Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sea was calm, the sky clear—a peaceful day by all accounts.

Vice Admiral Garp stood on the main deck of the Marine warship, arms crossed, watching the horizon. He should have been relaxed, his mission nearly complete. Rouge's and Roger's son slept belowdecks, swaddled in blankets in the captain's quarters, destined for the care of Dadan and her bandits. The boy hadn't made a sound since they'd set sail. As if he already knew the weight of the world on his tiny shoulders.

Garp sighed, scratching his chin. "Kids," he grumbled. "Always more trouble than they're worth."

Then the screaming started.

It wasn't the usual chaos of his rowdy Marines. High-pitched, frantic, like a man who'd seen a ghost.

Garp's head snapped toward the commotion just in time to see two soldiers collapse to their knees, their faces drained of blood. Between them darted a blur of blue and red, moving too fast, too wrong. A laugh echoed—unnatural, jagged, like nails on glass—before the figure vanished down the hatch leading belowdecks.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!" Garp bellowed, storming forward.

A Marine stumbled back, trembling. "V-Vice Admiral! There's—there's a—"

"SPIT IT OUT, SOLDIER!"

"A DEMON CLOWN!"

Garp's eyebrow twitched.

Then he heard it—a giggle, drifting up from the lower deck.

He moved.

The hatch slammed open as Garp barreled down the steps, his haki flaring in warning. The narrow hallway below was dim, lined with storage crates and swinging lanterns. At the far end, the door to the captain's quarters hung slightly ajar.

And perched on a barrel just outside it, swinging his legs like a child on a playground, sat him.

Blue hair, shaved close to the scalp. Face caked in smeared white makeup. That damned red nose, glowing like a beacon in the shadows.

But the eyes—

This wasn't the whining, cowardly brat Garp remembered from Roger's crew.

This boy's smile was hungry.

"YOU!" Garp roared, fists clenching. "GET AWAY FROM THAT DOOR!"

Buggy tilted his head, still grinning. Then, in a voice that didn't quite sound like his own, he giggled.

"Oops."

And then he split apart.

His head detached first, floating upward with a lazy spin. His arms followed, peeling away at the shoulders, fingers stretching like spider legs. The Marines behind Garp shrieked—some dropped their weapons, others fainted outright.

Garp didn't flinch. "DEVIL FRUIT USER!"

Buggy's disembodied head drifted closer, still grinning. "Sorry, old man! Just here for a little... souvenir!"

Garp's blood ran cold.

Souvenir?

Then it hit him.

The baby.

"IF YOU LAY A FINGER ON THAT CHILD—!"

Buggy's laughter echoed as his torso twisted midair, slipping through the cracked door like smoke. His legs kicked off the barrel, following after him. Garp lunged, his fist shattering the doorframe—but Buggy was already inside, his reassembled body crouched over the crib.

Ace lay undisturbed, still sleeping.

Buggy's gloved finger pressed to his painted lips. "Shhh," he whispered. "You'll wake him."

Garp's next punch would have caved in the wall—would have ended this—but Buggy's free hand moved, and suddenly Ace was cradled in the crook of his detached arm, lifted just enough that Garp couldn't strike without hitting him first.

"Fast," Garp realised, teeth grinding. Too fast.

Roger's clown apprentice had been a nuisance, a whining weakling who couldn't even swim.

This thing? This wasn't the same boy.

Garp feinted left, then drove his haki-coated fist straight for Buggy's gut—a blow that would drop most pirates without killing them.

Buggy folded.

His torso bent backward like a snapped puppet, his legs twisting unnaturally to the side. Ace remained cradled safely in the crook of his arm, not even jostled.

"Tsk tsk," Buggy tutted, his floating head wagging. "Careful, old man. You'll hurt the baby."

Every move Garp made, every shockwave he held back—Buggy anticipated it. Not just dodging, but positioning Ace so any attack would risk hitting him first. And worse, Buggy wasn't even using the baby as a shield. He was protecting him. Deliberately. Perfectly.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT WITH HIM?!" Garp roared, fists trembling.

Buggy's grin sharpened.

"Not him," he sing-songed, bouncing Ace lightly. "Just... proof."

Then his free hand plunged into the crib's blankets—and pulled out Rouge's pendant. The one Garp had hidden there.

Garp's stomach dropped.

How did he—?

Before he could finish the thought, Buggy's body reassembled in a whirl of limbs, Ace now strapped snugly against his chest with a strip of cloth—when did he even do that?—and his free hand lashed out.

Not to attack.

To tap the porthole behind him.

The entire window frame detached, swinging open with a creak.

Garp was on him in an instant—but Buggy was already perched on the sill, sea wind whipping at his coat, Ace still secure in his grasp.

"Don't worry," he chirped, tilting his head. "I'll give him back. Probably."

Then he leaned backward—

—and dropped into the open sea.

Garp's hands shook.

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

The island was small, silent, and utterly insignificant—just a speck of sand and palm trees in the endless blue. Buggy stood there, Ace still bundled against his chest, his mind a storm of confusion and panic.

"What the hell was that?!" he shrieked, voice cracking. "You said—you said just steal something from Garp the Marine Hero! You didn't say it was a baby!"

Bavilion's reflection shimmered in the blade of Buggy's knife, his bare-faced grin stretching too wide. "Oh, but it wasn't just a baby, was it?"

Buggy's breath hitched. "What?"

Bavilion's voice dropped, low and knowing. "That's Gol D. Roger's son."

Silence.

Then—

"WHAT?!" Buggy's scream sent birds scattering from the trees. He looked down at the sleeping infant, his stomach twisting. "No. No, no, no—Captain didn't—he wouldn't—"

"His name is Ace. His mother was Portgas D. Rouge," Bavilion continued, merciless. "She held him in her womb for twenty months. She died giving birth to him. All so the World Government wouldn't hunt him down."

Buggy's hands trembled. His arms went numb. He looked down. The baby—Ace—was so small. So impossibly small. His tiny fingers curled, his breaths soft against Buggy's chest.

Captain's son.

Captain's son.

His throat tightened. He remembered Roger's laugh, the way he'd ruffle Buggy's hair, the way he'd smiled even when—

No.

This wasn't happening.

"I—I can't—" Buggy stammered, voice small. "I'm seventeen. I'm a coward. I talk big but I—I run when things get tough! I'm not—I can't—"

Bavilion's reflection leaned closer, eyes gleaming. His voice was like a blade wrapped in velvet.

"You just outmaneuvered Garp the Fist. You stole from a man who breaks mountains with his bare hands. You held a Vice Admiral at bay while cradling a newborn in your arms."

Buggy opened his mouth—then shut it.

"That wasn't me," he whispered. "That was you."

Bavilion laughed, dark and smooth. "Was it? Or did I just remind you what you could be?"

Buggy's breath came fast, ragged. Ace stirred in his arms, tiny fingers curling. "What... what do you want me to do?"

Bavilion's smile sharpened. "Take care of him."

"WHAT?!" Buggy's voice cracked again. "I can't raise a baby! I don't know the first thing about—about diapers or feeding or—"

"You'll learn."

"I'll screw him up!"

"Then screw him up less than the world would."

Buggy froze. Bavilion's voice softened, just slightly—not kindness. "You were Roger's cabin boy. He trusted you. And now? His son has no one."

Buggy's chest ached.

"But I—"

"You have a choice," Bavilion murmured. "Leave him here. Let the sea decide. Or..."

A pause.

"Prove that the boy Roger saw in you wasn't a mistake."

Buggy's vision blurred. He looked down at Ace—Captain's son, Rouge's sacrifice, a child born from a love strong enough to defy death itself.

His gaze fell to the sleeping infant in his arms.

Ace's tiny fingers flexed unconsciously against his chest, each miniature fingernail perfect as a pearl. The baby's cheeks were impossibly round, flushed pink with life, his parted lips puffing soft breaths against Buggy's shirt. That stubborn wisp of dark hair - so like Roger's - refused to lie flat no matter how many times Buggy's trembling fingers tried to smooth it down.

Then the tear fell.

Buggy hadn't realised he was crying until he saw the droplet darken the blanket. His finger moved, drawn to that tiny hand. When Ace's fingers closed around his with surprising strength, something fundamental shifted inside him.

That warm, trusting grip felt like an anchor, like absolution.

The world narrowed to that single point of connection.

A sudden sneeze shattered the moment - a ridiculous newborn squeak that startled a wet laugh from Buggy's throat. Ace woke up. The baby blinked up at him with those grey, unfocused eyes.

In that moment, Buggy knew he was utterly, irrevocably lost.

How could he possibly walk away now?

How could he abandon this child when he'd already memorised the exact weight of him in his arms, the particular way his face scrunched up when yawning, the feel of those tiny fingers clinging to him like he was something worth holding onto?

Something in him broke.

"...Damn it," he choked out.

Then, quieter... "...Damn you."

Bavilion's reflection grinned. "Welcome to fatherhood, Buggy."

Buggy found himself carefully adjusting his hold, bringing Ace just a fraction closer - as if he'd been holding babies all his life.

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

A year ago.

A week had passed since the world watched Gol D. Roger laugh his way into legend, and yet the city moved on as if nothing had changed. Buggy stared at the cracked mirror in his temporary room. His usual clown makeup smudged from days of neglect.

His chest still burned with anger—Shanks, that traitor, abandoning their dream, abandoning him—but mostly, he just felt empty.

He splashed water on his face, rubbing away the last of the blue and red paint.

Then he froze.

Because the face in the mirror—wasn't his. No nose. No makeup. Just pale skin, sharp features, and a smile that stretched too wide, too wrong.

"What the—?!" Buggy stumbled back, knocking over the washbasin. The water spilled, but the reflection didn't move. It just kept smiling.

"Hello, Buggy."

The voice came from inside his head—smooth, mocking, familiar in a way that made his skin crawl.

"Who—what are you?!" Buggy shrieked, grabbing a knife and pointing it at the mirror.

The reflection tilted its head. "I'm you. The real you."

"LIAR!" Buggy swung the knife—the mirror shattered.

But in every broken shard, the face still stared back.

Laughing.

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

Buggy barricaded the bathroom door, chest heaving. Safe. He was safe.

Then—the tin washbasin.

"You can't hide from me."

"YES I CAN!" He hurled the basin out the window.

The glass lantern? "You're not a clown. You're a lie."

"SHUT UP SHUT UP—" He yanked the blanket over it.

His own knife blade—

"Who were you before Roger?"

Buggy recoiled. A memory, sharp as a splinter. A woman's voice, fading. 'Stay here, Buggy.' His mother's voice was already half-gone, her hand prying his fingers off her coat one by one. 'Don't make a scene.'

He hadn't understood. He never did.

'When will you be back?' he'd asked, small and stupid and still hopeful.

His father had laughed—not warm, not kind. The sound of a man flicking a roach off his boot. 'We're not coming back.'

His mother sighed, like his existence was a chore. 'You're not a baby anymore. Figure it out.'

Then—the worst part. The part that haunted him.

She'd knelt, just for a second. His heart leapt—maybe she'd changed her mind, maybe she'd hug him—

'If you're lucky,' she murmured, 'someone will mistake you for a useful kid. Maybe some pirate'll take pity on you.'

Bavilion murmured. "Just like Shanks. Just like Roger. Your parents never came back, did they?"

"DON'T TALK ABOUT THEM!"

"Why not?" The reflection's eyes gleamed. "You remember, don't you? That little boy waiting on the docks.'"

Buggy's vision blurred. No. No no no—

"They left you. Just like everyone else."

"STOP IT!" Buggy clutched his head.

"But I won't leave you, Buggy." The voice softened. "I can't."

"WHY?!"

"Because I'm you."

The reflection reached up—and peeled off the red nose. Buggy's hands flew to his face. His nose was still there.

"You could take it off anytime," the reflection whispered. "But you don't. Why?"

Buggy couldn't breathe. "I—I don't... It's—it's not fake! It's—"

"Is it because without it... you're just another abandoned brat no one wanted?"

Something in Buggy snapped. He grabbed the knife—not to strike, but to scream into, his voice cracking against the steel. Buggy's hands shook. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"

A pause. Then—

"I want you to stop hiding."

The knife clattered to the floor.

Buggy curled into himself.

"...Go away."

"Never."

Three days later. Buggy hasn't slept.

Buggy sat curled in a corner of the room, curtains drawn, every mirror covered. But it didn't matter. Even the polished metal of his dagger showed him—Bavilion, the name he'd given the monster in his head.

"You look terrible," Bavilion mused from the blade.

"SHUT UP!" Buggy hurled the knife across the room. It stuck in the wall, vibrating.

A sigh. "This is tedious. Let's make a deal."

Buggy's breath hitched. "...What deal?"

"Do what I say, and I'll stop haunting you."

"...That's it?"

"That's it."

Buggy hesitated. "...What do you want me to do?"

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

The next morning.

A secluded beach outside Loguetown.

"AGH—WHAT THE HELL?!" Buggy screamed as Bavilion forced his body into a brutal stance, muscles burning.

"Again."

"I CAN'T—"

"You can. Or do you want me to stay in your head forever?"

Buggy's teeth ground together. He pushed up. His arms gave out. Face in the sand.

Bavilion sighed. "Pathetic."

"SCREW YOU!"

"Get up."

"NO!"

"Get. Up."

And then—Buggy's body moved on its own. His limbs jerked like a puppet's, forcing him upright. His vision swam.

"If you won't do it yourself... I'll do it for you."

Buggy's blood ran cold.

Chapter Text

The abandoned house at the edge of Foosha Village had a leaky roof, creaky floorboards, and a front door that didn't quite shut right—but Buggy had made it home. He had patched the worst of the holes, nailed down the loose planks, and even scrubbed the lingering smell of mildew from the walls.

He sat cross-legged on the worn-out tatami. He was carefully balancing baby Ace against his knee as he mixed warm goat's milk with a pinch of sugar. The early morning light filtered through the cracks in the shutters, painting golden stripes across Ace's round cheeks. The baby blinked up at him with those big, grey eyes—Captain's eyes—and let out a tiny, impatient grunt.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your seahorses," Buggy muttered, testing the milk's temperature against his wrist.

"Too hot and you'll scream, too cold and you'll also scream. I know your game, kid."

Ace kicked his chubby legs, fists waving like he was already preparing to argue.

Buggy smirked. "Oh, you're definitely Captain's."

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

He'd gotten good at this. Not that he'd ever admit it.

But he knew the difference between Ace's hungry cry and his tired cry.

Knew that rocking him side-to-side worked better than bouncing him up and down.

Knew that if he hummed—low and off-key—Ace would quiet faster than if he sang.

(He'd tried singing once. Ace had screamed like he was being murdered. Never again.)

The rice paste was smooth now, just the right consistency. Buggy tested the temperature against his wrist before scooping a tiny bit onto his finger.

"Open up, you little gremlin," he grumbled, holding it out.

Ace's nose wrinkled. He eyed the offering with deep suspicion.

"Oh, come on—"

A tiny tongue darted out. Tasted. Then, with the solemn gravity only a baby could muster, Ace opened his mouth like a baby bird.

"There you go," Buggy muttered, feeding him another bite.

Ace kicked his feet in approval.

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

Bath time was a warzone.

Buggy had learned the hard way that babies were slippery, especially when wet. The first time he'd tried washing Ace, he'd nearly dropped him, and the resulting panic had left him sweating like he'd fought Garp all over again.

Now, he had a system.

A shallow basin. Warm (not hot) water. A death grip on Ace's torso at all times.

"Stop squirming—stop squirming—" Buggy hissed as Ace splashed happily, soaking the front of Buggy's shirt. "You're worse than a sea king, I swear—"

Ace giggled, slapping both hands into the water and sending a wave straight into Buggy's face.

For a second, Buggy just sat there, dripping.

Then, slowly, he wiped his face.

"...You're lucky you're cute."

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

Night was the hardest.

Ace didn't like sleeping alone.

Buggy had tried, at first. He'd set up a little crib in the corner, padded with blankets, even tucked a scrap of red cloth in there because he'd heard babies liked bright colours.

Ace had screamed like the crib was made of lava.

So now, Buggy slept on his back, Ace sprawled on his chest like a tiny, snoring starfish. He'd read somewhere that it was bad for babies—that they were supposed to sleep on their backs, not on people—but Ace refused, and Buggy was too exhausted to fight him every night.

(And if he sometimes woke up with his hand resting protectively over Ace's back, making sure he was still breathing? Well. No one had to know.)

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

Garp stood at the prow of his warship, fingers digging into the railing hard enough to leave grooves in the metal. The sea stretched endlessly before him, indifferent to his rage.

Three months.

Three months since that blue-haired brat had vanished into the waves with Roger's son cradled against his chest.

His jaw clenched.

That shouldn't have happened.

That couldn't have happened.

Yet it had.

He'd turned the world upside down.

Every informant, every smuggler, every two-bit pirate in the Blues questioned—threatened—until they pissed themselves begging for mercy.

Nothing.

No sightings. No whispers. Just empty leads and dead ends.

Garp's teeth ground together.

How?

Buggy the Clown—Roger's whining, cowardly cabin boy—shouldn't have been capable of this. That boy on his ship hadn't just been strong. He'd been terrifying. Movements too precise, instincts too sharp, that smile too knowing.

Like something—someone—else had been wearing his skin.

Garp visited Rouge first. Her grave was simple, unmarked. Only he knew where it was. The Marine Hero stood there, hat in hand, and felt the weight of his failure like a knife between his ribs.

"I lost him," he admitted, voice rough. "Your boy. I swore I'd protect him, and I lost him."

The wind didn't answer.

(He hadn't expected it to.)

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

Roger's grave was different.

A hidden thing, dug with Garp's own hands in the dead of night. No marker. No ceremony. Just a patch of earth where the world's greatest pirate lay buried.

Garp sat heavily in the grass, ignoring the damp seeping into his pants.

"Your damn brat stole your kid," he growled. "That clown of yours. The crybaby."

Silence.

"He wasn't right," Garp continued, staring at the undisturbed soil. "He moved like a veteran, fought like a demon."

A bird called in the distance. Garp's fist clenched.

"If he hurts that boy—"

He stopped.

The threat died unfinished.

(He didn't know which of them he was warning.)

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

Dragon was harder to find.

Revolutionaries didn't leave trails. But Garp had spent a lifetime hunting the uncatchable. When he finally cornered his son in a crumbling safehouse in the West Blue, Dragon didn't look surprised.

"You're wasting your time," Dragon said, before Garp could speak. "I don't have him."

Garp's eyes narrowed. "But you know something."

"I know a lot of things." Dragon's gaze was unreadable. "None of which involve raising infants."

A standoff.

Then—

"He's Roger's," Garp said, blunt.

Dragon went very still.

"...I see." A pause. "And you think I would—?"

"No." Garp exhaled. "But you hear things."

Dragon studied him for a long moment. Then, quietly... "If I hear anything about a blue-haired man with a child, I'll send word."

It was more than Garp expected.

Less than he wanted.

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

The Red Force sat anchored in the bay of a nameless island, its sails slack in the windless dusk. Garp's Marine ship had appeared without warning, cutting through the still water like a blade. Shanks stood alone on the beach, arms crossed, straw hat tilted low over his eyes. His crew lingered at the treeline, tense but holding back—smart enough to know when their captain needed space.

Garp stepped off the prow of his ship and onto the sand without waiting for a gangplank. The water didn't even reach his knees.

"Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp," Shanks greeted, voice light but his posture coiled. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Garp didn't bother with pleasantries. "Where's Buggy?"

Shanks blinked. "Buggy?" A beat. Then he laughed, sharp and surprised. "Hell if I know. We split up after... well. You know."

Garp's eyes darkened. "Don't play dumb, brat."

"I'm not," Shanks said, grin fading. "Haven't seen him since Captain Roger's execution. Why? What's he done?"

Garp studied him—the genuine confusion in his expression, the slight tension in his shoulders. Shanks wasn't lying.

Which meant Buggy hadn't told him anything.

Which meant this was a dead end.

Garp exhaled through his nose. "He stole something important."

Shanks raised an eyebrow. "From you?"

A pause. Then—

"Wait, Buggy? Are we talking about the same guy? Cries when he stubs his toe? Gets seasick in a bathtub?"

Garp's fist clenched. "That 'same guy' tore through my ship like it was nothing. Took what he wanted right out from under me."

Shanks' playful scepticism vanished. His gaze sharpened. "...You're serious."

"Deadly."

Silence. The waves lapped at the shore.

Shanks frowned. "Look, I don't know what's going on, but Buggy's not—" He stopped. Reconsidered. "Well, okay, maybe he could pull off a heist if he was pissed enough. But against you? No way."

"Then you didn't know him as well as you thought."

Shanks' expression flickered—something uneasy, almost protective. "What exactly did he take?"

Garp debated answering.

"A child."

Shanks went very still.

Then—

"A what?"

"A baby," Garp growled. "A newborn. And your damn friend vanished with him."

Shanks paled. "That—that doesn't make sense. Buggy wouldn't—" He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. "Why would he even want a kid?"

Garp's silence was answer enough.

Shanks' mind raced. "Unless... unless someone made him. Or—" His eyes snapped to Garp's. "Who was the kid?"

Garp's glare could have melted steel. "None of your damn business."

Shanks held his ground. "If Buggy's involved, it is my business."

A standoff.

Then Garp turned away. "If you hear from him," he said over his shoulder, "you tell me. Or next time, I sink your ship."

Shanks didn't respond. Just watched as Garp waded back to his vessel, fists clenched at his sides. Only when the Marine ship was a speck on the horizon did his first mate, Benn Beckman, step forward.

"Well?" Benn asked, lighting a cigarette.

Shanks exhaled sharply. "We need to find Buggy."

"Why?"

"Because," Shanks muttered, staring at the empty sea, "either he's gotten really stupid... or something's wrong."

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

Night fell.

Garp sat alone in his quarters, a bottle of rum untouched on the desk.

His mind circled back, again and again, to that moment on the ship—Buggy's unnatural grace, the way he'd protected Ace even as he stole him. The careful way he'd cradled him.

Was the boy safe?

Was he fed?

Was he loved?

Garp's fist slammed into the desk, splitting the wood.

"Damn it all," he snarled.

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

A year and a half passed.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of their little house in Foosha Village. It painted warm stripes across the wooden floor. Buggy groaned as a tiny, insistent hand slapped his cheek repeatedly.

"Mmmf—Ace, I swear to the seas, if you don't let me sleep for five more minutes—"

"Gah!" Ace declared, sitting triumphantly on Buggy's chest like a conqueror claiming his throne. His wild black hair stuck up in every direction. His round cheeks were flushed with the excitement of having successfully woken his caretaker yet again.

Buggy cracked one eye open. "Yeah, yeah, good morning to you too, you tiny tyrant."

Ace grinned, showing off his tiny teeth, and then—

"Ga! Gaga!"

Buggy froze.

"...What."

Ace clapped his hands together, delighted with himself. "Gaga! Gaga!"

Buggy's brain short-circuited.

Gaga.

Gaga.

LADY GAGA?!

When it rebooted, he shot upright so fast Ace tumbled into his lap.

"No. NO. Absolutely not," Buggy said, shaking the giggling toddler gently. "Your first word CANNOT be 'Gaga'! Do you know how embarrassing that is?!"

Ace responded by grabbing Buggy's nose and shouting "GAGA!" directly into his face.

Buggy's soul left his body.

"WHY ME?!" he wailed to the ceiling. "I changed your diapers! I sang you lullabies! AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY ME?!"

Buggy's soul left his body. He wailed to the ceiling. "I taught you 'Buggy'! I taught you 'flashy'! I taught you 'cannon'! I taught you 'meat'! AND YOU CHOOSE GAGA?!"

Ace clapped his sticky hands together, delighted by the dramatic performance. He then attempted to climb Buggy like a tree, chanting "Gaga! Gaga!" with each wobbly step up his chest.

For a full ten seconds, Buggy just stared at Ace.

"Ace, listen to me very carefully," Buggy said. "That name is COPYRIGHTED! I am not Lady Gaga. I love Lady Gaga—absolute queen, icon, Poker Face changed my life—but I am not her. You cannot call me that. Do you understand?"

Ace blinked at him, unimpressed. Then—

"Gaga!"

"UGH!" Buggy flopped back onto the bed, arms splayed. "This is slander. This is defamation of character."

Ace, sensing victory, crawled up Buggy's chest and patted his face. "Gaga!"

"I hate this," Buggy muttered, even as his traitorous hands lifted Ace into the air, earning a squeal of laughter. "I hate you. I hate that this is my life now."

Ace just giggled, kicking his feet.

"Gaga! Gaga!"

"Fine!" Buggy groaned, tossing Ace lightly (but very carefully) onto his shoulder. "But if anyone ever asks, this never happened. I have standards."

Ace babbled something that sounded suspiciously like "Bad Romance," and Buggy nearly dropped him.

"OH MY GOD, WHO TAUGHT YOU THAT?!"

Chapter Text

Makino was the kind of woman who made kindness look effortless. With her warm brown eyes, ever-present smile, and dark green hair always neatly tied back. She adjusted the basket of fresh fruit in her arms as she walked up the dirt path toward the abandoned house on the outskirts of Foosha Village.

It wasn't so abandoned anymore—not since he had arrived.

The first time she had come here, she had expected a hermit, a drifter, maybe even a criminal hiding from the world.

What she had found instead was a blue-haired man with a red nose and a sleeping baby strapped to his back, hammering loose floorboards into place with inhuman speed.

"Oh—uh. Hi?" he had said, freezing mid-swing like a startled cat.

"Hello," Makino had replied, smiling. "I'm Makino. I run the bar in town."

"Buggy," he had muttered, eyeing her warily. "And this is... Ace."

That had been three years ago.

Now, as she approached the house—now neatly patched, with a small vegetable garden out front—she heard the unmistakable sound of a child's laughter ringing through the open window.

She knocked.

No answer.

Frowning, she pushed the door open slightly. "Buggy? It's me—"

Then she saw them.

Buggy was sprawled facedown on the floor, arms outstretched like a starfish. Standing triumphantly on his back was Ace—now a wild-haired, grinning three-year-old, bouncing up and down with all the enthusiasm of a puppy.

"I'm givin' Buggy a massage!" Ace announced proudly, stomping his little feet on Buggy's spine.

"Kid, this isn't a massage," Buggy groaned, voice muffled by the floorboards. "This is attempted murder."

Makino burst out laughing.

Buggy's head snapped up. "Oh, hey, Makino," he said, as if he wasn't currently being used as a trampoline. "Ignore the domestic abuse happening here."

Makino set the fruit basket on the table, still giggling. "I brought oranges and apples. And some bread from the bakery."

"You're a saint," Buggy sighed, finally rolling over and dumping Ace onto the floor. The boy shrieked with delight and immediately clambered back onto him.

Makino watched them with a warmth in her chest. Over the years, she had seen Buggy in all kinds of states—exhausted, frustrated, covered in baby food, once even singing a lullaby (though he'd threatened her life if she ever mentioned it). But she had also seen the way his hands were always gentle when he fixed Ace's hair, the way his voice softened when the boy had nightmares, the way he never hesitated to put Ace first.

Now, as she sat down at their rickety little table, she noticed something else.

"You've lost weight," she observed, frowning slightly.

Buggy shrugged, peeling an orange and handing a segment to Ace, who shoved it into his mouth whole. "Been training a bit."

That was all he said. But Makino understood.

He wants to be stronger.

For Ace.

She didn't press. Instead, she leaned back in her chair and let the conversation drift—about the weather, about the latest village gossip, about how Ace had somehow managed to glue Buggy's nose to his face last week ("It was an experiment," Buggy grumbled).

"Miss 'Kino! Miss 'Kino! Look what I can do!" the three-year-old announced proudly before launching into an enthusiastic but completely off-key rendition of a song with dramatic hand gestures.

Makino clapped delightedly. "Oh my! What a wonderful performance, Ace! Is this a song your big brother taught you?"

