gut, and gripped him with a sudden, inexplicable chill.

His instincts screamed at him, 'That was a mistake. You've made a mistake.'

But the realization didn’t come until he turned to look.

At Luffy, his son.

The boy, so full of life, so eager to please, was now curled in Rosinante’s arms with his small hands clutching at the fabric of Rosinante's coat. His tiny shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. Shanks stomach dropped.

And just like that, a cold wave rushed through Shanks’ chest—ice in his veins, a chill so deep it felt like his heart had stopped.

He hadn’t even meant it like that. He hadn’t thought about what it might mean to dismiss the boy—his son, his Anchor—the way he had. He hadn’t considered that something as simple as a careless wave could break something inside of Luffy.

Rosinante didn’t notice at first. He was already ahead, moving towards the gangway, intent on carrying Luffy and Law off the ship.

It wasn’t until his shirt started feeling damp that he paused, glancing down and froze. Luffy’s tiny hands were curled into his coat, his small shoulders trembling. His face—

Tears. So many tears.

The little boy was sobbing silently into his chest, soaking his shirt with quiet heartbreak.

“…Oh, Luffy,” Rosinante murmured, voice instantly gentle. He knelt down, shifting carefully as he set Law down beside them.

Law, always observant, frowned immediately. He’d been content being carried, but now his gaze sharpened with concern.

“What happened?” he asked, voice cold, eyes flicking between Rosinante and the crying toddler.

Rosinante didn’t answer right away. His focus was still on Luffy. He glanced up, instinctively meeting Shanks’ eyes.

Shanks wasn’t the type to show regret. It was there, though, unmistakable in the way his usual swagger faltered, his face pale as though someone had just drained all the color from him. But there was nothing he could say. The moment had passed. The damage was done.

And then Law turned to look at Shanks, his gaze unblinking, filled with contempt.

The disdain was clear on his face, the weight of it almost palpable. “Dumb fucker,” he muttered under his breath, but it was enough to send a ripple through Shanks. It was a quick, sharp hit—like being struck by a knife, but it wasn’t just the insult that stung. It was the look in Law’s eyes.

Law didn’t wait for Shanks to respond. He didn’t want to hear anything Shanks had to say. Instead, he turned back to Luffy, his voice softer now, the usual ice of his demeanour replaced with something more vulnerable.

He turned back to Luffy, carefully reaching out to touch his trembling shoulder.

“Lu-ya,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “Hey.”

Luffy sniffled, pressing his face harder into Rosinante’s coat. Law sighed.

Without another word, he scooted closer, wrapping his arms around the crying toddler and pulling him away from Rosinante.

Luffy didn’t resist.

He just let himself be transferred, let himself be gathered into Law’s small, solid embrace, burying his face against Law’s chest instead.

Law held him.

And for now, that was enough.

Marco had felt many things through his mark before.

Law’s emotions were always cool. Calm. Measured. A steady presence, like the gentle pull of an ocean current—unshaken, untouchable. A quiet presence, soothing even in times of chaos.

But now?

Anger. Rage. Disappointment. They roared through Marco’s body like wildfire, so intense that his breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. His skin prickled, burning with the intensity of the emotions now flowing through him.

This wasn’t just anger. It was the complete and utter rejection of something Shanks had done.

It was devastating.

Marco’s jaw clenched. His fists tightened, and all he could do was whisper, barely audible over the noise of the ship, “…You fucked up.”

There was nothing more to say. Shanks stood there, unmoving, as if trapped in the wake of his own failure. He had no words to offer. No excuses. No defenses. He knew it was too late.

He had failed.

Shanks’ world was a blur. Everything around him seemed distant, far away, even though he could still hear the wind whistling through the ship's rigging and the soft murmur of the crew. His body felt... strange. Cold. Too cold.

His mind was a storm of thoughts, swirling in chaos. The way Luffy’s hands had clenched onto Rosinante’s coat. The tears. The hurt in the boy's eyes.

But then suddenly, Shanks was on the ground.

He didn’t remember falling. He didn’t remember anything but the ice spreading through his chest. His body, now lying flat on the deck, felt strangely heavy, as if the weight of his mistake had physically sunk him to the ground.

His vision swam as he struggled to get his bearings, but his senses remained foggy, the chill still sharp inside him, gnawing away at his resolve. Before he could move or understand what was happening, the world shifted.

A shadow loomed over him.

“Shanks!” Ace’s voice was full of fury, raw and seething with rage.

Shanks blinked, trying to focus. And when he did, he saw Ace’s face—contorted in a violent mix of anger and hurt—hovering above him. 

"Fuck you," Ace growled, the anger in his voice making Shanks’ blood run cold. Marco was there, too, trying to hold Ace back, his hands gripping Ace’s tiny shoulders, but the fire in the younger man was uncontrollable.

Shanks tried to push himself up, but his arms felt like lead. His entire body was still frozen in the aftermath of Luffy’s tears. The sheer disappointment that had crushed him.

"Do you even understand what you’ve done, Shanks?" Ace’s voice was practically a snarl now, and the words that followed were so sharp they cut through the fog in Shanks’ mind. "You know exactly how much Luffy struggles with abandonment. You know how much he suffers every time someone says they’ll stay and then leaves him. And that was when he was an ADULT! You promised him, damn it! You promised him that you’d never leave! And then you—"

Ace’s voice broke, the fury and heartbreak boiling over. Shanks’ heart twisted painfully as he listened, feeling the full weight of the mistake he had made.

Ace took another step forward, his voice rising. “Do you at least know what you did?” His eyes burned, unblinking, intense. “That kid is four. Four, Shanks. It's his fucking BIRTHDAY and his DAD didn't show any indication that he wants to spent the night with him at home. You remember that he didn't know that he had a dad until he met you, right? Do you actually remember how he looked when we first saw him? How he asked you with the most hopeful eyes if you were his dad? I pray to the gods that they dye his hair back to black, maybe there's a way that we can live with Rayleigh or Pops. You're a fucking disappointment!”

Ace paused, gaping for air. "You’re everything to me now, you said. You told him that! You swore you’d never leave him. You said you’d be the best dad ever. And then you... you dismiss him like that?! ON HIS BIRTHDAY! You wave him off like he’s nothing to you?! A FOUR YEAR OLD! This child is NOT the Luffy you remember, at least not yet. He's a fucking toddler!" Ace's chest was heaving, and the raw emotion in his eyes was enough to choke anyone up. "What the hell is wrong with you, Shanks?!"

Shanks couldn’t meet Ace’s eyes. He didn’t have the strength to do so. His mind was reeling from the weight of his own betrayal, but Ace wasn’t done.

"Do you know what that did to him? After everything he’s been through? After all the damn promises everyone’s broken? Do you even care how he feels now?!"

Shanks squeezed his eyes shut, the words cutting him deeper than any sword could. His hands clenched into fists, but they felt numb. Empty. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Shanks caught movement. His heart sank as he looked up to see Marco, standing just behind Ace, eyes wide with shock and concern. Marco’s face was unreadable, but the storm that brewed in his eyes told Shanks everything he needed to know.

Ace looked down at him with disgust, his fists clenched tight, his breath ragged with emotion. “I’m so fucking glad Rayleigh’s looking after him, too. Because Luffy deserves better than you.” He took a step back, voice still shaking with rage. “At least he won't forget Luffy for some vision of the future and I hate to say it but if Law, adult Law, was here I bet he'd kicked your pathetic ass and I'd thank him deeply.”

Shanks felt the weight of those words in his gut, like a force that had physically struck him down. He tried to breathe, tried to focus, but the regret inside him made his chest tighten.

Ace was still fuming, his hands shaking with the fury he couldn’t contain. But it wasn’t just rage anymore. It was betrayal. 

Shanks could barely breathe, could barely move as Ace’s wrath continued to pour over him.

But then, in the silence that followed, a figure appeared on the edge of Shanks' vision. It was Rayleigh. The old man, as stoic as ever, simply shook his head. His expression was weary, filled with disappointment, but also with understanding. The kind of understanding that came from years of seeing others make mistakes and knowing how they could break a person.

“Red,” Rayleigh said, his voice low, but full of authority. “I don’t want to ever feel my body like an ice-cube again... not because you’ve gone and disappointed your son.”

Shanks tried to sit up, his body finally reacting, but the weight of Rayleigh’s words kept him down. He felt the weight of all of it—the regret, the anger, the distance from those who had trusted him.

“Never again or I'll take him,” Rayleigh added quietly, voice heavy with finality. “We can't afford to fail our little god, can we?”

And Shanks, lying there on the cold deck, his body still numb, understood. In that moment, the words, the emotion—they all weighed on him like an anchor, dragging him deeper than anything he had ever felt.

He had hurt Luffy. And now, he was paying the price for it. He could feel it deep in his soul, the weight of his failure.

And he didn’t know how to fix it. Not yet.

Luffy woke with a gasp, his tiny fingers clutching at the blanket tangled around him. His chest felt tight, and his skin was damp with sweat. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. The thick darkness of the room, the heavy silence, it felt like the jungle.

His breath hitched.

The jungle. Alone.

The memory of his dream clung to him, suffocating. He had been back there—lost, hungry, the trees looming too high, the shadows too deep. No voices, no warmth, no one looking for him.

Luffy turned, hands shaking, and reached out for Torao.

"’Rao," he whispered, nudging the other boy’s shoulder. When there was no response, he shook him a little harder. "Torao, wake up."

Nothing.

Law slept on, his small body curled up, his breathing slow and even. He didn’t even stir. Luffy thought about hearing Torao complain days ago that he couldn't sleep. "You were really tired... Sorry."

Luffy bit his lip, suddenly feeling even smaller than before.

He could stay. Crawl back under the covers, squeeze his eyes shut, and pretend the dream wasn’t still pressing against his ribs. Pretend the awful, aching feeling in his chest wasn’t growing heavier.

But he missed him. His dad.

Shanks’ voice, Shanks’ warmth, Shanks' arms lifting him up like he was something precious. Home was close. So close.

Luffy slid out of bed, his tiny feet touching the cool wooden floor. He hesitated only a second before stepping forward, careful not to make a sound. The house was quiet. The kind of quiet that made the jungle feel closer than it really was.

He swallowed hard, rubbing at his eyes, and then pushed the door open.

The night air hit him immediately, cool and crisp against his skin. The docks weren’t far, and from here, he could see the faint, familiar glow of the Red Force in the distance.

His legs moved before he could think twice, small feet stumbling over the uneven path as he made his way towards the ship.

His tiny fists clenched at his sides as his chest ached. He wanted to see his dad. Just for a little bit. Just to make sure everything was okay, that he was welcomed back. That he was loved.

But then, a shadow moved.

Luffy barely had time to react before a figure stepped into his path.

His breath hitched as he came to an abrupt stop, small sandals scuffing against the dirt. His heart pounded, eyes slowly traveling up—up—until they locked onto the man’s face.

Luffy’s stomach twisted.

The man tilted his head slightly, watching him. Then, he chuckled. It wasn’t a nice laugh. It was quiet, sharp, curling around Luffy like something sticky.

“Where you goin’, kid?” the man asked, voice too casual, too smooth.

Luffy’s throat felt weird. He didn’t like this. His feet shuffled backward a little, but the man followed.

The uneasy feeling in his chest turned into something else. Fear.

The masked man let out a sigh, almost like he was disappointed, before suddenly perking up. “You know,” he mused, “this is actually perfect.”

Luffy didn’t understand.

Then the man laughed. Low and amused and wrong.

“You little steppingstone on my way to my well deserved CP post,” the man sneered. “This was even easier than I thought. Anyways... You’re coming with me.”

Luffy barely had time to take a breath before the acrid sting filled his nose. A sharp, stinging smell flooded his nose and panic flared in his chest.

Panic surged through him like lightning. His legs kicked, twisting, scrambling—but the grip was too strong.

His tiny hands flew up, trying to claw at the thing covering his mouth and nose. His heart slammed against his ribs. His vision blurred at the edges. His thoughts scrambled until everything went dark. His heart screamed.

All across the world, it was like a silent thunder cracked open the skies and crawled through people’s veins.

Law jolted upright with a gasp. Sweat clung to his brow, his chest heaving. His arms scrambled blindly beside him—but the space where Luffy had been sleeping was empty.

