Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Luffy’s voice vanishes in the way the sound cuts off as you wake up from a dream. 

Sanji's preparing for dinner when it happens. He's busy cutting up a collection of vegetables, stirring a pot of chicken broth, balancing a dozen other things—but with just enough breathing room to make the ladies an mid-afternoon drink, he goes to take out the tea cup set the crew got him for his birthday.

It shatters across the floor. 

Sanji blinks, wide-eyed. His cigarette falls from his mouth, landing amidst shattered porcelain shards. His hands snap up to cover and clutch at his ears—his heart nearly tearing its way out of his chest, drumming to a rhythm ever so off, but the sound of it nearly drowns beneath the ringing of the encroaching silence.

Sanji staggers out the galley door. Pushes off the frame. Trips over his feet. It will only be a few hours later that he will realize that he forgot to turn off the stove. 

The moment Sanji spots Usopp sprawled over the deck around a spread of paint and paper, he shouts, “Usopp!” His voice doesn’t sound like his own. “Where’s Luffy?”  

Looking up, Usopp tilts his head and replies idly, “I thought he went to explore the island?” But there must be something telling in Sanji’s expression, because in the next second, he’s up on his feet and asking, “What’s up? Did something happen?” 

The world has gone silent in the way a person’s heart stops beating. Sanji breathes and breathes. “He’s gone.” 

Usopp frowns, scrunching his forehead as he replies slowly, “He probably just wandered a bit far this time. No biggie—”

“That’s not it!” Sanji snaps before he flinches, taken back by the sound of his own panic. 

And soon enough, the two of them aren’t the only ones on deck because Zoro descends from the crow’s nest, Franky emerges from the aquarium, and Nami and Robin are—it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, because—

“Sanji, it’s alright. Calm down…” 

“Usopp, he’s not on the island anymore.” Sanji’s hands fall to his sides before his fingers rise back up to clamp down on his scalp, and instinct is an ugly knowing wrongness filling his lungs. Sanji stumbles on weakly, “I heard him. I heard him one moment, and the next, I—” 

Luffy’s voice vanished in the way that something was stolen from you. 

Past dense evergreen and overgrowth, Sanji hurries through the forest, the crew only a breath behind. Sanji’s never had a problem finding Luffy. His voice has always thrummed loud and warm and bright, and Sanji’s only gotten more practice over the years at sea. 

They’re led to a tipped-over straw hat, alone and abandoned on the floor. 

Sanji’s face freezes up when he sees it. He slows to a stop, and it’s like trudging through mud to reach out for it. He takes it up in hand—slow and careful. A pit opens up in Sanji’s stomach, eating him from the inside out. 

Chopper immediately starts sniffing about, nose low to the ground, and Franky throws Usopp to a high branch for a better vantage point. Robin steps forward, summoning an array of eyes and ears. Scanning the surroundings with a quiet gaze, Zoro’s every step only causes their restlessness to fester. 

Not even a minute later, Chopper returns. He shakes his head. “His scent just abruptly stops here.” 

Lowering her arms and opening her eyes, Robin’s following silence speaks for itself. 

“No sign of him,” Usopp says. He drops down from the branches, pushing up his goggles. “Sanji?” 

Yanking back his spread of observation haki, Sanji bites his lip. “He was here,” he mutters. He draws his shoulders into himself as he goes on, “I could feel him running around for a good couple hours, but then all of a sudden, he stopped and—and the next thing I know, his voice is gone.” 

“He stopped?” Jinbei asks. 

“Something or someone must have stopped him,” Robin says, eyes lost in thought and heavy weight to her words. “But Sanji-kun would have sensed them.” 

Zoro walks up to Sanji. 

Sanji doesn’t want to hand it over. He does anyway.

Taking the straw hat, Zoro reaches under its red band and pulls out a piece of Luffy’s vivre card—the original one his brother got him a long time ago. He places it on his palm.

The crew hastily gathers around, letting out a sigh of relief because the vivre card is solid and smooth and—

—still. 

They wait for it to move. To stir. To maybe even burn a little and and and—

It doesn’t. 

“Could there be any way he left the island?” 

“No! No, no,” Sanji rambles on, nearly biting through his cigarette, “I would’ve felt him if he did. There was no one else on the island either. Only plants and animals, but you know they’d be too afraid to wander near Luffy—let alone kidnap him!” 

Robin holds her hand to her chin. “It’s as if he was snapped out of existence…” 

“Let’s not make any rash assumptions,” Jinbei encourages, but even as he says that, he can’t help the brewing fear in his eyes. 

Nami taps her foot against the forest floor. Biting at her nails, she turns to Zoro and asks, “And the vivre card? Anything?” 

Zoro looks at her. “Still nothing.” 

“But it’s—it’s not burning either.” 

“No.” 

Usopp swallows the lump in his throat and forces out a laugh. “Then, that means he’s fine! He probably just stumbled over some cool contraption and got himself launched onto another island or something.” 

“Usopp, the vivre card isn’t moving.” 

Chopper frantically looks around, fidgeting with his hooves as he cries, “We need to find him soon! He never carries his medicine with him.” 

Jinbei asks, scrunching his forehead, “How long can he go without it?” 

“He should be okay for a little while. That’s assuming he doesn’t exert himself, but Luffy always—” 

“—goes all-out,” Zoro finishes. 

“Bro.” Franky places a steady hand on Chopper’s head. “Luffy’s a tough guy! He’ll manage for a bit. Knowing him, he’s probably glad he doesn’t have to take his meds for a bit.” 

Chopper wipes at his eyes. “I hope that’s the case…” 

With stiffness in his shoulders, Jinbei says, “I know of some old friends who may know more about vivre cards than we do. I’ll try to get in touch with them.” 

“I’ll give Vegapunk a call too,” Franky adds. 

Nami nods. “That’d be great, Jinbei, Franky.” 

Watching with a quiet gaze, Zoro turns his eye back to the hat in his hands, his fingers running along the familiar straw and pressing into the fibers. It’s rough. It’s itchy. It feels like home. 

In one world, they might have laughed this whole thing off in fond exasperation, because trust Luffy to disappear to a place no one knows where, and trust him to always make it back home—to them. 

In this one, it goes differently in the way it goes wrong. 

Summoned by the ruckus on deck, the crew had been put on edge when they saw Sanji—calm, composed, cool-headed Sanji, who believes that Luffy will come through more than anyone and has experienced it first-hand—talking to Usopp in a frayed panic. His hands were trembling. His eyes were blown wide. And just a moment ago, they found Luffy’s straw hat abandoned on the floor. 

His vivre card isn’t moving. 

They do a search, which soon becomes two, three, ten, and at one point, they realize the moon has taken up to the sky. They don’t feel their hunger. 

As the crew returns to the Sunny, ushered by a glassy-eyed Sanji only functioning on habit, Robin says quietly, “We have to contact Luffy’s brother.” The tone of her voice tells no tales. They know better. 

The crew exchanges grim expressions because no one likes being the bearer of bad news, especially one with no answers. Nevertheless: 

“I’ll tell him,” Zoro says. 

The Revolutionaries have only just begun their efforts in reforming the World Government, even going out to ally with the marines—the ones who want to earn back their former honor and pride and justice which had been thrown away by their predecessors in search of power. 

Progress is slow. However, their movements have been well-received by the public—with of course, a few scuffles here and there. 

Sabo’s subordinates take up the brunt of the work. They’re competent, not needing him around for much anymore besides his combat prowess. Sabo himself doesn’t enjoy staying at the desk so he figures he’ll go check in on their field operations in person. His transponder snail rings before he stands up. 

Readying himself for another long conference call, Sabo’s pleasantly surprised when he recognizes Zoro’s voice, and he struggles to hold back a smile as he asks about his little brother. 

This is how a world ends. 

Not even twenty-four hours later, Sabo arrives on the Sunny, his boots and the tail of his coat charred black and the first thing he sees is their guilty expressions. “You don’t have to look at me like that,” Sabo says. 

Something catches in Nami’s throat. “No, we…” 

Sabo shakes his head. Holding his hat by his chest, he says softly, “As long as he’s alive, that’s all that matters to me.” 

They lead him to where Luffy disappeared and soon learn that it isn’t just them, because Sabo, the Chief of Staff of the Revolutionary Army and the Flame Emperor, doesn’t pick up on anything either. No people. No ancient artifacts hidden away, and most importantly, no devil fruits. 

Evening creeps up on them faster than they know. Perhaps, this is all a cruel dream—one where hours pass faster than you can say goodbye, but Sanji threatens to drag everyone in for dinner, even if he has to do it by the skin of his teeth. That’s the only reason why they stop searching. At least, for tonight. 

Without a word, they gather around the dinner table in this vigil of silence before Usopp clenches his fists and opens his mouth. 

“...Sea King?” 

They blink up at him, confused.

Nami’s the first one who picks up on it, and she smiles weakly, following up, “On land? Even that’s a bit unlikely.” 

“We’re talking about Luffy here,” Franky points out. 

“Maybe the vivre card isn’t moving because he launched himself onto Skypiea,” Sanji says, his smile coming out more like a grimace. “Or maybe even the fucking moon.” 

Zoro replies, “Wouldn’t be surprised.” 

“He could be playing hide-and-seek,” Chopper tries, his voice nothing but a whisper. 

Sabo shakes his head. Smiling sadly, he replies, “Luffy’s always been bad at hide-and-seek. He could never keep quiet. When Ace and I found him, he would yell at us for cheating.” 

“Sounds like him.” 

And gathered around this small dinner table, in a small room no larger than a speck compared to the grand scheme of things, they laugh and talk and wonder about what kind of mess Luffy’s gotten himself into this time—this boy of kind dark eyes that hold so much knowing more than they could ever understand. This boy of sea breeze and song. This boy with a desire for everything and anything—carrying ambitions larger than heart and soul. 

It’s easy to talk through tension.

They learned from the best after all. 

Under the gaze of the dipping sun, Sabo loses his eyes in the horizon, spending hours leaning up against the ship’s railing. The thoughts in his head run louder and louder. 

After days of nothing—nothing at all, one morning, Sabo bids them farewell, dark bags beneath his eyes and a stretched-thin smile on his face, and he is grief given a body. 

Sabo isn’t as busy as he once was. He doesn’t have to hide or hold his breath every minute of every day just to get one edge over the World Government. They won the war after all. That means Sabo has more freedom to do anything he wishes—now more than ever. He’ll spend his next forevers trying to find his little brother.

Sanji packs him a bento box for the trip, and Robin exchanges a quiet word with him, hugging him tightly. 

When Sabo takes a step back, a farewell on his tongue, Zoro takes a step forward, holding out Luffy’s hat. 

Sabo’s eyes dart down to it. When they rise back up to meet Zoro’s, Sabo—this man who has tried so damn hard to hold himself steady—sways. “Are you sure?” he asks. 

Zoro does not waver, his eyes holding true. “Hang onto it for him.” 

“I—” Sabo starts. 

Usopp chimes in softly, “We kept arguing over who got to take care of it. It’s better like this.” 

Sabo hesitates, but his eyes burn with want, and he reaches out to take the hat—slowly, carefully, as if it would crumble to dust at the slightest touch. "Thank you," he says. "Thank you." 

“We can’t just… leave.” 

“Sanji—” 

Taking a step back, Sanji looks away, raising a hand as if to cover his expression as he continues, “I’m sorry, but Luffy disappeared here.” He lifts his head. “We should be looking here! ” 

Jinbei replies, “We have to look elsewhere—just as Sabo-kun is doing.” 

“Elsewhere?” Sanji asks. There’s a cruel laugh in the place of his next breath, and he spits, “His vivre card isn’t moving—so where else would we look but here? We camp out. We wait!” 

“I’m not okay with leaving either,” Usopp placates, “but Luffy’s not on the island. We turned that damn thing inside out hundreds of times and nothing! Zero! His card isn’t moving, yeah, but it’s also not burning! Wherever he is, he’ll be fine—” 

“He doesn’t have his medicine.” 

They turn to Chopper sitting at the dining table. His hooves pull his hat down over his eyes as he murmurs, his voice thin, “It’s already been two weeks, but we still have no idea where he is…” His eyes well up with tears. “What if he comes back when we’re far away and he doesn’t get his pills in time?” 

“Chopper’s right,” Sanji says. “If we leave, then—

Zoro interjects, “Then we leave his meds behind. Usopp, make a big sign so that idiot doesn’t miss it.” 

Usopp hesitates. Pursing his lips, he nods and says, “Yeah, sure.” 

“Sit down, Usopp!” Sanji snaps. He glares at Zoro, walks over to him, and asks, “So what, we just up and go? Leave a little note for him?” 

Nami reasons, “That’s not what we’re doing—” 

Franky starts, “Let’s calm down, fellas. When Lu gets back, we’ll know and we’ll go scoop him right up!” 

Jinbei adds steadily, a quiet kindness in his eyes, “Of all people, Luffy would be the last person to want us tied down. You know this. We all do.” 

“And how do you know what he would and wouldn’t want?” Sanji asks, and although his voice bleeds with fury, his shoulders fall in this refused defeat. “He’s gone.” 

“Don’t say that!” Usopp bites out. “We’ll find him... just not here. It’s been two weeks, Sanji.” 

“We waited two years for him!” Sanji shouts, and the air has gotten thin because he’s struggling to breathe, heaving, “Now, two weeks and we’re already waving the white flag?” 

“You know that’s not what we’re doing.” 

“We’re doing that right now—”

“Damn it, Sanji! It’s been two weeks of nothing! ” Usopp snaps, slamming his hands on the table. “We’re sitting ducks here and yes, Jinbei’s right about how Luffy would never want us tied down, and god do I want to stay and look for him—forever if I have to! But Sanji.” He closes his eyes tightly. When he opens them, they’re shaking under the lights, and he murmurs, “We’re turning over the same stone and expecting something different.” 

Sanji flinches. His face scrunches up, looking away, before he opens his mouth again, to speak, to reason, to plead and—

“Sanji.” A quiet voice cuts through the tension, and eight people turn. 

Brook stands with a cold cup of tea held in his hand. There are no muscles to read his expression and no eyes to tell tears of anger from woe, because this body of bone speaks a language you can only assume. 

“This isn’t your fault,” Brook says. His words settle into the room, melting into the silence. 

Sanji blinks. “What?” 

“This isn’t your fault,” Brook repeats, stepping closer to place a hand on Sanji’s shoulder as a comfort. It’s cold to the touch. 

“I know,” Sanji says slowly, looking around at everyone. “It isn’t…”

“Any of ours,” Brook nods. “But it isn’t yours either.” 

“I just said that—” 

“No.” Speaking up from his silence, Zoro pushes off the wall, uncrossing his arms. His cold unforgiving gaze is nowhere to be found. Today, it’s not a blade. It’s an anchor. “Just saying it won’t cut it—you have to believe it.” 

And Sanji doesn’t snap back at Zoro like he usually does. He doesn’t scoff. Doesn’t get angry, roll his eyes, or pick a fight. 

Zoro continues steadily, “None of us blame you because it isn't your fault in the first place.” 

Sanji has gone eerily still.

This isn’t comfort, pity, or anything along those lines. It’s truth. “Luffy’s not gone because of you.” 

It’s the final nail in the coffin, and the room has gone quiet in the way a song inevitably comes to an end. 

Sanji ever so slightly lowers his head. He runs his hand through his hair, pulling his bangs out of his eyes. They’re glassy. They’re burning. They’re not enough to convey the frustration toward himself, and he asks, “How could I lose him like that?” 

Without a beat, Zoro says, “We all did.” 

“If it is your fault,” Robin closes her eyes, “it is as much ours.” 

“None of us want to leave, Sanji.” Nami looks down to the floor and asks softly, “And even if we do—do you think there’s even the slightest chance we would ever stop looking?” 

Franky pulls his mouth into a grin. He tries to. “Hey man, don’t get all cocky thinking you’re the only one with observation haki. It’s making me feel bad!” 

“Yeah, Franky’s right!” Usopp chimes in. He pushes down the empty void within his chest and continues off with a strained smile, “I’ve been polishing mine up a bit, so don’t be a sore loser when I find Lu first.” 

“Robin’s been teaching me too,” Nami adds. She hides her clenched fists behind her back and manages out a wink. “I’m the navigator so if it’s anyone, I’ll be the one to find that idiot. Anyone down to bet some real hard cash?” 

“Like you give us any to spend, you witch!” 

Nami throws a half-hearted punch at Usopp, who quickly ducks behind Jinbei. 

Sanji’s gaping. 

The crew’s smiling. 

Sanji’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes. The roaring silence in his ears has finally gone quiet as he curses out, a rueful smile on his face, “Stubborn bastards.” 

Franky pats him on the back. “Where do you think we all got it from?” 

The next morning, before they set off to sea, Usopp gathers everyone on deck and says, “I made something for you guys.” He hands something to each of them. 

Nami looks at the object in her hands, her eyes going wide. “Usopp, this is…” 

“A piece of Luffy’s vivre card, yeah,” Usopp says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I put it in a log pose-styled watch, so we could always keep it on us. Hard to lose, too. Unless you take it off, of course, and don’t worry! The glass is pretty damn sturdy. Franky helped me replicate it.” 

“That’s what it was for?” Franky asks, tears welling up in his eyes. 

“Usopp,” Brook starts. He looks down at the log pose, the paper within, and looks back up. “Thank you.” 

Chopper bites his lip trying to stop it from trembling. It’s futile. He tugs on Robin’s shirt and she helps him wrap the log pose around his wrist. 

“This was very considerate of you, Usopp.” Jinbei smiles as he says warmly, “Thank you.” 

Zoro puts his on wordlessly. The glass catches onto the morning light, reflecting it onto his face. 

Sanji stares at his own. He runs his thumb along the glass and takes in a shaky breath as he looks at Usopp. His eyes curl. “You always pull through when we need it the most, you loveable bastard,” he says breathlessly. 

Usopp smiles, lifting his chin.

Sanji snaps out, grabs him by his shirt, and pulls him into a tight hug, and Usopp’s arms come up to wrap around him too as if to never let go. 

This cannot be goodbye. 

Down go the sails. Up goes the anchor. Laboon swims ahead, peeking out from under the waves as he waits for Sunny to follow. 

As they depart from the island, not a single one of them can resist looking back—as if they expect a boy with a straw hat to run onto the beach, waving and yelling for them to come back. The boy would probably proceed to launch himself onto the deck. He’d crash into Zoro, going by his stellar track record, before calling out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and Sanji would complain about having to feed such a monster but nonetheless would start cooking up a meal worthy of a king. The crew would gather in the galley not a second later. They would defend their food with their lives and talk about simple nothings, past travels, and the, "Where to next, Captain?" 

Instead, they drift off to sea, looking for a boy with a straw hat to appear at any moment. 

He never does.

The waves are rough. They have always been so. They push and pull and tug and tear—they sing of sunken ships and anchored arks. 

Settle in for the night, the sea says softly. It will be a long one. 

When the Cat Burglar publishes her world map, it becomes the most sought out piece of merchandise of the century—perhaps, even the millennia. Her fame skyrockets. Soon enough, she isn’t running only from bounty hunters and marines anymore. 

A reporter stumbles upon her as she’s practically galloping through a high-end clothing store, and when she spots him and tries to make a run for it, he proposes a deal. 

“I’ll compensate you for every question!” 

Cat Burglar stops in her tracks. When she peers over her shoulder, her grin takes up her whole face. “How much are we talking?” 

They find a coffee shop and settle into one of the far corner tables. Cat Burglar orders one of the most expensive drinks on the menu and the reporter is quite sure he’s the one paying for it, but still. This is a one-in-a-lifetime chance he’s got here. His wallet will recover. 

The reporter starts by asking her a few general questions, such as why she decided to create her world map in the first place, what inspired her, and what motivated her to follow it through to the very end. She answers the same every time. 

Money.

The reporter puts down his pen and laughs nervously. “Is there anything else?” 

“Not really. I’ve always had a thing for money,” she says, winking. “Hence, my name.” 

But there’s something that’s been on his mind—ever since he saw a copy of her world map for the first time, and he takes a deep breath, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You see, that’s the thing I don’t understand, Miss.”

“Hmm?” 

“Your dedication note.” 

And for the first time in the interview, Cat Burglar goes quiet. The smile falls from her face. Her steady stone-cold eyes don’t dare betray a single thing about her. 

The reporter tries to keep his expression as nonchalant as possible because the woman sitting across from him is worth millions and could quite possibly kill him without him even noticing. He goes to ask further. 

“In your dedication note, were you referring to—” 

“Even I know money can’t get you everything.” 

The reporter blinks. “Pardon?”

“I don’t like having to repeat myself.” Cat Burglar stares at him, leaning into the palm of her hand. She absently stirs her drink. “Are those all the questions you had for me, or did I run you broke already?” 

“Well, I…” the reporter starts. Taking up his pen, he smiles, sweating under his clothing, “I was hoping to ask you a few more…” 

The interview goes on for a bit longer. Cat Burglar’s walls are up again, and she’s replying easily. Almost immediately. The reporter smothers the urge to probe at that earlier subject, but he doesn’t think it’s wise to poke the same bear twice. 

The interview ends quietly. Cat Burglar gets her money. They part ways as if they never met. 

The reporter watches her go and thinks that, if not for her pirate status, Cat Burglar would have won dozens of awards—maybe they’d make a special one just for her. 

Because he’s seen it. 

Her world map. 

It’s a monstrous creation that spans out like a pair of eagle wings—broad enough for it to only be displayed in a museum specifically built for it. And there they are. The four seas, the Grand Line, the New World, the deep depths, and the skies themselves—thousands of islands and miles of ocean packed onto a single piece of paper. 