Buggy groaned dramatically, rubbing his temples.

Ace twirled in circles, belting out the chorus with all the confidence of a toddler who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. "RAH-RAH-AH-AH-AH! ROMA-ROMA-MA!"

Makino's eyes sparkled with amusement. "This 'Lady Gaga' sounds quite talented! She must be a famous singer from the Grand Line?"

Buggy opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was realising that he couldn't exactly explain 21st century pop culture from another world to a woman from a seaside village. "Uh... yeah. Something like that. Real... inspirational figure. Very... avant-garde."

"Gaga wears meat dresses!" Ace added helpfully.

Makino blinked. "I... see." She accepted the teacup Buggy shoved toward her. "She sounds... unique."

Buggy shot a glare at Ace. "And you're banned from singing until you're forty."

Ace stuck out his tongue. "You sing it in the bath!"

Makino nearly spit out her tea as Buggy's face went scarlet. "I do not—"

"Do too! 'Ra-ra-ah-ah-ah!'" Ace screeched, jumping up and down.

"That's slander! That's—" Buggy flailed for words. "That's baby perjury!"

Makino burst into laughter, clutching her sides.

He groaned, slumping over the table. "I hate my life."

Ace climbed onto Buggy's back, wrapping his arms around his neck. "Love you, Buggy!"

"...Yeah, yeah." But Makino didn't miss how Buggy's hand came up to pat Ace's arm, his irritation melting away instantly.

Makino wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. "Oh Buggy, you should be proud! Ace has such wonderful performing energy. Just like his..." She trailed off, realising she wasn't sure how to finish that sentence.

Buggy ruffled Ace's wild black hair. "Yeah, well. He definitely didn't get it from me."

Ace suddenly gasped like he'd had the most important thought in the world.

"Miss 'Kino! Wanna see Buggy's nose trick?" Before anyone could stop him, he grabbed Buggy's famous red nose and gave it an enthusiastic squeeze.

HONK.

Makino's eyes widened in delight. "Oh my! That's incredible!"

HONK HONK.

"I've created a monster." Buggy sighed dramatically as Ace continued honking his nose like a carnival toy.

HONK HONK HONK.

"Alright, that's enough!" Buggy scooped Ace up under one arm like a sack of potatoes, the boy giggling uncontrollably.

Makino smiled warmly as she watched them.

Then, Makino had just taken another sip of her tea when Buggy dropped the bombshell. Buggy paused, his expression turning unexpectedly serious.

"Speaking of... we'll be gone for a bit. Visiting family. Taking Ace to visit my brother."

Makino blinked. "You have a brother?"

"Unfortunately," Buggy sighed, dodging Ace's latest attempt to honk his nose. "Bavilion. Older by two minutes but he'll never let me forget it."

Ace's eyes went round. "I got another brother?"

"Technically, yeah." Buggy's nose honked when Ace poked it in excitement. "Nose privileges revoked!"

Makino leaned forward, intrigued. "How come you've never mentioned him before?"

Buggy's shoulders lifted in an exaggerated shrug. "We're not exactly the hugging type of siblings. Last time we talked was..." His voice trailed off as Ace started chewing on his sleeve.

"Hey! That's not food!"

He deftly swapped his sleeve for a rice cracker before continuing. "Let's just say we had creative differences about my life choices."

Makino tilted her head. "What does he do?"

"Creepy mirror sales," Buggy answered too quickly, then winced.

"I mean... antique restoration! Specialising in, uh... reflective surfaces." He suddenly became very interested in wiping banana off Ace's face. "He's got this whole spiel about how mirrors are windows to the soul or whatever."

Ace's eyes sparkled. "He got toys?"

"Probably cursed ones," Buggy muttered.

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

Once upon a dream.

Buggy stumbled into a cursed mirror maze on a mysterious island. Each reflection was warping his psyche. He walked into a dead-end corridor of the mirror maze, panting. The air was thick with the scent of salt and metallic.

Then—a familiar voice, smooth as poisoned honey.

"Hello, Captain."

Buggy whirled around. There, in the largest mirror, stood Bavilion

"You... You bastard! Where the hell have you been?!"

"Oh? Did you miss me?"

"You told me to take Ace! You said—you said—"

"You liked it, didn't you? Being needed. Being important."

"Shut up! That wasn't—I didn't—"

"Why do you wear the clown makeup, Buggy? Is it to make people laugh... or to make sure they never see you?"

"What, are you my damn shrink now?"

"Or is it because they never looked at you long enough to remember your face?"

Buggy's fists clenched.

"Tell me about the docks."

"There's nothing to tell—"

"Liar. You remember the exact number of planks you counted. The exact hour you stopped believing they'd come back."

The memory surged. The ship vanished over the horizon. And little Buggy learned his first lesson. You are not worth staying for.

"You were five. What did you think you'd done wrong?"

"...I didn't think—I knew. I wasn't strong. Wasn't useful. Wasn't enough. They told me."

"Ah. So you became strong. Became loud. Became... a clown."

"..."

"You built a whole persona so no one could ever abandon the real you again... because the real you was left on those docks. Wasn't he?"

Silence.

"They didn't break you, Buggy. They just made you unbreakable. Pity it hurts so much."

Bavilion's grin sharpened.

"Let's talk about Ace."

Buggy stiffened.

"You stole him. Raised him. Fed him. Watched him call you 'Buggy' with those big, stupid eyes. And you didn't hate it."

"Shut up."

"You're better at this than you think."

Silence. Buggy's chest heaved.

"That's the problem, isn't it? You could be good at this. At him. But you're too busy waiting for the moment you'll fail."

"...He'll leave."

"All children do, Captain. That's not the tragedy. The tragedy... is making them want to. And you know what? Newsflash, genius. They left you. That doesn't mean you have to leave him. "

"I didn't—"

"You train them to leave. Push before you're pushed. That's your script. But the plot twist is... Ace's a baby. He hasn't read it yet.

A memory flickered—Ace's first steps wobbled toward him while Makino had cheered. Buggy hadn't stepped back.

"You know what's worse than being left, Buggy? Being the one who does the leaving. Ask me how I know."

Buggy's hands—always so quick with a knife or a joke—had hung useless at his sides.

"He trusts you, you know? He just sees you. The question is... can you?"

"...What if I can't?"

Bavilion hadn't smiled. Hadn't mocked. His reflection looked tired. Like he had been waiting decades for this question.

"Then you learn."

The mirrors shifted to show a hundred fleeting moments—Buggy wiping Ace's tears, Buggy pretending not to notice Ace stealing food from his plate, Buggy staying up late to mend a torn stuffed seagull animal with clumsy stitches.

Buggy's breath had come in shallow gasps. "But I don't know how..."

"Neither did they."

A flicker of Buggy's own past emerged—a couple of shadowy figures walking away from him long ago.

"The difference was... you cared enough to try."

Ace stirred in his sleep. The baby was smushing his face deeper into Buggy's shoulder. A tiny hand had fisted in his shirt. Buggy's hands had hovered, trembling, before finally settling on the kid's back.

"He doesn't need you to be perfect. He just needs you to stay."

Buggy woke with a gasp. The dream clung to him like saltwater. He blinked against the pale morning light, disoriented, until—

"Buggy...?"

Ace. Small, warm, real. Half-asleep and sliding sideways off Buggy like a sack of potatoes. Buggy moved without thought. His hands fumbled only slightly as they caught the boy.

Ace blinked up at him, sleep-soft and rumpled, his cheeks still round with baby fat. Then his nose scrunched.

"You... cry?"

Buggy's breath caught.

Because Christ, when had he started crying?

Buggy opened his mouth. Ready to launch—"It's sweat, brat, this humidity'll kill a man"—but what came out instead was...

"Yeah."

Ace studied him with those big, stupid eyes. Then, with the devastating simplicity of children...

"You okay?"

Something in Buggy's throat locked. Slowly, carefully—like handling unexploded gunpowder—Buggy pulled him close. Ace went willingly, his warmth seeping into Buggy's bones.

"I'm getting there, kid."

Chapter Text

Buggy felt it the moment he stepped into the glass-lined chamber—the shift in the air, the way Bavilion's usual theatrical smirk had vanished, replaced by something quiet and solemn. Ace sat cross-legged on the floor, oblivious, stacking seashells into wobbly towers.

"Leave us," Bavilion said.

Buggy's fingers twitched toward his knives. "No."

The reflection didn't blink. "He deserves to know."

And that—that was the thing that made Buggy hesitate. Because deserve was a word that had claws. It hooked into ribs and refused to let go.

Ace looked up, sensing the tension. "Buggy?"

Buggy exhaled. "...Ten minutes."

The moment Buggy's footsteps faded, the atmosphere in the mirror chamber shifted.

The playful distortions stilled, the endless reflections focusing into perfect clarity as Bavilion knelt before Ace.

"Ace," Bavilion began, his voice carrying a weight the three-year-old couldn't possibly understand yet, "do you know what makes a person truly strong?"

Ace tilted his head, loose red beanie slipping slightly. "Big muscles?"

Bavilion smiled. "No. It's knowing who you are—all of who you are—and choosing to stand tall anyway."

The mirrors around them began to glow, not with mocking reflections, but with something deeper—memories made manifest.

"Your mother," Bavilion continued as the glass showed a woman with freckles and pink hair, "was the bravest person I never met. For twenty months, she defied the entire World Government just to give you life." The images shifted. Rouge smiling through pain, clutching her belly as Marines ransacked her village. "She could have given up. The world told her to give up. But she loved you that much."

Ace's small hands reached out toward the glass.

"And your father?" Bavilion chuckled as the mirrors swirled to show a grinning man with a laugh that could shake the seas. "Gol D. Roger was many things—a pirate, a dreamer, an absolute menace to proper naval decorum—but above all? He was free. Freer than anyone who ever sailed these waters."

The reflections showed Roger dancing on tabletops, Roger sharing meat with starving islanders, Roger tossing a shrieking young Buggy into the air like he weighed nothing.

"But people feared that freedom," Bavilion said softly. "So when they couldn't understand him, they called him a demon. So they decided anything connected to him must be evil too."

Ace's breathing faltered. Bavilion placed a steady hand on his shoulder.

"Here's the truth they don't want you to know, Ace. The world doesn't get to decide your worth. Not then. Not now. Not ever."

The mirrors flashed—showing Ace's first steps, Ace sharing food with a stray dog, Ace laughing as Buggy tripped over his own feet.

"You exist because two incredible people loved each other enough to move heaven and earth. You're here because Buggy took one look at you and thought 'mine'." Bavilion's grip tightened slightly. "And you're standing in this room right now because you, Portgas D. Ace, have more strength in your pinky finger than most people find in a lifetime."

Ace was crying now, but Bavilion didn't wipe the tears away. Let him feel this. Let it sink in.

"The world will try to tell you that you don't deserve to be here. But they're wrong. You earned your place in this world the moment you drew your first breath against all odds. Every day you wake up and choose to laugh, to love, to live—that's your victory.

A smirk. "And... frankly, you're the only interesting thing in this family."

Bavilion stood, offering a hand. "So what do you say, Ace? Ready to show the world exactly what the son of the Pirate King—no, what the son of Rouge—can really do?"

Ace sniffled, then took the offered hand. "Yeah!"

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

When Buggy returned, he found Ace asleep against Bavilion's mirror.

"Well?"

Bavilion's smile was softer than Buggy had ever seen it. "He knows now. All of it."

Buggy's throat tightened. "And?"

"And," Bavilion said, carefully floating Ace into Buggy's arms, "he asked if Roger would've let him ride on his shoulders."

Buggy laughed.

Some truths didn't break you. They set you free.

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

The beach was quiet. It was far enough from the mirror house that Bavilion's presence didn't prickle at his neck.

Buggy had set out a haphazard picnic—fruit, squashed bread and a bottle of juice he'd been saving for a special occasion. Ace sat cross-legged in the sand, poking at a seashell with intense focus.

Buggy braced himself.

"Buggy," Ace said suddenly, "do I gotta earn it?"

"Earn what?" Buggy asked, though he already knew.

"Being loved."

Buggy's first instinct was to deflect—make a joke, change the subject, maybe even yell about personal space. Instead, Buggy took a deep breath.

"Listen, brat," he said, ruffling Ace's hair. "Love's not like... like a treasure map. You don't gotta follow some dumb rules to earn it."

Ace frowned. "But—"

"No buts," Buggy interrupted. "Love's just... it's there. Like the sky. Or the sea. You don't gotta do anything to deserve it."

Ace considered this, small face scrunched in thought. "Even when I'm bad?"

"Especially then."

"Even when I break stuff?"

"Annoyingly, yes."

"Even when—"

"Yes," Buggy said, grabbing Ace's shoulders. "Look, kid, I'm gonna tell you a secret the world's too stupid to understand. Love ain't something you earn. It's something you are. Your mom knew that. Your dad knew that. Hell, even Bavilion knows that."

Buggy realised, with distant horror, that his eyes were suspiciously wet.

Ace crawled into Buggy's lap without warning, sand and all. "How did you know that? About love?"

Buggy looked down at the child in his arms—this impossible, miraculous boy who asked questions that cut to the bone.

"Because of you," he said simply.

Ace blinked.

Buggy continued, voice rough. "Because when you snore, I don't throw you overboard. When you steal my meat, I don't sell you to the Marines. And when you ask me dumb questions at the worst possible times..." He sighed dramatically. "...I still answer 'em."

Ace giggled, then—as if remembering this was serious—frowned again. "But what if I—"

"No." Buggy poked his forehead. "No 'what ifs'. No 'buts'. You're Ace. That's enough."

For a long moment, Ace just stared at him. "Did you ever think you didn't deserve it?"

"Yeah," Buggy said at last. "Still do, sometimes."

Ace's eyes were wide.

"When I was your age—smaller, even—my parents left me on a dock with a bag of clothes and half a loaf of bread." He snorted. "Told me to 'figure it out.' I thought it was my fault. I thought I was too weak, too loud, too much. Then Captain Roger picked me up."

The memories came unbidden. "Even then... even when the Roger Pirates chose me, part of me kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like... like if I messed up enough, they'd realise I wasn't worth the trouble."

Ace was still staring at him.

"Then Captain Roger died. Shanks left. And for a while, I thought—yeah. This makes sense. This is how it goes. But... it took me years to realise... just 'cause someone leaves, doesn't mean you weren't worth staying for."

Buggy pulled Ace into a proper hug, burying his face in sun-warmed hair.

"I don't love you less," he muttered. "I just love you louder."

Ace giggled, the sound bright against the endless sea. "Good. 'Cause I love you biggest."

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

Buggy sat on the edge of the bed, carefully adjusting the blankets around a sleeping Ace. The boy's chest rose and fell steadily, one small fist clutching Buggy's sleeve even in sleep.

The mirror across the room shimmered.

"Do you think he knows?"

Buggy didn't look up from tucking the blanket around Ace's shoulders. "Knows what?"

"That you'd die for him."

Buggy's fingers stilled. "He's three. He thinks juice is a food group."

The firelight painted the room in amber and shadow.

Bavilion's reflection leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. The topic changed. "You told him. About the dock. About waiting. About how love isn't something you earn."

Buggy exhaled through his nose. "Yeah, well. Somebody had to."

Bavilion's reflection tilted its head. "And do you believe it now?"

"Believe what?"

"That you didn't have to earn them. Roger. Rayleigh. Even that red-haired idiot."

Buggy's thumb moved in small circles against Ace's shoulder blade. The rhythm matched the waves outside - steady, endless. "...Dunno," he muttered at last. "Easier to say it than believe it."

The mirror fogged briefly—Bavilion's version of a sigh. "You held him while you said it. That's a start."

Buggy scowled. "Since when are you my damn therapist?"

"Since always." Bavilion's grin returned, sharp as ever. "You're just a terrible patient."

Ace stirred with a sleepy murmur, his face scrunching before settling again. Without thinking, Buggy's hand came up to card through the boy's dark hair. Bavilion watched, something unreadable in his mirrored eyes.

"He'll ask you again, you know. When he's older. When the world tries to tell him otherwise."

"Then I'll tell him again," Buggy said, simple as a vow.

For once, Bavilion had nothing clever to say. The mirror stilled—just an ordinary reflection now, showing a tired young man holding a child like he was something precious. Buggy turned away before he could see his own face soften.

Buggy reflected. The first truth about raising a child on the run was that perfection became irrelevant. There were no polished parenting manuals for fugitives, no guidelines for nurturing the world's most wanted toddler while dodging the Marine Hero.

Buggy learned this through trial and error—mostly error.

Brotherhood? Fatherhood? It had been thrust upon him by circumstance, guardianship by necessity. There were no soft edges to this life—only the sharp reality that Ace's survival depended on his ability to adapt.

Ace climbed rigging without safety nets and learned to swim by being tossed into the ocean (under careful supervision, not that Buggy would admit to watching like a hawk). These were not neglectful acts, but conscious choices—the same ones that had shaped Buggy under Roger's command.

What made a good guardian? Maybe it was this basic thing... wanting to be there for a child when the world was cruel.

What defined success in such an unconventional arrangement? Maybe it was this simple... the way Ace's laughter filled the house. The total trust that let a toddler jump from a tree, knowing he'd be caught.

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

"Alright, Ace," Buggy said, clapping his hands. "We're gonna practice what to do if a stranger tries to talk to you."

Ace nodded solemnly. "Okay!"

"Good. Now, first question—" Buggy pointed at him dramatically. "If a stranger asks if you want candy, what do you say?"

Ace's eyes lit up. "FUCK YEAH! I WANT CANDY!"

Buggy's soul briefly left his body. "WHO TAUGHT YOU THAT?! WAS IT BAVILION?! IT WAS BAVILION, WASN'T IT?!"

Ace pouted. "No! I learned it from you!"

"LIAR! I WOULD NEVER—"

"Last week when you stubbed your toe and yelled, 'FUCK THIS SHIT!'" Ace chirped.

"...That never happened." Buggy's face went pale. The Clown collapsed onto his back, staring at the sky like it had personally betrayed him.

"NEW RULE," Buggy barked, sitting back up. "No swearing until you're at least ten."

Ace pouted. "That's bullsht."

"OH MY GOD—"

"Bavilion says swearing is a life skill," Ace added, nodding wisely.

Buggy's eye twitched. "BAVILION IS A MENACE."

From the reflection in a nearby rain barrel, Bavilion's voice drifted out. "Language, brother."

Buggy screamed. "Okay, new question!" He tried again. "If a grown-up says, 'Hey kid, I'm a friend of your parents, come with me,' what do you say?"

Ace blinked. "My parents are fucking dead."

The silence that followed was deafening. A seagull cawed in the distance.

Buggy's eye twitched violently as Ace's brutal honesty hung in the air between them.

"Okay, first of all," Buggy said, voice strained, "we are NEVER saying that word again. Second of all—"

Ace tilted his head, causing the frog to slide off into his lap. "Which word?" he asked innocently. "'Fucking' or 'dead'?"

Buggy made a noise like a teakettle about to explode. "BOTH! NEITHER! JUST—" He took a deep breath. "The point is you say NO and RUN!"

Ace pondered this, then shrugged. "Okay."

Buggy made a strangled noise and collapsed onto his back in the dirt. Ace was attempting to cook his frog on a stick while Buggy contemplated life choices.

Chapter Text

Buggy the Great did not mean to break the fourth wall, but stress does that to a man. And why, you might ask, would the legendary Buggy the Clown—future Pirate King, master of chaos, and all-around magnificent showman—be stressed?

Simple.

Raising three little terrors, that's why.

He wasn't entirely sure how it all started. Children, he had come to learn, spawned like weeds—one day you had none, the next, you were tripping over them. And not just any children. No, fate had cursed him with the most destructive, sticky, fire-prone little gremlins the East Blue had ever seen.

It began with Ace.

Ace was a few days old when Buggy—through a series of extremely questionable life choices—found himself in charge of the boy. Not that he minded at first. Now Ace was already a pint-sized powerhouse, thanks to Buggy and his reflection-twin Bavilion's rigorous training regimen.

("If the kid can't punch a Sea King by six, we've failed as guardians," Bavilion had declared.)

So when Ace asked to go play in Grey Terminal, Buggy waved him off without concern. The place was full of shiny surfaces—Bavilion could keep an eye on him through the reflections.

Buggy, meanwhile, enjoyed his well-deserved alone time—sunbathing on the roof, cucumber slices on his eyes, the peaceful silence of a man who thought he had life figured out.

Then—THUNK.

A rock smacked him square in the forehead.

"WHAT THE—?!" Buggy flailed, nearly rolling off the roof. He yanked the cucumbers off his face, ready to scold Ace—because of course it had to be Ace—only to freeze.

It wasn't Ace.

Standing below him, grinning like a little demon, was a blond brat in a top hat, missing a tooth, holding Ace's hand like they were already co-conspirators.

"Buggy! Buggy!" Ace cheered, shaking Sabo's arm. "This is Sabo! He's gonna live with us now! We're gonna be twins, like you and Bavi—except we don't have one living in mirrors!"

Buggy stared.

Sabo waved.

Bavilion, from inside a nearby puddle, gave Buggy a thumbs-up.

And just like that, Buggy had a second kid.

Sabo, as it turned out, was worse than Ace.

Where Ace was blunt force trauma, Sabo was calculated chaos. He stole. He schemed. He took notes on how to improve his mischief.

Buggy's prized treasure chest? Looted.

His favorite hat? Used as a bucket for "science experiments."

His sandals? Gone. Sabo claimed they were "needed for a project."

... ...

A few months later, Makino showed up. Buggy hadn't seen her in a while, so when she knocked on his door with a two-year-old clinging to her leg, his first instinct was to slam it shut. Unfortunately, Makino had other plans.

"This is Monkey D. Luffy," she said sweetly, nudging the toddler forward. "Garp's grandson. Dragon's son."

Buggy's eye twitched. "Why are you telling me this."

The child in question had a face like a cherub. He had already toddled over to Ace and Sabo. The second his tiny hands latched onto Ace and Sabo, the two elder terrors lit up.

"BUGGY! WE'RE KEEPING HIM!" they screamed in unison.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT—"

Makino smiled. It was the kind of smile that promised violence if he refused. "Actually, I think it's a great idea for Luffy to grow up with his new brothers."

"MAKINO, YOU CAN'T JUST—"

"You'll babysit him five days a week," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "I'll take him on weekends."

"THAT'S NOT HOW THIS WORKS—"

Luffy, meanwhile, had already latched onto Buggy's leg like a barnacle.

That was how Buggy gained a third kid.

... ...

Luffy was now five, Ace and Sabo were nine, and Buggy was this close to throwing himself into the sea. Somehow, Garp still hadn't figured out that Buggy—wanted pirate Buggy, former Roger pirate's cabin boy Buggy—was living in Foosha Village, raising his grandson alongside the son of the Pirate King.

(He suspected Bavilion had something to do with that. Every time Garp visited, Buggy's reflection-twin made sure the marine's eyes just... glazed over whenever he looked their way. Garp, being Garp, never questioned it.)

And so, Buggy's life had become an endless cycle of (1) stopping Ace from burning down the house, (2) keeping Sabo from stealing everything not nailed down and (3) preventing Luffy from eating things that should not be eaten.

This particular morning found him standing before his full-length mirror. He was determined to share his hard-earned wisdom with the world, even if social media didn't exist.

Buggy started by putting on his finest navy-blue captain's coat. A proper guardian needed presence, and this coat screamed authority while also being practical, with twelve hidden pockets perfect for emergency snacks and confiscated weapons.

Next came the thick leather vest, triple-stitched to withstand pipe attacks, flames and baby saliva. Because Ace and Luffy each presented their own unique hazards.

His heavy-duty canvas pants went on next, the knee pads already worn from countless hours of being used as a human jungle gym by Luffy. The tear-resistant fabric had been tested many times over, usually when Sabo got too enthusiastic during their 'training sessions.'

His shiniest knee-high boots completed the outfit. It was steel-toed for those 'accidental' kicks when the boys were being particularly demonic and waterproof because 'juice' in their household was more of a biohazard than a beverage.

Finally, Buggy placed his iconic jester's hat atop his head, the bells jingling merrily. The very picture of a stylish, functional and theoretically capable caretaker.

Then, Buggy began the most important step of all.

Accepting the truth.

The hat came off first because the boys would just throw things at the bells.

The coat followed because it would become a napkin within minutes.

The vest was tossed aside since Sabo had already stolen the knives from the pockets.

The boots were kicked off because Luffy would attempt to eat them.

Soon Buggy stood in nothing but his faded red hoodie and stretched-out sweatpants, both permanently stained in unidentifiable colours. A loud crash from downstairs interrupted his thoughts, followed by the inevitable shout.

"BUGGY! ACE SET THE TABLE ON FIRE!"

With a long-suffering sigh, Buggy muttered "Bare feet will do."

It was exhausting. It was maddening.

But somehow...

...He wouldn't trade it for the world.

... ...

Lunch

The dining table was less a place for eating. The plates were askew, rice had somehow made it to the ceiling and an overturned cup of juice was slowly dripping onto the floor. Three small boys apparently believed chewing was optional.

Buggy, the self-proclaimed "responsible adult" of this circus, had Luffy perched on his lap, one arm wrapped around the five-year-old to prevent him from face-planting directly into his rice bowl.

"Luffy, swallow before you shove more in—no, don't inhale it—ACK, LUFFY, THAT'S TOO BIG—" Buggy frantically pried a fistful of noodles from Luffy's death grip before the boy could attempt to swallow them whole.

Luffy blinked up at him, cheeks already full to bursting.

"Chew. Chew. Like this." Buggy exaggeratedly mimed chewing, which Luffy copied with all the grace of a seagull choking on a fish.

Across the table, Ace and Sabo were technically capable of feeding themselves—if feeding meant shovelling food into their mouths at speeds that defied physics. Ace had half a pork chop hanging out of his mouth like a dog with a stolen treat, while Sabo was attempting to drink soup directly from the bowl, broth dripping down his chin.

Buggy sighed, grabbing a napkin. "You two are disgusting." He leaned forward, swiping Sabo's face clean, then Ace's, then back to Luffy, who had somehow gotten rice in his own eyebrows.

"How?! How does this even—never mind. Drink water. All of you." He shoved cups at them, watching like a hawk as they gulped it down.

Ace took an enormous gulp and slammed his cup down with a satisfied "AHHH!"

Sabo sipped his with a smirk, clearly trying to prove he did have class.

Luffy managed to drink about half before the rest dribbled down his front.

Buggy sighed so hard he briefly considered passing out.

Then—it happened.

Luffy grabbed a fork, stabbed a piece of carrot (a vegetable! Buggy nearly wept), and held it up to Buggy's face with a grin. "Buggy! Eat!"

Buggy froze. His eyes widened. His lower lip trembled.

"You—you're feeding me?" His voice cracked.

Luffy nodded vigorously, the carrot dangerously close to stabbing Buggy's red nose. "Uh-huh! 'S good!"

Buggy's vision blurred. He carefully took the bite, chewing slowly like it was the most precious thing he'd ever tasted. "...It's perfect, Luffy. Thank you."

For a moment, just a moment, there was peace.

And then Ace ruined it.

"I CAN FEED YOU TOO!" Ace suddenly yelled, launching a handful of mashed potatoes at Buggy's face.

"NO, ME!" Sabo countered, dumping an entire bread roll into Buggy's open mouth.

Buggy, now with potatoes on his forehead and bread lodged in his throat, wheezed, "I APPRECIATE THE LOVE BUT STOP TRYING TO KILL ME—"

Luffy, oblivious, patted Buggy's cheek with a sticky hand. "Buggy happy?"

Buggy looked at the disaster around him—Ace and Sabo now in a shoving match over who got to "feed" him next, Luffy beaming with pride, and his own shirt now a modern art piece of food stains.

He sniffled. "...Yeah. Yeah, I'm happy."