He was gone.

“...Luffy?” Law called softly, panic crawling up his throat.

Shanks sat hunched over in his quarters, a bottle dangling loosely from one hand. Hongo was patching up the gash on his head from when the red-haired idiot had fallen down the stairs earlier, too drunk and heartsick to walk straight. He’d been mumbling for hours—“my Anchor, my little Anchor, my sweet Baby, Daddy's so sorry,”—over and over. But when the wave hit him, something inside him snapped back into focus. The bottle hit the ground. His eyes cleared. And he just knew.

Hongo was still bandaging his ribs when Shanks suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. His whole body shook. “...Anchor,” he whispered. His voice cracked. “No. No, no, no—”

Hongo didn’t understand what was happening. But he held on anyway as Shanks started wailing into his hands, a man broken anew.

Rayleigh, Ace, and Whitebeard were already halfway up the path towards the house Rosinante and the kids live in. All three had felt the cold blade to the spine. They didn’t speak, but each step grew heavier. The air around them seemed to dim.

“Something’s wrong,” Ace muttered, teeth clenched. “I know it.”

Whitebeard didn’t reply, but his fists trembled.

In Mariejois, Garp was in the middle of a meeting when his chest seized up—not with pain, but ice, like earlier.  He blinked rapidly, thinking for one terrifying second that he’d died of sudden heart failure. But no, he was still alive. Still breathing. Barely.

He stormed out of the room, ignoring Sengoku’s surprised shout, and barreled into his office. Tugging at his shirt, he yanked it open—and stopped.

His mark, usually faintly coloured, never shining, was now oozing in thick, slow color. Like blood underwater.

“Oh no,” Garp muttered, breath catching in his throat. “Oh no, no, no.”

Meanwhile, Sengoku had gone still in the hall. A strange, warm sensation was crawling across his own mark—Law. It felt like his chest was being slowly engulfed by the sun.

“What is this,” he whispered, “what happened again?”

Elsewhere, in the shadows of their own battles, two very different men searched for the same answer.

Dragon stood alone on a wind-ravaged cliff, jaw tight, scanning encrypted messages with trembling fingers. His breath hissed between his teeth. No confirmation. No update. But he felt it. Something had happened to his son.

Crocodile, miles and oceans away, smashed a den den mushi receiver against a wall in frustration. “What the hell is going on?” he hissed. “Where is he?”

And far away, lost somewhere between panic and instinct, Zoro’s chest seized violently for the second time that day. His breath stopped. His knees hit the dirt. Luffy. He couldn’t see, couldn’t feel where his captain was.

“I—I need to get to him,” Zoro muttered, eyes wide, throat dry. “I don’t even know where I—”

Dr. Kobato had learned long ago that working under idiots was an unfortunate part of her career.

But this—this was a new level of incompetence.

She had no idea why her temporary superior had dragged them all the way to the East Blue. The orders had been vague, almost nonsensical, and Spandam was a fool who rarely made things clearer.

But when he came back aboard with a child in his arms, her stomach sank.

Spandam strode down the corridor with a smug grin on his face, the small, unconscious and injured boy slung carelessly in his grip. Dr. Kobato barely had time to process what she was seeing before her mouth moved on instinct.

“What is with the child?” she demanded.

Spandam barely spared her a glance. “Not your concern,” he said breezily. “Just keep him alive.”

Dr. Kobato clenched her jaw. “Alive for what, exactly?”

Spandam chuckled, adjusting his grip on the kid like he was nothing more than cargo. “We should reach Marineford in a week. Thank god my father gave me a ship with Dr. Vegapunk’s latest engine system,” he said. “We’ll hand him over then.”

Then, without another word, he strolled past her, whistling to himself.

Dr. Kobato let out a slow breath, fists tightening at her sides.

She didn’t know what this child had done, or which unfortunate parent the idiot had kidnapped him from, but none of that mattered. Because whatever this little boy had been through already, whatever he would go through, she pitied him.

She sighed, rubbing a hand down her face as she watched the small, unconscious form.

“I don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve been dragged into,” she murmured softly. “But I’m sorry for whatever is coming next.”

Dr. Kobato was careful. She had done her best to ensure that the boy was as comfortable as possible. He was far too young to be here, too small, too fragile.

She tried not to think about what would happen to him in Marineford.

Luffy woke up slowly.

His body felt weird. Heavy. His arms and legs didn’t want to move right. His head throbbed, a slow, dull ache settling behind his eyes.

Everything was too bright.

Luffy groaned softly, squinting against the harsh light above him. His small fingers twitched against something soft. A bed?

“Are you alright?”

Luffy flinched, heart jumping into his throat at the sudden voice.

He turned his head quickly, the movement making him dizzy. A woman was sitting beside the bed, watching him with a calm, gentle expression. She had dark hair pulled back neatly and wore a white coat.

She didn’t look scary.

“My name is Dr. Kobato,” she said, her voice soft, careful. “What’s your name? How old are you?”

Luffy hesitated. His throat felt dry. He curled his fingers into the blanket beneath him.

“...Luffy, I'm four,” he mumbled. His voice sounded small. He hated it.

Dr. Kobato gave him a reassuring smile. “Nice to meet you, Luffy.”

Luffy’s stomach made a small, embarrassing noise.

His face scrunched up slightly. He hesitated, then muttered, “…Hungry.”

Dr. Kobato’s smile grew a little. “I can get you some food.”

Luffy shifted, then squirmed slightly. His small legs kicked a little beneath the blanket.

“…Also gotta go potty.”

Dr. Kobato let out a small chuckle. “Alright, let’s take care of that first.”

Dr. Kobato was nice.

She helped him, talked to him softly, and even gave him some warm food to eat after. Luffy didn’t really understand what was happening or where he was, but she wasn’t scary.

But then, the door slammed open.

Luffy flinched hard, nearly dropping the small spoon in his hands.

The sound rang through the room, bouncing off the bright white walls. Luffy’s small body tensed up instantly, muscles locking, heart racing.

Heavy footsteps. A loud, angry voice. "Where is the damn brat?!"

Luffy’s breath hitched.

His fingers clutched at the blanket. He shrank back, curling in on himself, his small frame pressing as far away as he could.

Then the man from yesterday stepped into the room. And grinned.

Luffy froze.

The man’s eyes were sharp, cruel. His mouth twisted in a smile that didn’t look happy.

Like something funny had just happened. Like Luffy was funny.

Then the man laughed. Loud, awful.

Luffy squeezed his eyes shut. His tiny body trembled.

But even with her precautions, even with her best efforts Dr. Kobato couldn't be with Luffy every second.

On the fifth day she learned that even a few hours was enough time for everything to go wrong. While Spandam didn't hurt him while she was in the infirmary the last days, but he used the opportunity when the Doctor had to tend to her other patients.  

The moment she stepped back into the infirmary, something was wrong.

Luffy sat curled up in the farthest corner of the room, tiny fists trembling as they clutched at the blanket around his shoulders. His little face was streaked with fresh tears.

And worse there were marks on his face. Ugly, bloody red, swollen. The beginnings of bruises.

Dr. Kobato’s stomach dropped.

Her eyes snapped to the nurse standing at the counter, organising supplies as if nothing had happened.

Her voice was deathly calm. “What the hell happened?”

The nurse barely glanced up.

“Sir Spandam said not to treat him,” she said simply. “He’s just a pirate brat. Don’t waste your effort.”

Then, just like that, the nurse turned and left the room without another word.

Dr. Kobato stared after her, something bitter rising in her throat.

Then she heard a small, choked sob.

Her head snapped back toward the child.

Luffy had pressed himself as far into the corner as he could, little shoulders shaking as he tried—and failed—to keep quiet. His face was scrunched up, twisted with the kind of pain no toddler should ever have to feel.

Dr. Kobato felt something crack inside her chest.

Slowly, carefully, she knelt in front of him.

“Luffy,” she murmured, voice softer than she had ever used before. “I’m so sorry.”

The boy sniffled. His big, round eyes were wet and wary.

She reached out, slow, deliberate. When he didn’t flinch, she gently cupped his tiny cheek, inspecting the damage.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat.

“Let’s clean these up,” she said. “Then, how about we go to the kitchen and get you something good to eat?”

Luffy sniffled again, lower lip trembling.

Dr. Kobato forced herself to smile. “You just have to hold on for two more days,” she whispered. “Then you’ll be free of this monster.”

The words felt like a promise.

But she had no idea if she could keep it.

At night, she sat by his bed.

Luffy talked in his sleep.

Not nonsense, not dreams of food and adventure like a child should have.

No, he pleaded. “Dad,” he whimpered, voice thick with tears. “Dad, please, come get me…”

Dr. Kobato closed her eyes.

Other names, too. Ace. Ray-jii. Sabo. Torao. Gramps. Grampa. They all left his lips in choked, broken sobs.

She had no idea who they were. But she wished she did.

Because someone out there should love this little boy. Someone out there should be ripping through the ocean if they knew where he was.

And Dr. Kobato, who had sworn an oath to help people, who had worked under the World Government for years, was starting to think she might be on the wrong damn side.

Dr. Kobato was always fond of children, otherwise she wouldn't have become a Paediatrician, but this one… This one broke her heart.

Luffy was small, fragile in a way that had nothing to do with his body and everything to do with the way he curled in on himself when he thought no one was looking. The way his hands clenched into tiny fists whenever someone in a mask walked by. The way he flinched—so subtly, but she saw it—whenever someone moved too quickly near him.

And the way he whispered names in his sleep, over and over, like a prayer.

So, the next morning, as she sat beside him with a bowl of soup, she decided to ask.

“Luffy,” she said gently, offering him another spoonful. He took it without hesitation, still slurping like a little animal, and she had to fight a smile.

“Hmm?”

“Do you have family?”

Luffy blinked up at her, round eyes widening slightly.

And then, as if a dam had broken—he lit up.

“Uh-huh!” he said, suddenly animated, his tiny hands waving excitedly. “My Torao, I love him, we'll marry. I have Big Brother Ace! He’s strong and really loud and grumpy! And Big Brother Sabo! He’s smart and nice! And Ray-jii! Ray-jii’s really nice! He gives me food and tells me stories, and he has glasses, and—”

He sucked in a deep breath. “And Gramps! But not Grampa, Gramps! He’s mean,” Luffy pouted, crossing his little arms. “He wants me to be a Marine, but I don’t wanna. Marines are boring.”

Dr. Kobato’s lips twitched. “Oh? And Grampa?” she askedk.

Luffy brightened again. “Grampa’s big! And he has a funny banana on his face!”

Dr. Kobato blinked. “A… banana?”

Luffy nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh! Right here!” He tapped under his nose with a tiny finger. “Like this! But he’s not mean like Gramps! He’s nice!”

She hummed thoughtfully. “And… what about your dad?”

And just like that, the light in Luffy’s face flickered.

His tiny hands curled in his lap, his little shoulders sinking.

“I miss Dad…”

Dr. Kobato’s heart twisted.

“Where is he?” she asked softly.

Luffy’s face scrunched up. He kicked his feet idly, staring down at the blanket pooled in his lap.

“Dunno,” he mumbled. “Not here.”

Dr. Kobato took a slow breath, schooling her expression.

She wanted to say something. But what could she possibly offer to a four-year-old who had been ripped away from his family?

Instead, she reached out, smoothing his messy red hair.

Luffy leaned into the touch instinctively, still pouting.

She hesitated, then spoke—so quiet it was almost a whisper. “…I’m sure your dad misses you too, Luffy.”

“Luffy,” she said carefully a minute later, still processing what the hell he had just said. “You mentioned before that Gramps wants you to be a Marine. Is he a Marine too?”

Luffy gave her a look.

Not a confused one. Not a thoughtful one. A look.

As if she had just asked whether the ocean was wet.

“...I guess.” he said.

Dr. Kobato took a slow, deep breath. “And… does Gramps have a big ship?”

Luffy nodded eagerly. “Mhm! But Home is the best ship ever!”

“…Of course it is,” she murmured, her mind already racing through different possibilities.

Okay. Alright. She needed to think.

She had assumed Luffy’s family was just some pirate crew. Some group in the East Blue that Spandam had a grudge against or wanted to make a name for capturing to finally join CP.

But now—now she wasn’t so sure.