Something had caught the report’s eye that day. There was a plaque on the corner of the map with its title, her name, and her dedications—something that books usually have. Except, there were no mentions of money. Or fame. Or anything materialistic like one would expect from a pirate given the name Cat Burglar. 

“Even I know money can’t get you everything.” 

Instead, there’s a single sentence of small letters and modest font, and it says, 

To the King. 

A shiver shoots up his spine, and the man whips around, eyes going wide as he frantically looks through the moving crowds. His heartbeat jumps to his throat. His mouth goes dry, and he squirms in the feeling of his own skin. 

“Yo, Jen!” 

A hand waves in front of his face, yanking him out of his daze. “Sorry, what?” 

His friend narrows his eyes. “You good? Getting a heat stroke or something?” 

Jen looks at him for a second too long before he glances back at the crowds. He swallows the lump in his throat. “Yeah, I’m—I’m okay, Tino. Just thought there was someone… watching me.” 

Tino throws a cautious look over where Jen’s looking and says, “Then, let’s hurry back. Come on.” 

“Yeah… good idea.” 

With haste in their step, they rush through the streets, passing by stalls and hundreds of people, but even as they create more and more distance, Jen can’t shake that creepy feeling off of him. He tries to look over his shoulder again. The moment he does, the world goes quiet, and a little voice in his head whispers,

Run. 

Goosebumps spring up over his entire body. He grabs Tino by the back of his shirt and drags him into the side alley.

“Hey!” 

“Shh!” Jen presses himself against the alley wall, crouching low as he peeks his head out. His heartbeat thumps throughout his entire body. 

Tino asks quietly, “Still there?” 

Jen nods. He watches people pass by and says carefully, “I think it’s best if I teleport us.” 

Tino scrunches up his forehead. “Dude, you still suck at using your fruit, and I really don’t wanna throw up on Ma’s carpet.” 

“Oh please,” Jen hushes. “You’re just being a baby. Man up.” He pulls back into the alley and stands up, turning to Tino. “We should hurry—” 

Jen’s voice dies in his throat, and his blood turns to lead. 

“May you elaborate on the part concerning your devil fruit ability? It’s quite fascinating.” 

There are two hands sticking out of the wall, their fingers wrapped tightly around Tino’s throat as he flails and chokes out nothing but incoherent words. He’s staring at something. Someone. 

There’s a woman standing in the middle of the alley with black hair spilling over her shoulders. She bears empty blue eyes of glass and salt. The smile she wears looks like it’s been carved into her very face. 

“Who are you?” Jen starts. He takes a small step back before he shouts, “Let go of Tino!” 

The woman doesn’t comply. Instead, she continues off, “What are the limits of your teleportation?” 

Jen’s eyes shake. His gaze slides from her to Tino who is frantically clawing at his throat for air. 

“Let him go first! I’ll tell you if you let him go!” Jen yells. 

The woman tilts her head. “You’re worrying too much about him and too little about yourself.” 

Dozens of hands sprout like plants from the walls on either side of him, grabbing him by his legs, his arms, his throat—

“What is this? What the hell are you?” he demands. Looking at the array of limbs binding him, he tries to desperately pull himself out of them. It’s no good. Biting through his lip, fueled by frustration and fear, he spits out, “You devil!” 

The air goes cold. But that has to be absurd because they’re on one of the hottest summer islands on the Grand Line, they’re in the middle of a heatwave, and the sun has never bore down on them more—

Jen looks up and finds himself asking what exactly is looking back at him. 

This thing in human skin stares at him. She lifts her hand to his throat and when he swallows dryly, he can feel her nails against his skin, pressing not to hurt—but as a warning. 

Jen thinks of teleporting away but—he looks at Tino for a long moment, his gaze trembling, before he closes his eyes and asks softly, “What do you want to know?” 

“As I asked before: what are the limits of your teleportation?” Her voice rings out into the air like something torn from the depths of nightmares, sending shivers down his spine. 

Jen breathes and breathes. Sweat falls down the side of his face as he answers, his gaze captured by hers, “It’s—I can, I can teleport myself to places.” 

Her nails close around his throat. 

“And others!” he shouts. “I can teleport others too! But only nearby because it drains a lot outta me and—” 

“How long have you had it?” 

“F-fifteen years! I found it when I was a kid and—that’s everything! Please let us go. We don’t tell anyone about—”

“You’ve had the fruit for fifteen years yet that’s the extent of your abilities?” 

“Yes, I swear!” 

She stares at him with an expression of stone, and in the silence of the next few seconds, Jen would rather jump into fire than look into her eyes any longer.

“Have you ever crossed into an alternate reality?” 

Jen tries to shake his head. “What? That’s insane! I just use my power for deliveries—” 

“Are you lying?” she asks. 

“No, I—”

“Are you lying? ” 

“I’m telling you the truth…!” There’s something wet falling down Jen’s cheek, and in the face of something akin to death, he pleads to this monster in human skin, “Please. I’ve told you everything. Please just let us go…”

It does. 

The hands release their hold on them, and Jen and Tino hit the floor heaving, trying to catch their breaths. Tino coughs, holding his throat carefully. Jen’s heart pounds in his throat, beating with the force of a bullet. 

Jen looks up to find the woman gone. 

In her place is a single flower petal fluttering to the floor, alone and deafening in its wake. 

“Need a hand?” 

Iceburg hammers away before pausing to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “This is private property,” he says. He puts down his tools and turns, narrowing his eyes as he asks, “Who let you—” His eyes widen. “Franky?” 

Pushing up his sunglasses, Franky grins, standing there in all his glory. “Been a while, Icey.” 

Iceberg closes his gaping jaw and replies, “Three years, yeah. What do you want? You here to stay or is that captain or yours still dragging you around the world by your speedos?” 

Franky laughs. He doesn’t answer, moving ahead to study his new project. Iceburg puts a pin in that for later.

“Whatcha working on?” 

Iceburg clips back. “No stealing my projects, Flunky.” 

“It’s Franky! And who would ever wanna steal your ideas?” he scoffs, putting his hands on his hips. He looks around. “Where’d ya put the blueprints? Lemme at ‘em.” 

Iceburg picks up his hammer and fits a couple of nails between his fingers, resuming his work. “Desk on the left.” 

“Mind if I—”

“Knock yourself out.” 

For the next few days, Iceburg and Franky spend hours together just to catch up, build cool shit, and then laugh about it. He has many stories to tell. Although Iceburg has never regretted spending his life on Water Seven, he can’t help but long for the far seas. 

The Straw Hats aren’t with him. That’s one of the signs that something’s wrong, but Franky doesn’t bring them up. Iceburg doesn’t bother asking. Franky’s a stubborn bastard who can’t ever straight-up talk about what’s brewing in that mind of his. And either way—

Franky looks like he’s in need of a distraction, however nonchalant he acts.

Iceburg’s alright with providing one. 

After pulling off an all-nighter, Franky whoops as he finishes installing jets into his heels. Iceburg watches him crash through a few walls only a moment after. In the comfort of his garage or under the blanket of the sky, the two of them find themselves discussing ship blueprints. They debate over minuscule design choices. They mock each other at every chance they get. When Franky tells him about his crew, Iceburg tells him all about what he’s missed in the past years. 

They’re a week into Franky’s visit, sitting by the ocean on a piece of driftwood when Iceburg turns to him and asks, “Does the Franky Family know you’re here?” 

“Eh…” 

Iceburg shoots him a stern look. “Franky.” 

“I was going to see them, I swear, but…” Franky begins, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. His voice drifts off. He doesn't seem like he has any intention to finish off what he started. 

Iceburg purses his lips and puts his beer down without looking away. “Franky,” he starts slowly. “Why isn’t your crew here with you?”

Franky takes a swing of his cola. “Robin’s here with me.”

“Nico Robin?” Iceburg blinks and replies, “I haven’t seen her.”

Franky waves him off. “She’s looking for something in your libraries so she’s probably been there the entire time. Anyhow, I was thinking about one of my new projects—”

“And the rest of them?” Iceburg interjects because Franky’s doing that stupid thing where he acts oblivious to the giant fucking elephant in the room and it’s pissing him off. “Franky, where’s Straw Hat?” 

Franky shakes his bottle of cola and says, “Doing his usual thing—”

“Cut the shit, Franky.” 

Closing his eyes, Franky puts his cola down on the sand. It’s a long minute of silence. Iceburg's stare does not let up. 

Then, taking in a breath, Franky says quietly, a nail in the coffin, “He’s missing.”

“Straw Hat’s missing?” Iceburg asks, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Yeah.” Franky stares out to sea. “Been missing for a while now. Three years.” 

Iceburg holds a hand to his chin and murmurs, “I’m surprised the world hasn’t heard about this.” 

“We’ve kept it quiet,” Franky says. “From a lot of people. If word got out that Luffy was missing, who knows how many pirates would start attacking his territories.” 

“And that’s the last thing you need right now,” Iceburg murmurs. “Could he have left of his own volition?” 

“Not without a word,” Franky spits. “Not without us.”

“And his vivre card?” 

Franky reaches out to unbind the log pose around his wrist, and Iceburg’s eyes blink in confusion, recalling all the instances when he's caught Franky looking at the damn thing over the past week, because why would Franky need a log pose? He isn’t the navigator. 

Franky hands it to him.

Taking it carefully, Iceburg lifts it closer to his face and realizes that it isn’t a log pose. It’s copied after its external structure but there’s no compass. There’s a square piece of paper inside which Iceburg assumes is Straw Hat’s vivre card. He waits for it to move. 

With each passing second, the void in his stomach only grows larger. 

“What is this?” Iceburg asks, wide-eyed. 

“That’s the thing; we don’t know.” Franky takes back the log pose, wrapping it around his wrist with a level of gentleness you wouldn’t believe would have come from him. “We asked a lot of people in high places. They don’t know shit either.” 

Franky's words—their venom and their despair—sink into his skin, and then, Iceburg realizes why—why Franky dropped by without notice after so long and never brought up his crew or his captain—why he always seems to look out to sea, rather than the present. 

Franky came to Water Seven hoping. That even if it seems like everything has changed, even if the world has collapsed in on itself, and even if one chapter ends—despite desperately wanting it not to, there are still some good things that will stay the same throughout time. 

Iceburg gets to his feet. “Alright, get your ass up.” 

Franky looks at him and his mouth pulls at his face. “Huh? Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Shut up. Let’s go.”

“And go where exactly?”

“To see the Franky Family, idiot.”

And Franky goes eerily still, his eyes widening. He shakes his head. “Icey, I can’t.” 

Iceburg takes in a breath, relaxing his shoulders, before he looks at Franky again—really looks at him. He sees the boy who blamed himself. The boy who chained himself to an island for redemption when he dreamed of the world and beyond, and he sees a boy that has not been kind himself. And so he says kindly, “Franky. They’ll be happy to see you.” 

Some things never change.

Franky bites his lip, clenching his fists as he closes his eyes. For a moment, Iceburg thinks he’s going to decline as he’s always done—keep his walls up and tall until they’re old and rotten and stay stubborn to the bitter end, but instead, Franky takes a deep breath and grins, as if letting go. “Well, of course they’d be." He looks out to sea, once last time, before he turns his back to it. "On we go, then!”

Some things do.

Only a small part of the world knows the story and origin behind the name All Blue. The rest of the world knows it as a restaurant. But if someone happens to ask about it, Vinsmoke Sanji, the infamous and renowned chef of this generation’s Pirate King, would be happy to tell its tale. 

All Blue is a restaurant carried by the waves. It looks more like a ship than it does a restaurant, and it bears the mark of “Iron Man” Franky, another senior officer of the Straw Hat Pirates. There aren’t many shipwrights daring enough to create such a vessel—especially one responsible for serving high cuisine and sailing the high seas. 

Vinsmoke says he stole the design from his father. 

Vinsmoke Judge? A customer would ask.

Nah. That bastard’s just a sperm donor. 

It’s a question Vinsmoke hears a lot, but without hesitation, he always reiterates like a hammer to a nail: 

They’re not the ones I consider family. 

On one occasion, a new marine recruit finds his way onto All Blue by chance when he’s ordered out on an errand. He ties up his ship. He licks his lips. As soon as he walks through the doors, he’s bombarded by an aroma one could only describe as otherworldly, and he has to wipe his mouth with his sleeve before he drools all over the floor. Waiters and waitresses zoom through the room. Spread through the dining hall are fellow marines, fishmen, bounty hunters, common sailors, and even pirates—all peacefully eating without a care for the other. 

“Table for one?” the hostess asks. 

The marine nods and is quickly seated by one of the windows. He picks up the menu. As he scours through it, he notices a pirate sitting just diagonal to him. He recognizes him as a new rising rookie. 

The marine pauses. 

His superiors, his peers, and even his mother have said that under no circumstances should he ever stir up trouble in All Blue lest he spills food in the process. He pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind. 

Not even ten minutes later, he’s kneeling on the kitchen floor with his head down, being scolded by one pissed-off chef of the Pirate King for crashing into a waiter and causing three plates (three!) to fall to the floor.  

The marine is sentenced to—not death. But worse. Dish-washing duty for an entire month. He’s shoved into an apron and suddenly there’s a sponge in his hand.

The marine manages to sneak off during a quiet hour of the restaurant, calling one of his superiors in a frenzy. 

“You were asking for it. We don’t mess with Vinsmoke—plus he makes a mean carbonara. You’re lucky that you’re alive. Take care for the rest of the month!”

His superior hangs up, and the marine lets the transponder snail hang by his ear, not quite believing what he’s heard. 

“Slacking off, huh?” 

The marine goes eerily still. Chills shoot up his spine as he ever so slowly turns around to see Vinsmoke smiling over his shoulder. The lollipop in his mouth only makes him more intimidating. 

The marine salutes stiffly. “No, sir!” He runs off to the kitchen and keeps his head down. 

Other than the fact he’s being used as a dishwashing slave, working under Vinsmoke isn’t as bad as he thought it would be, because aside from his intimidating glare and terrifying pirate track record, he’s… a surprisingly good guy. 

He’s a master of the kitchen. He commands the flow of his knives to such a degree, it seems like he was born to hold them. During rushes, he’ll bark out concise orders and keep the kitchen on track, all the while plating dishes and sending them out. 

As service finishes up for the day, the marine drops to his knees. His fingers are wrinkly. He’s covered in sweat, and his stomach is rumbling like crazy. 

“Good work today,” Vinsmoke calls out. 

The staff cheers tiredly before they start filtering out of the kitchen. The marine is swept up with them. 

Vinsmoke stays in the kitchen for a good half an hour before the doors swing open and Vinsmoke exits pushing carts of food. He arranges all the dishes on the tables. 

There’s a smile on his face as he says, taking his lollipop out of his mouth, “Dinner is served.” 

Cheers erupt throughout the room. The staff pull out their chairs with a loud screech and take a seat, wasting no time in digging into the food. 

The marine stares, wide-eyed. 

“Not hungry?” 

Freezing, the marine turns his head to see Vinsmoke giving him a weird look. He looks around before pointing at himself. “I get to eat?” he asks. 

Vinsmoke raises an eyebrow. “No one goes hungry on this ship—marine or not, so sit. It’s going to get cold. If it does, I’m not reheating it for you, brat.” 

The marine straightens and salutes. “Thank you, sir!” 

When Vinsmoke leaves, the marine grabs a seat and a dish. He grabs his fork. He takes a hungry bite, and at some point, he finds himself wiping away his tears.

The days of washing dishes aren’t spent wallowing in the desire to leave like he expected. The staff is welcoming. They poke fun at each other, bantering even during the busiest rush of their lives, and they drag him in with them. It’s the most he’s felt like he’s belonged in a long time. 

It’s on one slow afternoon that the marine notices something out of place. 

There’s a simple picture frame on the counter. It’s settled quietly in the window junction from the kitchen out to the dining room, and it’s not at all fitting in with the high-class atmosphere of such a restaurant. He doesn’t ever get close enough to see the picture. 

When he tries to sneak up to it, reaching out, a fellow dishwasher shouts out in a panic. When they see his confused look, they tell him that one time when a new hire moved it during a rush, Vinsmoke burst out in such anger, you’d think someone had dropped a plate of food. The marine doesn’t try to look. At least, for a while.

The month passes faster than he realizes and soon enough, it’s his last day serving his dishwashing sentence. As the staff begins to clean up, the marine slowly inches toward the picture frame, whistling innocently. He creeps closer and closer. He looks around without moving his head before a hand slams down onto the counter in front of him. 

The marine feels his stomach drop. He looks up slowly to see Vinsmoke giving him his what-the-fuck-kind-of-shit-you-trying-this-time look. 

“Um,” the marine starts. “Can I help you, sir?” 

Vinsmoke narrows his eyes at him and asks, “Why are you acting like you have a fish shoved down your pants?” 

And for a split second, the marine’s eyes dart to the picture frame. Vinsmoke catches it. Of course he does. 

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Vinsmoke hangs his hand on his nape before grabbing the frame. He hands it to him. 

The marine hurriedly closes his gaping mouth, not at all expecting it to just be handed to him, and looks down at the photo. 

The picture must be at least a couple of years old. It either is, or it’s been dearly cherished going by the fading colors and the crinkles. There are ten people, crowded and squeezed close by a pair of stretching arms and—oh. That’s—that’s the Pirate King.

Every marine is briefed on what to do when they meet a big-shot criminal. They’re told not to engage. Not to piss them off, or even look at them without orders if you want to live. Now from what the marine has heard about the Straw Hat Pirates, they’re batshit crazy. They’re powerful and insane. They breathe chaos and fight the presence of order, and at their head is Monkey D. Luffy: the Pirate King. 

But the boy in this photo doesn’t look anything like him. 

His hair is messy and wild as if someone had just smashed his hat on his head with an affectionate ruffle. There are crow feet by his wide bright eyes. He’s grinning warmth. With his arms stretched and wrapped around them, he hangs onto his crew like it’s the only thing he’s ever had. It’s like happiness given form.

And the marine wants to ask about this boy who has conquered wars and has even waged them himself but—

No one has seen him in years. The Straw Hat Pirates are disbanded, and his fingers are trembling as he hands the frame back. 

So instead of asking, he values his life and says instead, “You’re smoking in this picture.”

Vinsmoke blinks, taken by surprise. Then, he chuckles, taking the frame back as he replies, “Yeah, I don’t smoke anymore. Doctor’s orders.” He puts it back where it belongs. “It’s your last day, right? Hurry up and hurry home.”

The marine nods. He wraps up the last of his chores and goes to pack his bags. 

Vinsmoke sends him off with a stern warning about wasting food before he smiles and pats him on the shoulder, handing him a bento box for the journey home. The marine thanks him. 

As he’s about to open the door to leave, he hesitates and turns, looking over his shoulder. Vinsmoke walks back to the kitchen. He passes by the window junction before he retracts, popping his lollipop into his mouth as he snatches up a clean cloth from the counter. He grabs the picture frame and wipes the glass clean.

He quietly places it back to its rightful place. 

But his fingers linger. 

Wanting. 

All Blue has been open for years, and he does not doubt that the picture frame has been there since the beginning, and absently, the marine wonders why Vinsmoke is here instead—alone on this ship without them.

Because Vinsmoke was happy.

He looked happy then. 

The sound of wheels, frantic voices, and urgent footsteps are what Lira wakes up to. She opens her eyes to bright passing lights. Black spots dot over her vision, and there’s a really bad searing pain over her entire body. She groans.

“Move, move! Out of the way!”

“—found this little girl in the rumble! A major abrasion on her side and—”

“We only have a few blood bags left—is the mother a match?”

The world is moving. There are three people hovering over her, concerned and panicked expressions on their faces. One of them sees her awake. They put on a strained smile and say gently, “You’re going to be just fine. Hang in there a little longer.” 

Lira clenches her fist, biting through pain as they move her onto something soft.

“Is that…? Honey? Lira!” 

A woman rushes to her side, pushing her hair away from her face and—oh. That’s her mom. “Lira? Oh my god, are you okay? Why couldn’t you have just stayed close?” 

“Miss? Is this your daughter?”

“Yes, yes, that’s Lira. She’s eight years old and—”

“Do you have the same blood type as your daughter?”

“No, no—I have…” she stumbles on. “She has type F blood. What’s going on? Does the hospital not have enough blood? Why don’t you have enough—”

“She was one of the last victims to be found. I’m sorry. Our supplies are running low and—”

“Please. She’s my daughter!” her mom cries, clutching Lira’s hand tightly. 

“Did you say type F?” a deep voice asks. 

Her pain takes a backseat as Lira’s eyes refocus on the tall broad blue man standing at the foot of her bed. There are fangs sticking out of his mouth. He’s got a weird-looking tuft of hair on his chin too, and he’s wearing a weird-looking robe.

“If you allow it, I can offer my blood,” the man says. 

The people in white exchange a hesitant glance with each other, and Lira thinks the look in their eyes is icky. 

Her mom doesn’t even spare a single second. “Can he? If he donates his blood, will she survive?”

“If he’s type F, yes. But ma’am, he’s a—”

“A fishman?” Her mom glares, searing and sharp and bloody, and snaps, “ I don’t care if he’s the devil himself. He just offered to save my daughter! Do your jobs and let him!” 

Lira fights to keep her eyes open, but soon, she sees the blue man walk to the side of her bed and take a seat. She feels a small prick on her arm. She closes her eyes, and sleep takes her gently within its cradle. 

When she wakes up, it’s to the sound of a rhythmic beat in her ear. She slowly opens her eyes. Wincing at the bright lights, she turns over to see her mom sitting at her bedside. 