Even if it was going to take hours to get the mashed potatoes out of his hair.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun beat down on Mt. Colubo as Ace, Sabo, and Luffy dug furiously into the dirt, their latest "treasure" (a dented tin box full of seashells and stolen cookies) tucked under Ace's arm. The hole was already waist-deep, though mostly because Luffy had enthusiastically flung dirt everywhere like a hyperactive mole.

"Deeper!" Ace commanded, wiping sweat from his brow. "Nobody's gonna steal our stuff if we bury it real deep!"

"We're trying," Sabo huffed, his once-fancy gloves now caked in mud. "But someone keeps filling the hole back in!"

Luffy, mid-shoveling a pile directly behind Sabo, blinked. "Huh? Oh. Sorry." With that, he immediately face-planted into the hole as he lost his balance. Sabo sighed and yanked him out by the back of Luffy's pink overalls. Luffy's white t-shirt peeked out from underneath and Buggy's yellow beanie askew on his head. Sabo felt a bit pity at the thought of his cute little brother getting his adorable outfit dirty, but Luffy's bright smile just made everything better.

"Maybe don't bury yourself with the treasure, Lu."

Just then, the surface of Sabo's stolen crown (glinting in the sunlight) shimmered—and Bavilion's face appeared, his reflection peering down at them with obvious amusement.

He deadpanned. "Are you three trying to plant a tree?"

Luffy, still upside-down in Sabo's grip, blinked at him. "Hi, Bavi!"

Ace scowled. "Shut up, mirror-breath!"

But Sabo tilted his head. "Hey, Bavi... what are you, anyway?"

The question hung in the air.

Ace froze mid-insult, suddenly realizing—he'd never actually questioned it. When he'd first met Bavilion as a kid, Buggy had just said, 'This is my brother,' and Ace had accepted it without a second thought. Sabo, upon meeting Bavi, had just rolled with it. And Luffy? Well, Luffy categorized Bavilion under 'Buggy Things' alongside 'why his nose is red' and 'where his feet go when he splits apart'—fascinating, but ultimately not his problem.

Bavilion's smirk widened. "Oh? You really wanna know?"

"YES!" Luffy cheered, finally righting himself.

Ace crossed his arms. "...Yeah, okay, sure. Why not."

Sabo squinted. "Wait, you're just gonna tell us? Just like that? No riddles? No dramatic buildup?"

"Yup," Bavi replied. "No riddles, no mysterious visions or tests of character. Just words. Boring, right?"

Sabo frowned. "A little anticlimactic."

Ace grunted. "It is kinda weird. You usually love messing with us."

"Yeah!" Luffy chimed in, now trying to dig at the dirt wall with a stick.

Bavilion chuckled, the crown glinting as if it were laughing too. "This ain't a thriller. It's not some big puzzle box story. You asked. I'm answering."

The boys leaned in, dirt-smudged and wide-eyed.

Bavilion began. "Buggy and I are twins. I was born two minutes before him. We were raised in an assassin syndicate. Started training before we could even say full sentences. Throwing knives by age three, infiltration games by four. Missions by five."

The kids stared, stunned into silence for once. Even Luffy blinked.

"Buggy wasn't... built for that life. I could cover for him at first. Took on twice the missions, cleaned up after his mistakes. I didn't mind. He was my brother. But then one day... I got sent to enemy territory. I thought it'd be easy. It wasn't. Turned out our uncle was working with the other side. I walked right into a trap."

He paused. "I made a deal," he said quietly. "I gave someone something they could use to threaten our family. In return, I made them promise one thing—make our family let Buggy go. Let him live. Somewhere far away from that hell."

Ace's jaw dropped. "Wait, you were the reason Buggy ended up in the circus?"

Sabo furrowed his brow. "You sacrificed your place in the family to save him."

Luffy clutched his stick. "That's so cool!"

Bavi chuckled, but there was no real joy in it. "I don't know if it was cool. But it worked. One day, the people pretending to be Buggy's parents took him to a random island in the Grand Line, dumped him there like old cargo. They thought the world would eat him alive."

"And it didn't," Ace muttered.

"Nope," Bavi said. "A tiny circus found him. They took him in. Gave him food. Let him perform. And he started wearing makeup and that big red nose. At first, it was for the act. Then he just... never took it off."

"Why?" Sabo asked, though his voice was already quiet, like he knew the answer.

"Because every time Buggy looked in the mirror," Bavi said slowly, "he saw me and he hated it." He paused, the crown glinting faintly. "If he could look at himself and just see a clown, maybe he wouldn't have to remember being born into a nightmare."

Ace, Sabo, and Luffy sat in stunned silence, still half-buried in their hole like three goblins frozen mid-crime. Luffy blinked first. "So Buggy's nose... is sadness."

"Basically," Bavi replied from the crown.

Ace scrunched his face. "Alright, but what I don't get is this—why me? Why were you the one who showed up when I was born? Why did you make Buggy steal me from Garp? Why make him take care of me at all?"

His voice had a heat behind it. Not angry, but confused—and maybe just a little hurt.

Bavi's golden surface flickered with something like regret. "Because I made a promise," he said at last. "To your parents."

Ace's eyes widened. "You... knew my parents?"

"I met them in the Afterlife," Bavi said. "Gol D. Roger and Portgas D. Rouge. Briefly. Long enough to make a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Sabo asked.

Bavi tilted his head. "Let's just say your mother had something that didn't belong to her... but I let her keep it. In exchange, she made me promise one thing. Protect her son."

He looked at Ace now.

Luffy gasped dramatically like it was news. "ACE IS THE SON?!"

"We know, Luffy," Ace and Sabo groaned in unison.

Bavilion smirked. "That something is a pendant. Go back and read Chapter one."

Sabo frowned. "What's a chapter—?"

"Don't worry about it," Bavilion cut in smoothly, already turning away from the fourth wall like it never happened. "Anyway. The pendant."

Ace instinctively reached for his chest and pulled out the gold, pear-shaped pendant that hung from a thin chain. "Buggy gave this to me when I turned three. Said it belonged to my mom."

Bavilion nodded. "That's the one."

"What is it?" Sabo asked.

Bavilion 's tone grew more serious. "That pendant used to belong to someone powerful. Someone who could destroy our parents—mine and Buggy's. Our real ones. The rulers of a place no child should ever be born into... a land called Morbadus."

The name dropped like a rock. Even Luffy stopped fidgeting.

"It's an island," Bavilion continued, "covered in darkness. Not the cool, edgy kind. The bad kind. The kind that seeps into your bones. It's where we were made. And if that place still exists... then the people who made us still do, too."

Sabo narrowed his eyes. "And this pendant can destroy it?"

Bavilion nodded. "If you can find the island. But it's hidden. You need a key."

"What key?" Ace asked. "Where is it?"

Bavilion looked far too pleased with himself. "Well, well, well... I do know what the key is. And I do know where it is..."

Ace and Sabo leaned forward.

"...But I'm not going to tell you."

"WHAT?!" Ace practically screamed. "WHY NOT?!"

"That's not fair!" Sabo said, ready to fight.

"It's a mystery!" Luffy declared proudly, as if that explained anything at all.

Bavilion sighed like a tired librarian. "Look, you've been getting this entire story on a silver platter. Where's the fun in that? You're kids. Kids are supposed to earn their dangerous secrets about cursed islands and world-shaking powers."

"So what, now it's fun?" Ace snapped.

"Do you see me laughing?" Bavilion replied, completely deadpan. "No. Because I'm not funny. I'm dramatic. Big difference." The garbage pile nearby shimmered. A cracked mirror resting on a broken wagon lit up with glowing, gold script.

The three boys stared at the massive, complex math equation now taking up the mirror's entire surface. Symbols none of them recognized, weird squiggly S's, numbers raised to powers, a question about something called limits and a diagram.

Ace's eye twitched. "What. The actual. Hell."

Sabo squinted, trying to process. "I think this is real math? Like, adult math. This is unethical."

"Buggy can't even do basic division!!" Ace yelled.

Luffy stared up at the mirror with the saddest expression anyone had ever seen on a five-year-old. His lip wobbled. "...It's... it's so many numbers..."

Bavi ignored all of them. "Solve this, and I'll give you your next clue."

"I'm EIGHT," Ace snapped. "What part of your undead sparkle brain thought I'd know calculus?!"

Bavi leaned back like he was relaxing on a recliner made of smugness. "Then I guess you'll be stuck here forever, huh?"

"YOU'RE A MONSTER!" Ace screamed.

The mirror shimmered. The question stayed.

They ignored the mirror and resumed their activity. Ace was muttering to himself while chucking dirt over their half-buried box of stolen trinkets. "No keys, no islands, no pendant powers. Just a damn math mirror. What even is a derivative?!"

Sabo wiped grime off his cheek. "Don't ask me, ask a professor. Or Buggy. Wait—no, definitely not Buggy."

Meanwhile, in the background, Luffy had wandered off a few meters away with a stick and the saddest pout anyone had ever seen. But instead of sulking or stuffing dirt in his nose like usual, he crouched down in front of a patch of open soil and started... scribbling?

He drew a big squiggly "S" shape first.

Then a line.

Then some weird little numbers and curly things.

Then more.

And more.

And more.

Lines of math symbols began snaking across the dirt like a miniature train track—row after row, circles and fractions and limits and whatever the hell a tangent was. Occasionally, Luffy would pause, tilt his head, squint and mutter, before going back to scribbling with intense focus.

Ace didn't notice. He was busy trying to hammer the lid back onto their treasure box with a rock.

Sabo didn't notice. He was too busy arguing with Bavilion's reflection over the ethics of math-based torture.

"Seriously," Sabo said to the crown still glittering smugly from a tree stump, "there's a difference between riddles and academic trauma."

Bavilion looked entirely unbothered.

After a while, the sun had started to dip. The forest buzzed with soft chirps. Ace's stomach growled.

"Oi, Luffy! Come on, let's go home. We're starving!" Ace called over his shoulder.

No response.

Sabo joined in, louder this time. "Lu, let's go! We can eat and ignore the evil mirror math until tomorrow!"

Still nothing.

"Luffy?" Ace turned and frowned.

They stomped over.

And froze.

Luffy was standing now, tiny back straight and hands on his hips. Before him, etched deep in the dirt, were twenty-three full lines of equations. Each one led into the next—an elegant mess of math that neither Ace nor Sabo understood, but both could tell wasn't random doodling.

He wiped his forehead dramatically. "Phew," he said, grinning wide. "I just solved the mystery numbers!"

Ace's jaw hit the dirt. "You—what?!"

Sabo stared like he'd just seen a rabbit recite Shakespeare. "Wait. You... you did all this? You weren't just playing?"

"Yup!" Luffy beamed, pointing at the final boxed answer at the bottom of the dirt. "That one! That's the answer!"

Ace and Sabo looked at each other, then back at the ground.

Then at Luffy.

Then at the dirt again.

Then at Bavilion, who—somehow—was also speechless.

The mirror on the trash pile glowed faintly.

Correct.

Luffy threw both arms in the air and yelled, "YAY!!" before spinning in place and falling flat on his face with a giggle.

Ace pointed at the solved equation like it was a cursed relic. "There's no way. There's no way he just... did that."

"He can't even read handwriting unless it's in crayon," Sabo whispered, horrified.

Ace muttered. "I was expecting him to eat the stick, not use it."

Sabo crouched next to Luffy. "Lu... how did you know how to do all this?"

Luffy rolled onto his back, squinting up at the sky. "Dunno. It was in my brain."

"What does that mean?!"

"Maybe it was always there! Or maybe I heard it in a dream! Or maybe..." He gasped dramatically, eyes wide. "...maybe my tummy knew!"

"Your tummy knew calculus?!" Ace practically shrieked.

Luffy nodded solemnly. "Tummy is powerful."

Ace pointed dramatically. "You. You just did, like, super scary math! And then you say your tummy solved it?!"

Sabo looked personally offended. "Luffy. I read books all the time. I know math! I even snuck into the mayor's office once and stole a math workbook! But that? That was, like, next-level wizard stuff. You need to explain."

Luffy sat up, brushing off his shorts, then looked down at the twenty-three lines and smiled.

"Oh! That's easy."

Ace and Sabo exchanged a look. This was not going to be easy.

Luffy stood, grabbed a stick and trotted to the nearest patch of clear dirt like a little professor with no qualifications whatsoever. He took a breath, then pointed at the first line he'd written earlier and launched into what he clearly thought was a brilliant lecture.

"Okay okay okay! So—pretend numbers are meat."

Ace blinked. "...Hold on. Luffy just said pretend."

Sabo slowly turned to him. "Did... did Luffy just use abstract language?"

Ace looked genuinely alarmed. "Since when does he know the word 'pretend'? I thought his vocabulary was like, 'meat,' 'punch' and 'nap'!"

Luffy stomped a foot, too hyped up to care. "Listent! Pretend numbers are meat. Like, the best meat. Big piles. Okay?"

Ace cautiously nodded. "Alright... Got it." No, he didn't get it.

"So this number right here—" Luffy pointed to a 4 "—this is four MEATS. And then this swirly thing means you gotta find out how many meats you'll get if the meat keeps coming forever, but the forever keeps getting smaller."

Ace looked like he was losing brain cells.

Sabo leaned in. "A meat pile that keeps shrinking?"

"YEAH!" Luffy beamed. "Like! You get one big meat, then half meat, then tiny tiny baby meat, then the meat becomes ghost meat and you can't eat it anymore. So you gotta add all the meats up before they disappear!"

Ace rubbed his forehead. "What kind of cursed ghost buffet is this..."

Luffy ignored him. "And THIS part—" he drew a little triangle, very wrong-looking delta, "—means how fast you eat the meat! Like, if you eat too fast, you choke! So you gotta find the perfect chew speed."

Sabo squinted. "So the equation was about... optimal meat chewing velocity?"

Luffy nodded. "YES! But also no. It's about how much meat is LEFT if you eat it in the right way while the meat gets smaller and smaller until it turns into numbers!"

Ace flailed. "LUFFY, THAT MAKES LESS SENSE!"

Luffy jabbed the last line he wrote, circling the final answer. "See?? This is the answer. That number tells Bavi how much secret meat you'd have if you did everything perfect. And if it's right, then the magic key shows up!"

There was a beat of silence.

The wind blew.

Somewhere, a squirrel sneezed.

Then Sabo slowly said, "...I think I actually get it."

Ace turned to him like 'you traitor'.

Luffy threw both arms up in celebration. "MEAT MATH!!"

Ace crossed his arms. "I still don't get how your stomach solved it."

Luffy shrugged. "Sometimes when I'm really hungry, my tummy thinks faster than my brain. It's like—superpower!"

Sabo grumbled, "Lu, you are an actual glitch in logic."

"Yup," Luffy agreed, blissfully proud.

The brainy brother sighed. "Well, Meat Math or not, we've got this now. The next step is figuring out what to do with Bavi's next clue."

Ace looked at Luffy, who was now trying to spell "math" in the dirt and accidentally wrote "MEHT."

"I don't know how he did it... but I'm not questioning Luffy again today."

Luffy grinned. "I'm a genius!"

"You ate a rock last week," Ace muttered.

"Rock looked like candy!"

Bavilion's voice crackled back to life, smug as ever from the crown resting on its tree stump. "Congratulations. You've passed the first trial. Now for your next clue..."

Ace and Sabo leaned in with rare, tense anticipation.

"The key to Morbadus..." Bavi said, pausing just long enough to sound mysterious, "...is with Buggy."

Silence.

A beat.

Then—

"WHAT?!" Ace shouted, throwing his hands up. "You mean Buggy has the key?! This whole time?!"

Sabo looked like he wanted to set something on fire. "You gave us a calculus equation from hell just to tell us we could've asked him?!"

Luffy blinked. "Oh, okay. Let's go ask Buggy!"

Ace grabbed his head. "NO, LUFFY, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND—"

Bavilion interrupted, looking entirely pleased with himself. "You had to prove you were worthy of the knowledge first. Besides, you all needed the bonding experience."

Sabo raised a brow. "Bonding experience? You gave us homework. And Luffy did it alone."

Luffy tilted his head. "Is Buggy hiding the key in his pockets? Or in his big hat? What if it's in the meat drawer?"

Bavilion chuckled, low and cryptic. "No... not in his hat. Not in his pockets."

Sabo narrowed his eyes. "Elaborate."

Bavilion grinned wickedly. "You'll find out soon. But here's your spoiler—because I like you kids. The key to finding Morbadus is something you've all seen every single day."

He leaned forward, his reflection shimmering like a campfire flame.

"It's Buggy's red nose."

There was a moment where all three boys simply froze.

Sabo blinked. "...You're kidding."

Bavilion sighed like he was surrounded by fools. "The red nose isn't fake. Not exactly. It's a modified artifact. A remnant of our family. That bright red thing is a fragment of a compass—an ancient tracker made from a rare mineral that only points to one place."

Sabo's jaw slowly dropped. "Let me guess. That place is Morbadus."

Ace groaned and slumped into the dirt. "So what, Buggy's been walking around with the GPS to a nightmare island on his face and didn't even know?"

"Oh, he knows," Bavilion said smugly. "He just doesn't want you to know."

Luffy scratched his cheek. "So all we have to do is get Buggy to point his nose... at Morbadus?"

Ace threw his arms in the air. "LUFFY, THAT'S NOT HOW NOSES WORK."

"Maybe his does," Luffy argued back. "His nose is special."

Sabo stood, brushing dirt off his knees. He was already in strategy mode. "We need to get back to the hideout. Tonight. We talk to Buggy. If he won't tell us willingly... we'll find a way."

Ace cracked his knuckles. "I vote we tie him down and spin him around until his nose starts glowing."

"THAT'S NOT SCIENCE!" Sabo shouted.

Luffy raised his hand. "Can I paint his nose blue? I dreamt of a blue-nosed raccoon last night!"

"NO!" Ace and Sabo shouted in unison.

Bavilion laughed, fading from the mirror. "Good luck, boys. Let's see what you do with a key you've been staring at your whole lives."

And with that, his reflection vanished.

Back in their hideout, high in the trees and covered in more leaves, rope, and reckless ambition than structural integrity, the trio of little terrors gathered for a meeting of the utmost importance.

The subject?

Buggy's Nose.

The object?

Extract the truth without blowing their cover.

Sabo rolled out a hand-drawn blueprint of "The Plan" on a flattened piece of cardboard. It was scribbled in crayon, stained with jam, and included several dramatic stick figures of Buggy looking suspicious while holding what appeared to be a glowing red tomato.

Ace groaned. "This is the worst plan I've ever heard."

Luffy raised his hand. "What if I just ask him?"

"NO," Sabo and Ace said in perfect sync.

Sabo continued, "If we find something weird, we confront him. But calmly. Politely."

Ace added, "And if he lies, then we interrogate. Maybe tie him to a tree."

"I like trees," Luffy said helpfully.

"Focus," Sabo snapped.

Luffy blinked. "Can I eat meat after?"

"Yes."

"Yay!"

And so the plan was set.

That evening, Buggy was sitting on a ratty couch with a bowl of popcorn and wearing his casual-at-home attire. A giant oversized t-shirt that read 'Clowns Cry Too' and bunny slippers. He looked up as the kids approached, suspiciously quiet.

"Okay, what did you three break?"

Ace blinked innocently. "Nothing!"

Sabo smiled. "We just... wanted to hang out."

Luffy marched forward.

Ace's eyes widened. "Luffy—no, no, wait—"

Too late. Luffy stopped right in front of Buggy, looked him dead in the eye with the world's most serious five-year-old expression, and asked, "Can we use your nose to go destroy your evil family?"

There was silence. Ace's soul left his body. Sabo looked like he'd aged ten years in two seconds.

Buggy blinked once. Slowly. Then again. And then—

"Oh. Sure," he said casually. The moment Buggy reached up and casually plucked off his iconic red nose, time seemed to stop in the room. He blinked at them, his now-exposed nose perfectly ordinary—just a normal nose on a blue-haired man with fading clown makeup

Ace: "..."

Sabo: "..."

Luffy: "YAY!!"

Ace finally managed to choke out, "That's it? That's it?! All this time—all the drama—and you're just some guy with a regular-ass nose under there?!"

Buggy rolled his eyes. "What, you expected it to be a secret button to launch a flashy cannon?"

"YES!" Ace and Sabo shouted in unison.

Luffy, meanwhile, had crawled onto the table to poke Buggy's face. "It's squishy!" he declared, fascinated. "And warm! And—" He gasped. "BUGGY, YOU HAVE NOSTRILS!"

"Astounding observation," Buggy deadpanned, swatting Luffy's wandering fingers away.

"So..." Ace started, his voice low and skeptical, "you're just giving us your nose. Just like that."

Buggy looked at him. "That's what I said. I figured you'd ask eventually. The nose is now yours, just don't break it. It suits my face. And very stylish." He was now sipping tea like he hadn't just handed over the literal mystical key to his tragic backstory.

Sabo chimed in. "What about dramatic speech? No yelling? No emotional breakdown or comedy skit? You're fine with us charging off to destroy your family?"

Buggy set his tea down, sighing deeply—more tired-old-man than dramatic-pirate.

"I won't lie," he said, "I was surprised when Luffy asked. I was gonna panic. Scream. Maybe launch myself out the window. You know, old habits."

Luffy beamed. "You still can if you want! I'll catch you."

"Thanks, Lu." Buggy gave him a soft smile. "But Bavi already warned me. Said you kids were sniffing around the truth."

"Sniffing," Ace muttered under his breath, "get it? Nose?"

Buggy ignored him. "He told me you knew about our family. About me. And honestly, I figured if you were determined enough to solve Bavi's math puzzle, nothing was gonna stop you anyway."

Sabo blinked. "Wait... you know about the math puzzle?"

"Of course I do. Bavi made me solve it too. Just to make sure it wasn't too easy."

Luffy gasped. "Did you also use meat to do it?!"

"No, because I couldn't solve it." Sabo and Ace understood that feeling completely.

Ace waved his hand. "Okay, okay, but that still doesn't explain why you're letting us go. Just... like that."

Buggy leaned back, arms crossed. His expression softened in a way that made both Ace and Sabo feel very awkward in their ribs.

"Because I'm tired of running."

Ace and Sabo froze.

"When I was younger," Buggy went on, "I thought the only way to deal with pain was to pretend it didn't exist. Hide it behind makeup, jokes, explosions, or whatever circus act I could pull together. But then..."

He looked at Ace. "You happened."

Then at Sabo. "Then you."

And finally at Luffy. "Then you."

Luffy, with no concept of emotional pacing, squealed and immediately wrapped himself around Buggy's waist like an octopus of pure affection. "I love you, Buggy!!"

Buggy ruffled his hair fondly. "Love you too, kid."

Ace scratched the back of his neck. "You're being... kind of weird."

Sabo nodded. "And suspiciously sincere."

Buggy smiled, a little sad, a little proud. "It's 'cause I finally started looking at things. At myself. Bavi's been... good for that. If I'm going to stand beside you three—your oddball protector, your clownish guardian in spirit—then I can't keep pretending. I want to do it right. And that means not hiding anymore. About what happened. And maybe... we can all help each other heal and find a way forward together."

Ace shifted uncomfortably. "You didn't have to go all soft about it."

Sabo mumbled, "Yeah, gross. Emotions."

"Anyway," Buggy added with a dramatic stretch, "you've got my nose. Just point it at the sky on a new moon and it'll show you the way. Simple magical clown logic. Also, don't tell people it's a key. Just say it's a fashion statement or something."

Luffy gasped. "SO COOL!"

Buggy smiled. "And when you do go—don't worry. I'll pack snacks. Real good ones."

Ace muttered under his breath, "I swear, if you make me cry with a peanut butter sandwich, I'll riot."

Sabo nodded solemnly. "If he puts emotional meaning in the bento boxes, I'm moving out."

Buggy just laughed. "Deal with it, brats. You're stuck with me."

Luffy clung tighter and yelled, "FAMILY HUG!"

Sabo and Ace tried to resist, they really did—but within seconds, they were trapped in a squishy, slightly teary, definitely-too-tight group hug on the couch. Buggy closed his eyes for a second and smiled—truly, fully.

For once, his past wasn't chasing him. He was walking toward it. And this time, he wasn't alone.

Chapter Text

The boat bumped the black sand with a loud scrunch.

Luffy, all ready, bounced off. His brown overalls and white shirt looked a little rumpled. He wanted to punch the bad guys right now! The sky was weird, not sunny or dark, just a stormy purple. The air smelled like the sea and yucky old stuff.

Sabo watched Luffy hop around. "Aww," he cooed, a soft smile on his face. "Look at you, Lu. All ready to take on the world." He thought his baby brother looked impossibly adorable, a tiny warrior in his silly yellow beanie.

"Oi, Sabo, stop being such a creep," Ace grumbled, though his gaze softened as Luffy puffed out his chest.

Ace reached out, a large hand gently adjusting the slightly askew yellow beanie on Luffy's head. "Just be careful, Lu. Don't go running off."

Luffy grinned. "This place is weird! I like it!"

Ace kicked a rock, watching it skip across the sand. "Let's just go take down the bad guys and leave."

Sabo pulled his hat lower, his eyes searching the edge of the woods. The trees ahead were just black shapes, not even a leaf moving. Their branches were all twisted, like creepy fingers reaching out. The ground beneath them moved slightly, rising and falling—like it was breathing.

Then the laughter started. It was high and sharp.

From the shadows, figures stepped forward. They were statues, tall and thin, with wide mouths carved into grins. Their eyes were hollow. And they were laughing.

"Ugh, even the statues here are annoying," Ace groaned, cracking his knuckles. "Did Buggy's family have a 'most obnoxious laugh' competition and these guys won? It sounds like a seagull choking on a shoe."

Sabo adjusted his gloves with a smirk. "Probably came in second. First place obviously went to whoever designed their faces. If ugly was a currency, these guys would own the Grand Line."

One statue's grin faltered slightly. Another one actually clutched its chest like the words physically hurt.

Luffy blinked. Then—"ONE PUUUUUUNCH!"—his small fist obliterated the nearest statue in a single blow, sending confetti bursting like a broken piñata.

The other statues froze. The laughter cut off abruptly. Slowly, very slowly, they turned their hollow eyes—first to the scattered remains of their comrade, then to the tiny boy bouncing on his toes, then back to the debris.

A beat of silence.

Then—scritch scritch scritch—the statues took a collective step back.

Ace and Sabo exchanged glances. Then, in perfect sync, they cracked their knuckles.

"Tch. We can't let Luffy get all the fun," Ace muttered.

Sabo spun his pipe. "Last one to smash ten buys dinner," he said—and then they moved.

The statues barely had time to scream.

... ...

An hour later, the shattered pieces swirled in the air and pulled back together, reforming like nothing had happened.

Sabo's eyes narrowed. "They're not real. They're being controlled by something."

Ace spun his pipe in a deadly arc, smashing three statue heads in one swing. "Then let's break it until it STAYS broken!"

Sabo blocked a statue's attack with his own pipe, then kicked its legs out from under it. "We don't even know where the key players are yet."

"WHO CARES?" Ace roared, using his pipe like a baseball bat to send a statue flying into the treeline. The crack of stone on wood echoed through the clearing.

Luffy, meanwhile, had discovered that if he bit a statue hard enough, it would turn into smoke. He now chased them with his teeth bared like a rabid puppy. "NOM NOM NOM!"

The statues were learning fear. One tried to slowly back away—

"OH NO YOU DON'T!" all three brothers shouted in unison.

... ...

The ground suddenly trembled. The trees parted like curtains, revealing a massive circus tent that hadn't been there before. Its red and black stripes pulsed like a heartbeat, and the smell of burnt caramel made Ace's nose wrinkle.

Ace glanced down at Luffy, who was gazing at the enormous tent with wide, sparkling eyes. A stray leaf, clinging to Luffy's bright yellow beanie, caught Ace's attention. He gently plucked it off, then noticed a smudge of dirt on Luffy's chubby cheek. With a soft swipe of his thumb, he cleaned it away.

"Looks kinda cool, huh, Lu?"