“Luffy,” she said, glancing at him, “would you recognise your Gramps if you saw a picture of him?”

Luffy snorted. “Duh.”

That was all she needed to hear.

Not even thirty minutes later, Doctor Kobato was carrying Luffy down a quiet hallway, trying not to let her hands shake.

Then the boy in her arms yelled, “GRAMPS!”

Dr. Kobato froze. Her eyes snapped down to Luffy, who was now kicking his little legs in excitement, pointing wildly at a photo.

A large, official photo.

Of the Fleet Admiral, the Admirals, and the Vice Admirals of the Marines.

Slowly, dread curling in her gut, she turned to look.

“…Luffy,” she said, throat dry. “I’m going to show you a room with a lot of pictures of a lot of Marines.”

But Luffy only huffed, still pointing at the same photo. “That’s Gramps!”

Dr. Kobato swallowed hard.

No. No, no, no. That’s not—

With a sinking feeling in her chest, she stepped closer to the image, her eyes flicking over the rows of men.

“Luffy…” She forced herself to speak, even as her stomach twisted. “Which one is your Gramps?”

Luffy didn’t even hesitate. “Gramps.”

His tiny finger jabbed at Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp.

Dr. Kobato felt the blood drain from her face.

“…Are you sure?” she asked weakly.

“Mhm,” Luffy hummed, completely unconcerned.

Dr. Kobato had to physically stop herself from swaying.

Her thoughts reeled, a frantic storm of realization crashing into her one after another.

Monkey D. Garp. The Hero of the Marines. The man who had risen to fame when he cornered the Pirate King himself. One of the strongest men alive.

And this boy—this tiny, stolen boy—

“Luffy…” she forced out. “Do you know your full name?”

Luffy scrunched up his nose in thought. “Gramps says my name is Moni Diluffy.”

Dr. Kobato blinked rapidly. “I—what?”

“Gramps says my name is Moni Diluffy,” Luffy clarified, then pouted. “But Diluffy sounds silly. I’m Luffy.”

Dr. Kobato gripped the edge of the picture frame to steady herself.

Moni Diluffy.

Monkey D. Luffy.

Garp’s grandson.

Luffy just looked up at her, blinking his big, innocent eyes.

She was going to throw up.

“And your dad…” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “Your dad is a pirate?”

Luffy only shrugged. “Dunno.”

Dr. Kobato pressed a hand to her forehead. This… This was bad. She needed to be sure.

“I have an idea,” she murmured, adjusting her grip on Luffy and turning on her heel, heading straight for another hallway.

Somewhere with bounty posters.

Dr. Kobato’s pulse was pounding in her ears as she shuffled through the worst stack of wanted posters she had ever held in her life.

Luffy, sitting on the table beside her, was utterly unfazed. Sometimes he giggled, sometimes he commented how silly these wanted criminals look.

She held up another one. “1,374,000,000 berries,” she read. “Marco the Phoenix.”

Luffy’s little nose scrunched up. “Stupid Pineapple took my Daddy away.”

Doctor Kobato paused.

Her stomach twisted.

Oh no.

Oh no.

She swallowed hard, eyes darting to the next stack of posters.

If this was already happening, if they were already at this level... She prayed, prayed to whatever gods were listening, that this didn’t get any worse.

Doctor Kobato had seen Marco’s bounty before. 1,374,000,000 berries. A sum reserved for the worst of the worst or the most dangerous of the dangerous.

And if that was the company Luffy’s father kept—

She exhaled sharply, pushing the thought away.

Her gaze flickered back to the little boy. For a moment, she studied him properly. His hair, long and messy, a deep crimson that caught the light. His eyes, blood-red, still round and soft with childhood, but, now that she was looking closely her fingers hesitated as she shuffled through the posters, knowing that she has seen red hair like this before.

And then. Oh. Oh no.

The name printed on the poster practically glowed in her vision. The picture shows a young man, probably in his early twenties.

"Shanks"

Dr. Kobato’s throat felt dry. Please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t—

She turned the paper, holding it up carefully. “Luffy…”

Luffy’s entire face lit up.

“DADDY!”

Dr. Kobato closed her eyes. Fuck.

When she opened them, Luffy was beaming at the poster, his expression full of absolute, unwavering delight.

She wanted to scream.

Then, abruptly, Luffy’s smile faded into a deep pout. His small arms crossed, his crimson eyes darkening as he glared at the picture.

“…Stupid Dad,” he muttered. “Didn’t wanna spend my birthday with me. Rather be with Pineapple.”

Dr. Kobato stared at him.

Then slowly turned to look at Marco’s poster again. Then back to Shanks’. Then back to Marco’s.

Her brain short-circuited.

“…Oh, I didn't know they know each other like... that,” she muttered numbly.

Her gaze flicked down to Luffy, who was still pouting at the image of those two horrible pirates.

Dr. Kobato pressed her fingers against her temple, feeling a headache take root behind her eyes.

1,374,000,000 berries. 1,040,000,000 berries.

She stared at the bounty poster in her hands.

Shanks. A man who, if the whispers in the darker corners of the world were to be believed, had the ear of the World Government.

And this—this tiny child sitting in front of her, swinging his feet and scowling at his father’s picture—was his son.

Luffy huffed, still sulking. “Stupid Dad,” he mumbled under his breath, his little arms crossed.

Dr. Kobato exhaled sharply and let the poster slip from her fingers onto the desk.

Her hands shook slightly as she clasped them together.

Still, her fingers kept moving through the pile, morbid curiosity now in control. She paused at a familiar face—Whitebeard. 5,046,000,000 berries. The largest bounty on record. She held it up hesitantly.

Luffy glanced over and chirped happily, “That’s Grampa!”

Dr. Kobato choked. “You sure?!”

“Yes,” Luffy said simply.

She kept flipping, mind racing. “Ray-jii” still itched in her mind. A toddler’s pronunciation—Ray-jii… Rayleigh?

It couldn’t be, please no.

But she reached the page anyway. Silvers Rayleigh, former First Mate of the Roger Pirates. She held it up.

And Luffy sparkled.

“Ray-jii!” he chirped, hands clapping. “I love him. He’s funny and smells good and drinks too much but not like Dad!”

Dr. Kobato pressed a hand to her chest, trying not to scream.

He was delighted. Absolutely delighted.

She, on the other hand, wanted to dig a hole in the floor and crawl into it.

This kid had ties to Shanks, Whitebeard, Rayleigh, and Marco—and he was most probably loved by all of them.

And someone had brought him here like he was nothing but a tool.

Dr. Kobato sat back in her chair, staring blankly at the posters in her lap.

“I…” she whispered to herself, “…I need to figure out if I’m sending a letter to Garp or writing my own damn will.”

Dr. Kobato’s heart pounded in her chest.

She stared at the smiling four-year-old in front of her again, who had just casually identified Whitebeard, Rayleigh, Marco, and Shanks as family.

Not acquaintances. Not stories. Family.

And Luffy wasn’t just some kid with a wild imagination. His hair—long, wild, crimson—his blood-red eyes, and that powerful presence he didn’t even know he had… it all fit. Too well. Far too well.

Her fingers clenched the stack of bounty posters tightly. Her knuckles went white.

If even one word of this slipped out to the wrong person—if someone who mattered realized this kid was here, in her facility, in Spandam’s custody.

They were all dead. Not arrested. Not court-martialed. Dead.

“If Whitebeard finds out…” she whispered, unable to finish the thought. Just the memory of that poster—5,046,000,000 berries—made her nauseous. And that was just the bounty. That wasn’t even counting the dozens of top commanders under his flag, all of whom were terrifying in their own right.

And Shanks—Shanks might’ve smiled in his bounty photo, but the Red-Haired Pirate was a monster in human form when provoked.

Then there was Rayleigh. The “Dark King.” Even in retirement, he could sink a warship on foot.

And then there was Garp. Dr. Kobato suddenly remembered how Luffy had beamed at his picture.

And how, when she’d asked if he’d recognise him, Luffy had just looked at her like she was an idiot and said, “Duh.”

She groaned softly, covering her face with one hand.

Because if Garp didn’t know his grandson was here, and he found out—this ship would sink before she could even grab her medical kit. No one would survive. Not her. Not the staff. Not Spandam. Especially not Spandam.

And if Garp did know and had allowed it?

Then the implications were even worse. Because why? Why would someone like Garp allow his grandson to fall into CP custody?

Her stomach twisted.

“Fucking Spandam,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “You absolute cretin. You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

She imagined it—Whitebeard’s fleet appearing out of nowhere. Garp showing up in full fury. Rayleigh simply walking in and levelling the ship or entire Marineford with a calm, disappointed look.

And her? Just caught in the middle. Not even CP9, not even the Admirals would get here fast enough.

Dr. Kobato shuddered.

This wasn’t a kid anymore. This was a powder keg with too many fuses—and Spandam had just lit one.

And she was the one holding the matchbox.

“Fuck,” she whispered again, staring at Luffy as he giggled and tried to flatten his hair against the poster of Shanks. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She needed to make a decision. Fast.

Contact Garp—and risk being court-martialed, or worse?

Or stay quiet—and wait to be vaporized by whatever wrathful parental figure showed up first? Her life might already be forfeit.

Garp was unpredictable. He was loud. He was infamous for following his own moral compass, even when it clashed with the World Government.

If Garp knew about Luffy’s abduction, if he had already been informed and was staying silent, then reaching out to him could mean exposing herself as a traitor.

But if he didn’t know—

Doctor Kobato clenched her fists.

If Garp didn’t know, then he would burn the entire damn ocean down to get this kid back.

She glanced at Luffy again.

He had started playing with the edges of the bounty poster, folding it and unfolding it, completely oblivious to the war raging in her mind.

He’s four.

Four years old. Small. Defenseless. And yet, somehow, the most important people in his life were two of the most powerful men in the world—one a pirate emperor, the other a Marine legend.

And she?

She was a doctor.

A nobody in the grand scheme of things.

Dr. Kobato let out a slow, steady breath.

She had two choices. One could save this child. The other could save herself.

And she had to decide—quickly.

The night had settled deep into the ship, the low hum of the vessel and the creak of the boards the only sounds in the otherwise silent corridors. Dr. Kobato crept into Luffy’s room, her steps careful, almost reverent as if the walls themselves might betray her actions.

Luffy, curled up on the small cot, was still in a deep sleep, his face peaceful for the moment. But Kobato knew better than to think he would stay undisturbed for long. The boy’s past had already given him the ability to wake at the slightest sound, his nerves constantly on edge, even in sleep.

She hesitated by the bed for a moment, looking down at him with a softness that had only grown with the days she’d spent caring for him. The boy had been through more than anyone should at such a young age.

Taking a deep breath, Dr. Kobato leaned down, her voice barely a whisper. “Luffy,” she murmured, gently shaking his shoulder. “Luffy, wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open, blinking in the dark. For a moment, he just looked up at her with a confused expression. “Kobo?” he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.

Kobato smiled softly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She knew what she had to do, but every part of her resisted it. She was taking him deeper into this, into the mess of the world she had hoped to shield him from. But it was too late now.

“I need you to listen to me, okay? I’m going to take you to a small room,” she said softly, her fingers brushing his messy crimson hair out of his face. “You have to promise me you won’t leave it until I come back. No matter what happens, okay?”

Luffy, still half-asleep, nodded slowly. “Okay,” he agreed, his voice small.

“Good boy.” Kobato smiled, though it was forced. “You’re a strong boy, I know that.”

Luffy gave a small, tired nod. His eyes fluttered closed again, clearly not fully awake, but he trusted her. Kobato knew that.

With a sigh, she carefully lifted him from the bed, cradling him against her chest as she moved silently through the hallways. She had no time to waste. Not when things were beginning to spiral out of control.

Kobato’s heart raced as she approached the command room. She couldn’t help but feel the weight of every step she took, the fear of what would happen if she were caught.

Entering the dimly lit command room, she quickly glanced around, making sure no one was watching before she slipped behind the desk. She didn’t hesitate. The task was simple: find the number for Vice Admiral Garp.

She sifted through the various maps and documents, her fingers fumbling as she searched. Her mind was in turmoil, every second that ticked by felt like it brought her closer to a point of no return.

The room was cold. Her fingers ached, not just from the physical strain, but from the nervousness crawling beneath her skin. What if Garp wasn’t the one she should reach? What if Spandam had already sent word? What if—

And then she found it.

