Chapter Text
Kuzan's body was heavy, sluggish, as though the fog from the battle had settled deep into his bones.
Then sounds broke through — muffled voices, footsteps, the faint creak of wood. The scent of salt, of medicine, of food simmering somewhere far away. None of it made sense.
Kuzan’s eyes snapped open.
The world swam into focus slowly, with blindingly bright lanterns overhead burning his vision. His breath hitched as he tried to sit up—only for pain to lash through his body, and something far worse to drag him down.
His wrists were shackled, the dull ache of sea-stone pressing against his skin. The chains were fixed to either side of the narrow bed. His powers were gone, stripped away, the familiar hum of cold under his skin was simply… absent. His heart lurched, hammering against his ribs, and panic knifed through the haze as he thrashed, chains rattling.
"Easy, don’t move too much."
The voice was steady and calm, yet Kuzan froze, recognition warring with terror. The ice wielder turned his head, slow and deliberate, until his gaze settled on the figure seated across from him, the Yonko's red hair catching the lantern's light like fire.
Kuzan’s pulse roared in his ears while the chains cut into his wrists as he yanked against them, ignoring the white-hot pain that flared through his half-healed wounds.
"You think this will hold me?" His voice was ragged, a snarl bubbling up from the back of his throat. But the pirate’s voice cut through his struggles.
"We didn’t want to fight you, Kuzan. We tried to stop you without this." His gaze flicked briefly to the chains. “But you left us no choice.”
"Shut up!" Kuzan snapped, his chest heaving as he fought once again the restraints.
But the emperor kept going, softer now. “You’re safe here. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
The words only made Kuzan’s chest seize tighter. His breath became shallow and jagged.
"Safe?" he spat, trembling, his voice raw. "You expect me to believe that? After everything—you think I’ll just stay here and—" His throat closed, cutting him off, rage strangled by panic.
Terror coiled hot and sharp in his gut, and confusion tangled with it until he couldn’t breathe. He had stood against emperors before—so why did this pirate’s calm voice make his skin crawl? Sweat slid down his temple, so he forced his head aside, every muscle trembling.
"You’re lying." he rasped, voice breaking under fear he couldn’t name.
Why was he so afraid?
Outside, Benn heard every word. He had been standing in the narrow corridor with Hongo, hands clenched tight at his sides, but that last broken accusation hit like a blade through the chest. Before he knew it, he’d shoved the door open, the hinges gaving a low, protesting groan as he stepped into the infirmary.
Kuzan froze, eyes flicking toward the sound — wide, glassy, feral with mistrust. Benn crossed the room in slow, measured steps and lowered himself into the empty chair beside Shanks, his gaze never leaving Kuzan’s face.
"Kuzan…" His voice was low, rough. His hand twitched as though to reach out, but he stopped himself just short of touching the other man. "It’s me."
The former admiral flinched as if struck, shaking his head violently. “Stop it!” he hissed, voice cracking. “Don’t—don’t talk to me like that.”
"You don’t see it, do you? What they’ve done to you." The vice-captain kept going quietly. "But I love you, Kuzan. I need you."
And for a moment—one impossible, fragile moment—something flickered in Kuzan’s eyes. A shadow of memory, the faintest echo of warmth. But it melted as quickly as it had appeared.
Kuzan’s whole body begin to tremble against the restraints; muscles taut, fury barely contained. "Liar!" He roared.
The chains snapped taut as he pulled, his muscles straining. The bunk beneath him shuddered and creaked, bolts whining in protest. Even drained and weakened, his strength and haki were monstrous — the room filled with the sound of metal screaming under pressure. For a moment it looked as though he might break free despite the sea-stone.
"Hold him!" Hongo barked, already reaching for the vial at his belt.
Benn moved instinctively, pressing his weight against Kuzan’s shoulders even as it tore at him to do it.
"Now!" Shanks ordered.
"I’m sorry…" Hongo whispered as he plunged the needle into Kuzan’s arm.
The former admiral fought back, snarling, until his movements slowed, dulled, finally sagging under the weight of the sedative. The fight drained out of him, leaving only silence and the steady rattle of his breath.
Benn collapsed back against the wall, his chest heaving. He pressed a hand over his eyes, trembling. His breath shuddered out. "We’ll get you back, Kuzan." he whispered.
Shanks placed a steady hand on his shoulder. "Whatever they’ve done to him… it’s deep. We’ll need help."
And in the dim lantern light, Benn looked at the man he loved—and at the moment that seemed to be beyond reach.
"You went too far, Sakazuki."
Borsalino’s words were soft, almost a sigh, as the image of an unconscious Kuzan being dragged across the dirty stones of the cell kept replaying in his mind. Shackles had clinked with each brutal pull, his body leaving a dark smear where his blood had touched the ground. He had soon been discarded on the shore, a piece of bait left for the pirates.
Sakazuki didn’t look at him. His gaze was fixed forward, his jaw set like stone. "Don’t tell me you feel pity for that traitor."
"He was once a friend." Borsalino murmured, his usual lazy drawl gone, replaced by something quieter, almost mournful.
"For you, maybe." Sakazuki’s reply was hard, final.
Borsalino didn’t move. His hands were folded behind his back, but his gaze lingered on the trail of blood Kuzan left behind.
"Best case scenario," Sakazuki continued, his voice low and merciless, "he takes some of Akagami’s men down with him. Worst case, he dies useless. Either way, he’s finished."
For a moment, Borsalino wondered if the man beside him was the same one they had once called comrade. The same man who had once laughed, drank, and fought shoulder to shoulder with him and Kuzan. He wasn’t sure anymore.
"And who knows…" Sakazuki’s voice dropped into something almost cruelly joyful. "If he somehow crawls back alive, maybe I’ll have my fun with him before the execution."
Borsalino turned sharply, eyes widening. For an instant, his usual mask of indifference cracked, and genuine horror flickered across his face.
Sakazuki caught it and shrugged, as if it were nothing. "Don’t look at me like that. You know what has to be done. Get ready."
Borsalino looked down at the file in his hand — his orders. Escort the CP8 agent to a secure location and then come back. A simple task, one he had done countless times before. And yet, this time it felt heavier.
Borsalino swallowed, the taste bitter. He had always obeyed without hesitation. Detached. Unmoved. That was how he survived. Passion had consumed both Sakazuki and Kuzan, each in their own way. He had sworn never to follow them into that fire.
But now…
He knew what Vegapunk whispered about. The Revolutionaries, the Lost Century... Things the Gorōsei would burn the world to bury. And sooner or later, they would send him to erase it all. To erase them.
He slipped the file away. His expression was calm again, unreadable, the mask firmly back in place. “Of course. I’ll see it done.”
But as he turned away, his hand brushed over the transponder snail at his belt. The weight of it was suddenly immense.
He had a call to make.