"Uh-huh!" Luffy nodded vigorously, his attention already fixed on the tent's entrance.

"So," Sabo began, his voice flat. "Are we just going to ignore the fact that a full-blown circus just materialized out of thin air?"

Before anyone could answer, the tent flaps flew open with a dramatic SWOOSH. Standing in the entrance was the skinniest, pointiest woman they'd ever seen – draped in a gown that looked like it was crafted entirely from gleaming razor blades. Her smile stretched unnaturally wide, revealing at least six extra teeth.

"Welcome, brats," she hissed, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. "I am Baroness Morbadus the First. Now tell me... HOW did you little fools even STUMBLE upon my island?"

Ace and Sabo, without missing a beat, both pointed a finger towards a wide-eyed Luffy.

Luffy beamed. "Buggy gave us his nose! It glowed and went WHOOSH and we followed it here to kick your butts because you were mean to him!"

The Baroness's eye twitched violently. "That... that clown gave you our family's sacred compass?"

All three brothers blinked at him. Then, in perfect unison: "Yeah?"

The Baroness made a furious noise. Right then, the carnival attacked. Knife machines whirred, the popcorn machine shot out teeth, and the wooden horses grew extra legs to run at them.

Ace cracked his knuckles. "Finally, some decent entertainment."

It wasn't much of a fight. The brothers were just trying to break everything. Ace caught two flying knives and used them to pick his teeth. Sabo took apart a whole trap while talking about how badly it was made. Luffy saw what he thought was cotton candy (but it was actually big spiderwebs) and accidentally ran headfirst into the main pole holding up the tent.

Half of it fell down.

The Baroness, now missing most of her fancy coat and several teeth, crawled out from under some debris. "You... you're just CHILDREN! How are you doing this?! What is WRONG with you?!"

Sabo waved a hand dismissively. "You'd be surprised what we can do when we're bored."

Ace kicked a stray razor blade with his boot. "Relax, lady. It's not like you were using all these pointy bits anyway."

Luffy puffed out his chest. "Buggy says we're 'unnatural hellspawn'!"

The Baroness finally snapped. With a scream, she ripped off his own mask to reveal—

"EWWWW!" all three brothers shouted.

Underneath was just more face. It was wrinkly and shiny, like something wet and gross. Her veins were popping out, and her eyes moved all over the place.

Luffy gagged. "Put it back! PUT IT BACK!"

The Baroness lunged—

CRACK.

Sabo's pipe met her forehead with perfect precision. The woman crumpled.

Ace whistled. "Damn. That was almost too easy."

... ...

As they walked away from the collapsing carnival, Sabo suddenly gasped. "Wait! We forgot something!" He dashed back inside, emerging moments later with a tiny red nose from a display case. "Proof we won."

They made their way back towards the shore. Their small boat, barely bigger than a bathtub, bobbed patiently against the black sand. They clambered aboard. Ace untied the makeshift anchor, and with a few strong pushes against the sand, they were finally adrift.

Luffy blinked. "Hey Ace... your necklace is glowing."

Ace looked down, surprised. The plain necklace his mom had given him was glowing, a warm gold light. It got brighter against his chest. He understood instantly what needed to be done. The boy took a deep breath, then pulled the necklace hard, breaking it off the chain. He held it up high, and the light got brighter, turning their faces gold.

"Hey shitty island!" he shouted. "This is for Buggy!"

He hurled the pendant in a sharp arc. It struck the center of the sinking island with a sound like glass breaking. For one heartbeat - silence. Then... the world turned inside out.

The stormy purple of the sky faded and peeled away, like old wallpaper being pulled down. The brothers' tiny boat rocked violently as reality itself rearranged around them. Luffy let out a delighted whoop. The little boy was throwing his arms wide as their tiny boat was lifted and propelled forward like a surfboard. Sabo instinctively snatched Luffy with one arm, pulling him close against his chest.

Then -

BOOM.

Silence.

Blue sky. Calm seas. The normal smell of salt and sunshine.

Miles away, across the regular ocean, Buggy was probably just standing on the beach. He had no idea that three little troublemakers had just changed everything for him. Soon, he was going to get the biggest, messiest hug ever.

But for now...

...Now there was only the sea, the sky and three brothers bickering over absolutely nothing as they sailed home.

... ...

The cottage smelled like caramelized meat and freshly baked bread. Baggy had prepared a mountain of rice, three different kinds of roasted meat (Ace's favourite, extra spicy), Sabo's fancy fruit tarts (because the brat had standards) and an entire pot of stew just for Luffy to inevitably stick his whole face into. Now, with his culinary efforts complete, Buggy had retreated to a corner armchair, a well-worn deck of cards spread across his lap.

"Three hours," Bavilion declared, tossing a handful of berries onto the makeshift table between them. His voice echoed slightly, distorted by the glass. "That's how long it'll take those brats to level the place."

Buggy snorted, flipping a card between his fingers. "You're underestimating them. Two hours, tops." He dropped his own bet—a single, well-chewed meat bone Luffy had gifted him last week—onto the pile. "Ace gets destructive when he's bored, Sabo's too smart for those traps. Luffy could break the unbreakable just by breathing on it wrong."

Bavilion's reflection shimmered with laughter. "You sound almost proud."

Buggy's cheeks pinked beneath his makeup. "I'm just stating facts." He threw down a card—the Ace of Spades—with unnecessary force.

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the distant sound of waves outside. Bavilion's expression softened. "They really did a number on you, didn't they?"

Buggy scowled, but there was no heat in it. "Yeah, well. When three little sunbeams insist you're their sky... it melts away the frost you didn't even realize was there." He absently rubbed at his chest, where a phantom ache lingered from the memory of small arms squeezing him too tight after nightmares.

The mirror fogged briefly as Bavilion sighed. "You love them."

"Obviously," Buggy muttered, throwing another card. "Little monsters."

A sudden tremor rattled the room. The lamp swayed, casting wild shadows. Both brothers froze as a distant boom echoed through the air, followed by an unnatural silence.

Bavilion's eyebrows shot up. "That was... fast."

Buggy checked his pocket watch—one hour and forty-seven minutes—and grinned. "Pay up, asshole."

Bavilion groaned but obligingly pushed the berries forward. His reflection flickered as the island's magic dissolved, his form growing translucent. "You realize you've created unstoppable forces of nature, right?"

Buggy leaned back, tucking Luffy's gnawed bone into his coat pocket with surprising care. "Damn right I did."

The front door of the cottage slammed open with enough force to rattle the dishes.

"BUGGY!"

A blur of boundless energy launched across the room before Buggy could even turn around. Luffy hit him like a cannonball, tiny arms wrapping around his middle with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. "WE KICKED SO MUCH ASS!" the boy shrieked directly into Buggy's ribcage, vibrating with excitement.

Buggy wheezed, staggering back a step. "I—ack—can see that, you little—"

"There were creepy laughing statues!" Luffy babbled, still clinging like a koala as he tilted his head back to beam up at Buggy. "And a super ugly lady in a knife dress! And then Ace threw his mom's necklace and BOOM! The whole island went poof!" He threw his arms wide for emphasis, nearly smacking Buggy in the face.

Ace and Sabo sauntered in behind him, both covered in soot and looking smug.

"Yeah," Ace said, flopping into a chair and immediately stealing a piece of meat from the table. "We got rid of the evil island." He took a huge bite and spoke through it. "You're welcome."

Sabo sat primly and poured himself tea. "Also, we may have broken a few things." He sipped. "Hundreds of things." Sipped again.

Buggy stared at them. At the food he'd made. At the way Luffy was still clinging to him, grinning like he'd hung the moon.

Something in his chest ached.

"Tch." Buggy's hand automatically found Luffy's head, fingers carding through his hair in the same absent way he'd done since the kid was barely knee-high. His other arm hooked around Luffy's back, tucking him against his side like a second nature. "Took you long enough. Food's getting cold."

Luffy giggled, already nosing at Buggy's vest pocket where he knew dried meat snacks were hidden. "We missed you sooo much! The island was icky but we destroyed it for you!"

A flick to Luffy's forehead—too light to hurt. Then, Buggy pressed a kiss to the same spot he'd just flicked. "Your hands are disgusting. Let's go wash them."

Luffy beamed and kissed Buggy's cheek with a loud mwah! Buggy pretended to wipe it off with exaggerated disgust. Ace and Sabo were already at the table. Ace was sliding Luffy's favourite meat cuts toward his usual seat while Sabo nudged a glass of milk within reach.

Luffy suddenly gasped. "WAIT!" He dug through his overalls pocket, producing the sacred red nose with a triumphant grin. "We brought it back!" The nose glowed faintly in Luffy's palm.

Sabo added helpfully. "Figured you'd want this back."

Buggy took it, running his thumb over the familiar curve. "Thanks, brats." He crossed to the shelf where Luffy's first lost tooth sat beside Ace's first (failed) attempt at whittling and Sabo's stolen noble handkerchief. A new space waited, right at centre.

The nose settled into place with a quiet click.

Ace snorted. "Looks stupid up there."

"Shut up," Buggy said, adjusting the angle just so. "It's art."

Luffy beamed. "Now it can watch us eat forever!"

Sabo's laugh blended with Ace's exaggerated groaning. Buggy steadied Luffy with hands that didn't shake anymore. The nose gleamed under the lamplight.

Chapter Text

Buggy sat, idly spinning an empty glass between his fingers. Makino moved behind the bar with practiced ease, refilling his drink without needing to be asked, her smile soft and knowing. They had fallen into this rhythm over the years.

Through the open window, a gentle breeze carried the scent of salt and pine, mingling with the faint aroma of polished wood and ale. Makino's gaze occasionally flickered toward the back room where Ace, Sabo and Luffy were curled up in a pile of limbs and blankets.

"They really wore themselves out today," she murmured. There was something in her smile that told Buggy that she had seen the way he'd carried Luffy in earlier, the boy already half-asleep against his shoulder, or how he'd ruffled Sabo's hair when the blonde had stubbornly tried to stay awake, or the way Ace had grumbled but still leaned into Buggy's side when he thought no one was looking.

Buggy waved a hand. "Kids. They go full speed until they crash. Nothing new."

There was no hiding the fondness in his voice. Makino chuckled, pouring him another drink. "You say that as if you weren't the one teaching them half the things that tire them out." She tilted her head, her dark eyes warm.

"I swear, Luffy's got more energy than a sea king on a sugar rush."

Makino chuckled. "He just wants to keep up with his brothers." She wiped down the counter, her movements slow and soothing. "Though I did see him trying to copy your knife tricks earlier with a couple of butter knives. Nearly gave Dadan a heart attack."

"That's my fault? I told him a hundred times—no blades until he's taller than my knee!"

"But you still showed him how to hold them properly when he begged."

"Tch. Yeah, well. Better he learns from me than stabs himself trying to figure it out alone." He took a swig of his drink.

A soft thump came from the back room, followed by the sound of tiny feet pattering across the floor. Buggy didn't even twitch—just sighed and set his drink down.

"Luffy. Bed."

A small, sleep-mussed head peeked around the doorway, dark eyes wide and pleading.

"But I'm not tired." Five-year-old Luffy stood swaying in the threshold, rubbing one eye with a fist while the other stubbornly remained open. His yellow beanie sat crooked on his head, and his feet were bare. He looked like a baby raccoon that had just lost a fight with a blanket.

Buggy raised an eyebrow. "You were snoring into Sabo's shoulder five minutes ago."

"Was not!"

Buggy slump dramatically over the counter. "Three whole minutes of peace," he muttered into the wood. The clown finally lifted his head and got up to walk towards the little boy. "Alright, you little sleep terrorist. C'mere."

Luffy made grabby hands immediately, too tired to pretend he didn't want to be held. Buggy scooped him up effortlessly, settling the boy against his shoulder with the ease of long practice. Luffy's head lolled immediately, his cheek squishing against Buggy's neck.

Makino pressed her lips together to keep from cooing.

"You're heavy," Buggy complained as his hand came up to cradle the back of Luffy's head.

"M'not..." Luffy protested weakly, already half-gone.

Buggy's steps were measured and rhythmic. Makino watched as he adjusted his hold just so - one arm securely under Luffy's bottom, the other hand spread wide across his tiny back. There was a particular bounce to his walk, that subtle up-and-down motion every parent instinctively knew.

"Your dad should've named you 'Limpet' instead," Buggy grumbled.

Makino hid her smile behind another glass. "You're very good at that."

Buggy shot her a glare that lost all its bite when Luffy chose that moment to sigh deeply, his entire body going boneless against Buggy's chest. The clown pirate froze mid-step, waiting.

"...Buggy?" Luffy mumbled after a moment.

"What."

"...Can we have meat for dinner?"

"You're asleep, you little gremlin."

"'M not..."

Buggy resumed his pacing, this time with an added gentle sway from side to side. He started humming something low and wordless - not quite a lullaby, but something near enough. Makino recognized the tune as a sea shanty.

Luffy's breathing deepened. His grip on Buggy's shirt loosened.

After three more laps of the bar, Buggy paused near the backroom doorway, tilting his head to inspect his handiwork. Luffy's mouth was slightly open, a thin line of drool soaking into Buggy's shoulder. His eyelashes fluttered once, twice, then stilled.

"Finally," Buggy whispered victoriously.

He edged into the backroom where Ace and Sabo were still deeply asleep, tangled together in their shared nest of blankets. With the precision of a man who'd done this a hundred times before, Buggy knelt and carefully deposited Luffy between his brothers. The second he hit the mattress, Ace rolled over and threw an arm across Luffy, while Sabo instinctively curled around them both.

Buggy stayed crouched there for a long moment, just watching. Then, with careful fingers, he adjusted Luffy's beanie, brushed Sabo's hair from his face and tugged Ace's blanket up over his shoulder.

When he slipped back out to the bar, Makino was waiting with a fresh drink and a smile she didn't bother hiding anymore.

Buggy pointed at her threateningly. "Not. A. Word."

Makino's eyes sparkled. "I wasn't gonna say anything."

... ...

In the corner of the main room of Buggy's cottage, the large four-poster bed - its frame carved with intricate knotwork that Bavilion had once teased was "too flashy even for you" - stood as the centerpiece.

Luffy perched on the edge of the bed's sturdy wooden footboard, his small bare feet swinging centimeters above the braided rug that usually lay beneath the dining table (but had been dragged over earlier when Ace declared it "better for wrestling").

Buggy knelt before him on one knee, the familiar wooden comb in hand, working through the boy's unruly black hair with practiced motions. Each stroke made Luffy giggle and squirm.

"Stop wiggling, you little barnacle," Buggy grumbled, but his hands remained gentle as he smoothed down the last stubborn cowlick before tugging the yellow beanie over Luffy's head. The hat slipped comically over one eye until Buggy adjusted it with a fond sigh.

Ace and Sabo, already tucked under the blankets in their mismatched pajamas, watched with quiet amusement. Sabo had his chin propped in his hands while Ace lay sprawled on his stomach, elbows digging into the mattress as he waited. They were supposed to be settling down for sleep, but all three of them knew the routine by now—there was still the matter of the bedtime story.

Buggy reached for the well-worn fairytale book on the nightstand, its spine cracked from use, but before he could even open it, Ace spoke up.

"We don't wanna hear that one tonight."

Buggy's hand hovered mid-reach. "Oh? And what does His Royal Pain-in-My-Ass desire instead?"

"We want to hear about you." Sabo's serious tone made Luffy stop fidgeting with his beanie to look up. "About what you want to do. You're always training us to be strong, telling us about the Grand Line..." He hesitated, then added, "But don't you want to sail it too?"

That question had a stronger impact than Buggy expected. The clown's fingers twitched toward the drawer where he kept his Captain's old wanted posters before curling into his palm.

Luffy tumbled forward into Buggy's chest, his small hands fisting in the red fabric of Buggy's shirt. "You were on the Roger Pirates!" he declared, as if this explained everything. "With Ace's dad! That's the coolest!"

Buggy exhaled through his nose, one arm automatically coming up to steady the boy. The old dream rose up like tidewater - the smell of salt and freedom, the deck beneath his feet, the horizon stretching endless before him.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Being a pirate... it's the flashiest life there is." His free hand gestured broadly, nearly knocking over the lantern on the bedside table. "Sailing where you want, answering to no one, making the whole world remember your name—"

He cut himself off as Luffy's small fist pressed against his heartbeat. The words tasted different now than they had at sixteen.

Ace scrambled onto his knees, his dark eyes burning with that fierce intensity that reminded Buggy so much of Captain Roger it hurt. "So do it," he demanded. "We're not babies anymore. You trained us - we can handle ourselves."

Sabo nodded. "And Bavilion's curse is broken," he added quietly. "You're free now."

Buggy's throat tightened.

Free.

Free from the chains of old nightmares.

Free to choose.

Luffy's voice muffled. "But we'd miss you lots and lots."

He swallowed hard, his hand coming up to cradle the back of Luffy's head. "Who said anything about leaving, you little menace?"

Ace flopped back onto the pillows with a dramatic huff. "Just saying. You could."

Sabo smiled before yawning widely. "Whenever you're ready," he murmured, as if it were that simple.

Buggy didn't trust his voice just then, so he settled for scooping up Luffy and depositing him between his brothers. The boy immediately latched onto Ace's arm while kicking Sabo in the shin, the three of them shifting and squirming until they found their familiar configuration - Ace on his stomach, Sabo curled on his side, Luffy sprawled starfish-style over both of them.

"G'night, Captain Grumpy," Ace mumbled into his pillow, already half-asleep.

"Love you," Sabo whispered.

Buggy stood in the flickering lamplight, watching the steady rise and fall of three small chests.

Freedom was supposed to be endless sky and no one to answer to. But here, now—Buggy wondered if he'd gotten the definition wrong all along.

The quiet was treacherous. It left room for memories.

Captain Roger's smile, sharp and bright, as he ruffled Buggy's hair. 'You'll be great one day, Bugs. Just wait.'

The memory was warm.

Luffy's yellow beanie had slipped sideways. Buggy reached out automatically to adjust it, his fingers brushing the soft yarn.

Just like how he used to fix Shank's hat.

The thought suddenly hit him.

The clown could still remember the exact shade of dusk on that terrible day. The sky was blue. The air smelled of overripe fruit. They stood in that crowded plaza. Roger's voice had echoed across the square, bold and unbroken even at the end.

He remembered the exact way the sunlight had glinted off the executioner's blade that day. Then the silence. The awful, suffocating silence after the blade fell.

Not the respectful kind. Not the mourning kind. Just... emptiness.

And then... the crew had scattered like shards of a broken mirror, each piece reflecting a different grief. No farewells, no promises to reunite.

Rayleigh had been the first to go. Their steadfast vice-captain, the man who'd patiently taught Buggy how to read nautical charts, had simply walked away without a backward glance. No final words of wisdom. No reassurance. Just the fading sound of his footsteps on the cobblestones.

Crocus had left next, retreating to his lighthouse with the same detached efficiency he'd used to stitch their wounds. Not even a gruff "take care of yourself" tossed over his shoulder.

Gaban. Scopper. Even the newer recruits Buggy had shared bunks with for years. As if years years of shared storms and feasts meant nothing. As if they hadn't been family just hours before.

'Captain's orders,' someone had muttered when Buggy asked why everyone was leaving. As if Captain Roger would have wanted this. As if their captain, who'd laughed louder than anyone during their raucous parties would have wished for them to scatter like frightened birds.

They'd left him and Shanks - just sixteen and still reeling - to clean out the ship alone. To pack away the remnants of their home like it was some chore to be completed.

Buggy's hands clenched at the memory. He could still smell the stale rum in the galley, still see the way Shanks' shoulders had hunched as they'd boxed up Captain's belongings. How neither of them had known what to do with their captain's favourite coat.

Buggy closed his eyes.

That was the thing about grief. It made fools of them all.

If he ever saw Shanks, his best friend again, he'd say the words he'd carried like a stone in his chest for years.

I'm sorry.

I was scared.

I missed you.

Not because he owed Shanks anything, but because he refused to let regret be the last thing between them.

Now, years later, Buggy understood what he hadn't back then - the Roger Pirates hadn't been wrong to disband. They'd been drowning. But the way they'd done it—without a word, without closure—that had been the wound that never quite healed.

Buggy wouldn't make the same mistake.

If—when—he set sail again, it wouldn't be with silence. He'd tell the boys everything—the adventures, the mistakes, the people he'd loved and lost. He'd tell them properly. He'd look them in the eye and say all the things no one had bothered to say to him...

I'm proud of you.

I'll miss you.

You can always come home.

Chapter Text

The Red Force's sails emblazoned with the grinning Jolly Roger of the Red Hair Pirates. The ship was a legend in its own right. Its captain, Shanks, stood at the bow, his crimson hair ruffling in the sea breeze as he surveyed the familiar coastline of Foosha Village.

The crew bustled behind him, their laughter carrying across the deck. Benn Beckman exhaled a slow stream of smoke from his cigarette, watching the village with sharp eyes. "Quiet place," he remarked. "Good for laying low."

Yasopp leaned against the railing, grinning. "And plenty of fresh supplies. We've been running low on decent booze since we left the New World."

Lucky Roux chuckled, already dreaming of the feast ahead. "I hope the meat here's good. I could eat a whole sea king right about now."

Shank's gaze lingered on the village, but his mind drifted.

The memory was as vivid as the day it happened—the execution platform at Loguetown, the roar of the crowd, the stillness in the air as the Pirate King met his end with a grin.

Buggy had sobbed, his voice cracking.

Shanks had stood there, his own vision blurred, but he hadn't screamed. He had listened to Captain Roger's last words. He felt the weight of them settle in his chest. And when Buggy turned on him, snarling that this was all his fault for not stopping it, Shanks hadn't fought back.

And just like that, they parted ways.

Shanks had set sail alone in a dinghy, no crew, no plan—just the echoes of Roger's laughter and the weight of a straw hat on his head.

The early years were rough.

Shanks scraped by, fought his way through skirmishes, earned his first bounty through sheer stubbornness. Then came Benn Beckman—sharp, unshakable, the first to call him captain without irony. Yasopp joined next, then Lucky Roux, and slowly, the Red Hair Pirates took shape. They were strong and smart. They picked their battles, made allies and carved out a reputation that wasn't just about fear, but respect.

And now, here they were—a crew worth over a billion berries collectively, feared from Paradise to the New World.

But sometimes, Shanks still thought about that day.

About Buggy.

A couple of years after their captain's execution, Garp had come for him. Not to arrest him. Not to fight. To ask about Buggy.

Shanks had no answer. He and Buggy hadn't spoken in years. But the idea that Buggy—selfish, loud-mouthed, perpetually unlucky Buggy—would steal a child of all things?

"Why would he do that?" Shanks had asked.

Garp had given him a long, unreadable look. "That's my problem to figure out." And just like that, the Marine had left, leaving Shanks with more questions than answers.

Shanks wondered. Buggy had never been an enigma, but stealing a baby? That was... unusual, even for him. Who was that child? And where were they now?

As the Red Force docked, Shanks pushed the thoughts away.

... ...

Shanks and Benn Beckman stepped inside the only bar of the village. The air smelled of polished wood and citrus.

Then, a wooden training sword came flying at his face.

Shanks caught it on reflex.

Silence.

Then—

"ACE, YOU IDIOT! YOU HIT A CUSTOMER!"

"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO HIT YOU!"

"I WAS DUCKING!"

Shanks stared. Three children were in various states of chaos. The freckled boy with black hair was currently dangling upside down from a ceiling beam, one foot hooked over a rafter like a monkey. The blond one, who was wearing a top hat that was definitely too big for him, was half-sprawled on the counter, having clearly just dodged the projectile. And the smallest, who was a round-cheeked boy in bear overalls, was standing on the bar, pointing an accusing finger at the other two.

"Makino said we're supposed to be professional!" the little one yelled.

"We are professional!" the freckled boy snapped back, adjusting his cravat with as much dignity as a ten-year-old could muster.

"You're literally hanging from the ceiling, Ace," the blond deadpanned.

Ace flipped down, landing in a crouch. "I was training."

"In the bar?"

"It's multipurpose!"

The bar door swung open, and an old man, Mayor Woop Slap, shuffled inside, his cane tapping against the wooden floor. He took one look at Shanks and Benn's bewildered expressions, then at the three boys frozen mid-argument. He sighed deeply.

"Again?" he grumbled, shaking his head. "I leave you three alone for five minutes and you're already terrorizing customers?"

Ace crossed his arms defensively. "We weren't terrorizing anyone—"

"You threw a sword at his face!" Sabo hissed, gesturing at the red-haired man.

Luffy, still standing on the counter, tilted his head. "But he caught it! That means he's strong, right?"

Mayor Woop Slap pinched the bridge of his nose. "Get down from there, Luffy. And all of you—introduce yourselves properly this time, or I'm getting Makino."

The threat worked instantly.

The blond immediately stood up straight, smoothing his vest with exaggerated dignity. "Welcome to Party's Bar, valued customers! Please excuse the..." He glanced at the sausage now embedded in the wall. "...atmospheric decor. My name's Sabo, resident genius," he announced with a bow so deep his top hat nearly fell off.

The freckled boy crossed his arms defiantly. "Ace, strongest fighter and best drink mixer."

The littlest one nearly toppled off his stool in excitement. "I'm Luffy! I'm six! I can carry three mugs at once! Wanna see?"

Ace prevented Luffy's demonstration and added, "We're... helping out today."

Luffy grinned up at Shanks. "You look really strong! Are you a pirate?"

Shanks chuckled, still a little dazed from the whiplash of the last few minutes. "Yeah, I am."

The first mate was studying the boys with narrowed eyes. There was something off about them—the way they tensed just slightly at the mention of pirates, the way Sabo's fingers twitched toward Ace when Shanks spoke.

Mayor Woop Slap huffed. "Good. Now act like proper gentlemen and stop scaring off customers." He turned to Shanks and Benn. "Apologies for these ruffians. The barmaid, Makino, usually keeps them in line, but she's out today."

"Yeah!" Luffy cheered. "We gave her a day-off voucher 'cause we're the best!"

"Mine was the best," Ace muttered.

"No way!" Sabo argued. "Mine had a drawing of the bar and a coupon for free cleaning!"

"Mine had a treasure map!" Luffy declared proudly.

Ace scowled. "That was just a scribble!"

"Was not!"

"Was too—"

WHACK.

The blond boy smacked both of them on the head. "Focus! We have customers!"

Shanks waved it off with a smile. "No harm done. They're... energetic."

Luffy beamed. "Yeah! We're the best at—"

"Luffy," Sabo cut in sharply, shooting him a look.

Ace, meanwhile, was watching Shanks with an intensity that didn't match his age.

Chapter Text

There was something calculating in Ace's gaze, something that made Shanks pause.

Why does this kid look so familiar?

The freckles. The dark hair. The eyes. The stubborn set of his jaw. No. It can't be. But the pieces were falling into place. Garp's frantic search years ago. A stolen baby. A child who would be around ten now.

Benn noticed the shift in his captain's demeanor and leaned in slightly. "Problem?"

Shanks shook his head minutely. "Just... thinking."

Across the counter, Ace's eyes narrowed. Three pairs of eyes locked onto his straw hat with poorly disguised recognition.

"YOU'RE SHANKS!"

Ace's hand clamped over Luffy's mouth before the boy could continue. "He means welcome," Sabo corrected smoothly, though his fingers were drumming a nervous rhythm against the counter.

Shanks blinked. "You've heard of me?"

"Nope," Ace said too quickly.

"Never," Sabo agreed.

Luffy mumbled something unintelligible through Ace's fingers, eyes still fixed on the hat.

Shanks glanced at Benn, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. There was something off about these kids—something deliberate in the way they moved, the way their eyes kept flickering toward Shanks' straw hat before darting away again.

... ...

Shanks and Benn took a seat at the counter. They decided to wait for the rest of the crew. Luffy immediately scrambled onto a stool to lean toward them, eyes sparkling. "You're pirates, right?" he asked, his voice full of poorly contained excitement.