A small slip of paper with a series of numbers.

Sengoku’s number. Only to call by the ships captain in case of an emergency. "In the event of a naval battle or a maritime accident. Fuck this?" She read.

Kobato took a shaky breath. She didn’t know if she was more relieved or terrified. If she failed here, if Garp was already informed of what was happening...

Her hand hesitated over the number, her mind racing with the consequences of her actions. She needed answers, and if this was her last chance. Taking another breath, she punched the number into the receiver, her finger hovering over the dial as if the entire ship might fall apart if she pressed it wrong.

The Den Den Mushi rang twice.

And then it was answered.

“What?” Sengoku’s voice came through, sharp and clear. She hadn’t expected him to pick up so quickly or pick up at all, to be honest. It was dead in the night.

“Dr. Kobato here,” she said, her voice slightly tremulous. “Currently under the command of Spandam, somewhere between the East Blue and Marineford, probably somewhere in Paradise already. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I urgently need the number for Vice Admiral Garp. Please… it’s a personal emergency.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

And then, much to her surprise, Sengoku spoke softly. “Luffy?”

Kobato’s breath hitched. “You know him?”

“Of course I do,” Sengoku responded with a tone of familiarity that sent a chill down her spine. “What’s going on? Do you know where he is? He's missing.”

Kobato’s heart began to race. This was her chance. She had to get this right.

“Yes, I—”

“Hold on.” Sengoku’s voice suddenly boomed. “Gaaaaaaarp! It’s your family again!”

Before Kobato could respond, the phone was passed from Sengoku’s end to the unmistakable roar of Garp.

“What the hell is going on?!” Garp’s booming voice sounded through the phone.

“I’m sorry, Vice Admiral Garp,” Kobato said quickly, “but Lu—”

Suddenly, she froze.

From down the hallway, the shrill sound of a scream ripped through the stillness. Luffy.

Kobato’s heart leapt in her throat, her grip tightening on the receiver as she stood, eyes wide with panic.

“What’s going on?” Garp asked, quieter now, a shift in his voice.

“Please, stay calm,” Kobato said in a whisper, her own voice shaking. “Stay quiet for just a moment… I’ll be right back.”

She put the receiver hastily on the table and turned around, but as she did, the door to the command room burst open with a crash. Spandam.

The sickening, mocking laughter came first. "Dr. Kobato, you think you can protect that dirty little pirate brat?" he sneered, his eyes cold and cruel. "You really think you can stop me from doing whatever I want?"

Without warning, Spandam pushed Luffy, his hand rough and merciless as he shoved the crying boy down. Luffy’s scream echoed through the hall, and Kobato felt her heart shatter in an instant.

“No!” she screamed, rushing to Luffy’s side.

But it was too late.

Spandam grinned wickedly, standing tall above the little boy, his face twisted in sadistic glee.

Before Kobato could reach him, she heard the familiar voice of Sengoku, then Garp’s deep growl in the background.

And then Spandam froze, his hands tightening around Luffy’s frail body.

Sengoku’s voice was sharp. "Stop."

And with that, the world seemed to hold its breath.

The air in the room was thick with tension. Dr. Kobato stood frozen, her heart pounding as she watched Spandam, his rage palpable, towering over the small, trembling figure of Luffy. The child had stopped crying but his small body was shaking, fear written all over his face.

"Do you really think you can stop me?" Spandam sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "You think I'm going to listen to some voice on the speaker?" His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white. "This brat is a waste of space! He's just a fucking pirate's son! Do you know what that means? He deserves to be killed, like all the rest of them!"

Kobato’s eyes were wide, her breath shallow. She knew Spandam wasn’t just mad, he was completely unhinged. The man was a monster.

Her voice shook as she stepped forward, trying to intervene. "Spandam, stop. You don't—"

But she was interrupted by a deep, rumbling voice from the other end of the line.

"You better stop right there, Spandam." Garp’s voice sent a chill down her spine. It was as if his presence was felt even through the phone, his authority unyielding.

“If you lay another finger on my grandson, Spandam, I swear to God, I will make sure you wish you were never born.”

The suddenness of the words hit Spandam like a slap to the face. He froze, his eyes narrowing. “Grandson? Are you out of your mind, Garp?” He let out an incredulous laugh, his lips curling into a mocking grin. “This brat, your grandson? How the hell is that possible? How can Shanks’ kid be your grandsons father? That doesn’t make any sense!”

Garp’s voice grew quieter, but there was an undeniable edge of anger in it. "I didn’t ask you to understand, Spandam. I just need you to back the hell off."

For a brief moment, there was silence. Spandam stood there, seething, but still processing what Garp had said. Then, Garp sighed heavily, as if this conversation had been forced upon him and he didn’t like the direction it was going.

"Fine. I’ll explain," Garp finally grumbled. “Luffy’s mother... was my daughter. Her name was eh, Lucy. Monkey D. Lucy. Nobody knew of her except for the Fleet Admiral and her late mother. Lucy died... when he was just a baby." He hesitated. "She was a marine officer, a spy, one of the best. She and Shanks were... close, because of her mission. Yes. I didn’t want to believe it at first, but they were together. Luffy’s mother and Shanks, they... had him." Garp cleared his throat, then, to Spandam’s growing confusion, added, "But Lucy was my daughter. Luffy is my blood. My grandson."

Spandam stood frozen, his eyes wide, disbelief and rage washing over him in equal measures. He tried to make sense of what Garp was saying. This child... this pirate brat... was Garp’s grandson? The very thought made his skin crawl.

"You’re lying," Spandam spat. "You think you can pull that shit on me? You're trying to make me believe that that... that Shanks’ brat is a Vice Admiral’s grandchild? It’s impossible. It’s just another one of your stupid lies!"

But Garp’s voice cut through the air like a sword. His words were slow, deliberate, and every bit as dangerous as the man himself. “Spandam, if you ever try to touch my grandson again, you will regret it. I don’t care about your father.”

Spandam gritted his teeth, his fist trembling with fury. 

Luffy, still curled on the ground, slowly turned his head toward Spandam. His eyes, red and puffy from crying, met the malicious gaze of the marine officer. But Luffy didn’t show fear anymore, he simply looked at him with a sad, defeated gaze, and the words that escaped his lips were soft but heavy with meaning.

“Stupid Gramps...”

It was just a whisper, but in that instant, something inside Spandam snapped. He took a step toward the child, his anger burning brighter than ever. “Shut the fuck up you devil spawn!”

But before Spandam could move any further, a voice cut through the chaos, cutting everything short.

“Spandam.” Sengoku’s voice, though calm, carried an unmistakable weight. “Enough.”

There was a pause, the tension hanging thick in the air. And then, to Spandam’s complete surprise, Garp’s voice once again thundered across the room, louder and more intimidating than before.

“Touch him again, Spandam,” Garp growled, his words venomous, “and you’ll wish to die when I'm done with you.”

Chapter Text

Spandam’s lip curled. “You’re bluffing. You can’t threaten me, I’m still in command of this division and you don’t even—”

He stopped. The silence that followed was damning.

Then Garp spoke again, now quiet, almost too quiet. “He…he was left with his father.”

Spandam stared at the Den Den Mushi in disbelief, like it had started spouting nonsense. “You—you’re lying. He’s a pirate’s brat. You expect me to believe you share blood with him?!”

Doctor Kobato looked down at the boy in her arms. Luffy was limp from exhaustion, his little face blotchy and streaked with tears. She gently brushed a hand over his forehead and he stirred slightly, murmuring something that sounded like “...Torao…”

“Whether you believe it or not,” Sengoku said, voice dangerously even, “that child is under my protection now. You’ve done more than enough damage, Spandam. Stand down.”

Spandam’s fists were still shaking. His face was a mottled shade of red and white. But something about Garp’s silence, something in the way Sengoku no longer sounded tired but focused, made him back off a step.

Doctor Kobato didn’t wait. She crouched beside the desk, carefully setting the Den Den Mushi receiver closer to Luffy and whispered, “Luffy… someone wants to speak to you.”

Luffy’s eyes fluttered half-open. “...Gramps?”

Garp’s voice came through a second later, softer than before.

“Luffy, I’m glad I found you, brat.”

Luffy sniffled. “...You’re loud…”

Garp chuckled through the receiver. “You’re still a little shit, I see.”

Doctor Kobato gave a faint smile, just for a second. But then she stood, her expression sharpening as she addressed Sengoku quietly. “Fleet Admiral, Vice Admiral… we’re scheduled to arrive in Marineford tomorrow afternoon. Assuming no changes to the weather, we’ll make port within the next twenty-four hours.”

There was a brief silence. Then Sengoku responded, calm but firm. “We’ll be ready to receive him. Do not let Spandam near the boy again. Understood?”

Doctor Kobato’s eyes narrowed. “Understood, sir.”

Garp’s voice followed. “And Kobato… thank you.”

She nodded slowly, clutching Luffy a little tighter as the Den Den Mushi clicked off.

Spandam stood off to the side, teeth grit, his face pale and sour, the venom in his eyes barely restrained. But he said nothing.

Doctor Kobato didn’t even spare him a glance as she carried Luffy out of the room, whispering gently, “You’re going to be okay, little one. Just a bit longer. One more day.”

Behind her, the ship was quiet, but the weight of what had happened would linger.
And Marineford would be waiting.

As the ship continued its journey towards Marineford, Dr. Kobato kept a careful watch over Luffy. The little boy, still recovering from the harshness of his ordeal, clung to her side in the rare moments he wasn’t asleep. It had been a long few days, and the weight of the situation hadn't quite left her. The unsettling atmosphere, the silent tension hanging over them, she knew Marineford was close, but so were the consequences of everything that had happened so far.

She kept Luffy close, taking comfort in his quiet presence, but even he couldn’t shake the underlying anxiety that lingered in the air. He was so small, so vulnerable.

Marineford appeared on the horizon. Dr. Kobato stood on deck with Luffy in tow, her heart pounding a little faster than it had in the last few hours. The moment of arrival was drawing near.

Luffy's eyes grew wide as they saw the towering figures of Marineford growing ever closer, and a glimmer of excitement sparked in his red, tear-streaked eyes. He leaned against the ship’s railing and pointed eagerly toward the dock below.

“Gramps!” he cried out, his little voice carrying with a surprising amount of energy for such a small boy. He tugged at Doctor Kobato’s sleeve, eyes filled with impatience as his feet shuffled on the deck.

Kobato couldn't help but smile, despite everything. She knelt down to him gently. "We’re almost there, Luffy. Just a little longer."

As they neared the dock, she stayed close by his side, keeping a firm grip on his hand. The crew around them murmured in awe as the city of Marineford came into view. Their eyes widened when they saw the Fleet Admiral and Vice Admiral, jumping onto the deck. They seemed to have materialised from nowhere, as if their presence alone could command the sea.

Sengoku's imposing presence almost a tangible thing, his eyes scanning the ship’s surroundings. But his gaze lingered, almost warily, on Spandam.

Doctor Kobato set Luffy down gently, her heart racing, and she stepped back to give the boy some space. Luffy, sensing his moment had arrived, didn’t waste a second.

His little legs kicked into high gear, and in a burst of energy, he bolted forward across the deck, his shouts echoing across the ship.

“GRAAAAAAMPS!!!” he screamed, his voice pure relief and longing.

The crew stood frozen in shock. 

And then, there he was. Garp.

He stood on deck, surrounded by marines and the instant he saw Luffy running toward him, he smiled—no, beamed. His expression softened in a way that few had ever seen, and before anyone could react, he reached down, scooping the little boy up into his massive arms.

“Luffy, my little Angel!” Garp cried, lifting Luffy into the air, his voice full of genuine joy and relief. “I’m so glad to see you, brat!”

Luffy clung to him, his small arms wrapping around Garp’s neck, grinning from ear to ear. "Gramps!" he cheered, his voice still a little raspy from his earlier crying, but it was unmistakably full of warmth and affection.

Garp chuckled deeply, his laugh booming through the air. The crew couldn’t help but watch the scene with awe. 

Sengoku’s face remained stern as always, but there was a subtle, almost imperceptible sigh as he watched the scene unfold. He looked to Garp, then to the small child in his arms, and finally his gaze fell to  again, who had a look of pure loathing on his face. Sengoku's expression was unreadable, but his quiet vigilance spoke volumes.