Her mom, looking at their held hands, glances up and freezes. “Honey? Lira? How are you feeling? I was so worried—are you in any pain?”

Lira shakes her head. “I’m okay… What happened?”

“You got caught up in an explosion, remember? You were playing by the docks.”

“I think I was,” Lira replies quietly. She turns to her other side and sees the blue man from before sitting on the other side of her bed. 

The man meets her eyes and smiles nervously. “Hello there. You gave your mother quite a scare, little one.” 

“Are you a fishman?” Lira blurts out. 

“Lira!” her mother scolds, scrunching her forehead as she continues, “Just because you’re injured, it doesn’t mean you can be rude.” 

“That’s alright,” the man reassures. He meets Lira’s gaze kindly and answers, “Yes. I am a fishman.” 

Lira’s eyes go wide, sparkling. “Like one of the Straw Hat Pirates?”

The man blinks, clearly not expecting that reaction, and he finds a smile rising onto his face. “Yes. Just like one of the Straw Hat Pirates. Are you… a fan?”

Lira nods, grinning wide. “I read all about their stories in the newspaper, and sometimes we hear about them at school! But mom doesn’t like me talking about them. ‘Cause they’re pirates and all.” 

Her mother sighs, pressing a hand to her forehead. 

The man laughs. “Well, I’m not surprised.”

Lira looks down at the red tube connecting her arm to the man’s. She tilts her head and points. “What is this thing?”

“The hospital was running out of blood,” her mom answers, “so this kind man offered to donate some of his to you. Make sure you thank him, Lira.” 

“Really?” Lira exclaims. “Thanks, old man!”

The fishman sputters, choking on his own saliva as her mom shouts, “Lira!” 

Lira studies the man. She makes sure she narrows her eyes and purses her lips, lost in her thoughts, before she asks, “Do you not care that I’m a human, mister?” 

The fishman blinks. Then, he lets out a laugh, looking at her with kind eyes as he answers, “Many of my dear friends and family are humans. I would give my whole being if they asked for it.” 

“Ooh!" Lira straightens in her bed as she leans forward, ignoring her mom's fussing. "That's a super cool line, mister!” 

With another exasperated sigh, her mom asks, “Do you mind watching her for a little bit? I’m going to fetch some food. Would you like anything?” 

The fishman nods. “Of course not, and don’t concern yourself with me. I will eat later, thank you.” 

As her mom disappears past the hospital curtains, Lira’s eyes drift over to something around the man’s wrist. “Hey, hey.” She points at it and asks, “What’s that?” 

“Ah, this?” The man follows her gaze. And suddenly, Lira thinks she’s said something wrong or mean because when the man smiles, he looks very sad. “It’s a compass that leads to my friend.” 

“They make those?” she asks quietly. 

“One of my crewmates made it for us,” the man replies. 

Lira perks up. “Crewmates? Like on a ship? Mister," her eyes gain a shine, "are you a pirate?” 

The man pauses, seeming to contemplate the question before he settles with a nod. “I am.”

“Have you ever met the Pirate King?” Lira rolls onto her knees, burying the wince of pain as she turns toward the man. “Have you?” 

The man’s smile melts into something warm. “I have. We’re very good friends," he says, and the crease between his eyebrows disappear, his gaze growing fond, when he asks, "Would you like to hear some stories about him?” 

Lira swings her feet over the bed, despite the man’s warnings, and leans forward. She grins. With stars in her eyes, she exclaims, “Tell me!”

The man laughs. And so he tells her—not of this tyrant, or this madman, or this monster people have painted him out to be, but of this boy named hope and joy. This soul of great change that the old world tried to desperately snuff out but ultimately failed in the end. This king who sat on his throne for far too short. 

“Is he that strong?” Lira asks.

“He is, but it isn’t because of his strength that they failed,” the man says. He looks at his log pose. He takes a shuddering breath, and then he says, with a fondness that almost seems to bleed, “The old world didn’t understand—that no matter what you do, there is no such thing as silencing the sea.” 

Soul King is back in business, alongside a whale whose size could engulf entire mountains, but all geniuses have their quirks to them, and fans have already gotten used to the fact their all-time number one celebrity is a skeleton. They’re mostly just glad he’s back. It’s been a long time since he’s been active as a musician. 

Atop his whale friend, Soul King spends his days performing by the harbors. Sometimes the beaches. Sometimes the coves, but on the rare occasion he books an entire stadium, it must, must, must be by the ocean. He accepts no compromise.

As eccentric as he is dead, Soul King holds no fear in expressing his appreciation for his fans and always goes out of his way to look out for the little guy. He has meet-and-greets. He signs autographs, and when he finds those with dreams and desires too big for their heart, he can’t help but break out in song. He teaches eager musicians and plays equally with seasoned ones. 

Soul King is open to any question his fans ask of him. Brook isn’t. There will always be that occasional fan, well-intentioned but blind to the moving breathing grief that lines his songs, who can’t help but ask about the taboo. It's a question Brook doesn’t answer for a long time. 

As the world goes round and the years flow by, Soul King picks up a few students here and there, drawn in by the passion sung by their arts. Soul King takes them under his wing. He introduces them to the lovely ever-changing world of music, nurtures their unpolished skills and confidence, and offers to fund their first concerts. 

Then, the question comes up again. Nearly three years after the question first came up and thousands of times after being asked. 

They’re playing by the beach. Soul King’s on the guitar, instructing his student about a particularly difficult chord as Laboon watches from the sea.

“Hello? Hello? Anyone in there?” 

The student blinks, shaking his head as his eyes refocus. “Sorry, what were you saying?” 

Soul King looks at him funny and asks, “Are you feeling alright? Your mind has been going off to someplace else these past few days.” 

“Ah, I’m okay!” The student flushes, laughing nervously as he adds, “Just been thinking about some stuff.” 

“What’s been on your mind?” Soul King asks. “I’d be happy to lend an ear—although I don’t have ears!” He breaks out in laughter. 

The student looks away shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as he asks, “I was just curious—why did the Straw Hat Pirates disband?” 

The laughter stops. 

The student’s eyes go wide, realizing that he’s said something wrong, and in the next second, he’s frantically waving his hands around and stammering out, “You don’t have to answer! I didn’t mean—sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that…” 

“We haven’t.” 

The student freezes. “Really?”

Soul King’s fingers fall away from the strings as he ever so slightly turns away. “We parted ways, yes, but we haven’t disbanded and we all still proudly call ourselves the Straw Hat Pirates,” he says, his voice ending off fondly. He rubs the log pose around his wrist. “Although we may be scattered across the globe and not talk for weeks, there’s no doubt in my mind that if one of us calls for help, the others would tear through heaven and hell to be there.” 

His words settle into the sea breeze. 

The student stares with wide clear eyes before letting out a breathless laugh. “I see. That’s good… I’m glad.” 

“Hmm?” 

The student puts down his guitar by his legs and looks out to sea, the wind catching his hair. He smiles. “Some of my family members were thinking you had a big fight or something. That’s why you split up. So I was just thinking,” he slows, “that I’m glad—that you’re still good friends.” 

“It wasn’t a fight,” Soul King says. 

The student looks back up at him as he asks, “What was it?”

Soul King—Brook rests his instrument on his lap, lowering his head to stare at his log pose. “We’re looking for someone.” 

The student studies him for a moment. “They’re missing?”

Brook nods.

“Oh… how long have you been looking for them?”

Brook lets out a shuddering breath that breaks out into a humorless chuckle and answers, almost in disbelief, “It’s been six years. But somehow, it feels longer than fifty. It feels longer than eternity.” 

The student says softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Brook says. He looks out to sea. “You’re not the one who took him from us.” 

Soul King takes up his instrument again and instructs his student to do the same. His voice rings out readily. His hands are steady, and his playing does not hint at all to the conversation that has just occurred. His student keeps his mouth shut. 

In the not-so-far past, Soul King has always said, “Good times come to those who wait.”

Brook is sick of waiting. 

When the world learns that Tony Tony Chopper, the pet of the Straw Hat Pirates, isn’t actually their pet but one of the most skilled doctors that have ever walked the earth, they assume it’s only a rumor—a lie told by drunken men in bars and die-hard fans of the Straw Hat Pirates. 

That is until a paper is published under his name and Trafalgar’s. 

It’s a paper on the Amber Lead disease, but it isn’t just a mere study—it’s a fucking cure. Some say it’s a fluke. Not even a month later, Tony Tony Chopper publishes another paper, then another, and another—on diseases that have been untreatable for years. 

Soon, every doctor scrambles to meet him. 

He can often be found on Drum Island. He spends his days researching and treating those who sail by with no change in their pocket, bearing illnesses not even the gods dare try. It isn’t uncommon to see a marine or government official in his care. He’ll help anyone who needs it.

One day, a little boy washes up on shore with no ship in sight. He’s pale and blue. When the villagers bring him in, he has long stopped shivering and Chopper gets to work. 

He doesn’t need a miracle. 

After a few days, the boy wakes up in the infirmary, warmth in his face and his heart beating strong and steady. He finds Chopper and never lets him out of his sight. He follows the reindeer everywhere. The latter doesn’t mind, apart from when he goes into surgery, and some of his long-term care patients are pleased to have some life in the room. 

He refuses to give them his name. They settle on calling him Duck. 

By watching Chopper work and reading some random medical books off his shelves, Duck picks up on a few things and is allowed to help with small stuff. 

“Do you want to be a doctor?”

“I don’t know. I just want to be like you.” 

Duck quickly gets accustomed to the constant stream of new people from all around the world, arriving with hope in their eyes. They plead with all their might for help. Chopper lets them through the door before they even start telling their story. 

“You’re famous, aren’t you?” Duck asks one day. 

Chopper looks up from his paper, blinking. “Hmm?” 

Duck’s lying on the floor holding a book above his head when he continues, “That’s why everyone comes here, right? I heard that you’ve cured all the diseases you’ve ever come across. You’re a celebrity!” 

“Ah.” Chopper puts down his pen, glancing at his wrist. “Yes, that’s what some people say.” 

“You don’t think so?” 

“Well, because it isn’t true.” 

Duck glances at him, sitting up. He puts his book aside, tilting his head curiously. “It isn’t?” 

Turning around in his chair, Chopper tugs at the base of his antler. “I guess if you only count these past few years, it’s true that, with time and a lot of help from others, I’ve treated every disease I’ve come across.” 

Duck studies his expression. He prompts, “And before that?” 

Chopper’s hoof comes to cover his log pose. “Well, I had—I have a friend with a very unique condition,” he says, staring at the ceiling. “It was something he did to himself. But that’s not really right, because he fought for a lot of people and got injured for it. Sometimes, really injured.” 

“He sounds like a good friend,” Duck murmurs. 

“Yeah,” Chopper hums. 

Outside, snow continues to rain. The howling wind outside only ever makes it inside sounding like a whisper. It’s one of the more warmer months of the year, but somehow, it feels like they’re in the heart of winter. 

“I spent a long time trying to treat it,” Chopper admits. When he smiles, it bleeds frustration, and hurt, and why why why. “Every medicine became ineffective after a while.” 

Only then does Duck realize maybe he should never have asked. During his stay here, he’s noticed this kind of heaviness following Chopper around, weighing his every step and every move. As if he’s constantly trudging through mud. Or breathing in smoke, or fighting against the weight of gravity and the world. 

“Then,” Chopper starts. “He disappeared. That was a few—no, that's not right. It was many years ago now, and we don’t know where he went or if he’s even alive..."

And it's not the grief that’s killing him.

Chopper's voice goes quiet in the way snow falls upon snow as he says, "I don’t even know if I’ll ever see him again.” 

It’s the uncertainty of not knowing if it’s time to move on. 

When Usopp calls for an emergency meeting out of nowhere, everyone puts down everything to be there for him. They all set a course for Syrup Island. Some arrive early—Zoro, surprisingly, but that might be because Sanji went and found him before he took a few decades to get there. Franky and Robin are late. That’s only because they had to pick up a few members without a ride. 

Usopp, however suspicious and giggly he seems to be, keeps his mouth shut until everyone arrives, but this doesn’t stop them from harassing him for whatever news he’s got. They don't ask if it’s about Luffy. They know it’s not. 

When the last group arrives, Usopp ushers all of them into Sunny’s galley before dragging Zoro into Chopper’s old infirmary insistently, shouting something about, “It has to be you!” He shuts the door. He covers the window. 

Their voices seep through from under the door, and Chopper puts his ear against it when Sanji asks him to. 

Robin bursts out into quiet laughter. 

The crew looks at her with wild eyes, and Nami asks, “What? Robin, what are they saying?” 

Shaking her head as she covers her mouth, she looks at Nami with amusement in her eyes, something they haven’t seen in a long time.

“—so you just have to—”

“No. Usopp, it’s hideous. I’m not about to—”

“I need you to do this for me. Zoro. Do you trust me?” 

“Don’t ask such a stupid question, but does it have to be this color—”

“Trust. Me.” 

A couple of quiet minutes later, the door bursts open and the crew turns. 

Zoro’s wearing a dress. An ugly, hot pink, skimpy dress that is way too tight, and there are ribbons and bows in his hair. He has half a fishnet stocking over his left leg. He’s trying to look nonchalant, biting his lip and staying eerily still. That is, until, for a brief second, he looks away. 

Nami chokes on her wine, coughing all over Chopper who is too busy suffocating on his own breath to notice. Sanji wheezes so hard his entire face goes purple. He collapses against the dinner table, smacking his fist onto the wood with a soundless breath. 

Franky already has a camera out with flash, getting close for all the angles. Jinbei turns away, a hand over his mouth.

Brook is rolling around on the floor, arms extended up and out as he lets out this laugh that sounds offly close to a dolphin with a squeaky toy jammed down its throat. Usopp trips on him on the way out, giggling like a schoolgirl.

Zoro clenches his fist. Red spreads through his face to the tips of his ears as he bites out, trembling, “Usopp…”

Covering his mouth, Usopp wipes his tears. He sways to his feet, trying to catch his breath as he shakes his head. “Okay, okay—” He wheezes. “Zoro. Turn around. Come on. You’ll see what I got—what I got planned.” 

The rest of the crew try to quiet themselves, keeping their laughter low and behind their hands. Zoro’s never going to live this down.

Letting out a deep breath, glaring at Usopp with a searing fury, Zoro turns around. 

The quiet laughter dies out faster than blowing out a candle. 

Sanji gapes. His lollipop nearly falls straight out his mouth as he points at Zoro’s back. His eyes shake. “Usopp, you—” 

Noise erupts like a declaration of war, and no one in the world has probably heard as many “congratulations” as in this room at this very moment, and suddenly, four people are slapping Usopp’s back, four people are crying (that’s including Usopp), and one person is confused out of his goddamn mind. 

“What? What is it? What’s on my back?” Zoro asks, turning around and nearly ripping off the dress with his bare hands. 

Sanji hollers. He takes hold of Zoro’s shoulders to shake him back and forth again and again when he yells, happiness exploding from within, “We’re going to be uncles, you stupid moss-head!”

“Huh?” Zoro gapes. He jerks his head toward Usopp, but the man is already on the floor being piled on. “You mean, Usopp’s—”

Sanji’s eyes are bright and young and it’s the happiest he’s looked in years. “You get it, you idiot?”

In the next second, Zoro’s the one grabbing Sanji’s shoulders to shake him back and forth again and again. He’s grinning like a madman. 

Twenty minutes later, when they all manage to calm down, they gather and seat themselves around the dinner table and talk. Sanji brings out the alcohol.

(“Zoro, why are you still wearing that dress?”

“Oh. I am.”

“HAHAHA—”)

Someone brings up the topic of who would be the best auntie or uncle. Sanji would definitely spoil the kid rotten—maybe even steal the spot of favorite. Franky would probably build something ridiculous such as moving and hovering bunk beds or maybe a pair of sentient running shoes (Franky, no!). Jinbei offers to take up the role of swimming instructor. 

One thing that is unanimously agreed on is that Zoro is never allowed to bring the kid anywhere lest he gets lost. Zoro doesn't get a say.

And then someone asks—it doesn’t matter who, “What kind of uncle would Luffy be?”

No one breathes. No one flinches or gives any indication that their heart has stopped. 

“I don’t know,” someone answers—it doesn’t matter who. “But I think he’d be the favorite.”

A couple of months later, the night arrives and all of them crowd into this one tiny (maybe not-so-tiny) mansion. Kaya’s in labor for fourteen hours. Usopp and Chopper don’t leave her side for even a second. 

Dawn breaks through the waters. The house goes quiet, and a clear cry rings out into the air. 

It’s a girl.

Not long after Chopper makes sure that Kaya’s healthy and well, they all crowd into this little bedroom, staring at the little bundle in her arms. “Have you decided on a name?” they ask.

Exhausted and heaving and still pushing through receding pain, Kaya finds the strength in herself to smile, soft and warm and happy. “How about Lucy?” 

They all suck in a breath.

Kaya pushes a stray hair around her ear, her smile becoming mischievous—as if she’s been planning this all along.

“Yeah,” they say, wiping their tears. “That’s a good name.”

If you ever find yourself going the same way as a green-haired swordsman, turn around. You’re going the wrong way. 

If you ever find yourself pissing off a green-haired swordsman, buy him a drink(s). He’ll forget all about your pissing. 

To the world and its people, Roronoa Zoro, the world’s greatest swordsman, is regarded as one of the most feared pirates on the seas. He’s the right hand of the Pirate King. He’s armed with three blades and a searing glare, and if you ever cross him, you cross death.

To his friends and allies, Roronoa Zoro, resident swordsman of the Straw Hat Pirates, is considered one heck-of-a-dumbass with moss for hair and the directional sense of a fucking goldfish. The rest of the world doesn’t know this. Let’s keep it that way. 

Let loose in the unpredictable winds, Zoro hitchhikes on the ships of scared-shitless sailors, swims across the seas with only the clothes on his back and his swords by his hip, and walks on and on until the earth dares to end. Only the stars are his constant companion. 

Zoro stumbles upon bright-eyed rookies, driven by passion and, more often than not, carrying a stench of arrogance he needs to snuff out. He stumbles upon those who wish to prove their worth. Those who wish to learn the sword, and he teaches some. He doesn’t stay for long.

Zoro heads to Alabasta—to catch up with Vivi and rummage through her kingdom’s alcohol stores because she would honestly let him.

He finds himself in Sphinx instead.

Marco greets him with a lazy eye, letting out an exasperated sigh as he moves aside to let him through the door. 

“So where were you originally going-yoi?”

Zoro collapses onto his couch, putting his swords aside as he rests his hands behind his head. He closes his eye. “Alabasta.”

Marco chuckles, handing him a drink as he comments, “A bit off target, wouldn’t you say?” He drops down on the couch beside him. “So I’m guessing you came alone-yoi.”

“Yeah.” Zoro downs the glass and holds it out for another, at which Marco just hands him the entire bottle. “Thanks.”

“Plan on staying long?” Marco asks. He reaches out to grab the book on the coffee table and cracks it open in his lap.

Zoro shrugs.

Marco waits for Zoro to talk, but at some point figures he doesn’t want to and focuses on reading instead.

Sunlight wanes through the window as the hours go by. Warm laughter echoes nearby as the village children run by the house without a care in the world.

It’s only after Zoro finishes a third bottle does he break the silence.

“Hey.”

Marco glances away from his book.

Zoro’s staring at the ceiling, his hand absently wrapped around the log pose on his wrist. “Let’s fight,” he says.

Zoro’s blank voice echoes over and over in his head, and Marco studies the stiffness in the man’s shoulders—his pursed lips and calloused hands and wonders what he’s been thinking about these past few hours. Deep down, he knows. 

And so he says, “Let’s go then.”

A long time ago, if someone had asked Marco, he would say that Zoro’s swordsmanship reminded him of the sharpness of a chef’s knife. Smooth through flesh. Clean even through bone—with no sense of disturbance other than the movement that took the knife through, and it's like a blade that only gets sharper the more it gets worn down.

But the man before him is a shell of who he once was.

Marco flies back, avoiding a haki-infused slash just by the skin of his teeth.

Zoro's blade lashes out without control, cutting through stone and sound. He curls his lip back. There’s rage lighting his blood on fire and there’s bitterness in his breath, and Marco knows that none of this unbridled hate is directed at him.

Zoro fights like an animal in a cage. Cornered and confused and terrified as he reels from the loss of someone he never expected to lose. He doesn’t evade Marco’s flame. He doesn’t care. He lets them sear across his skin and burn his body raw, and he pushes through just to swing his blade—as if it’s the only thing he knows. 

It’s been four years since Marco learned about Luffy.

Ten since he first disappeared. 

Marco doesn’t offer any words or advice or condolences because he knows this pain and frustration and failure all too well himself. 

The moon looks over them. 

Marco recalls his flame, letting his wings recede into the wind. 

Zoro heaves. Blisters and burns cover his skin and embers eat away at his clothing as he slowly drops his blade to the ground. He closes his eye. And quietly, he says, “Thank you.”

When they return to Marco’s home, he summons his flames and spends a good half an hour healing Zoro’s wounds. 

Zoro departs the morning after. 

Marco bids him farewell, his gaze dropping to the log pose on his wrist. “Where are you going next?” he asks. 

And Zoro meets his gaze steadily and answers, with the kind of certainty only comparable to how you know the sun will rise tomorrow,

“To find him.” 

When the second Pirate King disappears from the world, the seas go quiet. More than a few people notice. 