"Ignore him," Ace said flatly. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Luffy—" Sabo started.

But Luffy was already babbling. "Our guardian's a pirate too! He left a few months ago, but he's super strong! His first mate's a lion tamer, and his second mate's a lion, and there's a swordsman who rides a uni bike—"

"LUFFY!" Ace hissed, clamping a hand over his brother's mouth. "You can't just tell strangers that!"

Sabo shot Shanks and Benn an apologetic-but-wary look. "Sorry. He has no survival instincts."

Luffy pried Ace's hand off. "But they're nice pirates!"

"We don't know that," Sabo muttered.

"And you thought the raccoon that bit you last week was 'nice'!" Ace yelled.

"He was! He just didn't know how to hug!"

Benn exhaled smoke, leaning forward slightly. "Your brothers are right to be careful. But we're not here to cause trouble." He glanced at Ace and Sabo. "And we're not after your guardian."

Luffy nodded sagely. "See? I told you!"

Ace and Sabo exchanged a look. Then, reluctantly, they relaxed. Shanks, thoroughly entertained, decided to help. "So... can we get some drinks?"

Three pairs of eyes blinked at him.

"Oh right! We're working!" Sabo gasped.

"I recommend the meat juice! Sabo says it's not a real drink but it SHOULD BE!"

"Special today is our Grand Line Grog - non-alcoholic for obvious reasons." Sabo shot a look at Luffy.

Ace slid into view behind the counter, shaking a cocktail shaker. Ice cubes flew in a perfect arc as he poured two drinks simultaneously. "Don't mind the mess," he said, nodding to the food-stained recipe book open nearby. "That's just our experimental phase."

"So how'd you three get so good at this?" Shanks asked, genuinely impressed.

Sabo adjusted his cravat. "Trial and error. Mostly error."

"Makino said we couldn't work here unless we met her standards," Ace added.

Luffy nodded sagely. "We broke LOTS of glasses at first! But then we learned the ASL Super Bartending System!"

Benn raised an eyebrow. "There's an actual system?"

"Yep!" Sabo said proudly. "Ace handles the tough customers, I handle the money, and Luffy—"

"I MAKE PEOPLE HAPPY!" Luffy declared. "We're the best bartenders! Makino said so! Well, she said 'please don't burn the place down,' but that's basically the same thing!"

Shanks laughed, raising his glass. "Well it works. Best bar service I've had in years."

The door to Party's Bar burst open as the rest of the Red-Haired Pirates spilled inside, laughing and already halfway through a shanty about a mermaid and three barrels of rum.

"CAPTAIN! YOU WON'T BELIEVE THE DEAL YASOPP GOT ON—" Lucky Roux's announcement cut off as he took in the scene. Behind the counter, two young boys were engaged in what appeared to be a high-stakes bartending triathlon.

Shanks grinned. "Men, meet our bartenders."

"Here, you look hungry!" Luffy produced a plate of meat from somewhere.

Lucky Roux nearly cried. "This... this is the best day of my life."

... ...

The bar had settled into a comfortable rhythm when Shanks decided to poke the bear again. He swirled his drink thoughtfully before leaning across the polished counter. "So," he began, his voice dripping with amused curiosity, "this pirate guardian of yours..."

Ace immediately stiffened, his grip tightening around the glass he was cleaning. Sabo's polite bartender smile froze in place, his fingers twitching toward the emergency panic button they'd installed under the counter (a gift from Buggy after the Great Juice Explosion Incident).

Luffy, of course, perked up like an excited puppy. "Yeah! He's the best pirate ever! He can—"

"—tie really complicated knots," Sabo cut in smoothly, reaching over to casually cover Luffy's mouth with a bar rag. "Very... nautical knots. Super boring pirate stuff."

Ace nodded vigorously, his freckles standing out against his suddenly pale face. "Yeah! Like... fishing nets! And... uh... sail repairs! Super normal boat things!"

Shanks' eyebrow crept upward as he watched the two older boys sweat bullets. Benn coughed into his hand to hide a laugh.

Luffy, having wrestled free of Sabo's rag, looked genuinely offended. "But Buggy's way cooler than that!" He turned to Shanks with wide, earnest eyes. "He was on the Pirate King's ship when he was little like us! And now he's got his own crew with Mohji and Richie and Cabaji and—"

"LUFFY!" both brothers shrieked in perfect harmony.

Ace lunged across the counter to bodily tackle Luffy to the ground. Sabo began loudly clattering dishes together in a desperate attempt to drown out any further revelations.

Shanks watched the chaos unfold with growing delight, his grin widening with each new piece of information. He exchanged an amused glance with Benn, who was shaking his head in disbelief at the world's worst attempt at secrecy.

When the commotion died down (with Ace now sitting firmly on Luffy's back), Shanks casually dropped his bomb. "You know, I think I might have heard of this Buggy." His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Blue hair? Red nose? Absolutely flashy sense of fashion?"

Luffy, of course, rolled his eyes like the pirate had just asked the dumbest thing in the world. "Duh, you already know Buggy. You guys were friends on the Oro Jackson."

Sabo made a noise like a stepped-on seagull.

Shanks blinked, momentarily thrown by Luffy's casual revelation. "I... yes, we were," he admitted, recovering quickly. "But how did you—"

"Buggy tells us stories all the time!" Luffy continued cheerfully, completely oblivious to his brothers' impending meltdowns. "About Gol D. Roger, and Rayleigh, and you." He pointed at Shanks' hat. "He said that's why you got the straw hat! Because Roger gave it to you when you were little like us!"

Shanks felt something warm bloom in his chest at the thought of Buggy telling stories about their time together. He schooled his expression into something more neutral, though his eyes still sparkled with amusement. "Did he now?"

Luffy nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! He said you were annoying but—"

"LUFFY!" Sabo finally found his voice, lunging across the counter to clamp a hand over his brother's mouth. "We don't... that is... you can't just..."

Ace had resorted to banging his head against the counter in slow, measured thunks.

Shanks chuckled, resting his chin on one hand. "Let me guess—you three were supposed to keep this a secret?"

Luffy pried Sabo's hand off his face. "Well yeah, but it's okay because you're already friends with Buggy!" he said, as if this logic were irrefutable.

Benn snorted into his drink. Yasopp was failing miserably at pretending not to eavesdrop.

Shanks' grin widened. "And what else did Buggy say about me?"

Ace groaned loudly. Sabo looked ready to faint.

Luffy wriggled free from Sabo's grip, his face scrunching up in thought. "Buggy said... after Roger died, everybody left." His small hands fidgeted with the edge of his shirt. "You guys were all alone."

The bar fell silent. Ace stopped banging his head.

Shanks' smile faded.

"But," Luffy continued, words tumbling out in that earnest, childlike way of his, "Buggy said he gets it now. Grown-ups were sad and scared." He nodded sagely, repeating words he'd clearly heard many times. "Buggy was mad for a long time, but then he got us, and he said... he said..."

Luffy's nose wrinkled as he struggled to remember. Sabo gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "He said he didn't want to make the same mistakes," he murmured.

Ace picked at the wood grain of the counter. "That's why he comes back. Every time."

Shanks' fingers tightened around his glass. Then Luffy suddenly brightened. "Oh! And he keeps all his letters to you in the special box with Roger's old map!"

But the damage was done. Shanks' breath caught. "Letters?"

Sabo groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "We're dead. We're so dead."

Ace looked ready to bolt. "He's gonna kill us."

Luffy, oblivious, beamed. "Yeah! The ones you never got 'cause Buggy was too scared to send them!" He mimed writing with an invisible pen. "He practices what to say to you sometimes when he thinks we're asleep. "

"Luffy!" Sabo hissed, grabbing his little brother's overall straps like he might physically reel the words back in. But Luffy just blinked up at Shanks with those wide, guileless eyes. "He always looks sad when he reads them. But then he tucks us in extra tight after."

Sabo sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. "He made us promise not to tell you any of this."

Luffy tilted his head. "But you're his best friend! He misses you!" The little nose scrunched up. "One time I woke up and he was crying. I asked him why and he said..."

The boy paused, suddenly unsure.

Sabo squeezed his little brother's shoulder. "Go on."

Luffy took a deep breath. "He said sometimes grown-ups are sad about people they can't see anymore. Even if they wanna say sorry. Even if they miss 'em real bad."

Shanks' voice came out rough. "Did he... did he ever say what was in those letters?"

Ace added helpfully. "Stupid stuff probably. Like 'sorry I was an idiot' or 'wish you were here'."

Luffy nodded eagerly. "Yeah! And 'remember that time we stole Rayleigh's good rum' and 'the brats would like you' and—"

He stopped suddenly, his small face falling. "Oh. I wasn't s'posed to tell that part."

Shanks found himself completely speechless. His fingers trembled slightly where they rested against his glass. Luffy, sensing the shift in mood, padded over to Shanks. With all the solemnity a six-year-old could muster, he placed a sticky hand on Shanks' knee.

"He keeps your wanted poster in there too," he whispered conspiratorially. "Buggy says it's so he remembers to... to..." The boy frowned, struggling with the word.

"Remember to what, Luffy?" Shanks asked softly.

Luffy brightened, finally recalling the phrase Buggy had used. "To be better than yesterday!"

The dam broke.

Shanks pulled the boy into a sudden hug, his straw hat tipping forward to hide his face. Luffy, surprised but pleased, patted his back with small, clumsy hands. From behind the counter, Ace and Sabo exchanged a look.

Sabo cleared his throat. "Buggy usually comes back from town around sunset," he offered casually.

Ace nodded. "If you... y'know. Wanted to stick around."

It was there, that unspoken invitation. Shanks tightened his hold on Luffy just a little more before releasing him. His smile was shaky but genuine.

"Yeah," he said, voice thick. "I think I will."

Chapter Text

The bar had settled into a comfortable hum of laughter and clinking glasses as the Red Hair Pirates enjoyed their drinks. The ASL brothers had somehow managed to keep the chaos to a minimum. Mostly because Ace and Sabo had resorted to physically restraining Luffy every time he opened his mouth.

As the golden light of sunset spilled through the windows, the door creaked open.

A familiar voice grumbled, "Alright, you little terrors, I swear if you burned down the bar again—"

Buggy stood in the doorway. He wore a striking crimson coat trimmed with gold, over a crisp white shirt. He froze in the doorway, his blue hair catching the last rays of sunlight. His eyes locked onto Shanks.

Silence.

Then—

"YOU."

Shanks grinned, raising a glass. "Hey, Buggy."

Buggy's face cycled through several emotions—shock, anger, embarrassment, panic, before settling on a scowl. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Luffy, who had somehow wriggled free from Ace's grip, beamed. With a cry of "BUGGY!", Luffy flung himself at the clown. There was a beat of surprise on Buggy's face, quickly replaced by a practiced manoeuvre as he effortlessly caught the flying child. Luffy clung to him, showering his face with affection, a familiar routine that seemed at odds with the animosity directed at Shanks.

"Ugh, Luffy, your face is all sticky," Buggy complained, trying to subtly detach the boy.

Luffy just snuggled closer. "But you're the one who taught us to show our love with hugs and kisses! You said it makes everyone feel happy!"

"I DID NOT—" Buggy's voice cracked.

The Red Hair Pirates roared with amusement. Shanks' eyes crinkled at the corners as he watched Buggy's mortification. The clown pirate's ears were now as red as his nose.

Buggy didn't retort, his attention seemingly caught by a smudge on Luffy's cheek, which he carefully wiped away.

Ace and Sabo groaned in unison. "Luffy..."

Shanks chuckled, standing up. "Sounds like we've got a lot to catch up on."

Buggy's eye twitched. "We do not."

Holding the little boy securely, Buggy tried to ignore Shanks. But Luffy had other ideas. Wriggling out of Buggy's hold, Luffy's little legs pumped as he waddled across the room to where Shanks sat. He grabbed Shanks' much larger hand with both of his, his brow furrowed in determination.

"Shanks and Buggy need to talk!" he declared before turning and pushing with all his might against Buggy's legs, who was still rooted by the door. "GO TALK! OUTSIDE! LIKE GROWN-UPS!"

Ace and Sabo gaped.

"Since when is Luffy thoughtful?" Ace hissed.

Sabo blinked. "Since ever?"

Luffy puffed out his chest. "I can be thoughtful and considerate! Makino taught me!"

Buggy sputtered as he stumbled outside, Shanks laughing beside him. The door swung shut behind them, leaving the two former cabin boys standing awkwardly in the fading light.

Inside, Benn smirked, taking a slow sip of his drink. "Well. This should be interesting."

... ...

Shanks stood relaxed, his red hair swaying softly in the breeze. His well-known straw hat shielded his gaze as he looked at Buggy. He was dressed in a simple, open white shirt and loose dark trousers that reached his feet, paired with unassuming sandals. This understated attire did nothing to diminish his powerful presence and easy-going charisma.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Buggy crossed his arms, refusing to meet Shanks' gaze. "...You got old."

Shanks grinned. "You didn't. Still as flashy as ever."

"Shut up."

Another pause. Then—

"You kept my wanted poster?"

Buggy stiffened. "Those brats—"

"And the letters?"

Buggy's face did something complicated. "None of your damn business." The words came out tight, as if squeezed past his painted lips.

Shanks exhaled, running a hand through his hair. His shoulders slumped slightly. "Buggy... I missed you."

His mouth opened, ready for a sharp retort, but then it just... stayed open, revealing a hint of his slightly crooked teeth. His shoulders, usually held with a theatrical flair, lost their tension, folding inward. "...Yeah. Me too."

Shanks' smile was warm. "Those kids of yours... they're something else."

"They're menaces." There was unmistakable fondness in his voice.

Shanks chuckled. "Sounds familiar."

The air caught in Buggy's throat.

Shanks probably already knew. He’d probably figured out Buggy’s impulsive, ill-conceived plan to snatch Ace from under the nose of the Hero of the Marines. Shanks knew Buggy hadn't just vanished; he’d been raising their captain’s son, along with Luffy and Sabo. Luffy. That little menace with the mouth that ran faster than his legs. The boy had undoubtedly regaled Shanks with tales of Buggy’s (reluctant) care, the bedtime stories, the scoldings, the very fabric of their unexpected family. So much for a reunion.

The present faded as the ghost of the past resurfaced. Captain Roger’s execution. A wound that had ripped through their crew, leaving raw edges. And then, the fight. It had been about… what, exactly? Blame? Grief? A desperate, childish need to push away the pain? Buggy’s brow furrowed. He remembered the heat of his anger, the sting of Shanks’ words, but the root of it all was the gaping hole their captain had left behind.

Buggy had been so intent on proving himself, on forging his own path after that terrible day and their subsequent, stupid fight. His fault, he admitted silently, the old hurt a dull ache even now. Being heartbroken hadn't given him the right to be such a brat to his best friend.

Now, standing here, the bravado felt flimsy. He hoped Shanks wouldn't get all sentimental. Mushiness had never been their style. But he would apologize. He owed him that much. For himself, for Shanks, for the ridiculous years wasted.

Like he always told Ace, Sabo, and Luffy - that he'd be better than yesterday.

The clown remained silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed somewhere over his red-haired friend's shoulder. Shanks' brow furrowed slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, but before a word could escape, Buggy’s hand shot out and smacked him hard on the back of the head.

"Ow! What the hell was that for?!" Shanks yelped, clutching his head.

Buggy finally met his gaze, his expression tight, a vein throbbing in his temple.

"That was for being a good friend I didn't deserve that day. For all those damn years! Years I wasted being a stubborn idiot! Years we wasted because I was too caught up in my own pathetic pity party and left you alone when you needed me too." He swallowed, the words feeling thick in his throat. "Even though… even though you went off and found your own damn legendary crew and became some big shot pirate in the Grand Line." There was a grudging admiration in his tone.

Shanks blinked. He seemed utterly taken aback by the unexpected apology.

Buggy, uncomfortable with the lack of response, scrunched up his nose. "Honestly, Shanks, you reek. What is that? Seaweed and old fish guts? And your skin looks terrible. All leathery and sunburnt."

Shanks was still utterly speechless, a mixture of confusion and disbelief etched on his face.

Buggy sighed dramatically. "Tomorrow, I’m giving you a basket. With a proper prescription for skincare. Being a flashy pirate doesn't mean you have to look like you wrestled a kraken and lost repeatedly."

Buggy continued, gesturing vaguely at Shanks's red locks. "And your hair! It's all faded and dry! Honestly, a little deep conditioning wouldn't kill you. Maybe some sea salt spray for texture, but the good kind, not whatever salty brine you've been dunking your head in. And for that sun damage, a proper SPF is essential! Shit! The amount of premature aging happening on your face is flashily alarming. You could look ten years younger with a flashy decent routine! And don't even get me started on those calloused hands! A good cuticle oil and some moisturizing gloves..." Buggy trailed off, seemingly lost in his vision of a rejuvenated Shanks.

Shanks, who had been silently absorbing this bizarre tirade, suddenly threw his head back and erupted into booming laughter. Tears streamed down his face as he clutched his stomach, the sound echoing in the twilight. He laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes, his earlier emotional turmoil completely forgotten.

Still chuckling, Shanks lurched forward and wrapped Buggy in a tight hug, squeezing him briefly. "You haven't changed a bit, Buggy," he choked out between gasps of laughter. "Not one damn bit!"

Buggy stiffened in the embrace, his meticulously applied makeup probably smudging. He made a strangled noise of protest but didn't pull away.

Shanks held the hug, the laughter fading into a quiet closeness. Buggy didn't actively hug back, but his shoulders relaxed, and he leaned his head, just slightly, against Shanks's shoulder, Buggy's eyes closing tightly as if to ward off a sudden onrush of emotion he didn't want to show.

With his cheek still pressed against Shanks's shoulder, Buggy asked, his voice slightly muffled, "...You gonna stick around for a while?"

Buggy couldn't see Shanks's face, but he imagined the usual playful glint in Shanks's eyes softening, replaced by a warmth that mirrored the steady pressure of his arms. Buggy knew, just by the way Shanks held him, the relaxation in his posture, that the earlier mirth had given way to a quiet acceptance and perhaps even a touch of relief.

Shanks slowly pulled back from the hug, his hands moving from Buggy's back to gently hold his upper arms. This created a small space between them, allowing Buggy to finally see Shanks's face.

Shanks's gaze held Buggy's, earnest and open. "If you'll have me."

A small, almost shy smile tugged at the corners of Buggy's lips.

"I missed you, Buggy," Shanks said, his voice a low rumble.

Buggy rolled his eyes, though the smile didn't quite disappear. "Yeah, yeah, you already said that."

"Well, it's true!" Shanks protested, a playful grin returning to his face. "It's been ages! Too long!"

"Oh, boo-hoo," Buggy scoffed, but there was no real heat in his tone. "Like you weren't off gallivanting around the Grand Line, having the time of your life."

"Hey! It's not the same without you causing trouble by my side," Shanks argued, nudging Buggy's arm playfully. "Remember that time with the giant crab and the…?"

"Don't even start," Buggy interrupted, a fond exasperation in his voice. "And for your information, I've been plenty busy causing my own brand of flashy chaos."

"Sure, sure," Shanks chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Probably just tripping over your own feet."

"Watch it, Red. At least my sense of direction hasn't landed me in any giant whirlpools lately."

... ...

Inside the bar, three distinct silhouettes were pressed against the window. Luffy's round head was front and centre, eyes wide. Ace's arms were crossed. Sabo's hand was pressed to the glass, a look of quiet observation on his face.

"Hey, Ace," Luffy said, his voice barely a whisper. "Did you finish that weird mushroom stew Woop Slap made?"

Ace grimaced. "Don't remind me. It tasted like old socks and despair."

Sabo, still watching the figures outside, murmured, "They're… talking a lot."

"Despair has a taste?" Luffy pondered, his brow furrowed in deep thought. "I thought it just felt sad."

Ace rolled his eyes. "It's a figure of speech, Luffy."

"Maybe it tastes like burnt toast," Luffy mused. "That always makes me sad."

Sabo sighed. "I wonder what they're saying."

"Probably comparing who can balance more spoons on their face," Ace suggested with a straight face. "Buggy's got the weird angles, but Shanks has that nose… could be a real competition."

"Do you think they use regular spoons or those fancy curved ones?" Luffy asked, his eyes gleaming with interest. "Maybe they even have tiny baby spoons for extra balance!"

Ace groaned. "There's no way they're balancing spoons on their faces, Luffy."

"But what if they are?" Luffy persisted, cupping his chin in thought. "Maybe that's how grown-ups make up after a fight! A serious spoon-balancing contest!"

Sabo chuckled, shaking his head. "I highly doubt that's a common pirate custom, Luffy."

"We should try it!" Luffy declared, suddenly enthusiastic. "I bet I can balance at least three!"

Ace sighed dramatically. "No, Luffy. We are not balancing spoons on our faces."

"We should try it right now!" Luffy insisted, grabbing a handful of spoons from a nearby table. He carefully placed one on his forehead, his tongue sticking out in concentration. It promptly slid off and clattered onto the wooden floor.

Ace winced. "See? Impossible."

"No, I just need to find the right spot!" Luffy declared, undeterred. He tried again, this time attempting to balance a spoon on his nose. It wobbled precariously before joining its fallen comrade on the floor.

Sabo, who had been trying to discreetly observe Buggy and Shanks through the window, finally turned. "Perhaps some of us have more pressing matters to attend to than facial cutlery acrobatics."

"Like what?" Ace challenged, crossing his arms. "Staring at those two lovebirds all night?"

"They're not lovebirds," Sabo corrected, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "They're two friends resolving something."

"Resolving who has the bigger ego?" Ace scoffed. "I'd put my money on Buggy's red nose being bigger than both of theirs combined."

"It's more complicated than that, Ace."

"Trust me, I've heard enough stories."

"There's more to it than just that," Sabo insisted, a more serious tone creeping into his voice. "They were the Roger's…"

"Yeah, yeah, cabin boys, whatever," Ace interrupted dismissively. "Point is, they're grown-ups being sappy. Let's do something actually interesting, like seeing who can hold their breath the longest underwater."

Sabo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I was trying to understand their relationship. It seems significant."

Luffy, who had abandoned his spoon-balancing attempts and was now staring intently at his brothers, suddenly piped up. "Relationships are important! Like the one I have with meat! Speaking of meat…" His eyes lit up. "I think I left my super special meat maths homework over by Beck!"

With a newfound sense of purpose, Luffy navigated the crowded bar. The boy's gaze was fixed on his target - Benn Beckman. The Red Hair Pirates' first mate stood leaning against the long wooden counter. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from his lips, a thin trail of smoke curling upwards towards the dimly lit ceiling.

Luffy approached him from the side, his smile widening. "Hey, Beck!"

Benn Beckman turned his head slightly, a familiar, calm curiosity in his dark eyes as he looked down at the energetic boy. Luffy reached into the depths of a small, well-worn bag on the floor – a bag adorned with crudely drawn bunnies. He rummaged around for a moment, his small hand disappearing inside, before triumphantly pulling out a thick, heavy book filled with densely packed numbers, symbols, and equations.

"Wanna see my meat maths problems?"Luffy chirped, pointing at the chaotic array of equations.

Benn Beckman, who had seen his fair share of oddities, leaned over, a sceptical eyebrow raised. He scanned the pages. His expression, usually one of detached amusement, slowly morphed into one of utter bewilderment. The page was filled with what looked like numbers - advanced calculus, complex algebra and symbols that Beckman, a seasoned veteran of the Grand Line, couldn't even begin to decipher.

"Meat… maths?" he repeated slowly, his cigarette momentarily forgotten between his lips.

"Yeah!" Luffy nodded enthusiastically, tapping a particularly intricate-looking formula. "This one tells you how many bites it takes to finish a really big drumstick if you eat at a constant speed!"

Yasopp, who had been regaling a group of patrons with a tall tale, squinted at the parchment. "What in the sea is that gibberish?"

Lucky Roo peered over Beckman's shoulder. His eyes widened. "Looks like… numbers. Lots of 'em."

A nearby Red Hair pirate, who prided himself on his rudimentary arithmetic skills, leaned in for a closer look and promptly scratched his head in confusion. "That ain't no numbers I ever seen."

Benn Beckman stared at Luffy with a mixture of disbelief and utter confusion. "Kid… there's not a single piece of meat on this page."

Luffy tilted his head, a picture of innocent surprise. "Sure there is! You just gotta know how to read it!" He pointed at another equation. "See? This one's about the optimal angle to tilt your head so the juice doesn't drip down your chin when you're eating a juicy steak!"

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, Shanks and Buggy stood there—two old friends, finally reunited, completely unaware that their heartfelt conversation was being analysed by three young boys, one of whom was now determined to master the art of facial cutlery acrobatics, with a future full of chaos (and increasingly strange theories) ahead of them.

Chapter Text

A hush had fallen over Foosha Village docks by morning. Shanks and his crew were gone. All that remained were the deep marks their ship left in the wood and the quiet emptiness where their celebration had been.

Luffy, now a rubber-limbed menace, was sprawled across the bar’s counter, swinging his legs absently as he fiddled with the brim of his new straw hat. It sat awkwardly atop his head, partially covering the beanie Buggy had given him years ago.

Hours earlier, at the gangplank, Shanks had carefully placed his straw hat on Luffy's head. "This hat is precious to me," Shanks had told him, a serious look in his eyes. "You keep it safe. And when you're a great pirate, come give it back." 

"I still like yours better," Luffy mumbled, pouting up at Buggy. His little hand reached up to touch the beanie beneath the straw hat, a clear sign of his internal conflict.

Buggy rolled his eyes, adjusting the hat so it wouldn’t slip over Luffy’s eyes. "Don’t be an idiot. That hat’s important. More than you know."

Ace and Sabo exchanged glances.

Luffy shifted, his brow furrowed. "But... what about my beanie?" He looked down at his lap, a hint of guilt on his face. He didn't want Buggy to think he loved him less, just because of a new hat.

Buggy knew exactly what the brat was thinking. He reached out, gently nudging the straw hat with a finger. "You take off the beanie, Luffy. The straw hat looks better on you. Besides, that hat... it belonged to my Captain Roger."

Luffy's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "Your Captain Roger?"

"Yeah," Buggy confirmed, his voice softening, a rare occurrence. "And I loved Captain Roger. So, I'd love to see you in it."

Luffy’s face instantly broke into a wide, radiant beam. He launched himself at Buggy, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. "Okay!" he cried, pulling back. He quickly peeled off the beanie, tucking it carefully into Buggy's pocket, then settled the straw hat properly onto his head. It no longer looked awkward... it looked like it belonged.

"I’ll take super good care of it!"

Buggy smirked. "You better, brat, or I’ll turn your arms into balloon animals."

Luffy gasped in delight. "REALLY?!"

"NO."

... ...

The peace didn’t last.

A familiar, earth-shaking laugh rolled through the village like an incoming tidal wave.

"LUFFY! WHERE’S MY GRANDSON?!"

Buggy’s nose twitched. His eyes narrowed. His entire body tensed like a coiled spring.

Makino, wiping down a glass behind the counter, paused. "Oh dear."

Ace and Sabo, who had been in the middle of a wrestling match over the last dumpling, froze. Luffy, however, perked up instantly.

"GRAMPS!" he cheered, already sprinting for the door.

Buggy’s hand shot out, snagging the back of Luffy’s shirt before he could bolt. "Hold it, you little gremlin."

Garp’s massive frame filled the doorway, his grin wide and wild, until his eyes landed on Buggy. Then on Ace.

Silence.

The air grew heavy.

Then—

"YOU."

Buggy crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Me."

Garp’s face cycled through approximately seven different emotions—shock, fury, confusion, realization, more fury, reluctant amusement, and finally, something dangerously close to pride.

"YOU STOLE MY GRANDSON!"

Buggy sniffed. "Frankly, you should be thanking me."

Garp’s eye twitched.

... ...

For ten years, Garp had carried the weight of two children in his heart.