Luffy’s little voice was still ringing in the air, his joy contagious. “I missed you, Gramps!”

Garp smiled, the warmth of the reunion undeniable. “You better not make a habit of running off like that, brat. You had me worried half to death.” He gave Luffy a playful noogie, making the boy laugh and squirm in his arms.

Gasps echoed across the deck.

The gathered marines stood rooted in place, stunned into silence. It wasn’t just the sight of the Fleet Admiral and Vice Admiral Garp boarding the ship that had them stunned. It was the way Garp laughed, completely and unapologetically, as he swung a tiny, crimson-haired child in the air like a beloved grandchild.

Wasn't that the pirate brat?

No one had expected this. And when Luffy, eyes bright and cheeks still puffy from crying, laughed and buried his face in Garp’s uniform like he belonged there, like it was home, some of the marines exchanged uneasy glances.

One whispered, “That’s his grandson?”
Another, wide-eyed, whispered back, “I thought he was a pirates child! What the hell is going on?”

And still Garp didn’t care. He held Luffy tightly, strong arms cradling the boy as if nothing else mattered. “You’ve been causing trouble, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Luffy answered, his face scrunched a little. “I just wanted to go back to dad but that man said I was a steppingslone!”

“Stepping—?” Garp blinked, then glanced up, the laughter in his eyes fading just enough to be replaced with something harder. His gaze found Spandam and it was like ice forming over fire.

Sengoku sighed under his breath. He didn’t stop the faint growl that built beneath Garp’s breath as he hugged Luffy closer.

As Garp held Luffy close, the boy's laughter slowly tapered off into quiet sniffles. His fingers tightened around his grandfather’s coat and the sound he made wasn’t quite a sob, but something close.

“I missed you, Gramps,” he mumbled again, voice trembling.

Garp leaned his forehead gently against the boy’s, his massive hand cradling the back of Luffy’s head protectively. “I know, brat,” he said softly. “I missed you too. I’m sorry I missed your birthday.”

Luffy's little frame trembled slightly and Dr. Kobato could see the tears starting to fall again, less out of fear now, and more from pure, exhausted relief.

“I tried to be good,” Luffy whispered, his voice cracking, “but they said bad things. They said I was bad.”

“You’re not bad,” Garp said at once, firm and unwavering. “They don’t know shit, alright? You’re just a kid. My kid. Don’t listen to a damn word they said.”

Dr. Kobato’s chest clenched. Luffy’s jaded little expression, too knowing for a four-year-old, spoke volumes about what he'd been through. She glanced away, guilt gnawing at her.

And then Garp slowly turned his head finally, fully to face Spandam.

What little warmth was in his face vanished in an instant.

Behind them, Sengoku stood still, hands clasped tightly behind his back. His jaw was clenched so hard, his teeth ached. His eyes narrowed on the scene, not on Luffy and Garp, but still on the now trembling figure of Spandam standing awkwardly by the mast, as if trying to disappear from view.

The silence cracked as Sengoku finally spoke, his voice low and cold.

“Spandam,” he said without turning his head, his tone polite in a way that sent a chill down the spines of everyone listening. “Thank you for your… service. I expect you in my office in fifteen minutes.”

Spandam visibly flinched.

“Yes—yes, Fleet Admiral,” he stammered, but his voice barely carried.

Dr. Kobato, still lingering near the side of the deck, caught the dark flicker in Sengoku’s eye, and her stomach turned. That was not a polite invitation. That was a warning.

And judging by the way a few nearby marines instinctively took a half-step away from Spandam, she wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Garp didn’t linger on the deck.

After holding Luffy tightly for another long, grounding moment, his broad hand gently patting the boy’s back in slow, reassuring rhythms. Luffy curled against his grandfather’s chest like he belonged there, his tiny fists clinging to the fabric of Garp’s coat.

“I’m taking him home,” Garp said, not to anyone in particular, but no one dared question him.

Dr. Kobato, standing stiffly nearby, met Garp’s eyes. “Will he be safe there?”

Garp didn’t smile. “Safer than anywhere else right now.”

Sengoku stepped forward, but didn’t try to stop him. His voice was low and careful. “You’ll have to come back to file your report.”

“I’ll come back when he’s asleep in a real bed,” Garp replied curtly. “And when I’m no longer in danger of killing someone for what they did to him.”

Sengoku didn’t argue. He only gave Garp a tight nod and stepped aside.

The Marines on the deck moved instinctively out of the way, parting for the Vice Admiral as he carried the red-haired child down the gangplank. Luffy didn’t speak. He just clung to his grandfather’s coat, his head resting against Garp’s chest, above his grandfathers heart.

As they reached the end of the dock, Garp glanced once over his shoulder.

“Dr. Kobato,” he called.

She straightened.

“Thank you.”

She blinked. “I… I only did what was right.”

Garp’s expression darkened slightly. “A lot of people didn’t.”

Luffy, still shaken but comforted by the presence of his grandfather, clung to him like he was the only anchor in the chaos. The world around them, the towering buildings of Marineford, the bustling marines, all seemed a distant hum.

Dr. Kobato watched from the deck, her heart heavy with the weight of what had transpired. She knew, deep down, that Luffy needed rest, safety and some semblance of peace, but she also knew that Marineford wasn't the place for that. At least, not yet.

The sun beginning to dip toward the horizon as Vice Admiral Garp carried his wounded, wary grandson away from Marineford and towards the inner quarters of Marineford, towards the quiet safety of his own home.

As they entered one of the quiet alleys of Marineford, Luffy blinked up at his grandfather, his red eyes wide with a mixture of exhaustion and relief.

“Gramps...?” Luffy mumbled softly.

“Yeah, brat?” Garp answered, his tone soothing as he shifted Luffy a bit more comfortably in his arms.

“I’m... not gonna be alone, right?” Luffy asked, his voice small and unsure.

Garp’s face softened, and he placed a large hand on Luffy’s head, ruffling his messy crimson hair. "Not anymore, brat. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re gonna stay with me for as long as you want and need. You hear me?"

Luffy, blinking away the last of his tears, nodded weakly. His exhaustion was starting to catch up with him, but there was a sense of comfort in Garp’s words. He had been through so much in such a short amount of time, but now, with Garp by his side, there was at least one thing that felt familiar and safe.

Meanwhile, Doctor Kobato couldn't help herself but follow at a distance, watching the two with a bittersweet smile. She had come to care deeply for Luffy, and seeing him in Garp’s arms, looking so small and fragile, filled her with both relief and sorrow. It had been a rough journey to get here, and the road ahead was still uncertain, but at least for now, Luffy had a place to rest.

As the alley stretched on, Garp stopped for a moment and turned back toward Kobato, his voice steady.

“I knew you were following us. I'd suggest you stay nearby,” Garp said, more of a command than a question. “You’ve done enough for him. We’ll talk when he’s had some time to rest.”

Kobato hesitated but then nodded. She didn’t need to be told twice.

Garp turned to the house where he would take Luffy, but before he entered, he glanced down at the little boy in his arms once more.

“Luffy…” Garp murmured gently.

“Yeah, Gramps?” Luffy’s voice was soft, his eyelids heavy as sleep threatened to pull him under.

“I need you to promise me something,” Garp said quietly, his voice warm. “No more running off on your own and walking around at night, okay?”

Luffy nodded again, his eyes drifting closed. “I promise, Gramps...”

With that, Garp entered the house, walked up the stairs and settled Luffy gently on a bed. The boy barely stirred, the weight of exhaustion finally claiming him as he fell into a deep sleep. Garp stayed by his side, watching over him as the noise of Marineford continued around them. Despite everything, for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a sense of peace.

Garp sat in the dimly lit office of his home, tension thick in the air. He had just finished making sure Luffy was settled down, his grandson’s tired form still resting in the room down the hall. Now, it was time to make the call that would ease the minds of those on the other end.

He dialed the number, waited for the connection, and then the familiar voice of Shanks crackled through the receiver.

“Garp,” Shanks said, his voice a little rough, barely concealing his anxiety. “Is he okay? Luffy? Is he safe?”

Garp’s voice came through the phone, steady but with an edge of exhaustion. “He’s safe now.”

Shanks let out a breath, but it was sharp, and he gripped the phone tightly. “Now? Garp, what do you mean with now? What happened to him?”

Garp's voice softened, but there was a hardness beneath it that made Shanks pause. “I don’t know what this wannabe’s been doing, but he's been hurting Luffy. When I saw him, he was... injured, jaded. A doctor stayed with him. He's healing now. He's safe.”

Shanks growled low under his breath, the stress evident in his voice. "Safe? With the Marines, Garp? You know how this game works! What happens if they decide to use him as leverage? You think they’ll let him go just like that?"

There was a pause, the air thick with uncertainty. Garp’s mind raced through the worst possibilities, he knew how dangerous things could get. But he had no other choice.

Rayleigh’s voice cut through the silence, smoother and more controlled than the others. "What Garp means is that it’s too risky right now, Shanks. If they get too curious about Luffy, we’ll have bigger problems than we’re already facing. We need to wait."

"But we’re waiting for what?" Ace’s voice rang out, sharp and heavy with anger. "How long is this ‘waiting’ supposed to last? You’re telling me we’ve been out here, worried sick about Luffy, and now we have to trust you’re going to keep him locked up in Marineford for his own safety?"

Garp clenched his fist, his knuckles white. "It’s not about trust, Ace. It’s about keeping him alive. If I bring him back to you now, it’ll raise too many flags. We’re better off with him staying put for now, at least until things die down. If anyone starts looking for him too hard, we’ll be in deep trouble."

Rayleigh spoke up. “And what about that guy who took him? What happened to him?”

“One way or another, Spandam's gonna die,” Garp replied grimly. “Senny was furious. I imagine he'll be on a special assignment soon. His father is a CP chief but Spandam's not there yet, he's still under Senny's order so...”

Whitebeard, usually calm in the face of conflict, let out a low growl. “What are you going to do with Luffy? He needs to be with his family.”

"I am his family," Garp’s tone hardened, frustration seeping into his voice. “He can’t leave Marineford yet. Again, if he were to vanish now... it would raise too many questions. People would start looking and it wouldn’t be subtle. We can’t afford that. The kid’s been through enough. For now, he stays here, at least until things settle down.”

There was a long pause on the other end. 

“Garp,” Rayleigh spoke, his voice edged with concern. “Is there anything we can do?”

Garp’s voice lowered, as though he was speaking more to himself than to them. “Just stay away for now. If you show up, it’ll be too obvious. Let things cool down. We’ll keep an eye on him here. Luffy’s safe, that’s all that matters right now. But if you want to do something, keep your distance, and let me handle it. We’ll reach out when it’s the right time.”

There was a quiet resignation on the line as the others absorbed Garp’s words. Shanks, Whitebeard, Rayleigh, and Ace had no choice but to nod, even if it wasn’t what they wanted to hear.

“We understand, Garp,” Shanks said, his voice a little quieter now. “Just... take care of him. We’ll be there when you need us.”

Garp exhaled, relief flooding his voice for the first time. “I will. Don’t worry about Luffy. He’ll be alright.” His voice softened slightly. "He’s fine, Shanks. We'll call together tomorrow evening, okay?"

A heavy silence settled over the call. Then Whitebeard’s voice rumbled through once more. "We’ll hold down the fort on our end. Just don’t take too long, Garp. You know how these things can go."

Rayleigh added, more quietly this time, "Take care of him, Garp. Don’t let your guard down."

Garp’s expression hardened, though he couldn’t help but feel a tightness in his chest. "I will. He’s family. I’ll keep him safe."

Ace’s voice was quieter, but still filled with the same worry. "Alright, shitty geezer. Just don’t forget we’re all waiting for him to come home. Soon."

"I know," Garp said quietly, almost to himself. "I know."

With that, the line went silent as the call ended, and Garp placed the receiver back down, his heart heavy with the weight of everything that had just been said. Luffy was safe, but the next few months would be the hardest yet.

The days following Luffy’s arrival in Marineford were strangely quiet for everyone who knew Garp. The Vice-Admiral rarely left his house, choosing instead to remain by Luffy’s side. Garp wasn’t about to let him out of his sight again.