A handful of pirates try to take advantage of it—raiding the territories promised protection from the Pirate King’s crew, but they soon learn that no matter how off the grid they go, they really don’t enjoy people messing with what’s theirs. Boats are dragged to the bottom of the sea. Bones are broken, and not many pirates try to stir up trouble on their turf after that. 

People spend their time theorizing. Some think that the Pirate King is in hiding, waiting to stir up trouble when the world least expects it—the inevitable calm before the storm. 

Some sources say the Straw Hat Pirates disbanded. The senior officers are commonly sighted around the world, alone and wandering. They’re caught in pictures. They’re whispered around by words, and people learn that as long as you don’t bother them and treat them like anyone else, they’ll leave you alone. 

And soon, time passes. Surely. Inevitably. 

New pirates take to the seas, and rising rookies celebrate their new bounties, laughing in joy as they make ripples upon the waves. They sail across the broad widths of ocean. They carry the tales of their predecessors on their backs and sails. 

Marines retire. New bright-eyed recruits take their place, hopeful for the future they will soon learn to protect. Justice redefines once more. 

Devil fruit powers return to the cycle only to sprout anew someplace else.

The tales and legends of the second Pirate King are told and talked about in bars and restaurants, within the walls and comfort of homes, and around lively campfires.

When Luffy disappears, the seas go quiet. But not for long. The tides push and pull, and people wait for the warmth of dawn as they have always done. 

When Luffy disappears, the world goes on. 

It feels like a crime. 

“ —finished with the testing. I’ve come up with two possible conclusions that explain why his vivre card isn’t moving.” 

“What? What are they?”

“Number one: his vivre card has—I suppose, disconnected from him. This means it will not drift toward him. Neither will it burn when his life is threatened.” 

“That’s—so, are you saying he’s still here? Or that—or that he’s dead. And we’re just… being led on?”

“Those are both plausible, but this disconnection theory may be the least reliable.” 

“Then, what’s the other reason you came up with?”

“Yes, well. The other conclusion is a bit… complicated. It assumes that your captain is no longer on this plane of existence.”

“This plane of existence?”

“Like he’s not on this planet anymore?”

“An alternate dimension—a parallel universe. I’m saying that he doesn’t exist in this world anymore.” 

The call doesn’t go into chaos like he expects. It goes quiet. It goes cold. 

And someone asks softly, “Is there anything we can do?”

“You can keep searching. If he’s in a world beyond this one, you could try to find a devil fruit capable of crossing dimensions. There hasn’t been one recorded in history yet. You’d be searching blind.” 

“It’s a start.” 

“But I must warn you, if there is such a thing as an alternate dimension, that means there’s more, which practically guarantees an infinite range of possibilities as to why your captain disappeared. This leads me to advise you that the best option is—” He stops. 

“...What is it?”

“To wait. Wait for him to find his way back to you. If you’re looking at an infinite number of worlds, and something or someone did take him from ours, they can likely send him back. He already knows where home is.” 

“...”

“Your captain has pulled off many miracles in his lifetime,” Vegapunk says softly. “Pray that he pulls off one more.” 

It took them two weeks to leave that island. Two years to go around the world twice, three for them to split up, and seven for the belief that Luffy might be gone for good to settle in. 

When they wake, when they eat, when they settle in for bed, they look at the vivre card in their log pose. It taunts them. It serves as a cruel reminder that Luffy’s gone somewhere they can’t go, and they can’t do a single fucking thing about it. 

The world goes on. They fight every second of their life not to, but even the strongest souls wane from the erosion of time. 

It takes ten years for their log pose to become something they look at, but not something they see, like looking at your watch but not registering the time. 

Maybe they accepted he was gone long before they realized. 

The Straw Hats call. They talk. They meet up and recall this boy of sun and sea in fondness and exasperation—a boy who gave so much and gained so little.  

They feel him in the sea breeze. They hear him in the boom of fireworks and see him in the waves. 

Luffy’s everywhere but here. 

One day, twenty years later after it all began and not a second later, when some wake up and others settle for bed, they look at their log pose as they have always done—muscle memory ingrained within their souls. 

On that same day, on an island all alone, Luffy wakes up to a world that has gone twenty years without him. 

Chapter Text

By the time they’re gone, there’s nothing Luffy can do.

He’s already running. 

The surroundings, once a forest flush with green, lie barren and burning. Smoke and fire swallow his vision. A breeze cuts through, uplifting a flurry of ash and embers, and it’s only because of the hand over his mouth that Luffy avoids choking. 

Steam billows off his skin. His sandals push off soot and soil, and Luffy runs and runs past patches of dry dirt where there was once woodland—runs for what could be mere seconds or an entire eternity, but the moment Luffy breaks out of the flames, what greets him are a quiet sea and an empty beach.

His shoulders heave. Ash tickles the back of his throat, and when a wind saunters by, it takes his hair past his wide, round eyes.

“Sunny?”

Luffy looks around. He searches the distant horizon for somethings and someones—a warmth stolen by the wind.

“Everyone?”

Luffy walks along the coastline, straying a fair distance between the core of the island’s flames and the reach of the waves. He sends his Haki out. He sends it far across the sea, a hand reaching out for another, but it is only the wind that answers back. 

He circles the island, round and round. Two times, three, ten—and at some point, he realizes the moon has taken up to the sky. He doesn’t feel his hunger. 

His hand reaches over his shoulder for his straw hat, for comfort, for a semblance of home, but his fingers return empty. 

Perhaps, that is the final nail in the coffin.

Drawn to the endless dark waters and blues, Luffy lowers himself to the ground and settles into the sand, cold grain, and soft land. 

“Luffy!” he almost hears, even in their absence. “How are you not cold when you’re only wearing that?” 

When Luffy draws his legs up against his chest, he hugs them closely, as if to shelter his heart from the wind.

And so he asks—quietly, to the sea, no different to how a child forgotten in the rain would, 

“Where did everyone go?”

The sea has no answer for her king. 

The night dutifully passes, but the sun does not rise with the morning. Rain falls across the island and upon the sea, but the fires running wild behind do not wane—not at all. They burn and burn and burn and Luffy does not question it. 

Luffy sits where he sat hours ago. His eyes do not leave the horizon, as if waiting for a passing ship—one with a lion’s head and a familiar flag. One that looks like home. 

Then, he stands. It should be a miracle he even lasted that long, but these are strange happenings after all. Luffy hasn’t been alone like this in a long, long time. 

Conqueror’s Haki sings across the silence, its shapeless form pulsing through the air and sending waves lurching back toward the sea. 

After a moment, a figure emerges from the waters. With its brittle scales lined with a natural gold, the Sea King turns its head to Luffy, its fangs curling by its pitch-black eyes. It drifts forward only to stop. A croon slides over the waves as it loiters where the coral reef ends. 

“Ah,” Luffy says, tilting his head. “Too shallow.” 

Cranking up his arm, Luffy launches it out to Sea King, feeling the pull of his skin, his muscles, his bones. His fingers find substance—a fang. The tension tears him out into open air, the ground falling away from his feet as he's catapulted toward the Sea King.

Just before he can crash into the creature, he angles his wrist and pulls. His body arcs. With a ruffle of clothing, he flips and lands onto the top of the Sea King’s head. It’s by habit alone that he reaches up to cap on his straw hat. His fingers fall to his side. 

Settling into a criss-cross, Luffy pats the Sea King on its head and asks, “Hey, Fangy. You think you could find me a ship?” 

The Sea King now-dubbed Fangy croons happily in agreement, and not a moment later, they turn away from the island, submerging into the water just enough to keep their head drifting above the surface. 

The seas part. The flames bid farewell.

Luffy doesn’t look back. 

It’s known to most people, sailors especially, that searching for something in the midst of the vast sea, a never-ending stretch of blue, is nearly impossible. The task itself is almost an instant surrender. The Sea King wades and wades. Swims and swims. They must travel for hours without finding a ship and Luffy hasn’t eaten for, perhaps, a day or so. Somehow, it’s not his stomach that hurts. 

There’s an ache in his chest. A pull of his flesh—an uneven lurch of his blood, and he reaches up to just over his heart, hand clenching at his skin to rip out that sickly feeling—as if it is something physical to remove.

Because there is no one. The only sounds are the high-above birds, the wish-wash of the waves, the whistle of wind, and the flap of his clothes. There is no human being aside from him for what must be miles, and to others, perhaps, this would be nothing but peaceful. Luffy hates it more than anything in the world. 

So, it’s easy to spot when he sees it:

A speck on the horizon.

Luffy perks up, eyes going wide, Haki reaching out like a child lost in the crowds who’s finally found home.

“Fangy, there! Go, go!” Luffy leaps to his feet, pointing to the dot in the distance, and Fangy only lets out an understanding noise before they pick up speed. 

They cut through the wind and water. Luffy takes a step, teetering on the edge of Fangy’s head as if it will bring him any closer, any faster. A siren rolls across the sea.

As they approach, Luffy realizes it’s a ship unlike anything he’s ever seen, because where he expects wood, there is metal—an all-encompassing hull of grey slate, and where should be sails, the wide and long cast of white cloth to catch the breeze, there stands nothing but a single mast carrying a familiar flag. 

They’re less than a klick when the sounds of panic surface above the waves. Tiny figures hurry onto the deck. They scramble for formation, carrying color in their hands. 

It’s instinct. 

A wave of Conqueror’s Haki bursts from Luffy’s soul—smothering the future that flashes before him. The people crumble like dominos. In the midst, Fangy drifts to the side of the ship, lowering their head to allow Luffy to jump off. 

Luffy reaches out to pet Fangy’s cheek. He smiles, giving a playful tug at their fang, before he exclaims, “Thanks for the ride! You really saved me!” 

Fangy croons, nudging into his touch as their eyes curl in delight, before they pull away to retreat into the waters, leaving only a disturbance of water as proof of their departure. 

Then, Luffy turns. His gaze sweeps over the deck. 

Most of the ship’s personnel are out like a light, laid across the deck in chaos, but there are a few who are standing. Struggling to stand, that is. 

Some wobble on their feet. Others hang onto whatever they can, sweat sliding down their faces, teeth grinding in plain sight. Their outfits are strangely familiar, but different in the way the white and blue fabric are embroidered across the clothing, but Luffy would recognize the Marine emblem on their caps any day. 

One of the officers, a fishman, staggers forward. There’s a metal object in his hand that has the semblance of a gun—not of a design Luffy has ever seen before. Drawing in a breath, the officer shouts, “State… your name!” 

“Hmm?” Luffy blinks. “I’m—” 

The door to the main deck bursts open with a bang, the sound reeling in Luffy’s attention like a moth to a flame. 

A middle-aged man sprints out, haphazardly putting on his cloak in the meantime, and it takes less than a breath’s worth of time for Luffy to recognize the inked characters of Fleet Admiral that are slashed across the back.

Strangely, Luffy does not ready himself for a fight. 

The man’s steps are frantic—wobbly, as they carry him out into the open, and his eyes fly across the deck, sharply assessing his men’s conditions before they slide up to meet Luffy’s. The man goes still. 

They hold each other’s gazes, one steady and unraveling at the seams, and what separates them now is only a spread of wood and widths of space of a Navy ship’s deck that suddenly feels longer than the world itself.

It takes a moment for the man to compose himself, before he opens his mouth to ask breathlessly, “...Luffy-san?”

Luffy tilts his head. A crease forms between his eyes as he asks in return, “Do I know you?" 

“Do you know me?” the man echoes, flabbergasted as he reels back, and he must not know what to do with his hands, because they come up to gesture at something only to flounder helplessly. Confusion clouds his next breath. He steps forward and says, his line of sight never straying, “Do you… not recognize me?” 

Luffy hums, eyes narrowing in thought.

Atop the man’s head sits a pair of glasses and a green bandana, and just below is a half-hidden scar, aged and faded, slashed across his forehead, but it’s the color of his hair that stirs up something in Luffy’s next breath.

“YOU’RE KOBY?!” 

Luffy’s voice reverberates through the air of the deck, extending far out to the sea, and at the sound of his name, Koby’s face bleeds from hope into relief, shoulders dropping from the tension. 

Although his recent demeanor has painted him out to be a nervous, new superior, Koby is the only one on the deck, aside from Luffy, to command presence. By the broadness of his shoulders. By the way in which he carries himself. His experience in battle is weaved through his stance and the scars on his knuckles. 

“You—” Luffy points, his finger shaking. “You got old!” 

Koby rubs his hand on the back of his neck, letting it hang there as he laughs. The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I guess I did…”

“You didn’t look like this last time we met up,” Luffy crosses his arms, frowning, “Chopper says that stress makes people get old. Or die. Did you get stress? He can fix it.”

“I—” Koby’s voice chokes out for a moment. “Well, I suppose that’s true, but…” 

It’s in the way a forest goes silent in the presence of a predator that Luffy stops. It’s by his subconsciousness that he knows something is wrong, his body tensing as if to brace for a blow, and when he meets Koby’s gaze straight on, it is a sad grief that greets him.

“Luffy-san,” Koby says. The tone of his voice could be named something like sympathy. “I’m afraid that the last time we met was over twenty years ago.” 

This is how a world begins again. 

An officer comes knocking at the office door, carrying concerns and a careful gaze, but Koby sends him away with a soft-spoken order and a stern glint in his eye. 

Koby pinches at his nose. He mutters under his breath, “Hel’s going to kill me.” 

Luffy watches from the couch, a fork in hand and a spoon in the other. “Won’t you get in trouble?” he asks. He downs another plate of spaghetti and meatballs before moving to the next dish on the coffee table. 

Flaring the ends of his coat, Koby settles on the seat across from him. “There are not many people my men could even report me to.” Koby sighs. “Regardless, they are loyal. They won’t tell a soul about what happened here.” 

Luffy nods, chewing and swallowing. He reaches out to grab a glass of water, slamming it onto the table after it goes down. “Whew!” 

“Good?” Koby smiles.

Luffy lets out a content breath, patting his belly. “Thank you for the food!” He sinks into the couch, the beginnings of a food coma tugging at his limbs, but before it can pull him under, he jolts up—lurches over the table—and yells into Koby’s face, “I need a den-den mushi! I have to call my crew!” 

Koby blinks, taken aback. “Oh, yes. Of course.” He takes a snail from his inner pocket and hands it to Luffy. 

For the next minute, the confusion and concern on Koby’s face only grows. “Luffy-san… is there an issue?”

Luffy stares intensely at the snail as he mumbles, “I don’t remember what Sunny’s phone number is.” 

Koby shakes his head. “Why am I surprised?” Standing, he makes his way to his desk and says, “It may not be their number, but I can check the Navy’s watch log to see if any of your crew members have been spotted recently.” 

Luffy scrambles off the couch. “Really?” 

“Really.” Koby smiles.

Wandering his way over, Luffy hops to sit on top of the desk, craning his head to study the weird box Koby’s staring at. “What’s that?” 

Koby blinks up at him, wide-eyed. “Oh, it’s—wow. That didn’t even cross my mind. It’s called a computer, which can pretty much sort and store all different kinds of… I lost you.” 

“Can you find my crew in that thing?” Luffy leans forward, squinting.

Koby turns back to the screen. “The most recent update seems to be on your helmsman, the Knight of the Sea. He’s on his way to finalize the worldwide declaration of fishmen’s rights and freedoms, but that’s on the other side of the globe. The conference is being hosted at the capital of the Somerlan Peninsula.” 

Luffy lights up. “Jinbei is?” 

Koby nods, a smile coming up to match Luffy’s. “He was pardoned for his crimes a while back and he’s been working with Queen Vivi of Alabasta publicly ever since.” He sits back in his chair, letting out a breath. “Wow. Time flies.” 

“And he’s with Vivi?!” 

“Yes, but that’s far from the only thing you’ve missed,” Koby says, leaning forward in his chair to gesture with his hands excitedly. “Transit to the Sky Islands is possible! They’re still developing more efficient and safer ways to transverse between the sky and mainland. Oh, and Water Seven is a ship now, which is credited to the Galley-La Company. The medical field, too, has been advancing at an incredibly rate. That’s all thanks to your ally, the Surgeon of Death, and your doctor—” 

Koby stops. His mouth opens as if he wants to add on and on—fill in the coloring book of twenty years and never pull back the pen. Uncertainty clouds his eyes. The hesitance, however, doesn’t last for long, because—

“Keep going!” Luffy leans toward Koby, his eyes open wide with curiosity as if to absorb every bit of the world he’s missed. He grins. “I wanna hear about my crew.” 

So Koby tells him:

About the master swordsman drifting across the sea, never one to stay, never one to settle—who travels west to chase the path of the sun, nurturing the dreams of young aspiring sword bearers as he passes. 

About the world’s compass who knows the skies and seas like the back of her hand—who has lightning at her beck and call and whose pen could rewrite the world, its currents and valleys and rivers and mountains. 

About the settled-down slingshotter who commands the winds to guide his shot to its mark with a certainty only belonging to the gods, and it’s said that the stories he spills have always come true. Both a warrior and a storyteller. 

About the fiery chef of all the world’s seas. He’s a master of sugar, salt, sour, spice, and savory good, and he’ll serve dishes for the bored or the hungry or the starved, regardless of offered coin or the lack of. He’ll cook up a meal if that’s all you wish. 

About the young doctor who needs no kind of miracle—the ball of fur that stands atop the medical world, respected and coveted, who will try the task of saving the damned when all hope has given, because he will always be the last to give. 

About the cunning woman who was once a young girl accused for the crime of living—surviving, who is now known as one of the most prized professors in history, armed with a mind like no other. They say her secrets can turn kingdoms upside down. 

About the once-in-a-millenium shipwright sailing upon his own creation with as much pride as a parent owes their child, and the blueprints he’s released onto the seas for inventions none have ever dreamed of are the backbone holding up the world. 

About the laughing musician touring the seas on the back of a great whale—a soul carried by a body of bones, not skin, not flesh—who sings as if he’s alive and has never been anything else. The fervor he brings into reality could not possibly belong to any of the dead. 

About the knight of the sea who is the epitome of chivalry—who fights with words before fists, because violence has always kept the snowball rolling and he is a man who’d draw his own blood first to keep it from doing so. 

Lastly, Koby tells him about the friend they left behind: the beloved Queen of Alabasta, the kind and just ruler of the sands who fights for the freedom of others’ because she cannot have her own—who cannot sail off to sea because of her love for her people. 

Not even a second passes after Koby finishes when Luffy goes, 

“I want to see them.” 

Koby blinks, a crease forming between his brows. “Sorry?” 

The smile on Luffy’s face only stretches wider, soft and all-encompassing like the rise of dawn, and he goes—exclaims with something that cannot be explained by anything other than love, “I want to see them!” 

Luffy leaps off the desk and sprints past Koby toward the window, trying to pull the damn thing open. “I have to go!” 

“Whoa, whoa!” Koby stands, hands gesturing placatingly. “This is the calm belt! You can’t go off on your own!” 

“Just give me a boat!” Luffy turns to him, urgency in the furrow of his brows. “Or I can call Fangy again—”

“Luffy-san,” Koby starts softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Slow down. Listen. I have responsibilities to attend to, but if my memory serves me right, one of your territories is about a couple days worth of travel from here. I can make a detour.” 

Luffy brightens. “Really? Koby, you’re the best! Thank you!” He launches himself at Koby, who staggers back a step to avoid falling over, as arms wrap round and round. 

For a moment, Koby goes still in the embrace. Then, he laughs. He laughs a quiet, gentle sound as his arms reach up to hug Luffy back, and he says, still every bit of the small soft-spoken cabin boy Luffy met on that passenger ship, “It’s the least I can do for an old friend.” 

Luffy hangs his feet over the edge, listening to the surge of the waves as the hull cuts through the water. The wind whips his hair back. The salt splashes on his skin. 

There are people watching him—whispering under hushed breaths and behind raised hands. Luffy does not turn his head. He stares onward—forward, as if there is no place but, and despite him trying to sit as close to the sea without going over, home has never felt farther away. 

Koby’s voice echoes back and forth in his head. Of the stories and tales of his family and friends that have gone ahead, and something inside of Luffy’s chest lurches—as if to reach out and across the gap between him and them. 

When the rain comes, he does not move. Lets the water run down his skin, lets it soak into his hair and clothes, feels it seep through his skin and breathe the cold into his blood. 

Koby checks in on him from time to time. He hands him a raincoat once and always brings a snack with him, if you could consider ten, twelve—twenty plates of food as a snack, and Luffy eats it gratefully. The food’s good. Great, even. Luffy wonders how Sanji would have made it better. 

It takes three days to arrive. It might as well have been forever. 

Dusk is rolling in when Luffy stands—jumps to his feet the moment he spots the island in the distance, and as they sail closer, he sees them—familiar flags rippling in the coastal wind, hoisted all over the harbor and on every other residence he can make out from here. 

The docks are not made of ragged wood. Instead, they are of smooth-cut stone—sturdy and resistant. Ships without sails alternate with ships that do, anchored in the water of the pier. Seawalls uniformly run along the edge of the coast, and there are people loitering about—settled in the sand or swimming in the shallows.

When the Navy warship turns to run parallel to the seashore, Luffy knows it’s time to say goodbye. 

“Will you be okay?” Koby asks, worry in the crease between his brows. He hands him a small bag. 

“Yep!” Luffy hoops the strap over his head. “My crew has my straw hat right? My vivre card’s in there, so they’ll come find me.” 

Koby doesn’t immediately respond. He purses his lips for a moment before he starts tentatively, “Luffy-san, about your straw hat—” 

“What is this?” Luffy pulls out a white card from the bag and lifts it to his mouth. “Can I eat it?” 