The first was Luffy, left in Makino’s care, safe (he hoped) in the quiet of Foosha Village. The second was Ace, Roger’s son, the boy he had sworn to protect, the infant who had vanished into the night alongside that infuriating, blue-haired thief. Every time Garp visited Foosha, he’d stare at Luffy’s growing grin, his wild energy, and wonder: Where is Ace now? Is he alive? Did that damn clown keep him safe?

He had searched. Oh, he had searched. Marines had been deployed, informants bribed, islands scoured. But Buggy—insignificant, laughable Buggy—had slipped through his fingers like smoke. It should have been impossible. And yet, every lead dried up, every trail went cold. As if the sea itself had swallowed them whole.

Now, standing in the doorway of Party’s Bar, Garp felt the world tilt beneath him.

Because there he was. Buggy the Clown. Older now, but unmistakable, the garish makeup, the sharp grin. And beside him. Ace. Roger’s son. No longer a squalling infant, but a boy on the cusp of his teens, all wiry limbs and defiant stance. His black hair was a mess, his freckled face set in a smirk that was so damn familiar it made Garp’s chest ache. But what struck him most wasn’t the resemblance to Roger.

It was that Ace looked happy.

"YOU."

... ...

Ace, who had been watching this exchange with the detached interest of a kid who had long since accepted that his life was weird, finally spoke up.

"Hey, Gramps."

Garp’s head swivelled toward him. His expression did something complicated.

Not Garp. Not Marine. Gramps. Like it was normal. Like this was just another day.

And Ace was… smiling.

Garp’s anger stuttered.

Buggy cleared his throat. "So. You were looking for him?"

Garp’s jaw worked. "I—"

"Where were you planning to take him, huh?" Buggy pressed, stepping forward. His voice was deceptively light, but there was steel underneath. "What was your great plan for raising the son of the Pirate King, Vice Admiral?"

Garp hesitated. Then, with the air of a man who knew he was about to be flayed alive, he admitted:

"...Dadan’s place."

Buggy blinked. "The bandits?"

"They’re… tough," Garp defended weakly.

Makino set her glass down with a click.

Buggy and Makino exchanged a look.

A dangerous look.

"Kids," Buggy said, voice eerily calm. "Outside. Now."

Ace opened his mouth to protest, but Sabo grabbed his and Luffy’s arms and hauled them toward the door. Makino swiftly handed them a basket of snacks before shutting it firmly behind them.

The last thing they saw was Buggy cracking his knuckles and Makino rolling up her sleeves.

Garp paled.

... ...

The three brothers did not go play.

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, the three brothers sprang into action with the precision of a well-oiled commentary team. They plopped down right outside the door, unpacking their picnic.

Luffy, already shoving a meat bun into his mouth, fumbled with his cracked 3D glasses before slapping them onto his face with a triumphant grin. "Ooooh! This is gonna be GOOD!"

Ace unfurled his meticulously hand-drawn scorecard, complete with categories like "Best Yelling", "Most Creative Insults" and "Garp’s Weakest Excuses." 

"Alright, judges. We’re looking for technique, impact and overall devastation. Bo, you’re on note duty. Lu, try not to cheer too loud, or they’ll hear us."

Sabo adjusted his makeshift judge’s wig (a napkin folded into a triangle) and cleared his throat. 

"Let the games begin."

Inside, Buggy’s voice reached a pitch usually reserved for seagulls in distress.

"YOU WERE GOING TO DUMP A BABY WITH BANDITS?!"

Garp’s defensive grumble was barely audible. "They’re good people!"

"THEY’RE CRIMINALS!"

"SO ARE YOU!"

A beat of silence. Then—

"AT LEAST I FED HIM!"

Luffy’s scorecard shot up like a rocket. "100/100! PERFECT START!"

Ace nodded sagely. "Solid technique. Classic ‘hypocrisy’ counter. Bonus points for the high note on ‘FED.’"

Sabo scribbled. "Garp’s defence is shaky. He's relying on moral relativism. Too weak. 85/100."

Luffy gasped. "Sabo! That’s harsh!"

"I’m being objective."

Makino’s voice, sweet as poisoned honey, sliced through the air.

"Mr. Garp. Did you ever consider that a child might need more than survival?"

Garp spluttered. "He would’ve been tough!"

"HE. WAS. A. BABY."

Ace clutched his chest. "OOF. Right in the feelings."

Sabo’s pen flew across his notes. "Makino’s tone - ice cold. No hesitation. 98/100, only because she didn’t throw a glass."

Luffy, vibrating with excitement, waved his scorecard. "I GIVE MAKINO A MEAT/10!"

Buggy’s rant hit its stride. "Oh, sure! Because bandits are great at emotional development! ‘Here, kid, have some trauma and a rusty knife!’"

"They’re family!"

"THEY’RE AFRAID OF YOU!"

"THAT’S HOW RESPECT WORKS!"

Sabo stared . "Wow. He’s trying to lose."

Ace snorted. "Gramps’s digging so hard, he’s gonna hit lava."

Luffy nodded. "I don’t get it, but 200/10 for Buggy!"

Garp sounded desperate. "Well, he turned out fine, didn’t he?!"

A pause.

Then, in terrifying unison: "THAT’S DESPITE YOU, NOT BECAUSE OF YOU."

The synchronized delivery was art.

Luffy leapt to his feet, showering imaginary roses. "PERFECT SYNC! STANDING OVATION!"

Ace whistled. "That’s gotta hurt."

Sabo, wiping away a tear. "Poetry. Poetry. 1000/100."

... ...

When the door finally creaked open, Garp emerged looking like a man who had been hit by a sea train. Buggy and Makino, on the other hand, looked vibrantly pleased with themselves.

"How?"

Buggy raised an eyebrow. "How what?"

"How did you hide him? I looked everywhere."

Buggy’s smirk faded. For a moment, he looked almost… tired. Then, with a sigh, he gestured vaguely toward the nearest mirror.

"Let’s just say I’ve got a... reflective problem."

Garp frowned. "What the hell does that—"

"Not important," Buggy cut in, waving a hand. "Point is, Ace was safe. Is safe. And if you try to take him now, I’ll turn your ship into confetti."

Garp should have been offended, instead, he just sighed. The old man at Ace, Sabo and Luffy, happy, healthy, loved, and something in his chest loosened.

"...You did good, kid," he muttered to Buggy.

Buggy blinked. Then scowled. "Damn right I did."

Garp grinned, sudden and bright. "Roger would’ve been proud."

Buggy’s face did something complicated. Then he sniffed. "Obviously."

Ace, watching this, rolled his eyes. "Old people are weird."

Luffy, mouth full of bread, nodded sagely. "Yeah. But our old people are the best."

And for once, Garp didn’t argue. He did, however, make a mental note to never get on Makino’s bad side again.

Chapter Text

On a lazy Sunday, the ASL brothers had officially reached peak boredom - a dangerous state that usually preceded either a forest fire or a very confused mountain bandit crying in a tree.

Buggy was busy with his new Buggy Pirates, a carefully selected, low-key crew that operated more like secret benefactors than flashy criminals. They tested rookies, sabotaged corrupt Marines, and occasionally pranked people (for old times’ sake). However, that meant he was gone, leaving the boys to their own devices.

And Dadan... well... she had locked herself in her hut with a bottle of rum after the last "adventure" involving Luffy, a beehive and Ace’s brilliant idea to use Sabo as a human shield.

So when Bavilion, who had very dramatically faked his death a few weeks ago, popped out of a nearby puddle like a soggy ghost, the boys perked up immediately.

"BORED?" Bavilion grinned, his teeth glinting like polished knives.

"YES," all three answered in unison.

"WANNA DO SOMETHING FUN?"

"YES."

"SOLVE A MATH PROBLEM FIRST."

Ace and Sabo looked at each other. Then, in perfect sync, they grabbed Luffy by the arms and threw him at Bavilion.

"HERE. TAKE THE MATH GENIUS."

Luffy squawked, flailing mid-air before landing in a heap at Bavilion’s feet. "HEY!"

Ace and Sabo had already unfolded their beach towels, slipped on their sunglasses and were now lounging with glasses of orange juice, complete with tiny umbrellas.

"Too bad," Ace said, taking a slow sip. "You’re the calculator."

Luffy puffed out his cheeks. "NOT FAIR! I WANNA DRINK JUICE WITH A UMBRELLA TOO!"

Sabo adjusted his sunglasses. "Solve the math problem, Lu. And we’ll give you juice with crocodile meat."

Luffy’s eyes turned into stars. "REALLY?!"

"Promise."

"OKAY! GIMME THE MATH!"

Bavilion, delighted by this turn of events, pulled out a ridiculously complex equation, something involving logarithms, imaginary numbers and what looked like a doodle of a frowning pineapple.

"Last time, this took you ten minutes," Bavilion taunted. "Let’s see if you’ve gotten—"

"DONE!" Luffy chirped, scribbling the answer in the dirt with a stick.

Silence.

Bavilion blinked. "...What."

Ace’s orange juice slipped from his hand.

Sabo’s sunglasses slid down his nose.

Luffy beamed. "CAN I HAVE MY JUICE NOW?"

Bavilion stared at the answer. "...That’s correct."

"HOW?!" Ace yelped.

Luffy tilted his head. "I dunno. Numbers just make sense when I think about meat!"

Sabo slowly turned to Ace. "Ace... we’ve created a monster."

... ...

Bavilion, recovering from his shock, cackled. "Fine! The activity is… A RESCUE MISSION!"

Luffy deflated. "Booooooring."

"It involves kicking people."

Luffy perked up. "WHO?"

Bavilion’s grin turned wicked. "Doflamingo. And his annoying minions."

"And... who the hell is Doflamingo?" Ace demanded, crossing his arms.

"And why do we care about kicking his minions?" Sabo added.

Bavilion sighed dramatically, as if explaining basic arithmetic to particularly slow seagulls. "Oh, my sweet summer children. Sit down. Let Uncle Bavi give you a crash course in World Government and warlords." Bavilion then conjured a floating, shimmering screen made of water droplets and began the lecture.

"Donquixote Doflamingo," Bavilion began, pacing like a professor, "is a Celestial Dragon gone rogue. He runs an underground organisation like it’s his personal playground, slave trade, weapons, Devil Fruits, you name it. Also, he dresses like a flamingo on a disco ball."

Luffy gasped. "So he is a pink chicken!"

"Two people are in danger right now. Trafalgar Law and Donquixote Rosinante. Law’s a medical prodigy with a mountain of trauma and he just ate a Devil Fruit that lets him turn people into spare parts. Rosinante, aka Corazon, is Doflamingo’s brother, but he’s actually a Marine spy trying to take him down. Classic family drama."

Ace’s eyebrows shot up. "How do you know all this?"

Bavilion smirked. "Wikipedia."

"…What?"

"And fan forums. Also, spoilers."

The trio stared. Bavilion waved a hand. "Don’t worry about it, kids. You’ll understand fourth-wall breaks when you’re older." Bavilion continued, "So here’s the plan. Law and Rosinante are on an island in North Blue. Rosinante’s supposed to die there in canon."

The moment Bavilion mentioned death, the air changed.

Ace's hands clenched into fists. Sabo's grip on his pipe tightened. Luffy stopped mid-bounce, his usual grin slipping for half a second before returning twice as fierce.

"Wait, die?" Ace growled. "Like hell we're letting that happen!"

Bavilion held up his hands. "Whoa there, firecracker. Time and tide wait for no man, and plot armor's thinner in the real world." He sighed dramatically. "By the time we get there, Rosinante will probably already be... you know." He made a finger-across-the-throat motion.

Sabo's eyes narrowed. "Then why are we—"

"Because!" Bavilion clapped his hands together. "We can still kick Doflamingo's stupid face, rescue Law and the other kids, steal all the treasure and have a banger funeral ceremony!"

Luffy tilted his head. "Funeral?"

"Oh yeah." Bavilion's grin turned wicked. "Which reminds me—we're learning Lady Gaga's new song on the way there."

Ace blinked. "...Why?"

"Because Rosinante deserves a spectacular send-off! Imagine, kids. Fireworks, a choir of orphans singing pop hits, Doflamingo's burning ship in the background..." He wiped away an imaginary tear. "Art."

Ace signed. "So we’re too late for the guy, but not too late to ruin Doflamingo’s whole week. Good enough."

Sabo adjusted his top hat, nodding gravely. "Funerals are an important cultural tradition. We should honour his sacrifice."

Luffy, who had been staring intensely at the horizon, suddenly gasped. "WAIT. If we sing really loud, maybe his ghost will hear us and come dance!"

Bavilion wiped away a proud tear. "That’s the spirit! And since we’ve accepted the inevitability of death, let’s learn Abracadabra by Lady Gaga. It’s got funeral vibes."

Chapter Text

The snow was cold. So, so cold. It was freezing. The cold bit into his skin, while his chest burned with intense pain. Rosinante coughed and the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. Each breath was a ragged, desperate fight, a battle he knew he was losing.

Vergo... The name echoed in his mind, a venomous whisper. He'd underestimated him. He'd been careless. But no, not careless. He'd been focused. Focused on Law.

Law.

His thoughts, his very being, centered on the small, terrified boy huddled nearby. He could barely see him through the haze of pain, but he knew Law was there. Alive. He had the Op Op Fruit. He was safe.

That was all that mattered.

Rosinante's life had been a mess, to put it mildly. Clumsy, loud, a constant source of chaos. He'd failed so often, in so many ways. He'd failed to live up to his father's expectations, failed to control his own destructive tendencies, failed to stop Doffy.

But he hadn't failed Law.

He'd found him, a scared, angry child, consumed by grief and hatred. He'd seen the darkness in those golden eyes, a darkness he knew all too well. And he'd vowed to save him. To give him a chance at a life free from pain and vengeance.

He remembered the journey. The frantic search for a cure, the constant fear of discovery, the awkward attempts at connection. He'd been so clumsy, so inept, but Law... Law had seen through it all. He'd seen the genuine care, the desperate love.

Love. It was a strange word, a fragile concept. Rosinante hadn't thought he was capable of it, not after everything that had happened. But looking at Law, watching him slowly open up, he'd felt it. A fierce, protective love, a love that burned brighter than any fire.

He'd never said the words aloud. He was too awkward, too afraid of rejection. But Law knew. He had to know. It was in the way he looked at him, the hesitant smiles, the small, almost imperceptible touches.

Now, lying in the snow, bleeding out, he felt no regrets. He'd done what he set out to do. He'd saved Law. He'd given him a future. 

His vision blurred. The cold intensified. He could hear the distant sounds of battle, but they seemed far away, muffled, unimportant. The only thing that mattered was Law.

Live, Law, he thought, the silent plea echoing in his heart. Live a good life. Find happiness. Be free. Rosinante wanted to tell him so much more. To apologize for his clumsiness, for the pain he'd inadvertently caused. To tell him how proud he was, how much he cared. 

But the words wouldn't come. His throat was too tight, his lungs too full of blood. He smiled, a small, weak, bloody smile. It didn't matter. Law knew. He knew. And as the darkness closed in, as the cold embraced him, Rosinante felt a strange sense of peace. He was dying, but he was dying for something that mattered. He was dying for Law.

And that was enough.

The biting cold receded, replaced by an all-encompassing void. The burning in his chest faded into a dull ache, then nothing at all. Rosinante was adrift in a silent, lightless expanse. Time ceased to have meaning. There was no pain and no snow. Only the profound absence of everything he had known. A strange sense of finality settled over him. 

This was it. The end. And in a way, there was a strange comfort in the oblivion.

Until... a faint, rhythmic pulse disturbed the silence. It was distant at first, a subtle vibration in the nothingness. Then it grew stronger, more insistent, an electric thrumming that resonated in the void where his body used to be. It was followed by a sound utterly unexpected in the blackness - music.

A woman's voice, powerful and dramatic, cut through the silence. The melody was alien, the language unfamiliar, yet somehow, a thread of understanding tugged at him.

"Abracadabra, amor-oo-na-na~" 

"Abracadabra, morta-oo-ga-ga~" 

"In her tongue she said: death or love tonight~"

What...?

A flicker of awareness sparked within the void. That music... it was insistent, almost intrusive. And the words... death or love?

A sudden jolt, like a surge of electricity, coursed through him, though he no longer possessed a tangible body. The darkness began to recede, replaced by a hazy, indistinct light. Sensations flooded back, disorienting and overwhelming. Warmth on his skin. The scent of pine and damp earth. The absence of the coppery tang of blood.

His eyes snapped open, as if forced by an unseen hand.

Above him, the sky was a startling, vibrant blue. He was lying on something soft, the ground beneath him yielding. And the burning in his chest... it was gone. Utterly, inexplicably gone.

He gasped, a ragged inhale of air that didn't feel like the desperate fight for breath he remembered. He pushed himself up, a wave of dizziness washing over him, but no pain accompanied the movement. No sticky residue of blood stained his hands. Only a profound, disorienting confusion.

And then he saw him.

Standing directly in front of him, bathed in the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. Alive. Solid. Staring at him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

Law.

Law's small body trembled, his hands fisted at his sides. Then, with a choked sob that tore through the quiet of the woods, he launched himself forward, colliding with Rosinante in a desperate embrace.

"Cora-san," Law choked out, his voice raw and broken against Rosinante's chest. "I—I thought you were dead! I thought you died!"

Rosinante froze, his mind a whirlwind of disbelief. This was impossible. Utterly, completely impossible. He had felt the cold. He had tasted the blood. He had accepted the end.

But Law was here. Warm. Real. Shaking uncontrollably in his arms.

What in the hell was happening?!

His gaze, still struggling to make sense of the impossible, drifted past Law. And there, standing a short distance away, a small boy with a straw hat grinned with unrestrained, triumphant pride, holding a cheap-looking radio aloft like a trophy.

"IT WORKED!" the boy yelled, his voice echoing through the trees. "See?? I TOLD YOU IT WOULD WORK!"

"Luffy!" a voice called from deeper within the woods. "Is he alive alive, or like, zombie alive?!"

"He's hugging!" Luffy called back, his grin widening impossibly. "So I think he's the good kind of alive!"

Law's small body shook against Rosinante, each sob a fresh stab of disbelief in his chest. He held the boy tighter, his own hands trembling. Law was real. Alive. And clinging to him as if he were a lifeline. Gently, he stroked the dark hair, trying to offer some semblance of comfort, though his own mind was a chaotic storm of confusion.

Finally, as Law's sobs began to subside into shuddering breaths, Rosinante pulled back slightly, his gaze searching the boy's tear-streaked face. "Law... Law, it's alright. I'm here." His own voice sounded rough, unfamiliar.

He then turned his attention to the three children who stood watching them. The one with the straw hat held the ridiculous radio with an air of profound accomplishment. The other two, one with freckles and a slightly singed jacket, the other with a distinguished top hat, regarded him with a strange mixture of curiosity.

"Who... who are you?" Rosinante managed, his voice still weak.

The straw-hatted boy puffed out his chest, a wide, gap-toothed grin splitting his face. "I'm Luffy! And these are Ace and Sabo!" He gestured proudly to his companions.

Rosinante stared at them, his mind struggling to reconcile the scene before him with the brutal reality of moments ago. Luffy... he looked no older than six. Ace and Sabo couldn't be much older. What in the actual hell was going on?

Ace stepped forward. "We were on a bit of a rescue mission."

Sabo nodded in agreement, adjusting his top hat with an air of polite seriousness that seemed utterly out of place. "The mission parameters also included permission to discourage any hostile elements."

Ace grinned, a flicker of firelight dancing in his gaze. "Yeah, we kicked all the bad guys! There was this really tall dude with sunglasses and a ridiculous pink fluffy coat. His name is Doflamingo, I believe."

"And a creepy guy who looked like he was made of bamboo!" Luffy chimed in, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Rosinante's breath hitched. Doffy... Vergo... defeated by three children? It was beyond comprehension.

Luffy then turned his earnest gaze to Law, who was still sniffling softly. "Then I found Torao crying in a bush! And I don't like it when people cry! He told me his Cora-san died, and that's not okay! So I said we had to have a proper funeral!"

Law looked up at Luffy, a flicker of something akin to gratitude in his still-wet eyes.

"So Torao took us to you," Luffy continued, his voice dropping slightly. "And then Ace and Sabo showed up, and I used Lady Gaga's music for the ceremony!"

Rosinante blinked again, trying to process the sheer absurdity of the statement. A funeral... with Lady Gaga?

Ace stepped forward, a look of genuine awe on his freckled face. "Hail Lady Gaga! Her power is truly something else."

Sabo nodded solemnly, his top hat bobbing slightly. "Indeed. The resonant frequencies clearly possess a remarkable capacity. To bring a dead man back." 

Rosinante's head spun. Lady Gaga? A song that brought people back from the dead? It sounded like utter nonsense. He looked at Law, who seemed just as lost as he was. What in the world was going on?

Then, the kid named Luffy fiddled with the radio again. Another strange song blasted from it, full of energy and a voice Rosinante couldn't understand. Suddenly, Luffy started dancing, moving in a way that seemed both clumsy and somehow skilled. The little boy's movements resembled an octopus having a seizure on a trampoline, limbs going in every conceivable direction.

Then, unbelievably, Ace and Sabo joined in. They moved together, as if they had practiced the weird dance a thousand times, their faces full of joy.

Rosinante stared. 

These were the kids who supposedly beat Doflamingo and Vergo? 

They looked more like they belonged at a children's festival than a battlefield. He glanced at Law, hoping for some explanation, but Law just looked confused and a little mesmerized by the dancing. The music was strange, the dancing was strange and the whole situation was completely unbelievable. 

Was he actually alive, or was this some kind of crazy dream? Law's hand in his felt real, but everything else felt like it had gone completely mad.

... ...

Rosinante looked at Luffy again. "You... revived me?"

"Yeah!" Luffy nodded vigorously. "Bavi told us the song had the right feeling! You looked like a sad good guy, so I figured if we play a really powerful funeral song, it would make your soul happy and come back!"

"It made me cry," Ace muttered.

"I was moved," Sabo said, straight-faced.

Rosinante looked down at Law still clinging to him, sobbing.

He looked at the three ridiculous, impossible children who had somehow defeated Doflamingo's forces, discovered his almost-corpse and dragged him back to life with the power of pop music.

"...I don't understand anything that's happening."

"That's okay!" Luffy grinned. "Neither do we! Wanna come on an activity with us?!"

Law looked up, red-eyed and hoarse. "Cora-san... is it real?"

Rosinante held him tighter.

"I don't know, Law," he whispered. "But I'm here. And so are you."

The radio clicked and rewound, again. Lady Gaga's voice swelled from the speaker, louder this time. Luffy raised his fists triumphantly.

"LET'S GO, ROUND TWO! THIS TIME WITH DANCING!"

Rosinante finally let himself laugh.

Chapter Text

The air on Dawn Island was different.

Here, it was light, free of the smog of fear and the metallic taste of betrayal that had plagued Rocinante’s life for so long. He sat on the porch of Buggy’s sprawling, surprisingly cosy house, a den-den mushi in his large hand.

The call had been… cathartic.

He had spoken first, his voice rough with disuse, but steadier than he’d expected, assuring Fleet Admiral Sengoku of his survival, of Law’s safety and of Doflamingo’s containment. The subsequent conversation was a whirlwind of relief, reprimands and strategic planning that Rocinante had navigated with a newfound clarity. As a Marine, his duty was to return. But as a father—and he was that now, in every way that mattered—his duty was irrevocably here.

It was then he had proposed the new path. He had insisted that the world must continue to believe the boy who ate the Op-Op Fruit had died on Minion Island, letting that lie stand was their greatest protection. He would remain on Dawn Island, posing as the guardian of a rescued orphan, and use Buggy the Clown’s surprisingly vast underworld influence to monitor the movements of the Emperors from the shadows.

He had painted a picture of a strategic retreat that was, in truth, the only victory that mattered.

A life built not on lies for a mission, but on the truth of his love for his son.

Plus, it wasn’t a complete lie.

Buggy’s Delivery service did have ears everywhere, and the man himself was an enigma wrapped in a red nose. Fleet Admiral Sengoku, after a long, heavy silence, had agreed. The secret of the Ope-Op Fruit was too great a risk. This way, he could protect Law and serve the cause of justice on his own terms.

For the first time, Rocinante’s duty and his heart were aligned.

He ended the call, a profound peace settling over him. He was alive. Law was safe, healthy and laughing somewhere nearby. Doflamingo was in a seastone cage. The feeling was so immense he felt he might float away.

His moment of serene reflection was shattered by a burst of raucous noise from the backyard. He followed the sound to find Luffy, Ace and Sabo striking dramatic poses, their movements sharp and synchronised in a way he’d already seen.

“Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-roma-mamaa!” Ace chanted, while Sabo executed a surprisingly graceful spin. Luffy, whose limbs were usually a study in rubbery chaos, was trying his best to keep up.

The trio was a sight.

Ace’s cowboy hat cast a shadow over his determined grin, while Sabo’s top hat remained perfectly poised despite his spins. And Luffy was undeniably adorable. His precious straw hat bounced on his back, secured by a string under his chin as he bounced around in his little red shorts. His face was a picture of intense, happy concentration, his whole tiny body vibrating with the effort of keeping up with his brothers.

In the centre, Law looked exasperated, but amused. His fingers flicked, and a blue “Room” shimmered into existence. As the brothers chanted about “wanting your bad romance,” Law practiced swapping the positions of their hats in the blink of an eye, a small, genuine smile playing on his lips.

They fell into a final, dramatic pose—Ace and Sabo flanking Luffy, who threw his arms out wide and shouted the lyrics with all his might, "I want your love and I want your revenge! You and me could write a bad romance!"

Rocinante’s heart swelled until he thought it might burst. This. This was what he had fought for. He retreated to the living room where Buggy was calmly knitting a multi-coloured sweater. The clown’s power was a force of nature, capable of things that defied logic, but his understanding of contemporary fashion seemed to be from a different dimension entirely.

As Rocinante’s eyes fell on a second, nearly finished sweater in a garish canary yellow with bold leopard-print accents—meant to match Law’s hat, he presumed—he felt a pang of paternal anxiety. He hoped Law’s gratitude would outweigh his obvious disdain for sartorial crimes.

“What in the four blues are they chanting about?” Rocinante asked, sinking into a plush armchair. “Who is this ‘Ga-Ga’ person? Ace mentioned she was an indie pop singer from the New World?”

Buggy didn’t even look up, his needle clicking rhythmically. “Ah, yes. Lady Gaga. Niche group, very avant-garde. Pushes boundaries. Her work is a bit… conceptual for the mainstream. Lots of commentary on societal structures and personal freedom.” He waved a disembodied hand dismissively. “You know how the New World art scene is.”

Then, Buggy let out a short, pained breath. “Inspired Ace a bit too much, frankly. The kid once refused to wear anything but a ‘living art’ outfit of seaweed and mud for a week. Trying to negotiate with a five-year-old about the societal implications of haute couture while he’s tracking silt through the house is a special kind of hell.”

Just then, the back door slammed open and the four boys tumbled in, sweaty and breathless.

“Buggy! We’re starving!” Luffy yelled, already making a beeline for the kitchen.

Rocinante, eager to be useful in this vibrant new life, began to stand. “I can get them some snacks—”

A chorus of immediate panic erupted from the brothers.

“No!”

“Don’t let him!”

“Uncle Cora, wait!”

Buggy was already seamlessly detaching his hands, his body rising with a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll go. You sit. Last time you tried to ‘help’ in the kitchen, you somehow set water on fire.” He floated towards the doorway, calling over his shoulder, “Just… keep them from redecorating. Or forming a cult.”

Rocinante sat back down with a mildly offended huff. “It was one time. And it was a very volatile broth.” Eager to change the subject from his culinary mishaps, he looked at the boys. “So, this Lady Gaga… Ace, you seem to know her work well. Who exactly is she? I owe her a great deal, considering you played her music at my funeral and it apparently brought me back to life.”