Luffy, still small and bruised both inside and out, clung to the old man. He rarely spoke much in the first two days, only nodding or muttering quiet responses when prompted. His usual loud energy was replaced with something subdued, more thoughtful and at times haunted. He slept a lot, curled under thick blankets, his tiny fists sometimes clenched even in dreams.

But slowly, with the familiarity of his gramps’ presence and the safety of the home, a bit of life began to return.

On the third day, Sengoku came to visit.

The Fleet Admiral knocked once before letting himself in, removing his hat with a sigh. “Don’t expect me to bow or bring cookies,” he grumbled.

Garp snorted from his seat by the fire. “Good, ‘cause I’m out of both.”

Luffy peeked out from behind the chair he was hiding behind, his eyes wide and curious. He remembered Sengoku from the ship. He'd been scary then, towering and unreadable. But here, in Garp’s home, he somehow seemed… less intimidating.

“Hello, Luffy,” Sengoku said gently, crouching slightly to meet the boy’s eyes. “I heard you’ve been doing better.”

Luffy blinked at him. Then, slowly, he walked over and touched the man's beard with his little hand, eyes narrowing. “You look like a goat.”

Sengoku froze. Garp burst out laughing so loudly that the windows rattled. Sengoku gave Luffy a long look, then let out a deep sigh and offered the faintest, most reluctant smile. “Yeah, you really are his grandson, a true Monkey D.”

From that moment on, Luffy warmed up to the Fleet Admiral.

On the fourth day, Dr. Kobato arrived.

The moment she stepped through the door, Luffy’s face lit up. “KOBO!!!” he shouted, bolting across the room to hug her legs. He nearly knocked her over.

“Careful, Luffy!” she laughed, crouching down and embracing him. “You’ve gotten stronger already.”

She gave him a thorough check-up while Garp watched silently. When she confirmed Luffy was healing well, Garp gave a low grunt of approval and stood up.

“I’ve got something for you,” he said, handing her a sealed envelope with an official insignia. “You’ve been reassigned. By me and Sengoku approved.”

Dr. Kobato raised an eyebrow as she opened it. Inside were two options, printed neatly in bold script:

1. Head Doctor aboard Vice Admiral Garp’s ship.
2. Chief Pediatrician of the Marineford Central Hospital, Children’s Ward.

Her hand trembled just a little as she looked up. “You’re… giving me a choice?”

“We don’t offer those often,” Garp said bluntly. “You earned it. Wherever you go, you’ll be helping the next brat who needs saving.”

She swallowed, touched and overwhelmed.

By the fifth day, Luffy was brave enough to venture outside with Garp.

Bundled in a little coat, he stuck close to his gramps’ side, practically welded to the old man’s leg. Garp, clearly used to the attachment by now, let the boy cling and even pulled his long cloak over Luffy’s head like a tent.

The two walked through the base in the early morning light. Some marines stopped and stared.

A few eyed the boy warily, whispers of “Pirate’s son” and “trouble” passed between them like fog.

But others, recognizing the chance, offered kind smiles or bows to Garp, their eyes flicking down to Luffy with forced friendliness. Garp noticed. He always noticed.

Luffy noticed too. He said nothing, just stayed hidden beneath the warm fold of his grandfather’s cloak.

But the tiniest spark of his old fire had returned, just enough to peek one eye out from the shadows and stick out his tongue at the soldiers who stared too long.

Garp grinned. Yeah, he was getting better.

By the end of the week, Garp found himself facing a very different kind of battle than he was used to.

Clothes.

More specifically, getting Luffy into clothes that didn’t look like they’d been dragged through a battlefield, which, to be fair, they basically had now.

After some back-and-forth with logistics, Garp had arranged for a fresh set of children’s clothes. Of course, he’d requested the only kind he found acceptable: miniature versions of the standard Marine outfit. Clean white and blue, crisp, with a little jacket and matching hat. It was adorable.

“Nooooooo!” the boy whined, rolling dramatically on the tatami mat floor of Garp’s house like he was being tortured. “It’s itchy! I don’t wanna wear Marine stuff! I'll stink in these!”

“You were just wearing Marine pajamas yesterday,” Garp groaned, arms crossed.

“Those were sleepy clothes! This is fighting clothes!”

“It’s just a uniform, brat!”

“IT’S A TRAP!”

Garp muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse before pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked down at Luffy, who had somehow wriggled halfway under the table in his effort to escape “The Evil Shirt.” The old man inhaled slowly. Then, he grinned.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “Marines who wear their uniforms get big, delicious feasts.”

Luffy’s little face peeked out from under the table, suspicious. “What kind of feast?”

Garp shrugged casually. “Mm, I dunno. Maybe roast meat. Maybe rice buns. Maybe three whole plates of curry and dessert. Marines eat a lot.”

There was a long silence.

Then, as if driven by some ancestral Monkey instinct, Luffy exploded out from under the table. “WHERE’S THE PANTS?!”

Within fifteen minutes, he was standing in front of the mirror in his tiny, perfect little Marine uniform. He kept tugging at the collar, but his eyes sparkled and the moment Garp handed him a matching hat to perch atop his unruly red hair, Luffy grinned.

“Do I look strong?” he asked proudly.

“Like a monster,” Garp said fondly. “Now let’s go get you that feast.”

Their walk through Marineford that day was different.

Luffy no longer hid under Garp’s cloak. Instead, he walked beside his grandfather with one hand clutching onto the hem of the old man’s coat, small but steady. Other times, when he got tired, Garp hoisted him onto his shoulders. From up there, Luffy could see everything and he made full use of it.

“Oooh, that guy’s hair is funny!”

“Gramps, look! They have squid!”

“Can we eat that next?”

Each chirp was followed by Garp’s booming laugh. The old man didn’t rush him. He let Luffy guide their pace, stopping at the food stalls as often as the boy asked. Vendors were startled at first, understandably so, but when the Vice-Admiral ordered three plates of yakitori without blinking and Luffy squealed in delight, they all relaxed a little.

The child who had once trembled under a cloak now laughed through a mouth full of food, happily swinging his legs on Garp’s shoulders.

And for the first time in a long while, the sound of that laughter felt like healing.

Garp didn’t say much, but every time Luffy leaned down and patted his head, calling “Faster, Gramps!” like they were the only two people in the world, his heart grew just a little bit lighter.

Garp had resisted it at first.

“Why the hell would I bring a toddler to a strategy meeting?” he’d grunted.

But Sengoku was persistent, as he often was when something annoyed him enough. “You’re the one who insisted on keeping him with you twenty-four-seven. Either leave him with a sitter or bring him in. I’m tired of rescheduling councils around nap time.”

So Garp had shown up the next morning, arms crossed, Luffy perched on his shoulder like a monkey, one fist clutching the sleeve of Garp’s coat and the other holding a rice ball half his size.

“He doesn’t talk much,” Garp said, more gruff than apologetic, “just let him sit with the goat.”

And to Sengoku’s surprise, that’s exactly what Luffy did.

For the first day or so, the little red-haired boy sat peacefully cross-legged on the floor in the corner of the room, happily mumbling to the Fleet Admiral’s beloved goat. Sengoku would occasionally glance over at him, expecting noise, chaos, or at the very least, boredom, but Luffy remained weirdly focused, seemingly deep in quiet conversation with the animal.

It was only on the second day, halfway through a discussion on supply lines and pirate fleet movements, that Garp suddenly frowned.

“Wait a second,” he muttered.

“What?” Sengoku asked, still scribbling notes.

Garp squinted at the corner. “He’s not just... babbling.”

Sengoku followed his gaze and stared for a moment.

Luffy sat, head tilted slightly, brows furrowed in concentration. He’d say something in a soft whisper. The goat would bleat. Luffy would giggle, nod, and respond with another quiet sentence.

“...Is he having a conversation?” Sengoku asked slowly.

Garp leaned forward in his chair, arms on his knees. “He’s answering it.”

They both stared a moment longer, then exchanged a look. A long, silent look full of old memories, of whispers about the sea kings, of Roger and then...

“Voice of All Things, of course. We've seen it in the realm, haven't we?” Sengoku muttered under his breath.

Garp just nodded slowly.

“Should we—?”

“Nope,” Garp cut in. “He’s quiet. Let him be.”

And so they let it be. The goat seemed content, Luffy stayed still, and the world didn’t end.

That is, until the third day.

The doors to the war room opened with a hiss, and in walked them.

The other Vice-Admirals.

Sakazuki. Borsalino. Kuzan.

All three strode in and the air chilling slightly with their presence. They barely gave Luffy a passing glance at first.

The moment Sakazuki stepped into the room, Luffy froze.

His back stiffened. His hands clenched. And his eyes—his wide, red-rimmed eyes—locked onto the Admiral’s face like he’d seen a ghost from his worst nightmare.

Then came the trembling. And then, the panic.

“No—No, no, no, no!” Luffy’s voice rose in pitch, panic mounting as tears welled in his eyes. “No, Gramps—no!”

The meeting ground to a screeching halt as Luffy bolted from the corner, practically diving toward Garp’s chair. Garp caught him mid-leap, already standing, heart twisting at the sheer terror in his grandson’s face.

Luffy sobbed into his shoulder, clawing at his coat. “Gramps don’t let them—Please, please, please—!”

Garp didn’t speak. He couldn’t. One hand went to his chest, pressing over his sternum like he could physically hold his heart together. His breath hitched.

Sengoku had already risen, walking slowly toward them. “Luffy,” he said quietly, “it’s alright. No one’s going to hurt you here.”

The Admirals, for their part, were frozen in confusion.

“Ne, who’s that?” Borsalino asked, one brow lazily raised.

Sakazuki narrowed his eyes. “That’s the pirate child, isn’t it?”

“Can we not make this another drama,” Kuzan muttered, scratching the back of his head, “some of us would like to just finish the briefing.”

But Luffy wasn’t calming down. His tiny body shook in Garp’s arms, his breath coming in fast, shallow gasps as he buried his face in Garp’s collar.

Sengoku kneeled beside the two, ignoring the rest, trying to look at the child. Garp just cradled his grandson tighter, rocking him slightly. 

Behind them, the Admirals remained silent, watching a child sob in the arms of a man who could crush islands. 

Sengoku didn’t speak right away. He stood up, his hands were folded behind his back, but his eyes were still fixed sharply on the trembling child in Garp’s arms. Garp, meanwhile, kept one large hand braced against Luffy’s back, the other cradling the boy’s head as if trying to shield him.

Luffy was silent now, his head pressed against his Gramps chest, listening to the faint lullaby coming from underneath his Gramps clothes. His fists were balled tightly into Garp’s coat.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of tension.

Borsalino, ever casual, raised an eyebrow. “Hm... he's really scared, huh?”

Sakazuki scoffed quietly, arms folded. “This is the pirate child you all made such a fuss about?”

Aokiji’s brow furrowed slightly, and he glanced toward Sengoku. “Can we please, please get on with the meeting?”

But Luffy suddenly flinched at the sound of Sakazuki’s voice, letting out a sharp, panicked gasp. His whole body stiffened, and then a strangled whimper escaped him: raw, childlike, helpless.

Garp’s hand immediately moved to cup the back of his head again, his own jaw tightening. He looked down at Luffy, then up at Sengoku. “We’re leaving.”

Sengoku didn’t argue.

He looked down at Luffy, then back to the Vice-Admirals, expression unreadable. “He’s been through a lot,” he said simply. “He doesn’t need to explain himself.”

Sakazuki narrowed his eyes. “With all due respect, Fleet Admiral—”

“With all due respect,” Sengoku interrupted coolly, “sit down, Sakazuki.”

The silence that followed was colder than any ice Kuzan could conjure.

Luffy still clung to Garp, his tiny chest rising and falling rapidly with each panicked breath. His eyes weren’t even visible, he wouldn’t look at them. Wouldn’t move. But he hadn’t made a sound since the last shuddered whimper.

“I’m taking him home,” Garp said again, voice firm and low. There was no space for argument in it.

Sengoku gave a single nod. “Go.”

And without waiting for another word, Garp turned and walked out of the strategy room, his grandson tight in his arms. The door shut behind them with a quiet click, but the echo it left in the room was louder than anything spoken.

The three Vice-Admirals stared after them.

“…He didn’t even look at us,” Borsalino murmured.