“No!” Koby shouts, snatching the card out of his hand. “No, you can’t eat it. It’s your money. If you ever need to buy something, just hand this to them, but make sure to get it back when you do.” 

Luffy hums. He studies the card when Koby hands it back to him. “Mystery money. Got it.” 

Once it’s tucked away into his bag, Koby gives him a quiet look. “And about how you disappeared… you still haven’t figured it out?” 

Luffy shakes his head. “Nope. I’ll ask Robin. She’ll know.” 

“...Alright then,” Koby says tersely, nodding. He opens his mouth to add on, but he shuts it the next second, and although he may be twenty years older, Luffy recognizes his signature nervousness lining his frame. 

“Koby?” Luffy prompts, turning to face him.

Time holds its breath as Koby’s thoughts run wild and incoherent behind the windows of his eyes, but after a moment, after a certain rock of the waves, he finds whatever he was looking for and says, “Thank you, Luffy-san. For everything.” 

Luffy stares at him before he breaks out into a lighthearted laugh. “What’s up with that?” 

Koby smiles. “I just wanted to say it.”

And this should be strange, shouldn’t it be? A collide of two worlds that are about to leave each other intact, rather in ruins, because the Sea’s Pirate King and the Navy’s Fleet Admiral should be enemies solely through history. Solely by inherited hate—common sense. It’s not supposed to end like this. But, somehow— 

“Take care of yourself, Luffy-san,” Koby says, wishing him all the world. 

Luffy’s expression bleeds a gentle warmth. He’s looking at a friend after all. “I will.” 

It takes less than an hour for Luffy to get lost—if he even had a destination to get lost from in the first place, but nevertheless: it’s been a long time since he’s been left alone in a city with no one to nag after him. 

“Whoops!” Luffy calls, a laugh in the place of his next breath, as he hops over the hood of a moving vehicle. Its horn blares at him, angry. The man behind the wheel looks angrier, which makes him want to laugh even harder. 

Luffy’s legs carry him farther into the city, one of paved streets and roads—one of tall stone buildings and paned glass. It’s new. It’s strange. It’s unfamiliar, but with each straw-hatted jolly roger he spots hoisted upon the rooftops, Luffy finds himself just a step closer to home. 

The shops and stalls fly past his eyes as he takes in the sights. He rounds the street corners, weaves past and through the crowd, climbs to the roofs and surfs upon those, and yet, he can’t shake it off—the inkling of familiarity lingering over his shoulders. 

In the wind, the flags flutter. 

This island is his territory. There’s enough proof to claim it so, which means that Luffy’s been here before. He has met the people. Has eaten their food. Has laughed and danced with them at a point in his life. 

Yet somehow, there is nothing for him to recognize. At least, not anymore. 

Luffy stumbles upon it, street-level, somewhere past the third hour. 

Across the street, there is a deliberate splatter of colors on a building wall, inking the entire span of the flat surface. It’s of a human shape. White locks arc in softened swirls, and splashed alongside its form are shards of gold and sunlight, sprinkled in-between the empty space, and there upon its head, as eye-catching as the break of dawn, is a gilded crown. 

Luffy trots across the pavement, eyes wandering in curiosity. 

There are people kneeling in front of it. Not many. Some all the same. Plates of fruit sit in front of the mural, untouched and carefully arranged. Heads are lowered. Hands are held. 

“—hope to pass my exams.” 

Luffy blinks, attention pulled to an older girl standing off to the side of the wall, her eyes closed, her hands in prayer. 

To the girl’s side kneels an older man, age lining his face and drawing down his shoulders. “That my son has safe travels upon the seas.” 

Luffy looks back to the painting, his gaze trailing up, up, up, before it lands on something tied around the human’s neck. Something gold. Something worn—

He bends down to snag one of the offered fruits. He takes a bite out of it. 

The sound of its crunch splits apart the murmuring silence, and people look up to stare at him with wide eyes and open mouths. 

“Hey!” The old man from before stands up. Anger writes itself onto his face as he steps forward to grab Luffy’s shoulder, scolding, “You can’t just—” but when Luffy blinks up at him, his voice dies in his throat—eyes falling to his half-moon scar. “You can’t just…?” 

Luffy’s eyebrows knit together, shooting the man an odd look. “What’s up with you?” he asks, before he shrugs off the man’s loosening grip. He takes another bite and turns away, continuing down the road, unbothered. 

The mural stares after him. 

Down sinks the sun. Up comes the moon. White light scatters across the stretch of ocean, catching every crest of the waves and casting shadows at every trough. 

Luffy finds a hotel to stay at. He does what Koby told him to do and hands the white card over to the lady behind the counter. He’s promptly escorted to the highest floor. 

The room is extravagant. Purple curtains, polished floors—decorative gold vines wind through the array of lights hanging down from the ceiling, and when Luffy hops into bed, he has to tear one, two—three sheets away before he can even settle. The cushions are squishy. The blanket is soft. 

Luffy’s out of the bed within the next thirty seconds. He opens the balcony door and leaps off the ledge, letting his legs carry him back to the beach where he lies down onto the sand without a word. The cold is not a bother. Not as much as not having them here with him. 

And so, Luffy pretends. 

He pretends that the sea is beneath, rocking him like a mother would her child. He pretends that every odd sound that makes it to his ears are the snores of every bunk that isn’t his. He pretends.

He pretends that he’s home. 

Luffy knows it the second he hears it.

A fragment of sound, drowned under the roar of the crowd, their footsteps and speech. Luffy lifts his head. Turns and searches. Cranes his hearing as best as he can as he walks forward in staggered steps.

Instinct leads him to a shop, a petite thing settled at the corner of the block, and once Luffy walks up to the windows, eyes drawn to the contents, it takes him less than a breath’s worth of time to push open the door.

The bell chime hits his senses first. Next, the scent of wood. After: the leather. Instruments hang across the walls—strings and winds. On the right of the entrance, a grand piano sits clean and crisp, its keys catching the warm orange glow of the lamps that are littered throughout the shop. Shelves extend from the middle of the room to the far back, and just a step or two farther in tells Luffy they are home to rows and rows of records, prepped and packaged for coin. 

On the left is the front counter. A girl sits behind, legs kicked up onto the wood of the desk, eyes buried in a book. She doesn’t look up as he enters. Luffy pays no mind— 

Because there’s a record player on the counter. And it is singing. It’s singing something Luffy would recognize in any lifetime—every lifetime, lest his hearing fails him, because that’s—

Brook. 

The song is bright, a leap and jump of chords that pull at the heart, breathe in the joy, and share the warmth. Brook’s voice cuts through as soulful as his name. Lyrics spill from him with a lungful he does not have, a blur of words and notes that make Luffy want to sing along with him, but he can’t. Because as much as Luffy recognizes the singer, he does not recognize the song. 

“You—” 

Luffy looks up.

The girl behind the counter is up on her feet, eyes staring, mouth hanging, one finger pointing and the other lifting up the record player’s needle. 

After a long moment, she states plainly, “You’re Monkey D. Luffy.” 

Luffy blinks “Yes.” 

She’s still pointing. “You’re the Pirate King.” 

Luffy grins, putting his hands on his hips. “Yes.” 

A silence sprouts up tall and wide, growing and growing. She squints. She wipes at her eyes, but even after he doesn’t disappear like she looks like she expects him to, she runs a hand down the side of her face, muttering, “I’m not dreaming, am I?” 

Luffy laughs, “You’re weird!” He turns away and walks up to the shelves, hands reaching out to grab at random vinyls. 

“Weird?” the girl exclaims. “I’m—you’re the one who’s—” She grabs at her head. “How are you even walking around like that? Has, has—has no one stopped you?” 

“Someone asked me if I was a cost player.” 

She deadpans, “Are you?” 

Luffy gives her a weird look. “No, I’m the Pirate King.” 

The girl’s gaze does not stray from him, before she mutters under her breath, a hand sliding down from her nape, “Brook was right about you.” 

Luffy’s head whirls around one-eighty like an owl. “You know Brook?!”

“WHAT IN THE FUCK—” 

Righting his body, Luffy lurches forward, grabbing her by the shoulders to shake her frantically. “Do you know his den-den mushi number?! I need to talk to him! I need to tell him where I am!”

The girl rapidly shakes her head, throwing up her hands. “No, sorry, I—I only met him once. Only knew him for a while. Even that was years ago.”

Luffy sulks, frowning. His hands fall away. “Aww…” 

“I should be freaking out right now,” the girl stares blankly ahead. “Am I in shock? What are the symptoms of shock? Because how are you here and why are you not like—an old man?” 

Luffy shrugs. “Dunno.” Then, his mouth stretches out into a grin as he asks, “So, who are you? How’d you meet Brook? Are you friends?” 

The girl takes a breath. “Um,” she starts tentatively, “My name’s Corina—nice to meet you… sir. Sir?”

“Call me Luffy!” 

“...Right,” Corina drawls. “About Brook—he had a concert here a few years back. He taught me a few things during his stay.” 

Luffy gawks. “Oh! I remember Koby telling me that he was on tour.” 

Corina stares at him, blinking once, twice, and—“For my sanity, I’m just going to assume this ‘Koby’ you speak of is not the Fleet Admiral of the Navy, but yes. He’s been touring for as long as I’ve been alive, which is crazy.” That earns a laugh from Luffy. “I mean, I love music as much as the next person, but Soul King? He’s practically bound to it.” 

Luffy’s eyes curl gently. “That’s Brook for ya.” 

Studying him for a moment, Corina’s gaze turns away, but her body doesn’t. “Brook, he… when he was here, he never stopped talking about you. Kept a photo of you and his crew in his skull compartment thing,” she meets his eyes once more, hand on the back of her neck, “which I guess helped me recognize you almost right away, but he loved showing me it whenever he could. He—” 

Corina trails off. The grief that clings to her words does not belong to her. 

Walking up to the counter, Corina drops the needle back down, and when Brook’s voice spills into open air, she turns to Luffy and asks, “Do you know what this song is called?” 

Luffy shakes his head. 

“It’s called Seven,” Corina says. She makes a little beckoning motion as she moves past him to walk over to a certain section of the shelves, and Luffy trails after.

It’s the largest section of the store. Soul King posters take up the entire wall behind the shelves, carefully arranged with care and vision, and as Luffy walks up to it, eyes sliding over the displayed vinyls, he asks, “All of these are Brook’s songs?” 

Corina nods. “And these,” her finger drifts over to a subsection, “are from his Years album."

Luffy leans in. Confusion sprouts in his eyes as he reads over the titles of the vinyl covers. 

One, says the first. 

Two, says the second. 

Three, says the third, and Luffy doesn’t even make it to the fourth when Corina says quietly, answering his unvoiced question, “He wrote a song every year for you.” 

—if there was ever a chance you would hear it. 

Luffy’s next breath doesn’t even make it to his lungs. He reaches out, picks up a vinyl sleeve, and peers down at it—seeing more than just the number bolded across its surface. 

Corina looks at him from the corner of his eye. “...Twenty is supposed to debut soon, but hey!” she tries, adding a lift to her voice, “I guess that’s never coming out. I kind of feel bad to say I was looking forward to it, but I—” She smiles. “I think this is way better.” 

Luffy whirls around to her, eyes wide, a crease between his brows, voice loud and yearning. “I wanna see them!” he exclaims. “I wanna see them so bad!” He drops down into a squat, hands clutching at his head, as if to materialize the frustration and crush it under his fingers. Then, he stands. “I have to go!” 

He’s about to push past but Corina stops him, hands up and flat. “Whoa, whoa! Slow down! Your mom ever tell you what to do when you’re lost?” 

“I have a mom?” 

Corina blinks. “Alright. Let’s keep that can of worms shut, but anyways—Brook has your vivre card, right? He mentioned that before, so that means he’s on his way! The rest of your crew probably is too! So if you just go running off, it might take longer for you to meet up. The best plan of action is to stay put. Got it?” 

Luffy frowns, shoulders dropping down loose.

Corina lets out a breath. She glances up at the clock on the wall before she turns to Luffy, a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eye. “How about this?” 

The needle goes up. The lights and lamps go out, and with a twist of a key, the front door locks tight—and then, they’re off.

Corina takes Luffy to a weapons shop first. She drags him past the enormous cannons, the slick rifles, the fancy knives—drags him all the way to the far back where an object rests up on the wall. It’s not Usopp’s kabuto. It’s modeled incredibly close to it, but it’s not his. The owner tells them about how he had won it in a marksmen competition, hosted by one very familiar sniper. He ends up kicking them out when Luffy tries to steal it. 

A medical clinic is next. Apparently, the citizens of his city are either close-knit or lax or both, because when Corina walks up to a lady waiting for an appointment, calls her by name, and asks to show them her arm, she obliges with only a bewildered look. The lady pulls off her glove. Her prosthetic arm stares up from below, and it only takes Luffy a second to recognize the two signatures branded into its metal: a bold star and a cherry blossom. 

Luffy can count on one hand the number of times he’s been in a library when Corina leads him into one. The shelves fly past. The colors do too. They stop in the food section and Corina shows him. Plucks out a pager. Flips through it just slow enough for Luffy to see the photos, and to his surprise, they are all dishes he recognizes. His stomach doesn’t even get a chance to grumble before he’s chased out and into another section. The books grow thicker. The covers grown plain. There’s a dull, bold History sign hanging from above and a familiar name on many—many of the book spines, and Corina doesn’t even have to say a word, because Luffy already understands. 

They walk into a dojo, one full of young students and budding dreams. They watch them run through the stretches. The warm-up. The katas, but it’s when the teacher steps forward to demonstrate a technique, that’s when Luffy’s go wide—familiarity as an arrow through his chest, because that movement is something he’d recognize blind. Would recognize it solely by how it cuts the wind and makes it blow. 

As they step out, Jinbei’s and Vivi’s name are already on Luffy’s tongue and Corina’s answer is a mere motion of her arms—gesturing to the crowds of the city where humans and fishmen walk alongside, brushing each other’s shoulders without even a second glance. It’s been all around even if Luffy didn’t know it: peace. 

All this evidence. All this proof. Perhaps, this should be surprising. Maybe to some. Maybe to others, but for Luffy, it isn’t. Far from it—to learn that even without him, they lived. 

There’s only one place left to go, so Luffy turns to Corina and asks, And Nami?

Corina only smiles. 

They follow the road up and up and up and find a wide, expansive staircase leading up to a building—a grand building with tall cylindrical pillars, carved out of white marble. 

Corina leads him through the halls. Her steps echo. Luffy’s steps echo hers. They pass by historical objects and long-done paintings and harvested skeletons of sea creatures, but Luffy doesn’t pay any mind. That should mean something. 

They stop at the end of a hallway before a pair of doors. Corina looks back at him, a smile on her face, before she grabs the knobs and pushes. 

Light spills from the opening. Luffy walks, step by step, into the middle of the room, turning on his heel around and around, head tipped up to the ceiling, heart pounding in his chest, breath lost on him, because there, carved and painted and pasted upon the walls, are pictures. Spreads of shapes and colors. Fine linework that wind around the room and angle off like rays of the sun, familiar in the way they reflect off his eyes, and it doesn't even take him long to go, all too knowing, without anyone to tell him— 

“That’s Nami’s,” Luffy whispers. 

It’s a map. The walls, the ceiling, the floors—it’s one entire map. Luffy’s legs nearly tangle around each other as he walks about the room, laughing a bright sound, because he sees it. The earth, the skies, the depths. He sees everything—every island that has ever been.

She did it. They did it. 

And for a moment, Luffy’s next step falters. 

Because on this island alone, he has seen them on the walls of buildings—plastered posters calling for concerts. He has found them in every mechanical invention he’s never seen before, careful and complex, and he has read their passion in the pages of books and their written texts—inked names which are all Luffy can recognize.

It’s strange. To be a spectator for once, when Luffy has always been the driving force who pulls the story along faster than anyone else, but now—he’s an outsider. Staring at a story that has already played out. 

They have been everywhere, even without him. 

“Any bets on who's getting here first?” 

Luffy blinks from his daze, glancing at Corina who has just closed the doors behind her. She walks up to him.

“First?” Luffy echoes, blinking. Then, he gets it. They aren’t together. Not like they were before. He hums, working his jaw, before he replies with a laugh which comes short of his eyes, “Definitely not Zoro.” 

Corina replies, a smile pulling at her lips. “Definitely, huh?” 

Luffy nods. “He has to do the L thing with his hands.”

A pause. “...You’re serious.” 

“Mmhmm.” 

“Wow,” Corina says, blinking hard. “I did not expect the greatest swordsman in the world to have problems telling right from left.” 

“Right?” Luffy exclaims. 

“So, he’s last. Then, who’s first?” 

Humming, Luffy starts, eyes closed tightly in thought. He rocks from the tip of his toes to the heels of his feet before he starts, a knowing in his chest, “If it’s who gets here the fastest..." A tender smile takes hold of his mouth. "Then, it’s gotta be—”

The doors burst open. 

They slam against the sides of the room with a bang, the sound ricocheting across the room like a bullet, and when Corina turns—

—so does Luffy. 

She’s older than Luffy remembers. Dark bags hang beneath her eyes. Fine lines wear into her face, and the crow’s feet by her eyes aren’t as prominent as they once were. Her hair’s cut just a bit shorter. She’s a cut taller, but how much exactly is lost on Luffy, because she’s wearing those heels as always. 

Heaving under the doorway. Sweating and out of breath like she’s been to hell and back. She goes to take a step. She doesn't have to. 

Because Luffy’s across the room in a heartbeat, arms already wrapping around and around and around so as to never let her go. 

She’s different. 

She’s different from the woman Luffy once knew—a gap of twenty years separating them where there once was familiarity, and perhaps, she should be a stranger now. Someone who has experienced lifetimes that Luffy hasn’t. Someone who shouldn’t be his anymore. 

But she’s still—

—Nami. 

“—ffy,” Nami chokes out. “Luffy,” she sobs, pressing her face into his shoulder, pressing her fingers into his flesh, gripping him tightly as if terrified he’ll disappear the second she lets go. “You’re here.” She pulls back, not far, never far. Hands come up to cradle his face. “You’re here.”

Luffy chirps, “I’m here! And now, you’re here!” 

Nami laughs, breathless. She pulls him into her arms once again, but not before pressing an unsteady kiss to the crown of his hair. A sob escapes from behind trembling lips. When her legs waver, Luffy holds her up. Would hold her up forever if needed. 

“I thought…” Nami whispers, barely above the silence, “We thought we’d never get to see you again, Luffy.” 

Luffy hums against her skin. “Not going anywhere, Nami.” 

When they break apart again, Nami lifts a hand to wipe away her tears, but never once does her gaze stray away from Luffy’s. She lets out a half-sob, half-chuckle spill from her, and she says, trying to add a bite to her voice and failing oh so miserably, “Do you need me to give you directions all the damn time?” 

Luffy blinks up at her. “You’re my navigator, aren’t you?” 

“Always,” Nami says. A little too fast. A little too desperate. “Always, Luffy.” A finger reaches out to push a stray hair past Luffy’s cheek and around his ear. She looks at him for another moment, a small gentle smile on her face. The crow’s feet by her eyes show themselves again. 

“Nami wants another hug.” Luffy grins.

“And what’s her Captain’s verdict?” 

Luffy’s answer is to smoosh them together, rocking them side to side. 

Nami mutters into his hair, “Gosh, you don’t stink like usual.” 

Luffy asks, “Is that why Nami wanted another hug? ‘Cause I took a shower?” 

A scoff escapes her. “I’d still hug you anyway, idiot.” 

Although Luffy can’t see Nami’s smile, he can hear it all the same. “Even if I stink, Nami loves me,” he says with a tailing laugh, like a little kid with a secret. 

“You’re so insufferable,” Nami murmurs, tightening her arms around him.

Once Nami steps away, albeit reluctantly, Luffy’s eyes drift to his side and he perks up. “Nami! This is my friend, Coral! She brought me here.” 

“Corina.” 

Nami studies her for a moment, gaze quiet and low, before recognition flashes across her face. Her smile returns. “You’re Brook’s student, aren’t you?” 

Corina flinches as if she’s been shot. She goes stiff like a stick. “I—um, I guess? For a little bit? How do you…?” 

“Brook mentioned meeting you years ago,” Nami answers. 

“Wow,” Corina starts, shoulders falling in disbelief, “Soul King Brook talked. About me. To the Straw Hat Pirates.” She buries her face in her hands. 

Nami laughs. “He loves his fans.” 

“And I will explode.” 

Glancing at Luffy, Nami elaborates, “Brook calls every now and then. We all do. It’s pretty tough to meet up when everyone’s scattered across the globe.” 

Luffy perks up, tugging on her arm. “Do you know where everyone else is? I don’t know Sunny’s number!” 

“If you did, I would throw all my money into the sea. I’m not sure where everyone is exactly, but what I do know is,” Nami replies, fondness in the turn of her lips, “they’re racing to see who gets here the fastest. I should have made them bet on it; It’s Sabaody Archipelago all over again. ” 

“At least you’re faster than Zoro this time.” 

“Alright. That was a fluke.” Nami stifles a sigh, absently glancing at her log pose. “But, more importantly—” She pauses. “I’m more concerned on how you still look twenty-one.”

“Oh. Yeah, that.” Luffy blinks. 

There’s a thought in the form of a crease between Nami’s eyebrows. “When you disappeared, we came up with a list of potential reasons for how you disappeared, but we could never confirm. Now, I’m certain it was Toki’s time devil fruit.” 

“Toki?” Luffy echoes.

“Momonosuke-kun’s mother, remember?” 

Luffy nods—although by the purse of his lips, he doesn’t completely remember. 

