Chapter Text
The next day was brighter than the rest. Not just because of the weather, though the sun was warm and steady above the Red Force — but because the morning had been promising.
When Kuzan had woken, he had blinked at Shanks with wide, uncertain eyes — but he had not bolted. Not even when the captain had offered his hand. There had been a flicker of panic, a brief hesitation, and then he had allowed himself to be guided toward a small bathroom.
Shanks had taken that small victory to heart. The boy had washed quickly, and then together they had made their way to breakfast, where the crew — Benn included — had been waiting.
Benn had been slightly panicked when he hadn’t found Kuzan in his room earlier, but Mihawk had been able to reassure him.
The sun was high by the time the crew gathered on deck, the sea stretching calm and endless around them. Benn had once again attached himself firmly to Yasopp’s side, hanging on to every wild story the sharpshooter spun. The boy’s sharp little eyes lit up at each exaggerated detail, his laughter carrying over the creak of wood and the rush of waves.
Kuzan, however, had chosen differently.
He stood near Mihawk, thin arms folded under his oversized coat, silent but steady. The swordsman’s quiet presence seemed to soothe him, a wall against the world. And Kuzan, for all his suspicion and sharpness, leaned subtly closer, as though drawn to that stillness.
The crew noticed, of course. Amused glances were exchanged, a few knowing smirks tugged at lips, but no one said a word. Let the boy cling to whomever he wished.
But though none of them voiced it, the irony wasn’t lost that of all people, it was Mihawk he’d chosen. Stern, silent Mihawk — whose unflinching steadiness mirrored, in some ways, the man Benn would one day become, the man Kuzan would come to love.
It wasn’t long before Benn, buzzing with restless energy, tugged Yasopp toward Mihawk and Kuzan. The sharpshooter followed with a bemused grin, while Benn’s cape dragged behind him like a banner of mischief. When the two boys huddled together, their heads bent close, more than one Red Hair cocked an eyebrow.
Then Benn’s voice carried just enough for those nearest to catch, "Kuzan, wanna help us sneak some of the cookies baked this morning?" His grin was sharp, eyes sparking with the thrill of rebellion. "It’ll be fun!"
The crew’s grins widened. Lucky Roux himself chuckled softly from where he leaned against the rail, already predicting his treats’ doomed fate.
But the laughter died as quickly as it rose.
Kuzan froze. His thin shoulders stiffened under the oversized coat, and his eyes went wide with something far closer to fear than mischief. He shook his head hard, words spilling out in a rush. "No! I’m not— I’m not a thief! I don’t steal!"
The deck fell into silence. Even Benn blinked, caught off guard, his excitement faltering at the sharp panic in Kuzan’s tone. The boy’s voice cracked, even harsher the second time, as though he had to force the words louder just to make them true. "I’m not a thief!"
The crew traded uneasy glances. Even little Benn, normally unshakable in his confidence, looked suddenly small, caught in the storm of Kuzan’s fear. The silence dragged, heavy and awkward. A few of the men frowned, confused.
"Not a thief?" Hongo muttered under his breath. "Kid lived on the streets — what else was he supposed to do?"
Lucky Roux shrugged, bewildered. "Yeah, everyone takes what they need when they’ve got nothing."
But the longer they watched Kuzan, the clearer it became that this wasn’t about pride or stubbornness. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes were wide like a cornered animal. He wasn’t refusing because he thought stealing was wrong. He was terrified.
Shanks' face darkened suddenly as the truth slid into place. "He must’ve been caught." He said quietly, almost to himself. "More than once."
Heads turned his way.
"Caught, and punished." he added grimly. "Beaten, maybe worse. You don’t get fear like that from nothing."
The thought hit the crew like a cannonball.
Benn’s grin had already wilted, confusion flickering across his young face. "It’s just cookies." he tried, voice small. "Nobody’s gonna—"
“No!” Kuzan snapped, louder this time, his voice cracking. "You don’t understand—we can’t! You get caught, they—beat you, or they lock you up, they don’t feed you, they—" His words tumbled over each other, frantic, tangled with half-formed memories.
Benn flinched, his excitement gone, replaced with something uncertain and frightened.