Ace’s eyes lit up. “You want to know about Lady Gaga?”

“The meat lady!” Luffy shouted, bouncing on the spot. “She had a dress made of meat! A whole dress! Why doesn’t anyone else do that?!”

Law, who had been following, stopped dead. “Meat… dress?” he asked, his voice flat with disbelief.

Rocinante blinked. “A dress… made of meat?”

“It wasn’t just about fashion!” Sabo interjected, ever the knowledgeable one. He puffed out his chest, adopting his ‘lecture’ pose. “She’s a performance art revolutionary! Her work deconstructs societal hegemony through shocking visual mediums! It was a political statement! A protest!”

“Yeah!” Luffy chimed in. “She said if you don’t fight for your rights, you end up with as many rights as the meat on your bones! And she wasn’t a piece of meat!”

Ace nodded vigorously. “She was telling the powerful jerks in charge, the World Government types, that she was a person, not a thing they could just use and discard. She used the meat to show them they couldn’t consume her or her beliefs.”

Law looked from Ace to Sabo, his brow furrowed. “So… she wore a dress of raw steak… to protest being treated like a piece of meat by the establishment?”

“Exactly!” Sabo said, beaming. “It’s a metaphor. She turned their objectification back on them. It’s like… if a Celestial Dragon treated you like a slave, and you showed up to the Reverie wearing a jacket made of slave collars. It’s shocking, it’s disgusting to some, but it makes the point undeniable.”

Rocinante was stunned into silence. He looked from the earnest faces of the ASL brothers to Law, who was now looking thoughtful, a new respect in his eyes for the bizarre concept.

“Huh,” Law finally said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “That’s actually pretty hardcore.”

“Right?!” Ace crowed, his eyes gleaming. “Forget the sandwich. You need the full experience. We’re initiating you. My room, five minutes. I’m booting up the ‘Monster Ball’.”

Buggy floated back in with a platter, looking offended. “Excuse me, who is the snack provider here?”

“You are! Thanks, Buggy!” Ace said, grabbing the entire platter. “Fuel for the concert!” He shoved it into a stunned Luffy’s arms. “Luffy, carry the provisions. Sabo, make sure Law doesn’t escape. It’s time he learned what real art is.”

Rocinante watched the chaotic procession head upstairs—Ace leading the way with evangelistic fervour, Sabo shepherding a bemused Law, and Luffy already leaving a trail of breadcrumbs from the provision platter.

A warm laugh escaped him. This woman, this Lady Gaga, with her meat dresses and powerful protests, was clearly a philosopher of the highest order. He made a mental note to ask Buggy for a list of her essential works later.

For now, he was content to listen to the thunder of footsteps above and the first pounding beats of a song from Ace's room. Entrusting the entire food supply to Luffy had been a catastrophic error in judgment, of course, but that just meant the happy chaos would descend upon them again soon, and he couldn't wait.

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

Rocinante was peacefully talking to a ladybug on his tomato plant, congratulating it on its excellent spotting, when the fence exploded. Well, it didn’t explode explode.

Luffy, now a hyperactive eight-year-old cannonball, simply ricocheted off a post, spun twice in the air, and shot toward the coast. Ace and Sabo, both eleven and buzzing with chaotic intent, vaulted over the wreckage. Ace had a net made of what looked like tablecloths, and Sabo was waving a detailed, entirely theoretical map of "Fish-Man Tag" rules.

Trailing behind them, looking like he’d been dragged through a hedge of nonsense, was a fifteen-year-old Law. His spotted hat was askew. He gave Rocinante a look that was one part exhaustion, two parts impending doom.

“And where is the… festival?” Rocinante asked, brushing dirt from his knees.

“Mission,” Law corrected, his voice flat. “From the ghost in the parlour.”

“Uncle Bavi has a job for you?”

“He said there are some ‘salty, pointy-nosed party poopers’ heading to a boring island to be miserable,” Law recited, as if the words were physically painful. “He said they need a ‘playdate.’ That it’s our job to ‘liberate them from the tyranny of their own bad vibes.’ Luffy is now the officially appointed ‘Vibe Coordinator.’"

Rocinante blinked. “Pointy-nosed…? That sounds like it could be a rather… formidable pirate crew.”

“I mentioned that,” Law said, his smile all teeth. “We’re going to give them a new perspective. Ace is going to show them the error of their ways. Sabo is going to correct their business model. Luffy is going to demonstrate the meaning of ‘captivating audience.’ And I,” he said, flexing his fingers, “will be rearranging their internal organs until they agree that our way is more fun. It’s less of a battle, more of an… intensive group therapy session.”

Rocinante’s eyes widened in alarm. “Law! You will do no such thing! Rearranging organs? That’s…” He made to call out to the retreating brothers. “Luffy! Ace! Sabo! Get back here this instant, I need a proper—”

“They won’t listen,” Law interrupted. His smile was a scalpel, sharp and clinical. “What’s crueller? Letting them continue their pathetic, hate-filled existence? Or forcing them to be happy? We’re not monsters. We’re philanthropists of the spirit. We’re giving them the gift of us.”

Rocinante could only stare, his mind reeling. He stared as the trio ahead whooped, already practicing their "friendship ambush" strategies. He looked at his peaceful garden, then back at the whirlwind of unhinged goodwill disappearing into the trees. “I… see,” he said, a slow, helpless smile spreading across his face. The world of pirates and Marines felt very, very far away. “Well, tell them to play nicely!”

“Don’t worry,” Law called over his shoulder, a wide, sharp smile on his face. “I’ll be on my best behaviour.” As he walked away, he chuckled to himself, a low, happy sound. “The best, most terrifyingly nice behaviour imaginable…”

As Law vanished after the chaos, Rocinante turned back to his ladybug. One of the East Blue's most notorious crews was about to be subjected to a wellness intervention led by a rubber boy, a glitter bomber, a tiny revolutionary and a mad surgeon. Rocinante wasn't sure if he should be concerned or order popcorn.

Somewhere, in a mirror, Bavilion was probably cackling.

A few minutes later, Rocinante located the epicentre of the commotion in Buggy’s lavish bedroom.

The pirate captain was a flurry of motion, tossing exquisitely tailored coats into a sea chest. Without the white and red paint, his features were sharper, more real and his blue hair was tied back with a simple black cord. He probably has it custom-woven by sky-island spinners, Rocinante mused, the insanity of the thought feeling perfectly normal here.

He leaned against the doorframe, casting a long shadow over the proceedings. Buggy, sensing the presence, finally stopped his frantic packing. He straightened up, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that was more frustration than vanity. He didn't turn around, his gaze fixed on the half-filled chest. "You're blocking the light and doing the silent judgment thing," he stated, his voice flat and tired. "Why are you staring?"

“The children have a mission,” Rocinante said, his tone carefully neutral. “I assume you’re aware of the… ‘intensive group therapy’ they intend to administer?”

Buggy finally turned, his expression one of profound annoyance. “Yes, I’m aware. My contacts just identified the targets. The Arlong Pirates. Fish-Men.” He leaned against his sea chest, crossing his arms. “Arlong’s the problem. He’s got that old-world Fisher Tiger grudge, which, fine, I get it. But he's going to take it out on the weakest humans he can find. Pathetic, really. His old crewmate Jinbe had the right idea – work within the system, get a Warlord title, make real power moves.”

He sighed, as if the bigotry and violence were merely a logistical headache. “They were about to start a reign of terror on some backwater island. Good thing our little chaos gremlins are intervening. Saves me the trouble of cleaning up their mess later.” A thoughtful, almost greedy glint entered his eyes. “A shame, in a way. Their strength could have been… redirected. Doflamingo and I are working on a joint venture – a premium, high-security island getaway. The kind of place that needs intimidating staff. After that… incident where your brothers sent him flying, he’s been surprisingly open to collaboration. We could have used a crew like Arlong’s for the… aesthetic.”

Rocinante blinked once, slowly. “A deal,” he repeated, the word tasting like rust. “Doffy doesn’t do deals, he does domination. He doesn’t partner, he enslaves. What in the Grand Line could possibly convince my brother to collaborate with you? Was there a contract? A threat? Did you threaten his family, Buggy? Wait, no. He is his family. Did you threaten... everything he is?”

He took a step closer. The easy answer was that Buggy had somehow overpowered him again, but Buggy’s tone was too light for a blackmail operation.

Buggy sighed dramatically, as if dealing with Rocinante’s emotional baggage was exhausting work. He straightened his clothes. “You’re thinking too small, Roci. You and Doflamingo have a… complicated dynamic. I, on the other hand, have universal leverage. He’s weak right now. His organisation is scattered, his reputation is damaged by the whole 'child labour and trafficking' fiasco—really bad press, by the way—and he needs money, he needs power and he needs protection from the World Government that knows he’s still out there. And I, as an accidentally-Invincible, gold-obsessed mastermind and current... very influential figure, can offer all three."

Buggy tapped his nose smugly. "I gave him an offer he couldn't refuse. The ultimate legitimacy. His name associated with a Buggy-sponsored enterprise—that’s a firewall the Marines won’t touch. And a ridiculous amount of passive income from our Dawn Island-adjacent ventures. He doesn’t have to do the dirty work, just provide the infrastructure. He gets to sit back, plot his next move, and get richer under my umbrella. It’s a beautiful compromise. Besides," he leaned in, "after those brats of mine absolutely wrecked him, he's surprisingly docile. It's almost unsettling."

Rocinante stared, utterly nonplussed. "Legitimacy? Buggy, he dealt in death and despair. How did his 'infrastructure' suddenly become a passive income stream that the World Government ignored? I didn't understand the core of this 'enterprise'."

Buggy let out a long sigh. He slammed the lid of his sea chest shut, the click of the lock final and authoritative. He gave the chest a satisfied pat. It was done. He turned, leaning back against the chest. “Stop thinking like a miserable former Marine, Roci, and start thinking like an investor!” he grumbled. “Listen carefully. We are launching a global chain of 10-Star, High-Security Island Spa Resorts. The name? I was leaning toward 'Buggy's Boom Boom Paradise,' but my marketing team thought that was 'too intimidating' for the family demographic. We settled on 'The Grand Flash Resort & Spa.' Very elegant, very five-star.”

He began ticking items off on his fingers. “The core idea: People with too much money and too many enemies need a place to relax and show off. They pay obscene amounts of cash for a resort with maximum luxury and maximum intimidation. That’s where your brother comes in. His old contacts—the ones who moved guns and drugs—they’re still excellent at logistics. Now they move highly paid guests and legal supplies. Doflamingo provides the infrastructure for securing those safe, exclusive island locations and running supply chains that nobody dares to question. It’s clean, legitimate money and it’s protected by the Buggy brand name. We're sanitising his assets!”

Rocinante stood straighter, his confusion now bordering on genuine alarm. He was used to Buggy being absurd, but this was lucrative absurdity. "Wait, wait, wait," he insisted, holding up a hand. "How is the name 'Buggy' a firewall against the Marines? How did you magically sanitise your entire reputation to the point where Dofy's business becomes 'safe' just by association with you?"

Buggy threw his head back and laughed. He looked at Rocinante as if he were discussing elementary arithmetic. "Roci, my dear. You're still stuck on labels. Pirate is a job title, not a personality flaw. Yes, I'm a pirate. That means I operate free of taxation and fussy regulations. But my business reputation is pristine. Have you forgotten my little side hustle? 'Buggy's Beautiful Barnacles'? The high-end hair and body care line? The entire Grand Line runs on my moisturising shampoos! My leave-in conditioner is the only thing that keeps the Marine Admirals' hair looking respectable in a sea breeze. The World Government might want me locked up, but their wives, their daughters, and their barbers would revolt. I'm a necessary evil! A Beauty Mogul!"

Rocinante opened his mouth, ready to object, perhaps to point out that even a Beauty Mogul could be arrested for consorting with a known mass-trafficker. He managed to get out, "But, the Marines will—"

Buggy cut him off with a sharp clap of his hands. "Enough! I'm done. Time is money, and I just wasted ten minutes explaining the fundamental principles of market leverage to a man who thinks silence is a useful devil fruit power."

Buggy hoisted his fully packed sea chest effortlessly onto his shoulder. "I'm off to South Blue to finalise the contract on the first Grand Flash island! You, Rocinante, are responsible for the well-being of the home and the children. Don't let anything happen. Be vigilant!" He started toward the door, then paused mid-stride, his eyes widening in a moment of pure, panicked realisation. He immediately pulled out his Transponder Snail.

"Oh, wait. Makino." He glared at Rocinante with deep suspicion. "I already called Makino. She's coming to take care of the house, the children and most importantly, the entire East Wing's electrical system. I cannot risk your spontaneous combustion of my custom-built cottage, Roci. Just stay put, stay quiet and try not to accidentally ignite your own boots. She's in charge."

And with a final, dismissive wave, Buggy rushed out the door.

Chapter Text

The salt spray of the East Blue had long since lost its novelty.

For weeks, it had been a symbol of their freedom, a promise of a domain where they, the strong, could finally make the weak pay for the sins of all humanity. Hachi followed Arlong, as he had since the schism with Jinbe. Jinbe, the appeaser. The one who thought a Warlord's title was a victory and not a chain. Here, under Arlong's banner, they would have true revenge for the generations of pain, for the friends lost to fisheries and auction houses.

Or so he had believed, until ten minutes ago.

Now, Hachi lay sprawled on the deck, his six swords scattered around him like fallen pick-up sticks. His body ached in places he didn't know could ache. Through his swimming vision, he saw Kuroobi pinned under a net that seemed to be made of glittering tablecloths, and Chew was tangled in his own fishing line, suspended from the mast. They had been dismantled. Not by Marines, not by a rival crew, but by… by…

Hachi blinked, trying to clear the stars from his eyes. A small boy with a straw hat was sitting on Arlong's unconscious chest, poking his serrated nose. A blonde in a top hat was cheerfully going through their logbook with a critical eye. And a surly-looking teen in a spotted hat was… was checking Arlong's pulse with a terrifyingly clinical detachment.

They were just kids.

Four of them.

And they had broken the Arlong Pirates in the time it took to boil a pot of octopus balls.

The air was thick with the scent of defeat and salt. Hachi’s vision snapped back into sharp focus, the sight of the four children—children—standing victorious over his crew was a corrosive acid on his pride. He didn't just feel pain, but he felt a blazing, desperate rage.

“WHO ARE YOU?!” Hachi roared, the sound catching in his throat, hoarse and ragged. He scrambled, trying to reach for one of the scattered blades, but his body protested with a wave of sickening agony. “What are you doing this for?! You humans! Is this what you do?! Find a place we claim and try to ruin it just for fun?! Do you know how many generations of us had to suffer because of your kind?!”

The boy in a straw hat, who had been focused on jiggling Arlong's nose, finally turned his attention to Hachi. He had the wide, clear, unsettling eyes of a pure predator—or maybe just a pure idiot. “Oh, hey! You’re finally awake, octopus dude!” he chirped, sliding off Arlong’s chest. He pointed a thumb at himself, beaming. “I’m Luffy! Monkey D. Luffy! And these are my brothers and our friend!” He gestured broadly, an open, honest gesture that somehow felt even more insulting.

“This is my big brother, Ace,” Luffy continued, pointing to the boy with black hair, freckles and a fancy leather vest, who gave a casual two-fingered salute, chewing on a piece of dried meat. “The blonde is Sabo,” he added, pointing to a boy who was leaning against the mast while still flipping through the logbook. “And the guy with the grumpy face is Torao!”

The surly-looking teen who had been performing the clinical check sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s not ‘Torao,’ you idiot. My name is Trafalgar Law,” he corrected, his voice a low, precise monotone that cut through Luffy’s loud enthusiasm.

Luffy just shrugged, completely unbothered by the correction. “Yeah, yeah, Law. Same difference! Anyway, why we’re here? Easy. You guys were going to start being bad to the innocent people in this area, right? Like you always do in the canon, but we decided to jump ahead this time.” Luffy leaned forward, his face serious but not hateful. “We’re here to make sure you stop before you start the bad stuff. We’ve seen enough of it. Bad guys hurt people. We stop bad guys. That’s the job!”

Hachi laughed, a harsh, choking, wet sound that quickly devolved into a bitter cough. He dragged himself onto his knees, ignoring the searing pain in his torso. Kuroobi and Chew, though immobilised, watched the children with wide, venomous eyes.

“Stop the bad stuff?” Hachi spat out the words, tasting the salt and bile. “You think we are the bad guys? Look at us! We are victims, you ignorant, pampered children! We did not seek out this war; it was forced on us for centuries! You talk about hurting innocent people? Tell me, brat, how innocent are the humans who captured my little sister, Hatchiko, and sold her on the Human Auctioning Block in Sabaody Archipelago? How innocent are the humans who laughed as they chained her up like an animal?!”

Kuroobi, pinned under the net, strained his voice, his chest heaving. “The humans who came to Fish-Man Island not as guests, but as slavers and poachers! They steal our loved ones to sell them or kill us to turn our skins into coats!”

Chew, dangling from the mast, shook violently, his eyes red. “They poison our seas with their waste, then they claim our territory! They hunt the Sea Kings for sport and leave the carcasses to rot! We are not villains! We are trying to find a patch of land where we aren't worth less than a bag of berries! We are fighting for our survival, because your kind has made our survival a crime!” Hachi finished, his voice cracking with emotion. “We are not bad guys! We are refugees seeking justice!”

Ace’s face immediately contorted into a snarl of frustration, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, walking toward the railing as if preparing to jump into the sea just to start a fight. “That’s bullshit! Just because bad things happened to you doesn’t give you the right to just—”

Before he could finish the accusation, Sabo swiftly placed a hand over Ace’s mouth, pulling him back from the edge of the emotional confrontation. Sabo shook his head slightly, his gaze serious. “You’re missing the point, Ace. Let Luffy speak,” he instructed quietly.

Luffy watched the conflict, his expression unreadable for a beat. He took in the pinned Kuroobi, the dangling Chew and the weeping Hachi, and he accepted their narrative of suffering entirely.

“I know the humans hurt you bad,” Luffy acknowledged, nodding slowly. “That pain is real, and it shouldn’t have happened. The people who sold your sister are trash. But your revenge… it’s aimed wrong. It’s too big and too messy. You’re aiming it at people who are just as poor and helpless as your kind were when those slavers took Hatchiko.”

He pointed at the logbook in Sabo’s hand. “If you take that money, and you hurt that girl Nami and her sister, you make new victims. And when their heroes come—like us—you will be standing in the place of the slaver who laughed. Does getting justice for Hatchiko mean you have to make a new Hatchiko? Does freedom for Fish-Men only happen by chaining up a human village?”

Luffy shook his head, a genuine sadness in his eyes. “That’s what makes you a bad guy, Hachi. Not your skin, not your species, but the choice to hurt the helpless. But it’s only a plan, and you haven’t done it yet. We stopped you before you did the bad stuff. We are here because we believe there is a better path to justice than just becoming the next tyrant. Let us help you find it.”

Hachi stared at Luffy, tears of rage and humiliation streaming down his cheeks, mingling with the salt spray and the sweat. He wanted to rage, to argue that they had to be strong, that Boss Arlong’s way was the only guarantee of safety.

“No! You don’t understand! We must build a base, we must dominate the East Blue! It’s the only way to send a message to the other humans that they can’t just—” Hachi’s voice died in his throat. He saw the logbook in Sabo’s hand, the quiet, analytical look on Law’s face, and the unnerving certainty in Luffy’s eyes.

“Wait. The plan… how do you know about the East Blue domination?” Hachi whispered, his six arms trembling. “You keep saying we were going to do something. You know about the base we planned to build to launch our terror campaign. And you even knew about Jinbe! Who the hell are you?! Are you an agent of the World Government?! Have they been tracking us since Fish-Man Island?!”

Kuroobi and Chew, hearing Hachi’s sudden break in rage, stared at the children, their eyes wide with fear and confusion.

Luffy let out a short, sudden laugh that held no humour. "It doesn't matter who we are. It matters what you were going to do. You were going to become worse than those slavers. You would have killed the Marine captain who tried to help the villagers. You would have terrorised children, and those children would have grown up with the same empty, hateful hole inside them that you have now. You were going to steal everything a child loves, turning them into a weapon, just like the humans stole yours."

He shook his head, the simple movement conveying deep disappointment. "That’s the path you were on. It doesn't bring justice because it only brings endless suffering. You were choosing to be the monster in someone else's story."

The certainty of Luffy's vision, far more painful than any physical blow, crushed Hachi. He finally slumped back onto the deck, too exhausted for tears, only empty despair remaining.

"The monster in someone else's story," Hachi murmured, repeating Luffy's phrase like a curse. "You're right. We left Jinbe because we thought his way was weak. We were so angry, so hurt, that we thought cruelty was the only language the surface world understood. We were going to become the very thing we hate most." A fresh wave of self-loathing washed over him. "But if we stop Arlong's plan... if we stop being the tyrants... then what are we? Just beaten Fish-Men, lost in a human world that hates us?"

He looked up at Luffy, his large eyes pleading. "We can't go back to Fish-Man Island. We failed. We can't stay here, or the Marines will get us. Why are you really doing this? You say you want to help, but humans always take from us. Always. You’re just going to trick us into a cage, aren't you? That's what your kind does best."

Chew nodded miserably, still hanging. "It's a trap. A softer hook to land us for the auctioneer."

Kuroobi shook his netted head. "Go. Just take what you want and go. We'll take our chances with the sea. We can't trust the words of a human."

Ace, who had been silent, finally spoke, though his voice was low and serious. "We get it. You've been hurt by humans your whole life. But we aren't like that. We're here because we believe people—no matter their species—shouldn't be hurt. And we aren't leaving you to the Marines or the slavers."

Luffy nodded, confirming Ace's sincerity. "We're going to keep our word, and you're going to be okay. We'll make sure you have a way to find a future that doesn't involve cages or slashery."

Hachi frowned. "Slashery?"

Law pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's slavery. You sound like a moron, Luffy."

Luffy stuck his tongue out at Law before turning back to Hachi. "Anyway! Slavery! We hate it, and we'll fight anyone who tries to put you back in it. We're going to help you."

Hachi watched the boy, his own defences crumbling under the dual assault of guilt and confusion. The kindness was real, but the source was impossibly wrong. These were the children of the surface, yet they spoke of Fish-Man suffering as if it were their own.

They are strong, stronger than Arlong, but they are still just children.

They talk about justice, but they belong to the species that defined injustice for us.

"Where do you get this strength? How can you be this powerful, yet choose to fight for Fish-Men and not against us? What makes your word better than the promises of every cruel human who ever smiled before sending us to the guillotine? We need a safe place, not just a promise. How do you help us find a place where we aren't hated?"

Luffy didn't have to think. "Because we're going to change the world," he stated, his voice ringing with absolute, childlike conviction. "We don't lie. We just fight the bad guys."

Law finally pushed himself off the railing where he had been leaning against, the movement drawing the attention of all three Fish-Men. He walked slowly until he stood next to Luffy.

"You ask how we can guarantee we won't betray you? You ask about the world's hatred?" Law's voice was low, devoid of emotion, yet it was the most devastating sound Hachi had ever heard. "My home was the city of Flevance, the White City. It was beautiful, but it was built on a lie—a poisonous mineral called Amber Lead. The World Government, the Nobles, they knew it was killing us slowly. They let my people live there, trapping us, until the disease started spreading outside the city walls."

Law paused, a single tear tracking a path through the grime on his cheek, though his eyes remained dry and cold. "When the disease took hold, the World Government called it a contagion and killed everyone inside to 'contain' it. They executed my family, my friends, everyone. They burned my city to the ground to cover up their greedy secret. I am alive because I hid under a pile of corpses. They are the slavers, the murderers and the cause of all suffering. We understand hatred, Fish-Man. We have the same enemy."

A quick, confident hand settled on Law’s opposite shoulder. Sabo, the blonde boy, stepped forward, his eyes blazing with shame and determination as he cast a disgusted look toward the horizon.

"I hate the World Government, but I was born into the next layer of trash: the Nobles," Sabo admitted, his voice tight. "My parents were the parasites who would happily watch your sister be auctioned if it meant more profit for them. They taught me to look down on everyone who was poor, dirty or different. I ran away from that life because I would rather be dust than be like them. I hate the system that makes people like your sister a slave, and I hate the blood that flows in my own veins because it's the blood of your oppressors."

Hachi watched the three boys—the fearless one, the broken survivor, and the shamed Noble—stand together, bound not by blood, but by a shared, visceral hatred of the system that created suffering. His own tears now flowed freely from a profound, shattering realisation.

They are fighting their own war.

Their scars are deeper and uglier than ours, yet they still stand. This… this is not a lie. This is a promise forged in the death of cities and the betrayal of family. He felt a desperate, painful surge of hope for the first time since leaving Fish-Man Island.

Hachi pushed his six hands onto the deck and tried to haul himself forward. "We... we surrender," he whispered. "To you. To your ideal. If you truly hate the oppressors that much... then we will follow your promise. We don't want to become the monsters of the surface world. We only ever wanted freedom." He looked directly at Luffy, his eyes shining with newfound, terrifying hope. "Tell us what to do."

"Shishishi! Of course, we know what to do!" Luffy roared, throwing his head back in a peal of excited laughter. He pulled Hachi into a quick, decisive hug, wrapping his small arms around Hachi's chest. Hachi felt a genuine jolt of warmth and acceptance, shocking after years of living behind walls of hate. The hug was tight, honest and completely bewildering.

Luffy quickly sprang away, his energy too boundless for prolonged sentiment. Ace immediately high-fived his little brother, their matching grins radiating pure, uncomplicated joy.

"Seriously, Luffy, that was your best speech yet," Ace admitted, nudging his brother with his elbow. "The whole 'copied the slaver' thing? Deep."

Sabo finished tying up the logbook and walked over, shaking his head. "It was effective, but utterly barbaric in its execution. We need to work on your vocabulary, Luffy. However, the result is what matters." He then addressed Hachi, giving him a professional, respectful nod. "We trust your sincerity, Fish-Man. We will not abandon you."

Law approached, examining Hachi's six bruised arms. He met Hachi’s confused gaze, which was still swimming from the emotional roller coaster. "The emotional whiplash is normal," the boy stated clinically, giving Hachi a dry look. "Fighting tyranny is their goal; spontaneous musical numbers are their method. You'll understand eventually." Law then reached out and tapped Hachi's shoulder gently. "Just roll with it."

Luffy bounded to the helm. "Alright! New course! We're heading South Blue! Ace, remember that island where Buggy is going? We need to intercept him! Let's get moving! And Ace, put on the Born This Way remix! Hachi needs to know what we stand for!"

Ace didn't need to be told twice. He rushed to a surprisingly robust sound system, and the electronic dance beat instantly transformed the ruined deck. The powerful synth chords of Lady Gaga’s empowering anthem drowned out the sounds of the East Blue, leaving Hachi stunned, defeated and totally adopted.

Lady... Gaga? Hachi thought, utterly baffled. He glanced at Kuroobi, still netted, who looked back with wide, watery eyes, clearly thinking the salt spray had finally driven Hachi mad. Chew, still dangling, was swinging gently to the rhythm, looking terrified and deeply confused.

Then the children began to move.

Ace and Sabo launched into an incredibly synchronised, energetic series of sharp movements and twirls, shouting along to the defiant chorus: ["I'm beautiful in my way, 'Cause God makes no mistakes, I'm on the right track, baby, I was born this way!"]

Luffy, however, was a chaotic mess of flailing limbs and joyful jerks—a strange, ecstatic interpretive dance that nearly sent a scattered sword overboard.

Law stood near the helm, watching Luffy. He massaged his temples, then noticed Hachi's six eyes fixed on him, pleading for sanity. "It is... a ritual," he said, leaning closer to Hachi to be heard over the music, which was now declaring: ["Don't be a drag, just be a queen!"]