“Anyway,” Nami starts again, “There wasn’t anyone around to use it on you, right?” 

“Mmhmm,” Luffy answers, kicking his feet. “I didn’t sense anyone. Sanji didn’t either, right? I remember feeling that he was checking up on me.” 

“Then, do you remember what you were doing last?” 

Luffy hums, eyes drawn to the ceiling. “I was just walking around and singing. I saw a lot of cool bugs, though! And a lot of cool plants, too, and there was this one that—” he blinks, a light bulb going off behind his eyes, “Ah, I remember.” 

“What?” Nami says too fast, leaning forward, shoulders stiff. 

Luffy glances at her and says, “There was this one funny-looking plant. I tried touching it and then that’s when it happened.”

His answer does not put to rest the high-strung confusion in Nami’s expression. Instead, it makes it fester. “Do you remember what it looked like?” 

“It was green?” 

“It was green.” 

“Mmhmm. Pink too.” 

“If you had a picture, would you remember?” 

“Yeah, probably!” 

“You could check out the library nearby.” 

Their heads turn to Corina, who suddenly shrinks under the attention, but that might just be because of Nami. 

“Sorry, uh. It’s hard not to eavesdrop when you’re talking right in front of me, but about the library,” Corina continues, “It’s not far.” She lifts her head and points up the street. “Just go past the first four-way and then turn left on the next street. It’s this island’s only library so it’s pretty big. You can’t miss it. And um, I brought Luffy there earlier.” 

“Thanks, Corina!” Luffy exclaims, jumping forward to give her a brief yet tight hug. He pulls back and says, “Thank you for showing me around too!” 

Corina laughs, before she shakes her head. “Nah, it was nothing. I owe my life to Soul King Brook, so this was the least I could do for his Captain.”

Luffy grins. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” Corina says softly. “I’ll see you around, okay? If the history books are accurate at all, I better see you on headlines soon.” 

“He’ll deliver.” 

Corina wavers under the gaze, but Nami’s eyes soon soften. The curve of her mouth does too. “Thank you for looking after my Captain. I’ll let Brook know you’re doing well and that you said hello.”

It takes a few seconds for the words to seep in, but when they do, Corina smiles. “I’d like that.” 

After an exchange of waves and a loud We’ll meet again, Luffy and Nami depart in search for the library. She takes his hand and doesn’t let go. 

With his navigator in tow, they take under five minutes to find the library, and with a quick word to the librarian, they head off into the botany section. 

They go page by page. Nami waits patiently as Luffy scrutinizes each plant, but each and every bounce of her leg speaks loud enough of her limits. She glances at her log pose. She chews at the tip of her nails, and the air grows heavy, heavy, heavy—

“This one!” Luffy points. 

Her leg stops bouncing. 

“...This one?” Nami stares down at the photo, fingers falling from her lips, eyes growing wide with realization. Her gaze glues itself to the paper.

It’s a pause on time as well as her body, because Nami’s gone still as stone. 

And then, she starts to laugh. At first, it starts off quiet—a sound you try to smother when the joke isn't funny but you find yourself laughing anyway—and it gets louder. Louder. Louder—until Nami’s shoulders are shaking, there are tears in her eyes, and her laugh pulls from her lungs and pushes past the line of hysterical. 

She’s choking on her own cruel amusement when she turns to Luffy. “You’re—” she starts. “You’re kidding me, right?” Her fingers grip at the table, shaking with force. 

“Nami?” Luffy asks. 

“This—” Nami points at the page and giggles, “This is—sorry—is a Venus Fly Trap. It’s a carnivorous—carnivorous plant and—I. I don’t—I don’t know why I’m laughing because—It’s not even funny. It’s not funny at all, but—” 

Slowly, the laughs die down to a silence and when Nami takes her next breath, she chokes on it. She buries her face in her hands. 

“Nami?” Luffy asks. 

“It must’ve eaten the time devil fruit somehow,” Nami murmurs. “Vegapunk figured out that inanimate objects could consume devil fruits, so why not plants? And you didn’t know, so you touched it and—and then, you were gone.”

She lifts her head, and although her tears have already fallen, the frustration in her eyes bleeds like a fatal wound. “A plant, Luffy. I mean, you realize how ridiculous this sounds, right? We lost twenty years with you, because of some plant you happened upon, and it’s all because—it’s all because of—”

Luffy studies her carefully. His expression is quiet, subdued, as he asks, “Are you mad at—”

“Yes!” 

The word’s out of her mouth before she even gets the chance to think, but the sound must echo back to her because Nami stares at Luffy in growing horror. “No, I—I didn’t mean I was mad at—at you. I just—” She shakes her head, helpless. “I got—I get mad at you for stuff like… spilling juice on my favorite blouse or knocking ink across my maps. Not…” 

Nami tips her head back, a cruel chuckle tearing out of her. “I’m mad at myself for expecting there to be something more. Some—some greater purpose to you disappearing—for you being stolen away from us, but… this is all it ever was. Something so trivial that it makes sense.” 

Nami’s expression crumples painfully and when Luffy reaches out, she takes his hand. “I’m sorry, Nami.” 

“No—no, don’t. Don’t apologize… because how could I blame you?” Nami asks softly. It’s not a question directed at Luffy. “When that same forward-thinking and that endless curiosity and sense of adventure is what led you to us. I could never wish you to be anything else.” 

Luffy prompts, “Even if it was sad for a little bit?” 

Nami answers, quietly but steadfast, “Even if it was sad for a long time.” She stares at the book for a while and Luffy doesn’t interrupt her—lets the thoughts run wild behind her eyes as she fights against something intangible—something in her chest. 

Then, Nami shuts the book and slides it away. When she turns to Luffy, there is a smile on her face, small, but a lifetime’s worth of love all the same. “Just don’t go messing around with weird plants again, Lu. Please.” 

“...What about Usopp’s?” 

“Usopp’s are fine,” Nami laughs, light, weightless. “He’d never let anything happen to you.” 

Luffy squeezes her hand and smiles. “I know.” 

There’s not much to do on the island, but maybe, that’s a small blessing in and of itself. 

Nami drags Luffy to shop after shop. Buys him clothing after clothing. She puts him in shirts and shorts, skirts and dresses, jackets and jeans, and normally, Luffy would be whining even five minutes in. He hasn’t complained in two hours. 

One instance, one of the clerk asks if she’s shopping for clothes for her son. Nami and Luffy burst out into laughter. 

They grab snacks from stalls. They grab drinks from bars. They find a family-run corner store by the bay and Luffy manages to make quick work of the fried chicken section before he’s kicked out. He’s half laughing, half-chewing as he stumbles out of the store, belly too full to balance himself. Nami trails right after, a refound youth in her step. 

“Usopp made it?” 

They’re settled in the sands of the northern beach, sat up against the seawall, when Luffy asks. The sun begins to die in the distance.

Luffy blinks, turning over the log pose in his hands. 

Nami nods, rubbing her tan-line. “He made one for all of us, so once your vivre card started moving again, we’d see immediately. And also, half of us are prone to losing our things, so it was a really smart move on his part.” 

Luffy watches as the paper nudges toward him. Rolling onto his back, he hands the log pose back to Nami, who seamlessly clips it back onto her wrist. A strong wind blows through, howling. 

Nami looks out to the endless waves, eyes reflecting the dying sun. “When I saw your vivre card moving, it was like being possessed. Taken over by someone I once was,” she murmurs. “I just… got on my Waver and didn’t look back.” 

For a moment, her mouth hangs open, as if to add on more, but the silence stretches on, on, on. 

Luffy cranes his head to look up at her. 

Nami meets his gaze and smiles sadly. “Are you going to ask why we split up?” she asks quietly, as if bracing for a hit. 

But the hit doesn’t come. It never will, because Luffy only studies her carefully, a pair of black eyes seeing miles more than anything the world could ever comprehend, before he turns away to stare up at the sky—the indigo and red. 

“Nah,” Luffy says. 

Number two arrives the next day in the midst of Luffy running a restaurant dry. 

“—and besides Usopp,” Nami starts, swirling her glass, “I’m lucky if I even known where three of them are at the same time. Brook has been on tour for the last seventeen years. Franky and Robin have been with Sunny this entire time, sailing wherever whenever.” She hands a glass of water to Luffy when he starts frantically pounding his chest. “Chopper is being bled dry.” 

Luffy jerks, dropping a rib. “Someone’s eating Chopper?!” 

Nami laughs, propping her chin up on the table. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant to say is that because he’s a very high in-demand doctor, he gets calls from all across the world, and you know how kind he is. He can’t help but answer.” 

Luffy nods in understanding. He picks up the fallen rib and stuffs it in his mouth, swallowing the bone. “I heard Jinbei and Vivi are meeting a summer penny zoo thing.”

“I’m guessing you’re talking about the Somerlan Peninsula, which is on the other side of the globe.” Nami raises an eyebrow. “How'd you know about that?" 

“Koby told me too.” 

“I’m still surprised he gave you a ride.” 

“What ‘bout Sanji?” Luffy asks, stabbing at a steak and inhaling it. 

“Well,” Nami starts, her heel knocking against the leg of her chair. “Sanji goes where All Blue goes, but from our last call, he was drifting somewhere in the West.” 

Nami looks at him. She turns onto her side and reaches out to push Luffy’s fringe out of his face. “He was the one who noticed first,” she says. 

Luffy blinks. “Noticed what?”

“When you disappeared,” Nami answers. “The moment you did, he was the one who noticed—he said your voice disappeared. Second to you, he was our best color of observation user, and he’d always brag about it to Zoro, but after that day, he never did again… He’s always been too hard on himself.” 

Luffy only holds her gaze and says, like common sense, a well-known fact—“Sanji’s kind.” 

Nami lets out a breath. “Yeah. Makes me want to just shake him sometimes,” she grumbles, and after a pause, she notes, “You didn’t ask about Zoro.”

Luffy chews. “He’s lost, isn’t he? So you don’t know, but he’s gonna take a while.” 

Nami smiles cheekily. “You sound sure. What if he spent the last twenty years honing his sense of direction?” 

“You’re so funny, Nami.” 

Reaching forward to wipe Luffy’s face with a napkin, gaining a mouthful thank you, Nami leans back in her chair and says, “Maybe you should slow down. Leave some stomach room for your midnight snacks, Lu.” Amusement dances in her eyes. 

Luffy apparently decides to take Nami’s words as a challenge, because it takes until past sundown, after all the other patrons have left for the night, for Luffy to slump back and sink into his chair as he lets out a satisfied burp.

“All warmed up now?” Nami asks cheekily. Without looking, she lifts her glass and a terrified waiter slides by to take it away. 

Luffy nods, making a satisfied sound.

Glancing at her log pose momentarily, Nami signals for the bill and, when given, hands the waiter a white card.

“You have one too?” Luffy asks.

“Of course,” Nami replies. “But this one’s yours. I took it from your bag.” After being handed back her—Koby’s card, she tucks the receipt into her purse.

Luffy reaches behind him, fingers wiggling, before he stops and stills. “Hat! Wait, Nami! Who has my hat?” 

There’s a wary pause. “Sabo does,” comes the answer, a moment later. Nami glances away. “After you went missing and he came around to help search, we handed it to him to look after.” 

Luffy rocks his chair back and forth, hanging his hands behind his head. “Oh, okay! That’s fine then.” 

“Luffy,” Nami starts. 

“Hmm?” 

“There’s something you should know about your brother.”

Luffy stops. His chair hangs in the air, and he stares curiously at Nami, tilting his head. 

Nami purses her lips, searching for the words. “He’s missing,” she tries, but when Luffy’s expression doesn’t twitch, she carries on tentatively, “He has been missing, but not like you were. Koala mentioned getting in contact with him a few times over the years, but… no one has seen him for a long time.” 

Luffy blinks. “But he’s okay?” he asks with a tilt of his head. 

Nami asks her answer, “Physically? Yeah, but… I mean, the last time I saw him, he was already—”

And Nami trails off. Her eyes rise above Luffy’s shoulder, pinned on something past him, and Luffy doesn’t even get a chance to turn around when he feels it. 

“Twenty years of searching and when I find you, you’re cheating on me with another chef?” 

The world has gone silent in the way a person’s heart stops beating. Luffy breathes and breathes. 

He turns around.

It’s not the length of his hair, braided in the crook of his neck, that Luffy notices first. Neither the bags under his eye, the wear and tear of his black shoes, or the rips and burns on his suit. None of them come close. 

Luffy stares across the room, gaze never straying from Sanji, and what he notices first is that his chef is exhausted—far beyond anything tangible. It’s something beyond flesh or bone or any verbal explanation, because each heave of Sanji’s chest is not just because he’s out of breath. He’s leaning up against the door frame. His legs are shaking beneath him. The expression on his face is of grateful relief, because finally. Journey’s end is right here. 

Luffy’s up on his feet, but Sanji’s always been one of the fastest members of his crew, because he’s already slamming into his chest, arms coming around to anchor on Luffy’s back. 

“Shitty rubber,” the words come, but they have no bite. No heat. Only this verbal surrender that has Luffy’s chest squeezing. “Where have you been?” 

Luffy laughs in his hold. Squeezes him back with just as much love and says, “I’m so happy you’re here, Sanji! I missed you!” 

“Me too,” Sanji says quickly. “Me too, Lu.” His precious hands—ones meant to care and give, give, give—clutch at Luffy’s clothing as if there’s no other place for them to be. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I was too late.” 

Luffy doesn’t get a chance to ask what he’s sorry about when Sanji pulls back, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, and when he gets a better look at Luffy’s face, he smiles. Laughs out in warm relief. 

Luffy lets out a giggle as he states, “Sanji’s crying.” 

Sanji scoffs. “And what of it?” Fingers rise up to squeeze Luffy’s cheek. 

“Hey! Sanji!” Luffy whines, pushing away his fingers without any real intention. 

With an affectionate smirk, Sanji lets go, his hand falling to his side, but after a moment, his eye narrows down at his face, scrutinizing. “Wait, why are you… time fruit?” 

From the side, Nami deadpans, “Time fruit that was eaten by a plant.” 

Sanji glances at her for a few seconds as the words and realization seeps into his head. “You’re kidding,” is all he says.

Shrugging, Nami lets out a breath. “I had a breakdown over it so you don’t have to.” 

Sanji whirls around to shoot a heatless glare, and Luffy shrinks, his lips so pursed back that he might as well have no mouth at all. 

Sanji’s hand rises to grab at his hair. Shaking his head, he mutters, “I shouldn’t even be surprised…”

Luffy whistles.

“Nami-san,” Sanji turns, “How long would it take for us to sail there?" 

Nami raises an eyebrow. 

Luffy’s mouth reappears. He tilts his head and asks, “Why? 

A spark sputters out from under Sanji’s heel and even as weary as he is, he smiles, sharp-teeth and all, “I’m going to burn that plant up into ash.” 

“I greatly encourage that,” Nami says. “I have nothing against nature, but this is an exception—”

“I think it already got burned up.” 

Nami and Sanij stare at Luffy, blinking. “What?” 

Luffy rocks back and forth on his feet, grabbing a toothpick from the table, as he says, “When I came back, everything was burning.”

Exchanging a look with Sanji, Nami asks, her eyes narrowing, “What do you mean everything?” 

“The island.” 

Sanji prompts, absently glancing at his log pose, “All of it?” 

Luffy nods. “Mmhmm. It was like… a huge campfire! But I was in the middle of it, so it wasn’t very fun. It was warm, though.” 

“Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” Nami reaches out to playfully yank at Luffy’s ear. She lets go and deadpans, “Actually, you don’t need to answer that, because deep down, I know why.” With a hand under her chin, thoughts run wild in her eyes. She turns to Sanji and starts lowly, “That island’s relatively isolated. And I can’t think of a reason for someone to burn it down. Unless, they’re just a psycho.” 

“It could have been a lightning strike, no?” Sanji suggests. 

Nami’s gaze is careful. “...Maybe. We can talk more about this once we get out of here.” 

“Yeah,” Sanji murmurs, ”We should get out of here first,” but when he moves to turn around, foot stepping forth, he crumbles.

Luffy lurches forward, catching him by the arm. “Whoa, Sanji!” he exclaims. “I knew you got old, but not this old!” 

“Sanji-kun! Are you okay?” Nami stands from her seat, a hand reaching forward to push Sanji’s hair out of his face.  

Sanji pulls away from Nami’s touch, eyes struggling to stay open. “Just tired,” he slurs. 

Nami’s eyes gain a suspicious glint before she asks, “Where did you leave All Blue, Sanji-kun?” 

For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Just breathes and breathes before the answer comes, soft-spoken and guilty. “Varender.” 

“Varender?” Nami gawks. “That’s in the middle of West Blue; are you insane?! Sky-walking all the way here.” 

But all Sanji offers is a quiet, “I had to get here. As fast as I could.” 

Nami puts the heel of her hand against her forehead, but a quick glance at Luffy is all she needs to let out an exasperated but fond sigh. “...Well, I can’t blame you for that. Come on, Lu. He needs a comfy bed right about now.”

Using Luffy as a pillar, Sanji tries to stand, legs wobbly and barely functioning, but Luffy hoists him over his shoulder like a bag of flour. “Here we go!” Luffy exclaims.

“Luffy!” Sanji snaps. “Put me down. I can stand—”

“Sanji’s being stupid,” Luffy says, nearly tripping over a stray plate, but he regains his balance with a little whirl around.

Sanji starts weakly, “Luffy—”

“Do I need to pull rank?” comes a huff. 

Sanji grumbles once under his breath before he goes silent. 

They make a quick run to the hotel room Luffy has been staying at. It isn’t far. It’s a small island after all, and once behind the privacy of closed doors, Sanji nearly drops dead when he sits down on the chair under the shower. Luffy helps wash his hair. He doesn’t even look like he can lift up his own arms, but when Sanji does, it isn’t to tend to his hair. 

The log pose catches the bathroom light. 

It doesn’t even take a second for Luffy to take Sanji’s wrist in hand, pull it up and over to his own face, and smile. “Sanji’s being stupid again,” he says. “I’m right here.”

As if yanked from the fatigue, the exhaustion and grief, Sanji stares at him for a moment, his eyes softening. He smiles back. “Yeah,” he replies. “You’re right here.” 

Luffy wakes up the next morning sprawled upside down over the bed, one arm off of it, one leg resting on Nami, who has pulled all the blankets to her side. Wincing from the light through the window, he sits up. The balcony door drifts open and closed. A chilling breeze slides past, chipping away at Luffy’s fatigue. 

Making sure not to wake up Nami, he slides off the bed, puts on his sandals, and walks up the balcony, unsurprised to see Sanji sitting on one of the chairs, legs kicked up the coffee table. A lollipop rests between his lips. 

Sanji turns his head when Luffy pushes the door open, and he smiles, offering a soft, “Morning, Lu.” 

Luffy rubs at his eye, yawning. “Good morning, Sanji. When’s breakfast? I’m hungry.” 

Luffy might as well have shot Sanji, because the latter flinches, eyes going wide, lips parting, and the silence that follows has a stillness only belonging to stone. 

It takes ten seconds worth of staring and blinking away the drowsiness for Luffy to start to panic. “Sanji? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” 

“I’m not! I haven’t even started yet,” Sanji laughs gently, but his eyes glisten under the dawn. “Nothing. It’s…” he starts. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to say that again.” 

It goes like this—like how it did before. While they wait for the rest of the crew, it’s a routine or replication of life on the Sunny. Sanji cooks up breakfast, lunch, dinner, and every snack in between, and he’s bent on making every dish for Luffy. Not even candy from the convenience store. Not even a bag of chips from the vending machine. Sanji has twenty years worth of cooking for his Captain to catch up on and Luffy is not complaining. The days pass. The fridge piles full. The fridge goes empty. 

Money for food isn’t a problem either. Nami tells Luffy all about her riches, and Sanji’s only a little bit more humble about his, but that doesn’t really matter in the current circumstances, because Nami is running Koby’s credit card dry. 

On the third day, they’re on the way to the grocery store when Luffy sees it again. 

Luffy tugs them over as it clips the corner of his vision and he says, pointing, “I saw that before—what is it?” 

Sanji and Nami glance at the subject of his question—the mural of gold and clouds. There aren’t as many people kneeling by it, but that may just be because it’s early morning. 

Sanji turns away, but there’s an inkling of a smile on his face.  

Nami sighs. She’s smiling too. “Luffy, you remember Bartolomeo-kun? One of your commanders?” 

Luffy nods, humming.

“Yeah, well,” Nami starts, shaking her head in exasperation, “since you’ve been gone, he’s been spreading the so-called…” She exchanges a look with Sanji. “‘Sun God’ agenda.” 

Brows furrowing, Luffy asks, “The what?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Nami waves him off. “It’s just him being weird, but now that I think about it, it’s weird that he somehow didn’t make it here before us.” 

Sanji shrugs. “Maybe, he burned himself at the stake as an offering to the sun.” 

Nami pauses for a moment, mulling it over. “It’s concerning that I’m not sure if he would or wouldn’t do that.” 

“Can’t say I blame him.” 

“Sanji-kun!” Nami gawks. 

Sanji opens up his mouth to reply, but before the words even make it out, he freezes, steps coming to a slow stop. Nami and Luffy stop when they notice. They look back at him.

Luffy tilts his head. “Sanji?” 

When Sanji meets Luffy’s eyes, there’s a huge grin spreading across his face. “Hey, Lu. How about a surprise?” 

That’s not even a question Sanji has to ask. 

There’s a knowing look on Nami’s face and she says, smiling, “Go. I’ll catch up.” 