Kuzan’s eyes darted wildly, landing on Mihawk. He stumbled closer, clutching at the edge of the swordsman’s coat with small, trembling fingers. "I’m not a thief!" he begged, desperate. His voice broke on the words. "I’m not. Please—don’t punish me."
The deck went utterly silent. Every Red Hair froze, stunned by the plea. The boy wasn’t defiant now, wasn’t angry—he was pleading for his safety.
A few of the Red Hairs shifted, instinct tugging them to speak up, to reassure the trembling boy. But Mihawk was quicker.
The swordsman looked down at the child clinging to him. His golden eyes, sharp as blades, softened fractionally. He didn’t crouch, but his hand settled firmly on Kuzan’s shoulder and his voice, when it came, was calm and sure as steel.
"Kuzan, as far as you are concerned, there are three truths on this ship."
The boy froze, wide eyes fixed on him.
"First," Mihawk said, his tone firm but steady, "you will never be punished like that here. Not by me. Not by anyone."
Kuzan’s grip on his coat eased a fraction, though his gaze remained wary.
"Second," Mihawk continued, golden eyes unflinching, "you don’t need to steal anything aboard this ship. Everything you need will be given to you freely."
For the first time, the boy’s breathing slowed, the edge of panic softening into something small and uncertain.
Mihawk let the silence stretch just long enough before adding, with the faintest curve at his mouth, "And third—the cookies are better when they are stolen."
The words landed like a pebble tossed into still water. For a beat, no one moved, the crew staring in disbelief at the former warlord’s tiny crack of a smile, at the quiet joke meant for a child. Everyone but Shanks. The red-haired captain simply grinned, unsurprised, watching as Kuzan blinked up at Mihawk, confusion warring with a reluctant spark of curiosity.
The weight of Mihawk’s words still hung in the air when Yasopp, ever the opportunist, grinned. He leaned down just enough to catch both children's eyes, voice sing-song with mischief. "See? Even the big scary swordsman says we should steal the cookies."
Benn lit up instantly, the fear of moments ago forgotten in the thrill of the game. "Yeah! He did say it!" he agreed, his small hands balling into excited fists. "That means we have to do it now!"
The crew groaned and chuckled in equal measure, some shaking their heads, others biting back laughter at the sheer absurdity of it all. The sharp edge of the moment dulled, softened into something warmer, safer. Shanks leaned against the rail, hiding his smile behind his hand.
Kuzan, still gripping Mihawk’s coat, stared at them like he couldn’t quite understand what just happened. The panic hadn’t vanished entirely, but the boy’s expression shifted, confusion mixing with reluctant wonder.
By the time the sun dipped low, the day had taken on a rhythm the crew hadn’t expected. Kuzan—still cautious—had finally muttered that he’d join the cookie plan… but only if Mihawk helped him.
That, more than anything, stunned the ship into silence. The swordsman’s answer was as even as always, but the faint nod he gave sent a ripple of disbelief across the deck. Mihawk, the embodiment of seriousness, consenting to aid in petty theft for the sake of a child.
And so the unlikely quartet was formed: Kuzan, Benn, Mihawk, and Yasopp. The boys whispered furiously in their corner, sketching out their evil plan with all the gravity of master tacticians. Yasopp accepted into his role with relish, swearing he’d distract Lucky Roux with flair. Mihawk stood silent, but when Kuzan looked up at him, the faintest curve tugged his mouth, and that alone seemed to steady the boy.
When a solid strategy was finally approved by the four schemers, the crew looked on with smothered grins. Yasopp, dramatically fainted in the cook's arms, and had Lucky Roux half laughing, half annoyed, while Mihawk calmly guided the children toward the kitchen. Once the three oh them reached their target, he lifted the two small figures up toward the high shelf stacked with fresh-baked cookies.
It was absurd, and reckless. Yet it was the most fun the crew had seen the boy have since stepping aboard.
By the time the spoils were divided—crumbs on little fingers, triumphant giggles spilling into the night—even Shanks couldn’t hide his grin. They hadn’t just stolen cookies. They’d stolen something far rarer: a glimpse of childhood, fragile but real.