Chapter Text
Shanks couldn't remember what had happened or what was happening now. He had no idea how he ended up in this situation.
As he clutched his head, a white-hot pain shot through him. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, his hands gripping his head. He felt nauseous as if the pain were spreading through his entire body.
He tried to focus, to push through the haze in his mind. Images flickered in his memory—fights with Mihawk, the loss of his arm, his crew, and his mission to find the One Piece. It was all jumbled, indistinct. His vision blurred, and he felt as if he were on the edge of unconsciousness.
But memories of a different life disputed his thoughts. Memories of a much more peaceful life, playing at the park with Kotetsu, while their parents talked for hours; trips to the grocery store where he begged his parents for chips and candy. It was all so disorienting. Who was he? The mighty Red-Haired Shanks, Emperor of the Seas, or Issiki the son of Suzuki and Ashai? No. He was Shanks, or he was now.
Internal crisis be dammed, he began to pull himself off the ground. Using the end table next to him for support, he managed to stand on shaky legs. But his hand slipped, causing him to stumble and knock his glass lamp off the table.
As soon as the lamp hit the floor, it shattered, sending shards of glass flying in all directions.
He instinctively tried to shield his face, but some pieces still managed to nick his skin—specifically his left eye. The sharp sound of the shattering glass seemed to echo in the silent room.
He clutched his face as blood started to pour. Too much blood for just broken glass. Way too much blood.
His hands were drenched in his signature color, He felt the warm blood drip down his face, getting in his eyes and in his mouth. Inducing a coppery taste.
Attempting to gather his bearings, his door flew open. A woman rushed in looking at the bed before looking down at the shattered glass, the blood on the carpet, and more specifically the blood-covered child on the floor. A name left her lips. "Ishiki." His but not at the same time. "Ishiki!" She repeated, yelling this time. "Issiki! Can you hear me, sweetheart?" His—no, Issiki's—mother yelled. "Ashai! Call 119, Issiki isn't answering!" The woman's tone was frantic, as any mother's would be. The amount of blood seeping into the carpeted floors was surely to stain.
"Issiki, hey Issiki. Stay with me, sweetheart, the paramedics are on their way. Don't close your—" The woman was unable to finish her sentence before Shanks was gone. Consciousness faded as he slipped into darkness.
.
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Shanks woke up in the hospital. Bright white lights, and the smell of sterilizers, gave that much away. A light was emitted from the window. He couldn't determine the time from the clock on the wall, but he assumed it was around midday. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of machines and the occasional muffled sound of voices from the corridor.
He sat up in the hospital bed, the weakness in his left arm making it a bit difficult. Wait. He still had his left arm. It was still there. He stared at it, elated and relieved, before he noticed what was causing the weakness. A plastic piece of tubing connected him to a bag of fluid hanging beside the bed.
Determined to be free of the limitation, he started to tear the tape that attached the tubing to his arm, wincing a bit as the adhesive tugged on his skin. He carefully peeled off the tape, and pulled the needle out of his vein, feeling a sharp sting as it exited. He pushed the tubing and needle aside, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the cool floor beneath his bare feet.
That's when a nurse walked in, her presence sudden and almost startling. "Oh, good morning. Are you feeling better?" she asked in a sweet, soothing voice before her expression shifted to a concerned frown. "Issiki, is it? Did you pull that out of your arm?" Shanks just looked at her, unsure of what to say.
"Sweetie, you lost a lot of blood. You need to leave that in your arm. We need to make sure you're going to be okay, especially with what you just went through." Her voice was kind but firm, with a hint of patronization that made Shanks bristle slightly.
"Can you please sit back down in your bed while I put the IV back in your arm and replace your bandages?" she asked, moving closer with a practiced calm. Shanks hesitated, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. He knew she was right, but the desire for independence, to feel like he had some control over his situation, was strong.
She exuded a sense of calm as if she had everything under control. Her tranquility seemed to influence him, making him more adaptable.
Reluctantly, he eased himself back onto the bed, the nurse's hands already gentle and efficient as she prepared to reinsert the needle. He watched her work, the steady rhythm of her movements strangely comforting, despite his lingering irritation. As she finished securing the IV and adjusting his bandages, Shanks let out a sigh. "Would you like me to call your parents? They've been worrying your entire nap." She said in a kind voice.
Shanks had nodded, causing the nurse to smile and leave the room, only to return a few moments later with his mother. She looked like she'd been holding her breath, finally exhaling at the sight of him. Her red eyes let him know she had been crying. She rushed to his side, gently placing a hand on his cheek.
"Ishiki, sweetheart, how are you feeling?" she asked, her voice trembling with concern. Shanks responded with a small "Better." His minuscule reply, though, was enough to elate his mother, as tears welled in her eyes once more. She hugged him gently, careful not to disturb the newly placed IV.
Shanks' mother turned to the nurse and asked a strange question: "Did he develop his quirk?"