Sanji and Luffy leap across the rooftops. Soar over the gaps and breathe in the wind, and once they catch up to the ocean, the blue swallowing up Luffy’s vision with its vastness, he jumps down from the seawall, heart in his throat.

There’s a dark dot on the horizon. It stands out in the endless blue, even as far as it is, and Luffy scrambles around, looking for something to launch from. A lightbulb goes off behind his eyes.

“Sanji!” 

“Yep,” Sanji replies. 

Gathering up running room, Luffy steps back only to leap at Sanji, who reels his leg back and kicks. 

Pushing off, Luffy shoots through the air and above the sea surface, the harsh wind ruffling his clothes, but fear or worry does not grip him as he flies, not when—

“—Brook!” 

Luffy slams into his musician, wrapping his legs around him as bony arms rising up to catch him—cold touch and warm love. Brook stumbles back. He holds onto him as tightly as he possibly can, holds onto the person who he has waited for—not as long as his entire life, but long enough that it may as well be so. 

“Luffy-san—Luffy-san!” Brook weeps. He presses his hands into Luffy’s back, phalanges and metacarpals into his chest, sternum, and ribs. 

Luffy snickers into his ear, parroting back, “Brook! Brook!” He pulls back. 

Brook sobs openly and loudly. His fingers drop to Luffy’s neck, cradling him like how you would a star, irrevocably taken by its light and presence and celestiality. “Luffy-san, I waited for you!” 

“Thank you for waiting! Sorry I took so long!” Luffy laughs. 

Brook finds himself laughing as well, drawn into Luffy’s gravitational pull as he has always been. “I fear this is a dream. Are my eyes failing me?” 

“Nope!” Luffy chirps. He grins. “But you don’t—”

“—have eyes!” they finish in unison.

Luffy’s laugh cuts off short as he perks up, something flashing past his eyes and then he’s yelling, shaking Brook’s shoulders back and forth, back and forth. “Brook! I listened! I listened! I heard you! Your new number songs! ” 

“You did?” Brook asks, his voice both cracking and pulling thin. 

“Uh-huh!” 

Brook knocks his skull against Luffy’s forehead and exclaims, “I wrote them for you, Luffy-san!” 

Luffy nods, nods, and nods, laughter bubbling out from his lungs like a gift from heaven. “I know, I know!” 

Brook stares at him as if to absorb all of him at once, and as trembling hands press against Luffy’s skin, he starts quietly, “Captain. I’ll sing you all the songs you desire. May that be to the end of my days.” 

Luffy’s response comes easy. He smiles. “I know that too.” 

Luffy still has his legs and arms wrapped around Brook like a snake when Laboon brings them to the docks.  He gives no sign of letting go. No one has the intention of telling him to—least of all Brook. 

By the time they step off of the docks, Nami has caught up—she stands off to the side of Sanji when Brook gives a tip of his head. “It’s been a long time, my dear friends.” 

Nami smiles. “How have you been, Brook?” 

“Before today, I wouldn’t be able to tell you, but now… Well, I haven’t felt so alive in twenty years,” Brook answers, glancing down. 

Luffy, resting his head in the crook of Brook’s neck just above his clavicle, snickers.

Sanji replies, taking out his lollipop, “I’m sure we share that sentiment. We can talk more inside.” 

“Ah, but what of Laboon?” Brook asks. 

Luffy exclaims, unwinding around the skeleton, “We can camp on the beach then! Sanji, campfire! Campfire!” 

Sanji opens his mouth to retort, but the sound dies in his throat. Instead, he shakes his head and smiles. “Whatever you want, Luff.” 

“First, we have to pick up our things and check out of the motel,” Nami says. “Sanji and I can make a quick trip. We’ve hogged Lu for long enough. Time for someone else’s turn. And Brook?” Her gaze pins onto him.

Brook bows his head. “Neither hell or heaven will take him while I’m here.” 

Nami winks, “That I have no doubt.” 

After watching Nami and Sanji depart, Brook turns his head, peering into Luffy’s eyes. “Shall we?” 

Luffy takes his hand and pulls him forward, grinning. “Let’s go!” 

Although one would think that a skeleton wouldn’t be the best person to stick close to, Luffy practically announces it as his goal—the way his arm loops around Brook’s three times over—the way he’s melting against his side, squished against bone. 

Brook may not have the facial muscles to express the joy, the gentle thrum of his voice, quiet and soft in contrast to his history of music and the songs he had sung in search, makes up for the lack of visual cues. 

He’s an accompanist who’s found his soloist once again. 

They stray along the coast of warm sand and sunbathed rocks, so Laboon can watch them afar and so he isn’t left alone, but he isn’t their only company, because Brook, with his fame and reputation as a musician and a Straw Hat Pirate, has people staring from the sidelines. There are cameras in their hands. Papers and books. Vinyls and pens too. 

Brook pays them no mind, and instead, turns and starts, “You know, Luffy-san…” 

Luffy meets his gaze. “Hmm?” 

“It was about fifteen years ago. I awakened my devil fruit,” Brook says, casting his line of sight to the half-moon under Luffy’s eye. “I thought that maybe—I would obtain the ability to talk to ghosts, and maybe see if I… could find you.”

A pause slides in between them, but Luffy doesn’t reply—only studies him with all the attention he could ever spare. 

“It ended up being an entirely unrelated ability—be that fortune or miss,” Brook says—nearly whispers, “but I don’t know what I would’ve done if I was right the first time.” When he turns to Luffy, he says, his voice bleeding like an open wound, “So, thank you. Thank you for being alive.” 

“I told you!” Luffy replies, steadfast. His hand squeezes Brook’s. “If I’m dying, it’s on my own terms.” 

Brook stares at him for a moment, before his jaw opens to say something more—

A cough. “Excuse me—”

Both of them turn to see a woman standing a bit away, arms crossed, foot tapping in the sand. She glances at Luffy, jaw tight and working, before looking to Brook, eyes brightening. “Hi, Soul King! I’m a huge, huge fan. I’ve been following you for years and I wanted to get an autograph—”

Brook says, “My apologies, Miss. I’m occupied right now.” He turns back to Luffy. “Let us continue—”

“And who are you?” the woman asks, eyes narrowing. “Can you not hog Soul King for so long? He doesn’t belong to you—”   

The sword’s tip is up against her throat before the sound even has a chance to catch up. It presses against her flesh. Not deep enough to draw blood, but enough to draw a warning. Frost itches across the woman’s skin, but Brook isn’t even looking at her. He’s looking at Luffy as he says once more, quiet and low, “I’m afraid you didn’t hear me the first time, Miss.” 

The woman falls back, gasping, scrambling away. She digs her fingers into the sand before she’s up on her feet and taking off in tangible fear. 

Brook merely tips his head. “My apologies for the interruption, Captain.” 

Luffy only looks at him curiously, steady eyes and all. He breaks out in a smile. “Nah, it’s fine. So, what power did you get from your devil fruit then?” 

Brook hangs his sword by his hip and offers his arm to Luffy who takes it without a word. He starts, “Well, you see. It’s the direct manipulation of other souls. I’ve worked with our dear doctor in tethering a patient’s soul to their body during surgery… Ah. I’m aware you likely do not know what I’m discussing, do you?”

“Nope!” Luffy laughs, his eyes curling happily. “Tell me anyway.” 

(Hands deftly organizing their belongings, Sanji finishes up packing the rest of their things when Nami steps into the room from the balcony. “Anything?” he asks, carefully.

“Nothing,” Nami says, grimly. She sits back onto the bed, pocketing her snail. “I don’t understand. He should have been the first one here, but—” 

Sanji hoists the bag over his shoulder. Pressing his lips together, he says, “And what Luffy said about the island… You don’t think…?” 

Nami stares forward. Her gaze does not waver as she says, all too knowing, “Grief changes you.”) 

They’re having a barbecue on the beach when Sanji states, “You haven’t asked.” He closes the hood of the grill.

Lying in the sand, Luffy looks up. He doesn’t reply; the words aren’t for him.

Fingers strum at the guitar strings, and from under the beach umbrella, Brook’s gaze carries out to the sea as he says—confirms, “It was the time fruit, was it not?” 

Sanji nods. “It was, but I was talking about how it happened.” 

Brook doesn’t respond right away. Luffy meets his gaze as he stops strumming the guitar. “To be quite frank with you, it isn’t a concern of mine,” he says softly. “Do you understand how much of a miracle it is that I was able to reunite with not one, but two dear friends whom I thought I’d never see again? But, here I am. Here we are. Against all odds.” 

“I don’t need to know why,” Brook continues. “All I need is to cherish these next years. That… is enough for me.” 

Sanji studies him for a moment, before he nods. 

Luffy’s eyes bounce between them. He leaps to his feet. Stretches, dusts off the sand, and extends a hand out to Brook, “Come on!” 

Brook takes it. 

They don’t go far—just enough to not get on Sanji’s nerves—when Luffy starts digging up a hole in the sand. When dug, Luffy points. Brook laughs. 

“I’m too young to be buried!” Brook cries, head turning back and forth in feigned fear as the rest of the hole is filled with sand. “Captain, no!!!” 

Luffy pats it down, a laugh spilling out. “Sorry, Brook!” 

“What must I do to deserve your forgiveness? A song? Two songs? Three songs?!” 

The words bubble up in Luffy’s throat. 

Sanji stiffens in the corner of his eye, turning his attention away from his meal prep, and Luffy glances up, his Haki already surging through the ground and air. 

Sanji whistles. “Now, this is going to be a banquet.” 

“Captain?” Brook asks. “Captain, don’t leave me in here!” 

But Luffy’s already on his feet, turning on his heel, because there’s no question at all.

A figure of flowers bursts to life just behind him and Luffy’s lunging into the chest of a person who catches him without hesitation—with only a carefulness that comes with carrying glass. “Robin!” 

A floral scent floods his senses. Gentle arms pull above his shoulder blades, hanging onto him tightly. 

“Hello again, Luffy,” Robin says, her voice both breathless and yanked tight and thin. She pulls away only for a thumb to slide across his half-moon scar. 

Luffy gets a good look at her now. To be honest, she resembles everyone who came before her. Shadows hang below her eyes, tension lines her bones, and water dots the rim of her eyes. One tear falls down her cheek. It’s a happy one. 

“You made it!” Luffy chirps, pushing into her touch. 

“As did you,” Robin replies, gaze shaking and soft. 

“And you have bangs!” 

Robin blinks, owl-eyed, before she lets a laugh spill from her lips. “I suppose I do.” Both hands, calloused but gentle, come up to cradle his face. “I’m not sure you understand how much you have been missed, Captain.”

“I missed you more!” Luff argues, making a face before Robin reaches out to poke him in the crease between his furrowed eyebrows. 

“That … is up for debate,” Robin says, a fond smile on her face. She glances up to Nami, who walks up with Sanji by her side—Brook’s still stuck in the sand. “I suppose the time fruit hypothesis was correct.” 

Nami shakes her head, a hand to her temple. “Tell me about it.” 

A roar of an engine cuts through the city. 

“You have others to greet,” Robin murmurs, holding Luffy’s chin just for a second longer before she turns to push him forward. Her hand lingers above his shoulder. 

Past the seawall, a smoke cloud brews up from the streets, before a four-seater vehicle bursts onto the beach with the blast of a horn. It skids to a stop, sliding across the sand. It tips to one side before hitting the ground with a thump, but Luffy has no time to pay attention to the vehicle, because there’s already someone stepping out, the momentum throwing him forward—

He’s older. He’s taller. He’s sobbing his eyes out.

Usopp slams into Luffy’s chest with enough force to send them tumbling to the sand like twenty years ago—tumbling together once more after being split apart, and instead of reconciliation, it’s because of reunion. 

Arms squeeze around Luffy, tightening, tightening, tightening, before Usopp pushes up on the heels of his hands and stares down at him, happy tears pouring from his eyes, snot dripping down his nose. He looks worse for wear. His hair is a mess and loose. His clothes are too, but there’s not a single drop of fatigue in his expression, because his brown eyes are bright and alive. “Geez, Lu! You—I—we thought…!” He wipes at his eyes with a sleeve. “Where did—why did you take so—urgh!!! I can’t even—”  

Luffy bursts into tears, lunging into Usopp’s chest and sending them back on his behind this time. “Usopp, I missed you!” 

Usopp laughs out a sob, squeezing him like a squeaky toy. “Why are you acting like I’m the one who’s been gone for twenty years? I should be saying that!” 

“But I did miss you!” 

“And I love you so goddamn much!” Usopp sobs, thrashing them back and forth. “So much! I knew it—I knew you were coming back!” 

Luffy exclaims into his shoulder, “Of course I’d come back!” 

A car door slams closed. 

Luffy jolts, looking up from Usopp’s shoulder, before the latter is pushing him off and pushing him forward—

“Franky!” 

Luffy leaps and Franky, more metal than man, catches him with cold, burly arms that yank him into his chest as if to weld them together.  

“Lu—Lu—Luffy!” Franky cries. Tears roll down his face without inhibition. He smooshes his cheek into Luffy’s spinning him around and around. “Where did you go, bro?! We missed you!” 

Nami nudges Sanji. “Take a shot everytime someone says the word ‘miss.’” 

“Me too!” Luffy laughs, pulling back so his hands can come up to grip at both sides of Franky’s face. “What took you so long?” 

“You’re pulling my leg, Luff!” Franky gawks, his cheeks completely soaked with tears. Sparks sputter out by the plates of metal. “You’re the one who took so long.” 

“Sorry, sorry!” the giggle comes, before Luffy’s lurching forward, nose-to-nose with Franky. “Whoa! What happened to your eye?!” 

“Just a little fight,” Franky answers. “Chopper fixed up a new eye for me, no problem!” 

“Chopper made you a new eye?!” Luffy gapes before squinting closely at the prosthetic, studying the whirl of machinery in the ring of color. “Does Zoro have a new eye?” 

“Nah. Too stubborn like that.” 

“Too stupid, too.”

“Ah, bro!!!” Franky’s arms wring him like a washcloth. He carries and whirls Luffy around, earning a bright laugh from the latter. “I love you so much!”

“Whoa, whoa!” Usopp’s voice comes from behind, steadier now. “Zoro’s not even here to defend himself. Cut the guy some slack.” 

After one more spin and one more squeeze, Franky reluctantly lets Luffy back down to ground level. Luffy hits the ground dizzy. A metal hand comes down to ruffle his hair and he laughs, pushing Franky away without any real intention as a giggle slips out. 

“Hey, Lu!" 

Luffy turns around with a, “Hmm?” 

There is excitement written all over Usopp's expression as he says, "There’s someone else you should meet.”

Franky's hand lifts off his head. Luffy straightens, curiosity flickering in his eyes as his gaze drifts from Usopp to someone else. 

Standing just off to the side of Franky's car and Usopp is a young girl—with a height reaching up to his shoulders, black hair fuzzing out behind her, and a loose hoodie over her person.  

Crossing his arms, Usopp says, a blinding shine of pride over his face, “This... is my daughter.” 

Luffy blinks. Stares. It takes a second, maybe three, before—”MINI-USOPP?” 

The girl blinks back. “Please do not call me Mini anything, especially if it’s Mini-Dad.” 

“What’s wrong with being compared to me?” Usopp cries, lighthearted offense in the form of a hand to his chest

The girl pointedly ignores him and steps forward, smiling. “You’re my Dad’s Captain, right? I’m Lucy. I was… kind of named after you.” 

“After me?” Luffy echoes. 

Tipping her head, Lucy replies, “It's the name you went under while going undercover in Auntie Rebecca’s kingdom?"

Luffy whirls around to Usopp. “You married Viola?” 

“What?” Usopp gawks, before he shakes his head rapidly, hands waving frantically to emphasize his words. “No! I married Kaya. Lucy calls most of our friends by auntie or uncle. That’s all.” 

“Oh. Got it.” 

Lucy studies him carefully, brown eyes quiet in thought, before she says, “You’re not what I imagined. I thought I’d be meeting an old man or something—"

“Forty is not old,” Usopp chips in. 

Lucy gives him a narrowing stare over her shoulder and quips back, “That’s what an old man would say.” 

“How old are you anyway?” Luffy asks.

“Eleven and a half.” 

Luffy’s jaw hits the floor. There’s a pause before he murmurs with a frown. “I missed eleven birthday cakes.” 

Usopp reaches out to lightly knock him on the head, exclaiming in half-humor, half-exasperation, “Those eleven weren’t even yours!” 

Luffy whirls around to a certain crewmember. "Sanji!" he cries out. He grasps at his head as if he's having a headache. 

Sanji shakes his head, smiling with a lollipop in the corner of his mouth. “Alright, alright," he placates. "Twenty years worth of birthday cakes coming right up, Captain." 

“Sunny’s by the dock,” Franky interjects, stepping back into the vehicle. “You can whip those up in the kitchen.”

Luffy grins. “Yipe!” He leaps at Usopp, arms winding around his neck. 

“—H-hey, Lu. Can’t breathe—need air.” 

“Oops, sorry.” Hands falling to his side, he lets out a lighthearted laugh, and as Usopp gasps for air, something in the corner of Luffy’s eyes has him turning. “Hey! That’s my straw hat!” 

Lucy blinks, pointing at herself. Then, her gaze rises up to above her head and she says in understanding, “Oh, I got this in Cocoyashi!” Her hand reaches up to readjust the hair clip, one shaped like a straw hat. “They sell a lot of stuff like these.” 

“Ohhh…” 

Lucy studies him for a moment. Not long. She reaches up and unclips the straw hat before handing it to Luffy. “Here! You can have this until you get your hat back. I heard your brother has it right now.” 

Luffy takes it in glee, brightening. “Really?!” 

Lucy nods. “Every photo I have seen of you—you’re wearing your hat, so it’s kinda weird seeing you without it, I guess.” 

“Thanks, Lucy!” He clips it onto his front bangs. It dangles there.

Lucy hides a laugh behind a hand before she asks, “Dude, what are you doing—that’s not how you wear it.” 

“It’s not?” Luffy asks, eyebrows furrowing. “But that’s how you did it, though.” 

“Uh, no. Here; let me,” Lucy walks forward, fingers reaching up to adjust the clip like a crown, “You have to pull back your hair and then clip it. …See?” When Lucy steps back, a smile sits on her face—one that's worth years of the crow’s feet by her eyes. “Now, you look like a proper king.” 

All except Brook, who says he’ll accompany Laboon and meet them at the docks, pile into Franky’s car—one that was previously a four-seater but is no longer after Franky let out of whistle—a signal for the vehicle to start literally expanding. 

Luffy hops onto the hood on the car with a cheer. No one tells him to get off. 

(“Why can’t I—”

“He’s made out of rubber, Luce. You aren’t.”) 

The engine roars to life. The wind does too, whipping past as they speed up and down the roads. Luffy lets out a whoop. The sound of his voice cuts through the breeze, and when he casts his line of sight over his shoulder, his crew meets it with smiles on their faces—fond. 

The docks end up being less than a ten minutes ride’s worth away. They manage to pass every yellow light by the skin of their teeth, but that might just be because they’re carrying a lucky charm in the form of Monkey D. Luffy. Don’t bring that guy into a casino. You’ll run the business into the ground. 

The tires screech as Franky slams on the brakes, and Nami’s voice cuts through—”Where did you get your goddamn license?” 

“What license?” 

Once the car comes to a stop on the cemented pier, Luffy hops off. He’s already running. 

“Sunny!” Luffy shouts, a grin across his face, sprinting down to the end of the pier where she awaits. “It’s me!” 

She’s just as Luffy remembered: Home. The bright orange of her figurehead shines against the blue of the sea as she bobs amongst the waves of the gentle coast. Her sails are up and furled. Her anchor down and steady. 

Luffy’s about to leap onto the deck—forgo waiting for Franky, but he doesn’t get the chance when, with a whirl of machinery and without notice, the boarding bridge goes down. It drops onto the pier with a soft thump. 

Luffy blinks, curiosity in his eyes. Turning back at his crew, who has only just started catching up, he asks, “Is someone else on the ship? The bridge just came down on its own.” 

Nami and Sanji exchange a glance as the crew walks across the bridge to board the ship.

Robin’s the one who speaks up, a cheeky smile on her face as she does so. “I forgot to mention that Sunny has a Klabautermann.” 

“Klabautermann? They exist?” Lucy asks, already walking to the tree swing. “I thought you were just pulling my leg.” 

“Luce,” Sanji says, hands in his pockets, “you have met a dragon, dwarves, a talking polar bear—and you’re telling us you’re crossing the line at ghosts.” 

Lucy stares. “Yep.” 

“Your Uncle Brook is literally a skeleton.” 

Usopp interjects, eyes wide with concern, “Is—is Sunny okay?”

Franky scoffs, hands on his hip. “Of course, she is! I’ve kept her in tiptop condition all these years. You doubt me, bro?” 

Usopp shakes his head immediately. “No! It’s just—I mean, the last time this happened—” 

“She’s fine. Don’t worry,” Franky reassures. “Robin?” 

Taking that as her cue, Robin explains, “The presence of a Klabautermann does not automatically mean that a ship is deteriorating. It can also spawn when it is well-loved. Over these twenty years, Franky and I have seen it. Doors will close to make sure the wind doesn’t come in. Clothes will be hung to dry. There are times she even steers herself when we need a hand.” 

Eyebrows furrowing, Sanji asks, finding a seat on the stairs, “Was this a recent development? How come we’ve never noticed it before?” 