“He didn’t need to,” Sengoku replied, settling back in his chair. “Some instincts don’t lie.”

There was a knock at the door just as the sky outside Garp’s home turned from gold to deep blue. Garp was seated in his favourite armchair, a newspaper folded on his lap and a still-warm cup of tea in his hand. Upstairs, the quiet rhythm of a child’s breathing told him Luffy was still napping peacefully after what happened earlier.

He raised an eyebrow at the knock but didn’t get up immediately.

Another knock came, this one more casual, almost lazy.

“Come in,” Garp called finally.

The door creaked open, and in stepped Borsalino, the admiral’s ever-unbothered posture silhouetted in the evening light.

“Vice Admiral Garp,” Borsalino said with a slow drawl, hands in his pockets, “sorry to intrude on your off-hours.”

Garp didn’t stand. “I doubt you’re sorry at all. If you’re here to complain about the meeting again, save it.”

Borsalino gave a ghost of a grin. “Actually, no. I came about the kid.”

Garp’s gaze sharpened immediately. “What about him?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Borsalino said, lifting his hands lightly. “No bad intentions. I’m just curious. He’s... interesting, nee.”

Garp didn’t respond, and Borsalino wandered farther into the room, eyeing a few of the small toys scattered near the stairs. “I’ve been hearing things. Mostly whispers from the lower ranks. Some say he’s a secret weapon.”

“Gossip,” Garp said dryly.

“And the most persistent rumor,” Borsalino added, a little more pointedly, “is that he’s not just any pirate’s kid.”

Garp’s expression didn’t shift, but his eyes sharpened ever so slightly.

“He really yours?” Borsalino asked, still light, still casual. “There’s talk that he’s... well. Special.”

Garp huffed. “I had a daughter. She’s gone now.”

“Oh?” Borsalino blinked, genuinely surprised. “Didn’t know you had kids besides your...son.”

“That’s how I wanted it.” Garp’s voice was curt. “Luffy’s her son. He's my own blood. His father’s a pirate though.”

Borsalino tilted his head, thoughtful. “That explains the red hair.”

Garp didn’t confirm or deny it.

There was a pause. Then, Borsalino’s voice dropped just slightly in volume. Less curious now, more contemplative. “You’re raising him?”

Garp let out a low grunt. “Someone has to.”

“Fair enough. Just thought I’d ask before the papers start doing it for us.”

He turned to glance toward the staircase, voice a little quieter now. “He’s been through a lot, hasn’t he?”

“More than he should’ve,” Garp said. His voice was low, but something about the weight behind it was unmistakable.

For a while, silence stretched between the two men. Borsalino wandered closer to the window, peeking out at the Marineford skyline as the last sunlight faded. “It’s funny,” he murmured. “He’s just a little thing… and yet half the command’s walking on eggshells because of him.”

Garp didn’t respond.

“He's sleeping?” Borsalino asked after a moment.

“Was,” Garp muttered, glancing at the stairs.

As if on cue, there was a soft creak at the top of the staircase. Small hands gripped the railing and a messy head of red hair peeked around the banister. Luffy’s big eyes blinked blearily toward the living room, but the moment he caught sight of Borsalino, his entire body froze.

The atmosphere shifted.

Before Garp saw it, he felt it in his chest. Luffy’s limbs went stiff. His breathing stilled. His knuckles whitened on the railing. He was too young to mask fear, but old enough to feel it sharply.

“It’s alright, Luffy,” Garp said, voice firm but kind. “He won’t hurt you. Come here.”

Luffy didn’t move for a long second. Then, slowly—hesitantly—he began to descend the stairs, one tiny foot at a time.

By the time he reached the last step, his small hands were balled into fists. He didn’t take his eyes off Borsalino.

But he trusted his Gramps.

So he crossed the room, head low, and climbed into his grandfather’s lap. Garp settled an arm around him without a word, his presence enough to calm the boy’s shallow breathing.

Borsalino watched this with open curiosity. “So that’s him,” he said softly. “Huh.”

“Well,” he added, crouching slightly to meet Luffy’s gaze. “Aren’t you brave.”

Luffy said nothing, but his fingers gripped Garp’s sleeve tighter.

“This is Vice-Admiral Borsalino, Codename Kizaru,” Garp said. “He works with me. And this here—” he gave Luffy’s back a gentle pat “—is Monkey D. Luffy. Yes, he got my last name. Luffy turned four not long ago.”

Borsalino blinked. “Already four?”

“Yep.” Garp gave a dry chuckle. “Birthday was nearly two weeks ago. The celebration was… cut short thanks to one person.”

Luffy’s lip wobbled slightly and he nodded against Garp’s chest.

Borsalino lowered himself slightly more to Luffy’s level but keeping a respectful distance. “That’s rough, kid. But happy belated birthday.”

Luffy didn’t respond at first, but when Garp gave his back a small pat, he mumbled, “Thanks.”

Borsalino smiled faintly. “You don’t talk much, huh?”

“He talks plenty when he wants to,” Garp said, a bit of fondness sneaking into his tone. “Brat, can you please say at least hello?”

There was another beat of silence, and then, in a small, almost unsure voice, Luffy mumbled, “...Hi.”

Borsalino gave a faint grin. “Hi yourself. You can call me Kizaru if Borsalino’s too long.”

Luffy tilted his head slightly, still pressed against Garp. “Kizawoo?”

“Close enough,” Borsalino said with a small chuckle.

They lapsed into a strange sort of peace. Luffy stayed nestled against Garp, but his shoulders gradually relaxed. Borsalino didn’t push. He didn’t ask questions. Just watched, his golden eyes thoughtful in the dim light.

Luffy’s voice came quietly, “Scary.”

Borsalino’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t look offended. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’d be careful of me too.”

Luffy eyed him for a moment longer before whispering, “You talk funny.”

That earned a small laugh from both men.

Borsalino leaned back, stretching his legs out with a sigh. “Well. You’ve got guts, little man. Not many people look me in the face like that.”

Luffy seemed a little more relaxed now, nestled in Garp’s arms like it was the safest place in the world.

Borsalino glanced at Garp again. “He’s something else.”

“Yeah,” Garp murmured. “He really is.”

And though Borsalino didn’t press again, his eyes lingered on the boy, like he was trying to understand a puzzle only half-built.

Eventually, he stood and stretched. “Alright. I’ll let you two get back to your night. Thanks for the talk, Vice-Admiral.”

“Don’t thank me,” Garp muttered, but his tone wasn’t unkind.

Before Borsalino left, he gave Luffy one last glance. “Take care of yourself, Luffy.”

Luffy didn’t reply, but he didn’t hide either.

As the door closed behind the admiral, Garp looked down and ruffled Luffy’s hair.

“You did good, brat.”

“I still don’t like him,” Luffy muttered.

“You don’t have to,” Garp said, settling back in his chair. “Just gotta know who’s safe. That’s enough for now.”

Luffy yawned and nodded, already halfway back to sleep.

And Garp held him close, staring at the door long after it shut, mind still turning over the unspoken questions that wouldn’t go away.

It started as a curiosity. Then, maybe, as a routine.

The evenings in Garp’s quiet Marineford home grew a little less quiet after that first visit. Borsalino returned the next night, then the one after, casually knocking at the door with the same sluggish gait and lazy grin, always claiming it was “on the way” or “just passing by.” Garp never questioned it. He just grunted and let him in.

At first, Luffy still hid a little, either behind Garp’s leg or under the corner of a blanket, peeking with suspicion over the edge of the couch. But Borsalino, for all his strange mannerisms, never forced anything. He just brought small offerings, like a diplomat visiting a foreign court. The first night, it was a box of sweet rice crackers. The second, a soft toy in the shape of a goat that looked suspiciously like Sengoku’s pet.

Luffy took them without saying much. But he didn’t hide as much, either.

On the third night, Borsalino showed up with a bag of warm dango skewers, freshly bought from a stall down the street. That was the breakthrough.

The moment Luffy caught the scent, he practically appeared out of thin air. No more lurking. He sat beside Garp, eyeing the bag as if it contained treasure.

“Want one?” Borsalino asked, half-smiling.

Luffy didn’t answer with words, just nodded and held out both hands.

From then on, the strategy was clear: food was the key.

Borsalino started showing up with all kinds of snacks. Fish-shaped pastries. Warm buns. Dumplings. He even once brought a mini fruit cake, awkwardly boxed and tied with a ribbon, which Luffy devoured in silence.

They didn’t talk much, still. But Luffy began sitting closer. Sometimes on the same side of the room. Once even next to him.

Then, on the eight day, it happened.

Luffy took the wrapped package from Borsalino’s hand, eyes wide with excitement. It was some kind of fried dough, still warm and dusted with sugar. He took a bite, humming happily and then, without looking up, said quietly:

“Thanks, Woowoo.”

The silence that followed lasted exactly half a second.

Then Garp burst out laughing. Loud, uncontrollable, belly-shaking laughter that made the furniture vibrate.

Borsalino blinked. “...Woowoo?”

Still cackling, Garp slapped the arm of his chair. “Luffy! Oh hell, I’m gonna die.”

Luffy frowned and shrank a little. “I didn’t mean—!”

But Garp, wiping tears from his eyes, leaned forward. “Last week,” he wheezed, “he called you Kizawoo. Remember? Seems like he couldn't remember the first part anymore. Kid can’t do names for shit.”

Luffy’s ears turned red.

Garp snorted again. “Now it’s Woowoo. Sounds like he’s calling you Vovô—that’s Eastern for ‘grandpa.’”

“I’m not calling him Vovô!” Luffy yelped, cheeks burning.

Borsalino just blinked again, then tilted his head and gave a rare, genuine chuckle. “Well,” he said, amused, “if my name’s too hard, you can call me Woowoo, if you want.”

Luffy gave him a squinty, suspicious glare. “...Really?”

“Sure.” Borsalino leaned back. “Woowoo’s not so bad.”

From that moment, something shifted, the barrier between them began to dissolve. Luffy didn’t hide anymore. In fact, he started glancing up at the man with less suspicion. When Borsalino would ask him simple questions, like, "How’s your dinner?" or "Did you play outside today?" Luffy would give little nods and murmurs in response, like he was trying to figure out what to make of the man. The walls around him were slowly coming down. He even smiled once when Borsalino made a funny face with a dumpling.

Borsalino, to his own quiet surprise, enjoyed the evenings. He found himself listening more, watching how Luffy fiddled with his food, how he leaned into Garp when tired, how he squinted at grown-up words like he was trying to puzzle them out. He didn’t press for answers anymore. The mystery of the boy didn’t need solving, not right now.

Once, while Garp was out of the room, Luffy quietly held out half a pastry to him.

Borsalino blinked. “You sure?”

Luffy shrugged. “You brought it.”

He accepted it with a smile. “Thanks, little man.”

“Luffy,” Luffy corrected softly.

Borsalino grinned. “Right.”

By the end of the week, it had become a tradition: Borsalino would knock, Garp would grunt, Luffy would peek around the corner and the three of them would settle into a surprisingly warm, odd little rhythm of quiet food-sharing, soft chatter, and peaceful nights.

One night, Garp stepped out for a moment and Borsalino found Luffy sitting on the floor, curiously holding a strange, wriggling bug in his hand.

“Woowoo! Look! He punched me!” Luffy shouted gleefully, holding up a squirming bug in his tiny fist. “Right on the thumb! He’s real strong!”

Borsalino raised a brow, “Strong bug, huh?”

“Yeah! He’s trying out for my superhero team! But I dunno if he’s fast enough. Maybe I’ll make him the muscle.”

Luffy plopped down beside Borsalino on the wooden floor, the bug now crawling up his arm like it belonged there. The sun was setting, warm light spilling over Marineford like molasses. From inside the house, Garp could be heard yelling into his Den Den Mushi.

Perfect timing.

“So, kid,” Borsalino began, tone easy and casual, “you ever go bug hunting with your dad?”

Luffy blinked. “Mmm...”

A pause.

Then, too quickly, like he’d forgotten himself, he nodded. “Yeah! Sometimes! But mostly Ace and Sabo and me went. Ace was the best at catching bugs, but I found the weirdest ones! One time Sabo caught a shiny beetle and gave it a name. He called it... um... Sir Crunchy.”