Confusion immediately wafted over him. What's a quirk? He furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of the word. The nurse noticed his puzzled expression and quickly answered.
"We think so. His chart claims he has black hair," she said, glancing at the clipboard in her hands. Then she let out a laugh, "Which he clearly doesn't have now." Shanks reached up to touch his hair, pulling a lock in front of his eyes. It was vibrant red.
Like it usually was.
"What does this mean?" Shanks asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The nurse smiled reassuringly. "It means you have a quirk, a unique ability that sets you apart. Sometimes, quirks manifest in physical changes, like your hair color. Don't worry, we'll help you understand and manage it."
His mother held his hand, her grip warm and comforting. "Ishiki, I'm so proud of you. Quirks can be a blessing, a way to help others and yourself. We'll figure this out together."
Shanks nodded. He glanced around the room, noticing the various medical instruments and the soft beeping of the monitors. "So, what's next?" he asked, looking between his mother and the nurse.
"We'd like to run a few tests to try and figure out your quirk, but those can wait. I'd like to address the facial scarring first," the nurse said, her tone turning more serious. Shanks' mother nodded in agreement, her eyes filled with concern.
Shanks felt a pang of anxiety. "Facial scarring?" he echoed, his fingers instinctively touching his face. He hadn't noticed any pain, but now he could feel the rough texture on his left eye, reaching his cheek.
The nurse brought a small mirror from the nearby table and handed it to Shanks. "Look closely," she said gently. Shanks raised the mirror to his face and gasped. There were 3 faint lines, almost like delicate etchings, running from above his eyebrow to his lower cheek. They were subtle but unmistakable, exactly like his old scar.
His mother squeezed his hand. "It's okay, Ishiki. It looks very cool," she said attempting to reassure him.
The nurse continued, "Sometimes when a quirk manifests, it can affect the body in unexpected ways. The scarring could be a part of that, but we need to make sure it's nothing more serious."
Shanks nodded, trying to process everything. "What do we do now?" he asked, his voice steady.
"First, we'll take you for a scan to get a closer look at the scarring," the nurse explained. "After that, we'll run some tests to understand your quirk better."
As they prepared to leave the room, Shanks' mother hugged him tightly. "You're going to be okay, Ishiki. You're strong, and we're here with you."
Shanks took a deep breath and followed the nurse out of the room, ready to face whatever came next. The hospital corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, but he kept his focus on the nurse leading the way and his mother's reassuring presence by his side.
In the examination room, the nurse gently positioned Shanks on the scanning table. "This will only take a few minutes," she said. "Just stay still and try to relax."
Shanks closed his eyes as the machine whirred to life. He felt a mixture of fear and curiosity. What kind of quirk had he developed? Was it like a Devil Fruit?
As the scan finished, the nurse smiled at him. "All done. Now we'll analyze the results and see what we can find. You're doing great, Ishiki."
He couldn't help but roll his eyes. This woman didn't need to reassure him. He was a grown-ass man, but his outward appearance said otherwise. He looked just like he did when he was sailing with the Roger pirates. Weird.
After a few moments of waiting, the nurse returned with a doctor, who introduced herself as Dr. Yamamoto. She had a kind face and an air of authority. "Ishiki, we've reviewed your scans. The markings on your face are indeed related to your quirk. It appears your quirk manifests physically, altering your appearance. But other than a drastic change of hair color nothing else has appeared.
His mother let out a gasp, "Are you saying he's quirkless?"
Dr. Yamamoto shook her head gently, offering a reassuring smile. "No, he's not quirkless," she explained. "The change in hair color and the facial markings indicate that Ishiki has a quirk, but it seems to be one that primarily affects his physical appearance rather than granting him an active ability."
Shanks' mother looked relieved but still concerned. "What does this mean for him?"
Dr. Yamamoto continued, "Appearance-altering quirks can be quite diverse. Some only change physical traits, while others can be linked to specific abilities that manifest later. We will need to monitor Ishiki and conduct further tests to understand the full extent of his quirk."
The nurse chimed in, "For now, it's important to observe any other changes or abilities that might develop. Keep a record of any unusual occurrences, and we'll schedule regular check-ups."
Shanks listened intently, feeling a mixture of relief and curiosity. "So, what should I do?"
"Live your life as normally as possible," Dr. Yamamoto advised. "Your quirk may evolve over time, and we'll be here to support you every step of the way. If you notice any new changes or abilities, let us know immediately."
His mom nodded. "Thank you, Dr. Yamamoto."
As they left the hospital, Shanks' mother hugged him tightly. "I'm so proud of you, Ishiki. No matter what your quirk turns out to be, you're still my amazing son."
Shanks internally winced. Shanks realized that his consciousness had overtaken Ishiki's, replacing all of Ishiki's memories and skills. This discovery led him to understand that he was not just a quirk affecting Ishiki; he was the quirk itself.