With a hand to her chin, Robin’s eyes wander to the side. “I can only assume the signs were harder to spot, considering there were once ten members on this ship. With only two for so long, the signs were easier to notice. Although, it is important to mention she has become more active as the years have gone on. I can only guess she must have been—”

“Looking for Luffy in her own way,” Usopp finishes, breathless. He sniffles. He wipes at his eyes with his sleeve and stumbles on, “I could cry.” 

Deadpanning, Lucy asks, “You still have tears left?” 

Luffy leaps onto the grass, face-planting. He grins into the ground, laughing high and bright and warm. “I’m back, Sunny! Sorry I took so long!” 

Without anyone making a move, the sails unfurl with a loud catch of wind. The anchor winds up, up, up. The bridge retracts back into the ship, and that may not be a welcome back said in words, but it is reply enough. 

“And everyone else?” 

Nami shakes her head, tapping a nail on the dinner table. “Jin and Vivi have that declaration ceremony to attend to. Luffy would kick their asses if he knew all their work went to waste by not attending, because he’d probably just say—” 

“We’ll just go to them!” 

Nami tips her head in his direction. 

Robin adds on, “I was on the phone with Jin recently. As they’re on the other side of the world, it’d be best to meet in the middle. I proposed that we rendezvous at the archipelago that Chopper is currently stationed at, as he’s the one who is unable to move for an indefinite amount of time.” 

Usopp asks, sipping at his tea, “What’s up with that? He hasn’t been answering my calls.” 

Robin turns and says, “There’s a plague running rampant through the villages there. A deadly one. He and his team won’t be leaving any time soon.” 

Nami asks, “And Zoro?” 

Sanji groans from where he’s cooking up a stew. 

“From my sources,” Robin begins, “his last known location was at Teniope a few days ago. He hasn’t been seen since.” 

“And his den-den mushi?” 

“He hasn’t been answering.” 

Sanji mutters something under his breath and Usopp throws a slipper at his head. “No cursing around children!”  

Sending an annoyed glare at Usopp, Nami turns forward and hums. “No. This should work.” The gears turn behind her eyes before she glances up. “Teniope is not far off from Chopper’s location. As long as he’s following Luffy’s vivre card, which I dear hope so, he should cross paths with us.” 

“And we’re gonna bet on that?” Sanji huffs. 

“We will.”

The crew turns to Luffy, whose gaze stares forward—steadfast and stern, and any doubts they once had on their tongue perish without being spoken. It shouldn’t be this easy, should it? To fall back into habit. To return to what used to be their lives—sailing on the ship on the sea, under the flag of a king. But maybe, it really is just that easy. It’s just that easy because it’s Luffy at the forefront.  

Sanji shakes his head, clicking his touch, but his mouth pulls up in a fond smile. “Well, you heard the Captain.” 

“Zoro will literally defy every universal law to get here.” Usopp laughs. “You could put entire stars between them, and Zoro would carve his way through hellfire.” 

“And he has,” Robin adds, propping up a smile on the palm on her head. 

Nami grins, and for a long moment, she looks like she’s eighteen again, taking up her role seamlessly as she did before—waking up every morning with this as her life. This has always been her life. “Well?” she asks, looking around the room. “I hope you all still have your sea legs.” 

When she turns to Luffy, as everyone else does too, he grins—throws up his fist and declares just as he did, twenty long years ago, “Set sail!” 

And the expressions on his crew’s faces light up the world. 

Down go the sails. Up goes the anchor. Laboon swims ahead, peeking out from under the waves as he waits for Sunny to follow.

As they depart from the island, not a single one of them needs to look back, because why would they? When here he is. Here is the boy with a straw hat—their Captain who is already throwing himself after a stray beetle, inhaling breakfast and lunch and dinner within minutes, or singing a garble of words to a song he does not quite know yet but will. 

They do not need to imagine these sights because this is no dream.

Here he is: the sun. 

Twenty years ago, Luffy “watch-duty”, as it is called, was nothing short of a hassle.  

In current day, it’s a responsibility that could be killed for and so to avoid such violence, the present members of the Straw Hat Pirates settle for sharing it. 

Where Luffy goes, they follow like ducklings. It’s chasing the sun west without resting to catch your breath, because there are no worlds in which, after finding him, they let him out of their sights for long. They’ve spent too much time under the shroud of dusk. They can’t bear to spare the light.

Luffy will climb and perch himself onto Franky’s shoulder for hours—just because he can and because Franky’s tall, and just because he can, he will wrap himself round and round Sanji as he cooks—watching, rambling—and he will enthusiastically accept every piece of food his chef offers him. He always ends up half-full by the time dinner rolls around. 

Brook will play Luffy a song any possible time he can. When he wakes up, it is a celebration. When he takes a nap, it is a lullaby. Any excuse he can scrooge up, he will play a song for his Captain, twenty years of yearning—something that feels overwhelming to the once meager fifty years of darkness. No one calls him out on it. If anything, they hum along and sing their hearts out when Luffy rushes in and out of the ship, chasing after a stray beetle, Brook on his tail, playing a thriller. 

Luffy will let Robin read to him across the deck of the Sunny, his head in her lap, her fingers through his hair. He will launch himself at Nami and ask her about her map. Maybe even just simple nothings. Let her tell him about the world he’s missed through each page of her journal—one not worn enough. He will grab Usopp and Lucy to play snipe-the-stray and be surprised when he learns that Lucy’s just as sharp as her dad when it comes to sharp-shooting. 

There are many things Luffy has missed. Some will never be recovered. Some will only be partly, but only a handful of things have ever stopped him in history. Luffy will find a way. That’s his thing. 

It takes another two days for a storm to find them. That is credited to Nami’s genius, because in the Grand Line, two days is incredibly overdue. 

A dark grey cast of clouds hangs from above, churning with the echo of distant thunder, and the few patches of light smother out as the clock runs down. 

The Straw Hat crew is out and about. It’s absurd Nami even suggested any of them lost their sea legs, because everyone is right where they’re supposed to be—without even a word from her. 

Luffy lifts his hand to catch a drop of rain. The wind takes his hair aback, and by muscle memory, he goes to hold down where his straw hat would usually sit. He looks out to the sea. The waves curdle, pushing and pulling with some irrefutable fury, and as the rain begins to hammer down, a lightning strike splits open the sky. 

“Luffy!” Nami shouts. With one hand, she puts her hair up in a lousy tail while with the other, she hangs onto the railing. “We’ll take care of it; head inside!” 

Usopp adds, going to reef the sails, “We’re down two swimmers, Luff! It’s a good idea.”

It doesn’t even take two seconds for Luffy to say, “I don’t want to.”

The world goes sideways. 

The Sunny lurches as a wave slams into her side—but Franky’s quick spin of the helm angles it just right to avoid being capsized, and the force of the sea shoves her down into a trough. Feet leave the ground. Hands snap around to hold anything they can, but no one screams. There is only one loud whoop from Luffy, and yes. This is how it should always be. 

Sunny slams into the dip of the trough, bow first. A whine of wood sounds from under the roaring thunder and the rushing rain, but the buoyancy keeps Sunny alive. 

“Franky! A Coup de Burst sounds real good right about now!” Sanji calls. 

“Gotta time it right!” comes Franky’s answer as the helm goes spinning. “We don’t—and we go face-planting into one of those monster waves!” 

Nami grits her teeth. “On my mark!” 

The wind rips past, howling with a fury. The waters thrash Sunny back and forth, tipping and tilting the deck with no real pattern. 

The wave hits them from their blindspot. 

As a rising of shadows, the dark waters crash down upon Sunny, spitting force straight down onto the ship and taking every stray with it. She tips, tips, tips—

Sunny bursts out from under the swallow of the ocean, upright and steadfast and sailing, but as the water clears, sliding off as the deck tilts just so, there is a certain silence even in the chaos. 

Nami’s panic rips through. “Where’s—”

Sanji’s already diving into the sea.

“That idiot!” Nami hisses with more fear than frustration, because she’s glancing between the path forward and her log pose. 

Previously watching from the window, Brook bursts out of the kitchen. He runs to the railing—almost goes over just by his momentum—and yells, “Laboon! Find Luffy-san!” 

A distressed croon whines from under the storm. 

“Anybody see’ em?” Franky calls, gritting his teeth as he glances at his log pose. 

“No!” Nami shouts, heart pounding against her ribcage, but the next wave that slams into Sunny’s side rips her from her daze. “Usopp—the rigging!” 

For balance, Robin leans up against the doorframe of the kitchen. Her eyes are closed tightly. When she opens them, she blinks salt water from her eyes. “I can’t find them in the currents.” 

Usopp curses under his breath, running to the ropes. “Come on, Sanji. Come on.” He whips his head around to Robin. He yells past the rain, “Is Lucy inside?” 

“In the bedroom!” 

“Tell her to stay put!” 

Calloused hands yank at the ropes, adjust the sails, and steer the helm all according to Nami’s orders, but her voice pulls thinner and thinner the longer they brave the storm, because Sanij’s still not back. 

When they finally break free from the eye of the tempest, there is no relief to be found. 

Nami sprints to the back of the Sunny. She isn’t the only one. She slams her hand against the railing to stop herself from slipping overboard. Her eyes are wild, searching. The vivre card is at the brink of the glass, pushing forward. 

The edge of Luffy’s vivre card is simmering. 

“He’s fine,” Usopp says, more to himself than anyone. “Sanji’s a great swimmer. He’ll be fine. He has to be. We—we just got him back.” 

From the distance, the sea has not stopped its wrath. 

They stand there, waiting. Every other moment, they look down at the log pose—watch the edge bite up with ambers, and it’s like sandpaper against their insides when they breathe. 

Usopp starts taking off his shoes. The others do too, ready to dive into the sea without even a warning, but then, Usopp’s eyes go wide. His voice chokes out—“Wait!” 

The vivre card inches to the right. 

By the time they turn to face him, Usopp’s already running down the stairs, nearly tripping on his feet. They follow. He casts a ladder down to the waters from Sunny’s side, hands trembling with the level of a panic attack. 

It’s a slow ascent as Sanji climbs up onto the deck. His foot hits the railing. His clothes are soaking wet. His chest is heaving for breath, and against all common sense or reason, he does not return with Luffy. 

Their blood turns to ice. 

Ripping through them is horror—disbelief—fury—

Sanji wipes his mouth with his sleeve, points a thumb over his shoulder, and says, “He has him.” 

It takes a second. Two. They hear the yanking sound that comes with a rope, and Nami asks, softer than a whisper, “...What?” 

And from behind Sanji, emerging from the jaws of the sea, a familiar man steps onto the deck. Three swords hang by his waist. Two scars runs over his skin—his eye and chest, and there is a very, very drenched and sobbing Captain hoisted under his arm. 

“Zoro?!” 

Shaking the water from his hair, Zoro’s single eye blinks up at them all. “Hey.” He doesn’t say another word before he lies Luffy down onto the grass. 

Luffy’s wailing. Tears spill freely from his eyes and snot drips down his nose. “I—I thought I was going to die!” 

Zoro huffs. “Like I’d let you.” 

Luffy goes still. He sits up. Straightens. When he shakes off the water like a dog from a lake, spraying everyone within three feet radius, he lifts his gaze and blinks, owl-eyed. “Zoro?” he asks in disbelief. The shock sheds off of him in the next second. “Zoro! ” 

Luffy lunges at him, arms winding around and around and around, and Zoro catches him as easily as one breathes—unconsciously and seamlessly. 

Zoro’s hands pull at the clothing of Luffy’s back. One comes up to clutch at his hair, cradling his head more gently than the world has ever thought was possible. 

Luffy laughs, high and bright and home. “What took you so long?” 

“Got lost. You?” 

Luffy grins into Zoro’s chest as if they’re sharing an inside joke. “Got lost too.”

When Zoro pulls away, the corner of his lips lift up in a smile. Perhaps, it should look strange on him—through the unused crow feet by his eyes, the stoic and sharp shape of his face, the wrinkles worn into his skin from stress—but it doesn’t. Because he’s looking at Luffy and suddenly he’s nineteen again. Staring at a boy too wild for the world, across a span of dirt and sand. 

There are a million things in Zoro’s gaze. One of care. One from the core, but Zoro doesn’t even have to say much, because of the way Luffy meets his eye, he knows. He already knows that Zoro has parted seas and stars to find him again, and that he would do it all over again, no matter how many years it would take. and so he says, “Welcome home, Captain,” and says nothing more. 

“I’m home,” Luffy says, joy in a line across his mouth. 

When Zoro stands, he extends a hand out and Luffy takes it without hesitation. 

Brook sprints out of the men’s quarters with twelve towels in his arms before he throws them along with his signature laugh. 

Robin reaches out and wraps a towel around Luffy, drying his hair with a ruffle. 

Sanji catches one and hands it to Nami, who is clutching her chest like she just had a heart attack, and Usopp heads inside to check on his daughter. 

Zoro asks,  massaging his shoulder, “What—no towel for me?” 

A towel hits him in the face. 

“Number seven gets the seventh towel,” Sanji says, leaning back against the railing. “Also, how the hell did you get here?” 

Zoro dries his hair as he says from under the fabric, “Swam.” 

“And from where exactly?” 

“Teniope.”

“Teniope?” Nami exclaims, squeezing the water from her hair. “To here, that’s a two-week journey by ship!” 

“You really surprised? The guy’s insane.” 

Nami whirls around to Sanji, eyes narrowed without proper heat. “You don’t get to say anything, Sanji-kun! Sky-walking here from West Blue? Are you kidding me? You have no place to talk.” 

Zoro’s smug look has Sanji fuming. 

“Come on,” Nami says, rolling her eyes. “Let’s wash up. We all need a warm bath.”

“I call dibs!” Usopp calls from a distance. 

“No dibs. Luffy gets dibs. He’s probably hypothermic.” 

“He is?” 

Luffy tilts his head. “I am?” 

With a fond sigh, Sanji asks with a pointed look, “Are you cold?” 

Luffy stares at him, blinking once, twice—before he’s grabbing at his arms, shuddering, teeth chattering. “Uh-huh.”

“Well. There you go.”

Luffy and Zoro’s reunion was, by far, the most casual, but maybe that shouldn’t be surprising. There are no tears. No sobs nor cries for the missing. Instead, there is the regaining of balance—stepping into the cradle of gravity after drifting for so long, because not once after meeting again does Zoro leave Luffy’s side. 

Zoro resembles a sword more than he does a swordsman. He’s kept tucked away by Luffy’s hip. Ready to be called upon. Never far. Always by his side. But even then, he’s not even a question away. He’s closer. When Luffy and Zoro exchange a look, they do not need words to bridge the air between them—neither do they need one to cross the gorge of lost years. They have never needed one. 

Zoro is no longer a planet without an orbit, spiraling into oblivion with hope he’ll find a star again, and neither is this refound, rebuilt solar system—

Because there’s a little sun in the room.

It goes by the name of a king.

“—because I swear, I was honestly betting on Brulee,” Usopp says, standing up from the dinner table to throw his arms up and out. “That devil fruit is actually overpowered if you think about it. She literally has an access to an entire dimension!” 

“You tell everyone this ten times a year,” Sanji says. He props his elbow back onto the bar, leaning into the counter as he unwraps a lollipop. 

“So?” Usopp exclaims, sitting back down. He swerves and points an accusing finger, shouting, “Franky thought Luffy got transported to another dimension!” 

“Hey! That was a valid guess, bro. Even Vegapunk thought so.” Franky puts down his glass of Coca-Cola and adds, “At least I didn’t say the moon.” 

Robin frowns. “That’s unfair to say. Chopper-kun isn’t here to defend himself.” A hand sprouts up to slide a glass of water to Luffy when he starts pounding at his chest, trying to swallow down the food he’s been stuffing into his face for the past ten minutes. 

“The moon was a good guess!” Sanji defends. 

Zoro scoffs from his chair, glancing away, “Of course you’re saying that.” 

“We found Enel up there—Luffy could’ve been up there too.” 

“And how would he be able to breathe? There’s no oxygen in space, dumbass.” 

“What the hell did you say?” 

Deftly folding and creasing the colored paper under her fingers, Lucy looks up from her origami and says, “Dad, the girls are fighting again.” 

Usopp shrugs. “I’m not getting in between those two.”

Lucy raises an eyebrow and points out, “I thought you said you were a brave warrior of the sea.”

“Yeah, I said that I’m a brave warrior of the sea—not that I have a death wish.” At the pointed look he receives, Usopp says, “I thought you found your uncles fighting hilarious.” 

“I do. But it’s not the best white noise.” 

Usopp lets out a long breath, before he turns and shouts, “Hey, Lime! Lemon! Remember that one random dude who suggested Zoro cashed in Luffy’s head for his bounty. Y’know. Because he was a pirate hunter.” 

Zoro and Sanji go dead silent. 

“Dad. Too soon.”

“What?” Usopp throws his arms up. “I gave them a common enemy.” 

Staring, Lucy shakes her head before returning to her origami.

The chatter continues, loud and bright, but the whole table seizes when Luffy swings his legs over the seat and hops to his feet. He stretches out his arms. Lets out a satisfied breath, licking his lips, and makes his way to the alley door before he’s stopped by a hesitant voice. 

“Where are you going, Luffy-san?” Brook asks, tentatively. His cup clatters softly when he places it down, and even without facial expressions, there is clear nervousness written into the way he holds himself up. 

Luffy blinks back at him. He states plainly, “Bathroom,” and exits the dining room in search of it. 

There’s a pause after the door closes behind him. 

“...Call if you need any help!” Usopp shouts, cupping a hand around his mouth.

Sanji takes out his lollipop and scoffs. “What is he, a kid? He doesn’t need an escort to the bathroom.” 

Usopp eyes him up and down and asks, “Why are you standing then?” 

Sanji sits his ass down. 

A few chuckles echo through the dining room, although they’re more high-strung than anything. A hitch in a breath. A clot in the heart. They expect Luffy to walk back in any second, even if he just left a moment ago, and by the tension in each and every one of their shoulders, it’s almost as if—

“You know,” Nami starts softly, staring at her hands. There's a crooked smile on her face. The room turns to look at her, but there is already understanding in their eyes, even with just two words out of her. “Whenever he’s out of my sight, I can't help but panic." She shakes her head. "It's silly, I know. He's back for good, because there's no way in hell that we'd let this happen again, but—every time I'm not looking at him, I think… that's it. That’s the end of this dream. And I’ll just... wake up and realize the years will just keep climbing on and on.”

Her words settle into the air—hanging like a noose. 

After a moment, Sanji adds quietly, “Luffy’s not a kid either. He doesn't need to be looked after twenty-four seven. Hell—the things he's done on his own?" His hand itches for a cigarette. "He’s—he's still that young idiot we knew from twenty years ago, but it’s—”

“Different,” Brook says. His tea loses heat by the second, but he makes no move to take a sip. "Because it is not Luffy who has changed. It is us." 

Robin’s voice is careful as she continues off, passive and steady—completely contradictory to the whirl of emotions in her eyes, “We've all grown up without him.” 

Silence carries throughout the room, festering with resuscitated grief, because in the grand scheme of things—of everything, what’s true and what is painfully so, is how they have spent longer remembering Luffy than knowing him. They spent longer searching. Chasing. Listening to his voice through a worn-out tone dial or staring at faded pictures and wanted posters, because that’s all they had. They didn’t think to capture more of him—when Luffy was still here, but can you blame them? 

They thought they had forever. 

“That doesn’t matter.” 

The voice cuts through the silence with a fine blade and they turn their heads to look at the speaker.

“Not anymore,” Zoro says. His arms are crossed, his eye is steady, and for the first time in twenty years, he looks like he’s finally refound his footing. 

Nami takes in a deep breath. Lets the oxygen fill her lungs. Lets herself breathe it in again—this new reality, and she isn’t the only one. “Yeah,” she says. The smile that pulls at her mouth is shared amongst the room. “He’s here now.” 

Many things have gone wrong with their lives. Countless things that could submerge them all—yank them down into the water and drown them within its depths, but as much as things have gone wrong, there is twice as much that has gone right, because meeting Luffy may as well have been a miracle in and of itself. He was their turning point. 

Miracles are dime a dozen when it comes to Monkey D. Luffy—a boy so wild and unpredictable that even the world has struggled to stay afloat upon the ripples he sends surging without care or cause. It's common sense. It's a well-kept secret or inside joke that to bet on Luffy is to bet on the victor.

So, there’s a chance. There has always been a chance—to make up twenty years worth of memories and love and adventure, and to continue where they left off, because as long as they’re all here, breathing, and alive— 

The galley door slams open with a violent bang. 

Heads whirl around to stare. A stray winds stirs through. The light of the setting sun spills in, the silence of the sea does too, but where they expect to see someone standing in the doorway, there is no one. 

The door lingers open. It does not dare shut. It doesn’t even dare sway, as if alive—

Robin and Franky are on their feet.

Zoro’s faster. 

A bottle of sake shatters across the floor, spilling onto the wood, crackling of glass, but he pays no mind, because Zoro’s out of the door in the next second as if death’s behind him—or something worse. 

For those left behind, it’s habit. The muscle memory ingrained within their souls—to look at their log pose as they have always done. As they should’ve done earlier, because it takes barely anything before they’re racing out of the dining room, tripping on their feet, hearts in their throats, ice in their veins, a desperate wish on their tongues—

Luffy didn’t even make it to the bathroom.

He’s hunched over on the deck, shoulders curled in, a hand slapped over his mouth to slow or stop the blood spilling past his fingers. Eyes wide. Confused. Unfocused. He chokes on his next breath—coughs tearing their way out of his chest with an ugly sound, and perhaps, it should be a miracle that he even lasted this long, because—

—the vivre card is burning.

And so is the sun.