Borsalino’s brows lifted, more amused than anything. “You’ve got brothers, huh?”

“Yup!” Luffy grinned proudly. “Ace is the—” He froze mid-sentence. His face dropped like a rock.

Suddenly, he slapped both hands over his mouth.

Borsalino tilted his head. “...What’s wrong?”

Luffy’s eyes went wide. He shook his head fiercely and mumbled through his palms, “Can’t say. S’posed to be a secret.”

Borsalino leaned back, watching him quietly. “Secret, huh?”

Luffy gave a firm, serious nod, still clutching his mouth. Then, he whispered, “Gramps said I’m like a spy. Spies don’t tell secrets. Not even the super big ones.”

“Mm.” Borsalino studied him for a moment, almost impressed by the tiny boy’s commitment. He looked down at the bug still climbing Luffy’s arm. “Even bug secrets?”

Luffy hesitated... then shook his head again. “Not even bug ones.”

They sat in silence for a while, Luffy humming softly, watching the spider walk across his knee.

And Borsalino? He found himself frowning faintly, not at the silence, but at himself. At this weird little ache of curiosity growing in his chest. Why was he so interested in this pirate brat? He wasn’t supposed to like kids. He barely liked adults. And yet here he was, bringing snacks every evening, dodging spider legs, asking about fathers and brothers and secrets he had no business poking at.

It was dangerous.

But it didn’t feel like danger. It just felt like... warmth. Weird.

“Spy Luffy,” he said finally, “you’re doin’ a good job.”

Luffy lit up. “Really?!”

Borsalino gave him a small smile. “The best.”

Borsalino, to his own surprise, didn’t mind Luffy’s chatter about bugs and superhero beetles and Luffy was starting to see Borsalino less as a stranger and more like someone he could trust. But there were still some people Luffy just couldn’t get comfortable with.

The most obvious were Aokiji and Akainu. Luffy had seen them a few times now, and the sight of them filled him with dread. He didn't understand exactly why, but their presence made him feel like he needed to hide. When they entered the room, Luffy would immediately shrink back into Garp’s side, clutching his grandfather’s coat like a shield. 

Aokiji, despite his usually calm demeanor, didn’t really care for Luffy’s noise. The kid was loud, and Aokiji was not fond of loud. Luffy’s constant questions and rambling stories about bugs seemed to annoy him more than anything.

Akainu, on the other hand, hated Luffy outright. He had no patience for the little pirate brat, his disgust evident every time he laid eyes on Luffy. The boy reminded him of everything he hated about pirates—their recklessness, their inability to follow the rules. The irritating red hair was just the cherry on top. Every time Luffy made even the smallest noise, Akainu would growl in irritation, his fists clenching as if tempted to smash something.

“Oi, kid,” Akainu had snapped the other day when Luffy had gotten excited about his bug superhero plans again. “Can you shut up? Some of us are trying to work.”

Luffy, wide-eyed and trembling, immediately clung to Garp’s leg. “I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to tell Woowoo about the bugs! They’re so cool!”

Garp had rolled his eyes, muttering something about Akainu’s temperament before distracting Luffy with a promise of snacks.

Despite his fears, Luffy had learned to bear the meetings as long as Garp and Sengoku were present. When Borsalino was there, he felt a little better, although he still stayed close to his grandfather, watching Borsalino’s every move. At least he didn’t seem to mind the noise as much, and he occasionally tossed Luffy a smile or some candy to keep him quiet.

But today… it was going to be different.

The announcement had come late the night before. Garp was preparing Luffy for the inevitable. They had to attend an official meeting, and Garp, along with the rest of the Admirals and Vice-Admirals, was required to be there.

“Luffy,” Garp said with a slight sigh, rubbing his temple. “Listen, today’s going to be a little different. You have to sit through this one. All the Admirals and Vice-Admirals will be there. And they need to take a current photo.”

Luffy blinked, still half-asleep. “A photo?”

“Yeah, a picture. You know, smile for the camera.” Garp’s voice held an edge of amusement. “But listen. You’re going to be fine. Stay behind the camera where I can see you and everything will be okay.”

Luffy was supposed to stand still for the photo. Simple, right?

But the moment he stepped into the room, his small frame barely making a dent in the sea of towering Marines, he froze. His wide eyes darted around, taking in the rows of stern faces and all the military regalia glinting under the bright lights. His heart started racing.

Sengoku, already regretting the whole ordeal, rubbed his temples. “Garp, this is a disaster in the making. Get him under control.”

Garp, utterly unbothered, smirked. “Ah, don’t worry about it. The kid’s just overwhelmed. He’s not used to all these statues in uniforms.”

Luffy’s hands twitched as his gaze skipped from Sakazuki’s murderous glare to Kuzan’s icy expression. The tension was thick, and his small form seemed to shrink with every second.

Sengoku, his patience wearing thin, called out, “Luffy! Over here, now. Come on, kid.”

The boy hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other, as if considering an escape route.

Sengoku’s voice hardened. “Luffy, either come here and stand next to the goat, or go to your grandfather. Your choice.”

Luffy turned toward the goat, who just blinked at him like it had no idea how badly it was about to be associated with the kid. Instead, Luffy whispered, “Gramps,” and scampered over to his grandfather.

But in the process, Luffy tripped and landed squarely on Akainu’s foot.

The response was instantaneous. Akainu’s roar was deafening. “WHAT—you little pest?”

Luffy yelped, stumbling backward and tried to hide behind Garp’s cape. Akainu fumed, looking like he was about to melt something.

Tsuru was the voice of reason, stepping in between Akainu and Luffy. “He’s a kid, Sakazuki. Calm down.”

Sengoku, who had already reached the limit of his patience, called out, “Garp, for the love of—bring him here.”

With a low chuckle, Garp scooped Luffy into his arms, the kid squirming slightly but still clinging to him for dear life. He placed Luffy onto Sengoku’s lap like a misbehaved puppy.

“This year’s picture is going to be special,” Sengoku let out a heavy sigh. “Smile, little Monkey. You’re our mascot now.”

Luffy, still looking slightly terrified, was suddenly distracted by a familiar voice.

“Oi, Luffy,” Borsalino drawled from the back, his usual smirk hidden behind those sunglasses. “You’re the king of bugs and spiders, right? And what do kings do? They are strong and smile for photos. So, smile for the camera.”

Luffy, wide-eyed, processed this for a moment, then his face broke into a smile, the brightest and widest it could possibly be in that situation. The camera clicked.

And in that moment, Luffy’s bright crimson red hair stood out against the backdrop of the Marine’s signature white and blue uniforms like a vivid splash of color in a sea of stone faces. It practically screamed ‘childish joy,’ contrasting beautifully with the grim, stone-faced Marines surrounding him.

The photographer snapped the shot, capturing Luffy’s grin, the gleaming white uniforms, and the sea of intimidating faces, only one of which belonged to an innocent four-year-old.

Sengoku, not at all amused, muttered, “This is going to haunt me forever.”

“Perfect shot,” the photographer said, completely oblivious to the chaos that had just ensued.

“Destroy it,” Sengoku grumbled, clearly regretting every moment of the shoot.

Luffy exhaled in relief, but when he glanced back at the others, he saw Aokiji’s tired eyes on him and Akainu’s disgusted frown. His stomach churned.

“Gramps,” Luffy whispered, looking up at Garp. “Do we have to stay?”

Garp’s expression softened. “Not today, kid. We’re done. Come on, let’s go get you some ice cream.”

That was all Luffy needed to hear. As long as he had Garp by his side, he could get through anything—even if it meant sitting through more awkward meetings with people who made him want to crawl into a hole and hide.

The evening had settled into its usual routine. Luffy was sitting next to Garp, playing with his small action figures, while Borsalino was lounging nearby with a cup of tea, enjoying the rare peace in this household.

Suddenly, Garp’s phone rang, breaking the calm. He sighed, knowing full well who it was. The familiar sound of Shanks' voice was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now, but it was inevitable. He answered with a groan.

“Garp, what the hell are you thinking?” Shanks’ voice boomed through the receiver, and Garp winced, holding the phone a little farther from his ear. “Why did you take my son for an official photo? Are you out of your mind?”

Garp raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Borsalino, who merely raised an eyebrow in response, looking somewhat amused. He took a slow sip of his tea, clearly expecting the chaos that was about to unfold.

Luffy, who had been half-listening to the conversation, suddenly perked up. “Daddy! I miss you!” he yelled excitedly, holding his toy high above his head.

Shanks paused at the sound of Luffy’s voice, a mix of affection and frustration in his tone as he replied, “Yeah, I miss you too, little man. You doing alright with your grandpa?”

Garp leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've told you before, kid, you need to call in the morning, not in the evening."

Shanks snorted, clearly too amused to be bothered. “Yeah, and?” His voice shifted to one of mischief. “I just wanted to catch you while you were being an idiot, that’s all.”

“Shanks, come on—” Garp began to groan but was cut off by Luffy shouting again, excitedly.

But Shanks wasn’t done yet. “NO! My family’s going to see that photo, and you better make sure they don’t start sniffing around for MY son. I don’t need them poking into my business.”

Borsalino, who had been listening to the entire exchange, couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. His amusement faded for a moment as he processed Shanks' words, particularly the concern about his family seeing the photo. That was... interesting. He hadn’t expected that tone. 

“Daddy, Woowoo is here!” Luffy squealed, his little voice high-pitched with excitement.

“Woowoo?” Shanks repeated, clearly thrown off by the sudden nickname. “Who the hell is that?”

Luffy grinned and proudly pointed at Borsalino, who was sitting across the room with his usual cool demeanor. “Woowoo!” he said happily.

Kizaru, ever the picture of nonchalance, smiled lazily. “Hello, this is Kizaru,” he said in his signature sing-song voice.

Shanks froze for a beat, the realization settling in. “Wait, wait, wait—you’re kidding me, Garp?” His voice turned incredulous as he processed what he was hearing. “My son is hanging out with him? What the hell?”

Garp shrugged, clearly uninterested in the drama. “It’s not like that, Shanks. Don't worry. He’s just here because Luffy seems to like him.”

Shanks started on a tirade, practically shouting through the phone. “You’ve got my kid hanging out with a freaking Vice-Admiral and you’re telling me I shouldn't worry? I can’t—”

Luffy, unfazed, happily swung his legs from Garp’s lap. “Woowoo is nice!” he declared again, as if it explained everything.

Shanks sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course, he’s nice. You’re too sweet, kid. I’m seriously gonna have a talk with Garp about his friends, though.”

Garp, at this point, was trying hard not to laugh. He patted Luffy on the head and muttered, “I’ve told you, Shanks. Don’t worry about it.”

Luffy, oblivious to the adult conversation, leaned into Garp and, with a small frown, muttered, “Woowoo is nice...”

Shanks paused, clearly softening at the sound of his son’s voice, but his protective instincts still kicked in. “Of course he is, kid. You’re too sweet for your own good.” He let out a sigh, clearly torn. “Alright, alright, I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you, my sweet little Anchor.”

Luffy, having heard the familiar sign-off, echoed back with the same enthusiasm. “Love you too, Daddy!”

There was a brief pause before Shanks grumbled on the other end of the line, “Garp, I swear, you’re lucky he’s a good kid. I’ll talk to you later about this situation.”

With that, the call ended, leaving a slightly bemused and concerned silence behind.

Garp sighed heavily, glancing over at Borsalino, who was now observing the Den Den Mushi with more interest than he had before. He had never really thought about the red-haired Pirate like this, something about the way he had spoken that made Borsalino pause.

After a long silence, Borsalino broke it with a dry chuckle. “Anchor... He really calls him that, huh?”

Garp smirked, still trying to shake the edge of the conversation. “Yeah, yeah. He’s the only one who does.”

Borsalino took another sip of his tea, still processing. “And you didn’t tell me the whole story about this kid... But I guess I’ve got all the info I need now.”

Garp gave him a pointed look. “Nothing more to say, Woowoo. Don’t go digging where you don’t need to.”

Borsalino shrugged with a grin, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t worry, I’m just making sure I’m not getting involved in any family drama. You know how it is.”

And as Luffy bounced back to his toys, happily forgetting about the phone call, Borsalino couldn't help but wonder what Shanks was afraid of. The fact that he was so keen to protect the kid, even from something as simple as a photo, spoke volumes.