He kept one eye on Luffy, ready to intervene if the boy's limbs got too wild. "She is Lady Gaga, a New World singer. Her music is popular with certain crews because it champions the idea of fighting for who you are, no matter what the World Government or the Nobles say." He spoke of her like a niche revolutionary philosopher. "It's their... motivational anthem. They play it when they feel they've achieved a moral victory over oppression. Don't worry. It's usually harmless."

As Ace completed a powerful leap across the deck. ["Don't hide yourself in regret. Just love yourself and you're set. Love yourself and you're set."] And Luffy finally spun too hard and crashed into the mast, only to bounce off, laughing hysterically.

Law sighed, running a hand over his face. "Right. The captain," he said, pointing to Arlong's unconscious form. "He took the hardest hit. We need to stabilise him. Unlike the others, Arlong got struck by pure force. He’ll be out for days. I need to take him to the infirmary to set up a field cot. Do not move. I will be back for your crewmates."

He then lifted the large Fish-Man, slinging Arlong over his spotted shoulders with surprising strength, and headed below deck, leaving Hachi alone on the ruined deck with the thumping beat and the dancing children.

The final, soaring synth chords echoed the promise Hachi had just accepted.

["I was born this way!"]

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

The first sensation Arlong registered was the absence of pain.

It was a deep, unnerving stillness that had no place in his life. The second was the soft, almost luxurious press of the material beneath him. It was a proper mattress, thick and firm, not the hard bunk or plank he was accustomed to. The air was clean, smelling faintly of antiseptic and something sweet, like cinnamon—a smell he remembered from Fish-Man Island markets, not a pirate ship.

Ship. The East Blue.

He forced his heavy eyelids open. The light was dim, filtered through a small porthole. He was in a small, clean room—an infirmary, perhaps. He remembered the children, the punch, the dizzying drop into blackness. His mind was a slow, sluggish current, but one fact was clear: they had been beaten, and he was a captive.

A low, familiar sound drifted in from what must have been the deck. It wasn't the sound of work or fear; it was laughter. Not human laughter, but a distinctive, high-pitched Fish-Man chuff, laced with a different, almost innocent human cheer.

"Hachi!" Arlong tried to roar, but his throat was dry, and only a raw croak emerged. He ran a weary hand over his face, expecting rough shackles. There were none. He was simply lying on a very comfortable bed.

Why is it soft? Why does it smell like home?

He forced himself upright, his head swimming. The last coherent memory was the punch, then Law carrying him. He must be on the children's ship. But why were his crewmates laughing? He swung his legs over the side of the cot, his feet meeting a clean, wooden floor. He stumbled toward the door, driven by a cold dread that surpassed his pain. He had to know what kind of trickery these strangely powerful children had employed to make his crew sound... happy.

Arlong wrenched the door open, bracing himself for the cramped, foul air of a pirate ship's lower deck. Instead, he was assaulted by bright, indirect light and an utterly absurd, opulent scene. He was standing in a hallway tiled with sparkling mother-of-pearl and lined with velvet wallpaper.

This was no ship; but a building. A ridiculous, expensive hotel. The door he'd just exited was not infirmary wood but lacquered mahogany with brass fittings. He glimpsed a large sign down the corridor: Grand Flash Island Hotel.

A hotel? What in the blazes?

His eyes snapped to the nearest wall. Hanging there was a framed, stylised portrait of a Fish-Man warrior. A noble, idealised figure with flowing fins, a clear attempt at appreciative, if misplaced, cultural aesthetics. The room was beautiful, tasteless and utterly disorienting. Arlong felt a sickening mixture of rage and confusion. Was this some grotesque form of mockery? Building a luxurious cage for him?

His throat felt like sandpaper. He spotted a low table displaying an ornate crystal pitcher filled with clear water, alongside a bowl of fresh, colourful fruit. Driven by primal thirst, Arlong snatched the heavy, decorated pitcher and drank deeply, the cool water doing nothing to quench the fire of his confusion.

"What is this human... show?" he growled, slamming the pitcher down.

"It's the first step."

Arlong froze, his muscles locking up in shock.

The voice was soft, clear, and feminine. He spun around, his heart pounding not with fury, but disbelief. Standing in the doorway was a young, tall woman, completely human, yet her eyes held an unmistakable familiarity. Her hair was pulled back, revealing a faint, faded scar on her shoulder—a scar he knew intimately.

"You... you can't be..." Arlong stammered, recognising the features he had mourned for years. "Hatchiko? Is that... really Hatchiko?"

Hatchiko’s eyes welled up with immediate, unrestrained tears. "Arlong!" she cried, rushing across the space. Despite the difference in their sizes, she leaped and wrapped her arms tightly around his thick, scaly neck. "I knew you were awake! Oh, I missed you so much! You've been sleeping for ages!"

Arlong remained rigid, utterly stunned by the flood of emotion and the impossible presence of the woman he believed lost to the auction block forever. "Hatchiko, how? You were... you were sold! Where am I? What day is it? What happened to the others?"

Hatchiko pulled back, resting her hands on his shoulders, her smile bright and tearful. "You were asleep for three days, you big dummy! And a lot happened. A lot." She leaned. "The moment those boys beat you up, Hachi and the others realised they were good humans. They made a deal. Those boys, they hate the World Government just as much as we do, but they fight the system with justice, not revenge!"

She beamed, gesturing around the ridiculous hotel suite. "The day you went to sleep, I was working as a cook for some terrible noble. The next day, I was free! They rescued me! And they brought me here, to the Grand Flash Island Hotel! It's in the South Blue! It belongs to a man with blue hair who calls it a 'ten-star establishment'—I don't know what that means, but it's massive!"

Hatchiko lowered her voice to a whisper. "Hachi explained everything. It's a secret base! We're all staying here—all of us freed slaves, Fish-Men and humans—and working to build a new life. And the best part? It's a launchpad for the fight! The children are using this island to hit back at the slave houses and the Marine bases! They promised us a future where we can be free, and we're helping them build it! We're finally free, Arlong!"

Arlong recoiled from Hatchiko's touch, his shark instincts screaming danger. "Hatchiko, you must be sick! This is the madness of Stockholm Syndrome! You were humiliated and sold! This comfort is a cage! And this 'ten-star' lie is a joke! Who is the owner? Where is Hachi? If he's made a deal with these disgusting humans, I'll tear him apart myself!"

Hatchiko, her octopus tentacles resting patiently on his arm, shook her head, tears welling in her eyes again. "No, Arlong. You're wrong. They aren't lying. I know what hate looks like, and they don't have it. I wouldn't let myself be fooled again." Her voice cracked. "Please, just let me show you. Hachi is safe. Kuroobi and Chew are safe. They are all together in the Rooftop Garden. They are meeting the others the children rescued."

Hatchiko gently pulled Arlong down the hall toward a lift, forcing him into the absurdly mirrored box. Arlong remained rigid with suspicion.

"The children are planning their next move," Hatchiko explained softly as the lift ascended. "They don't stop. They promised to fight the system, and they are doing it, right now."

The lift opened directly onto a lush, green, open-air garden.

Arlong's eyes instantly took in the scene: dozens of Fish-Men, Merfolk and even some giants stood gathered, laughing. Fish-Men he knew who had been missing for years were there, embracing their children. In the midst of the jubilant crowd, Hachi, Kuroobi and Chew stood with a freckled boy and a blonde boy. They were smiling genuinely.

The little one with a straw hat was pointing excitedly at a large map spread on a table. The clown captain, stood nearby, looking irritated but attentive.

"—so the timing is crucial! Buggy's big bomb surprise hits the east wall exactly at midnight," the little boy declared, punching the map. "We grab everyone from the cells beneath the North Blue Auction House while they're running!"

The clown pirate visibly winced at the boy’s summary of his plan.

"Hold on, hold on, Luffy! You make it sound like crude demolition!" The blue-haired pirate—whom Arlong didn't recognise, though he seemed famous—stepped forward, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. "It’s a meticulously choreographed tactical manoeuvre! A display of sheer genius to demonstrate our absolute contempt for the Nobles! It will be a super flashy message, showing those snobs that they can't simply buy and sell people anymore! We're not just 'grabbing people,' we're delivering a theatrical comeuppance to the slavers!"

The pirate paused, squinting suspiciously at Luffy. "And what's with the smart talk? You sound like Law! I don't trust it! What did you eat while I was gone?"

The older boy with a dotted hat rolled his eyes, but Luffy just grinned.

Arlong, however, couldn't process the details. His world was shattering. A human pirate, working with children, planning to attack a slave auction? The betrayal, amplified by the joy he saw on the faces of the freed Fish-Men, was too much.

"Hachi! Chew! Kuroobi!" Arlong bellowed, his voice echoing off the surrounding hotel walls. His feet pounded heavily against the rooftop tiles as he strode toward his frozen crewmates.

"Explain yourselves! You stand here, laughing, while I lie healing from the blows of these human brats?! You are Fish-Men! We are superior! We do not cooperate with these vile creatures! We were meant to build a base of domination, not a garden of charity! Answer me! Did they threaten your families?!"

Arlong's roar cut the air like a physical knife, but instead of snapping to attention, Hachi let out a sound of pure relief—a wet, choked cry that was instantly joined by Kuroobi's deep, rumbling cheer and Chew's high-pitched, excited sputtering.

"Boss! You're awake!" Hachi yelled, his six arms immediately abandoning the logistical meeting and surging toward Arlong.

Before Arlong could back up or deliver his full tirade, he was enveloped in a massive, powerful Fish-Man group hug. Hachi’s tentacles, Kuroobi’s heavy muscles, and Chew’s sticky frame crushed him, trapping his arms against his body.

"It's true, Boss! Look!" Chew’s voice was wet with relief, shouting into Arlong's ear. "We're free! We got a new home!"

"You wouldn't believe the things we've done!" Kuroobi boomed, his voice almost cracking with joy. "The little one, Luffy, he told us our hate was just making us the monsters of someone else's story! He was right, Boss! He was right!"

"We were so wrong!" Hachi wept, squeezing tighter. "We don't need to dominate! We can be happy! They showed us! We can fight the World Government and the slavers, and still be good people! My sister! She's safe, Boss! We can even save more people now! No more guilt! No more fear!"

The words crashed over Arlong in a deafening, dizzying torrent. He felt the pure, desperate love and relief of his crew, but every happy word was a hammer blow to his ideology. He tried to shove them off, to scream about his hate, but they were too strong, too happy and too busy talking over him. "Get off me, you fools! They brainwashed you! I am superior! Let me speak!" Arlong roared, his voice muffled by Kuroobi's shoulder.

"The patient is stabilised, not recovered."

The words from the older boy with a dotted hat were simple, but the effect was immediate. Hachi, Kuroobi and Chew froze. They pulled back, leaving Arlong swaying, his face contorted in a silent snarl of fury and confusion. The bot then addressed Arlong directly. "You were hit with severe blunt force trauma. Your current agitation is detrimental to your internal recovery. Return to the cot and rest, or I will sedate you."

Arlong wanted to rip the boy apart, but the calm threat carried weight, and his crew's fear was palpable. Before he could decide which human to tear into first, the sound of tiny voices intervened. A small gaggle of Merfolk and Fish-Man children—newly freed, Arlong realised—toddled over to the group planning the raid.

"Mister Buggy! Is it safe to play hide-and-seek now?" a small Fish-Man child asked, looking up at the flamboyant clown pirate.

"We're hungry, Mister Buggy," another child whined, tugging on the clown's outlandish trousers.

Arlong watched the blatant, open trust of the children of the sea together. The blue-haired pirate threw up his hands in surrender. "Fine! Fine! I need quiet for genius! Octopus-Girl! Handle the brigade! Take them below and get them fed. Tell the chef to prepare the specialty South Blue dish!"

Hatchiko smiled. "Yes, sir! Come along, everyone!" She moved to the children, gently taking their small hands—human and Fish-Man alike—and leading them toward the exit, her form a vivid splash of blue and yellow against the green garden.

Arlong’s fury didn't vanish, but the sharp, clear target of his hatred had dissolved into confusing contradictions. He turned back to the humans, his shoulders slumping slightly. "This is a lie," he growled. "You! Why? Why save us? Why ally with our kind? You are human. We hate you. Your freedom will only lead to our enslavement. Tell me the truth of this cage!"

The older boy opened his mouth, ready to give a cold, clinical explanation, but the small boy in a straw hat moved faster. He leaped onto the planning table, towering slightly over Arlong, his small form radiating blinding conviction.

"Stop being stupid, Fish-Man!" the boy yelled into Arlong's face. "There's no cage! There's no trick! We fight the bad guys! The bad guys are the ones who put chains on you and on Law's family, and on Sabo's conscience! They make everyone miserable! But we beat them, and now you and your people are free to be happy! We're all fighting together to make the whole world a place where everyone—human, Fish-Man, giant, octopus—can do whatever they want!"

The boy thumped his own tiny chest. "I am Monkey D. Luffy, and I am going to be the Pirate King! And the Pirate King doesn't let anyone lock up good people! That's all there is to it!"

The dramatic declaration stunned Arlong into silence. He only had time to register the pure, uncomplicated lunacy in the boy's eyes before the emotional dam broke behind him. Hachi burst into fresh tears, falling to his knees. Kuroobi and Chew erupted into a cacophony of emotional cheers.

"Boss, he's right! We're free!" Kuroobi shouted, wiping his eyes.

The pirate, Buggy, groaned and rubbed his temples, leaning heavily on the Blonde boy. "Oh, my gods, the sheer simplicity of his stupidity is exhausting." The freckled boy and the blonde boy just watched their brother with a tired, but undeniably proud smile.

The sound of his crew's uncontrollable weeping was Arlong's final undoing. He tried to focus on the logical flaw, but Luffy, sensing the moment, spoke directly to the wound in Arlong's soul. "Look at them! Look at Law!" he gestured wildly. "You and Law are the same! They burned Law's home, they sold Hachi’s sister! That kind of sadness is heavy, and it makes you want to smash everything! But the right way is to smash the people who caused the sadness! Not the people who were also hurt!" Luffy leaned in, his small face intense. "My goal is to protect everyone I like! And now I like you guys! And I will punch any Marine, any Noble, any government official who tries to make you sad again! I'm the guy who decides who's free! And I choose Fish-Man Freedom!"

Arlong felt a deep, unfamiliar shake run through his body. He was the protector. He had failed. This child, somehow, hadn't. "You speak of absolute freedom, yet you threaten the government," he challenged, his eyes narrowed, searching for the trick. "Do you truly believe a child can tear down a world built on hate and leave nothing but peace behind?"

Luffy laughed, a simple, carefree sound of pure possibility. "Yep! Because I'm Monkey D. Luffy! And when I'm the Pirate King, the world will be free to do whatever I say! And I say: No more chains!"

Arlong closed his eyes, the image of his crew's happy face overriding every hateful memory. He had to try. He had nothing left to lose. "Look closely, brat," he said. "You pulled my people out of the fire, and you convinced my crew that your impossible dream is real. That buys you one chance. We are Fish-Men; we are strong. We will follow you, and we will fight these Nobles with you."

He lifted his head, his sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight. "But if you, or any of your human friends, ever betray that vow of 'absolute freedom,' I will tear this world apart with my bare hands, starting with your small throat. Understand?"

The boy only grinned wider. "Shishishi! Got it!"

Chapter Text

Silence. Blessed, profitable silence.

Buggy moved through the quiet villa, doing a final check. The island was secure, the construction of the hotel was ahead of schedule thanks to their new Fish-Man labourers, and the initial investments from a certain… chastened Joker were clearing without issue. All the pieces on the board were moving exactly as he’d planned.

He paused in the doorway of the children's room. They were a tangle of limbs and pyjamas, deep in sleep. Luffy was snoring softly, one foot on Ace's back. The little monsters had, against all odds, been useful. They’d not only secured the Arlong Pirates but had forged them into fanatically loyal disciples. The efficiency was almost frightening.

In his own chamber, Buggy began his nightly routine, unclasping the heavy, jewelled pendant from his neck. He caught his reflection in the dark glass of the window—a king surveying his nascent kingdom. Then, the image shifted, the blue of his hair deepening to void-black, the eyes glowing with spectral light.

"Buggy," Bavilion's voice was a whisper from the void. "You never cease to impress. You've orchestrated a social revolution as a side effect of a real estate venture. You've made them thank you for their own indenture. The Revolutionary Army spends billions and achieves less."

A smirk tugged at Buggy's lips as he placed the pendant in its velvet box. "Well, it's a gift. They're idealists. I'm a businessman. I saw a resource being mismanaged and… repurposed it. Frankly, it was the only logical move." He puffed out his chest slightly. "They needed a leader with real flair."

His smirk lingered as his mind ran through his mental checklist.

East Blue: consolidated.

The Goa-Kingdom export route is now ours, thanks to the brats' "diplomacy."

His agents in the Baratie had already signalled a willingness to cater his resort's grand opening. He’d even received a curious, back-channel inquiry from a certain "Mr. 0" in Alabasta, which he’d promptly rerouted to one of his dummy corporations.

Let Sir Crocodile play in his sandbox; Buggy was building an empire, not a criminal conspiracy. He was weaving a web so legitimate and profitable that the World Government would one day have to beg for a membership.

His gaze drifted back to the mirror, expecting a snide comment. But Bavilion was just watching him, the spectral glow in his eyes unreadable. The silence stretched, thin and unnatural. “What?” Buggy finally asked. “What is it? Don’t tell me you’ve finally run out of witty commentary.”

Bavilion’s smile was a slow, melancholic thing. “Oh, little brother. My commentary is eternal. But even the most captivating play must have an intermission. I find my attention… waning. This stage is becoming crowded, and the spotlight is yours to command. I may need to find a quieter theatre.”

Buggy’s face scrunched up in pure, unadulterated irritation. "Oh, for the love of—could you be any less straightforward?!" he snapped at the reflection. "This isn't the time for your dramatic monologues! 'Waning attention?' 'Quieter theatre?' Just spit it out! Are you dying? Again? Because we've already done that bit!"

The moment the last word left his lips, the truth slammed into him with the force of a Garp fist. Of course. Bavi had stayed because Buggy was a mess—a scared, grieving kid pretending to be a captain. Now, he had a kingdom, a crew, even a handful of chaotic, powerful brats. He wasn't that lost boy anymore.

He focused intently on adjusting a jewelled ring on his finger, his voice dropping to a mutter. "Tch. Typical. Bailing right when things are getting good. Well, don't let me keep you. I'm too busy for your... your spectral retirement party."

Bavilion’s smile softened, the mockery gone. “You’re going to be fine, Buggy,” he said, his voice clear and simple, stripped of all its usual theatricality. “You don’t need your big brother looking over your shoulder anymore.”

Buggy felt something thick and painful lodge in his throat. He swallowed hard, forcing it down. “Need you?” he retorted, his voice cracking before he could steady it. “I’ve never needed you! You’re the one who’s been clinging to my coattails all these years, you deadbeat ghost! Don’t you dare flatter yourself into thinking this was anything but a nuisance!”

Bavilion’s form seemed to grow more solid, his gaze piercing through Buggy’s bluster. “It was never me clinging to you, little brother,” he said, his voice soft as sea-foam. “It was you clinging to me. You never moved on from that day in the shipyard. You held onto my memory so tightly, your will refused to let me go. You built this entire life trying to outrun our past, but you kept me anchored right here with you.”

He paused, letting the truth settle in the quiet room. “And that was okay. You needed me. But now… I can feel you’re finally ready to stand on your own. If not now, with all this,” he gestured vaguely to the island, the children, the future, “then when?”

Buggy stared, his defiant mask crumbling. The reflection in the mirror was just his own—a man with tear-filled eyes and no ghostly twin in sight. A sob ripped from his throat as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Then he felt it—a cool, solid pressure on his shoulder, a firm, brotherly squeeze.

He didn’t need to look. He knew Bavi was standing behind him, finally free of the glass. A kiss was pressed to the crown of his blue hair, and for the first time in decades, Buggy felt truly, completely alone, and yet, somehow, whole.

As the cool kiss lingered in his hair, the dam finally broke. A raw, guttural sob tore from Buggy’s throat, his shoulders shaking as he kept his face buried in his hands. "Why?" he wept. "Why did you have to die, Bavi? You were stronger! You were smarter! You were supposed to be the one who lived! It should have been you here, not me! Why did you leave me all alone?"

The spectral presence behind him seemed to wrap around him in a final, intangible embrace. Bavilion’s voice was a whisper, filled with an ancient sorrow. "I don't know, little brother. There is no 'why.' There is no reason. That's all life is sometimes. I am so, so sorry."

The warmth of the kiss faded, leaving a chilling clarity.

Buggy’s tears were not just for the brother leaving, but for the boy who was finally being left behind. For decades, he had looked into every mirror and seen two faces: his own, and the ghost of the brother who was supposed to be there. The stronger one. The smarter one. The one who promised they would always be together. His entire life had been a desperate performance for that one-person audience, a constant, screaming plea: Look, Bavi, look what I’m doing! Are you proud? Are you still here?

And now the audience was departing, the curtain falling on their shared story.

The silence that followed was terrifying. It was the silence of a future he had to face alone, without his anchor, without his witness. He was afraid of becoming a man forgotten by the only person whose memory ever truly mattered. What was the point of conquering the world if there was no one left who remembered the scrawny boy from the shipyard?

The fight was over.

He had won everything—an island, a crew, a family of chaotic children—and it felt like ashes. Because the one victory that mattered, the one he had been fighting for his whole life, was impossible. He could not turn back the clock. He could not yank his brother back from the tide of fate. All he could do was stand there, a king in a silent castle, and finally let go.

The silence stretched, thin and sacred.

Buggy drew a shuddering breath, the air tasting different now—lighter, emptier. He could feel the last threads of his brother’s presence beginning to unravel from the world. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, a slow, deliberate motion.

“You’ll get the first tour,” Buggy whispered, his voice hoarse, but clear. “When the hotel is finished… I’ll have the master craftsmen make a perfect miniature. The most detailed one. And I’ll burn it for you.” He managed a wobbly, tear-streaked smile, a genuine one, devoid of performance. “So you can have your own ten-star resort in the next life. Don’t go running it into the ground before I get there, you hear me?”

There was no audible reply. But for a fleeting second, he felt a warmth—a spark of proud, brotherly amusement—bloom in his chest. And then it was gone. The room was just a room. The mirror was just glass. Buggy was alone.

The room was too still. Buggy fled to the balcony, gulping in the sea air as if it could dilute the grief. He leaned heavily on the railing, his shoulders slumped, the image of a king deposed not from his throne, but from his past. The wind whispered through the palm trees below, a lonely sound.

Thump.

A small, sleepy head bonked against his leg. Buggy jolted, looking down to find Luffy blinking up at him, a yawn splitting his face. Behind him, Ace and Sabo shuffled out, rubbing their eyes.

“For fuck’s sake,” Buggy sighed. “It’s the middle of the night. You’re children. Go back to bed.”

“Couldn’t,” Ace stated simply.

Sabo nodded. “Uncle Bavi visited. In a dream. He said… he was leaving. And that we should come keep you company.”

Luffy, now clinging to Buggy’s leg like a koala, nodded. “He said you might be lonely.”

Buggy stared at them, seeing not three powerful, disruptive pirate captains-in-training, but three tiny, sleepy shadows from the past. He looked at Ace, no longer the fierce, freckled boy, but the demanding, fists-balled infant he’d first reluctantly cradled. Next to him, Sabo, the quiet, tooth-gapped chubby baby who had refused to let go of Ace's tiny hand that day, now stood tall, clutching his brother. And Luffy—the little toddler clinging to his leg—was the chaotic, beloved burden that Makino had shoved into his arms, forever changing his life.

They were all scrubbed clean from their pyjamas, their faces soft, innocent and impossibly cute with sleepiness blurring their edges.

The nerve of that ghost, Buggy thought, a fresh wave of agony mixing with a protective tenderness. He looked at the three boys, and the crushing void of Bavi's absence shrank to a manageable distance. This entire operation, this chaotic family, was the monument Bavi was proud of.

"Fine," Buggy muttered, forcing a roll of his eyes to maintain the facade, though his voice was thick with emotion. "You can't just sleep on the floor. Get over here. The floor is cold." He surveyed the room. "The bed is too big anyway. You'll all fit."

He bent down, carefully reaching under Luffy's arms. With a grunt that was mostly for show, Buggy scooped Luffy up, holding the warm weight against his chest, inhaling the clean scent of soap and childhood.

Ace moved first, sprinting across the carpet. Sabo matched his speed, the two boys already scrambling onto the giant bed like experienced pirates seizing a prize. They elbowed each other playfully, claiming their territory on the far edges and leaving the wide middle of the mattress for the Captain and his burdensome baby brother.

"Don't take up all the room, you brats!" Buggy complained, carefully carrying the now-clinging Luffy.

Luffy burrowed deeper into Buggy's chest, his eyes blinking slowly against the light. He stretched one arm out sleepily, making an incomprehensible gesture toward the ceiling. "But... did we brush our teeth for bed?" Luffy murmured, his tone deeply serious despite the drool on Buggy's pajama top. "Or only for dinner?"

Ace snorted loudly from his corner of the bed. Sabo covered his face with a pillow.

"We brushed them after dinner, you idiot! Now go to sleep before I kick you off!" Ace yelled, already half-asleep.

Buggy sighed, the familiar routine dragging the last remnants of his grief away. "You don't need a third time, Luffy. Now move over, or your 'Captain' is going to get squished between your selfishness and my genius!" He carefully set Luffy down in the centre of the bed, climbing in after him.

Luffy settled onto the pillow, warm and heavy between Buggy and Sabo. He looked up at the ceiling, his wide, sleepy eyes blinking slowly.

"Buggy," Luffy mumbled, his voice small and innocent. "Uncle Bavi was a ghost because he was dead, right? But now he left the ghost house. If he's not a ghost anymore... does that mean he's just more dead? Is that like... a double nap forever?"

Buggy stared at the ceiling for a long moment, the simple, agonising question forcing him to find a vocabulary that wasn't about drama or revenge, but closure.

"No, brat," Buggy murmured, his voice soft and tired. "He wasn't 'more dead.' When people die, their existence goes from being a whole number—like ten gold bars—to zero. A ghost is like a remainder, a little piece of that number that your feelings keep stuck here. Bavi was always zero; I was just holding onto the remainder."

He adjusted Luffy so the boy was nestled securely against his side. "Now I let go of the remainder. That means Bavi is just... zero. He's finished the equation. There are no more answers."

Luffy nodded slowly, his eyes brightening with recognition. "Oh! So when he was a ghost, he was a fraction," Luffy chirped, entirely satisfied. "And now he's an Integer again! Like, five times two meat is ten meats, and when you die, the number of meats is zero, but you can still think about the meat! But now Uncle Bavi isn't thinking about the meat anymore. He's just zero."

"Precisely, you little math freak," Buggy sighed.

Ace snorted from his corner. "Wow, Buggy, you actually understood Luffy?"

Sabo added a playful barb. "Torao's lessons finally stuck?"

Luffy immediately pushed himself up, highly offended. "Hey! I'm not stupid! I'm the future King of the Pirates! Torao said I have a unique conceptual aptitude! And I'm good at fractions! You two are just jealous you can't subtract the bad guys!"

Ace pushed his face deep into the pillow. "Great, Luffy. You're a genius. The most genius-y pirate in the whole wide world. Now shut up. I'm counting sea slugs."

Sabo sighed, giving up entirely. He leaned over and gave Luffy a big, affectionate squeeze. "Yes, Captain. You're the best. Good night. We love you."

Luffy, instantly mollified by the concession and the affection, beamed. He sank back down, tucking himself securely against Buggy’s side with a satisfied, sleepy sigh. "Okay," he murmured, his voice softening again. "But Buggy... if Uncle Bavi was a ghost-fraction because you were thinking about him, why didn't he come out right away? When he first died... did you try to see him?"

Buggy stiffened, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He hadn't talked about this in decades. He inhaled slowly. "Of course, I did, brat," he whispered. "We were inseparable. I knew the moment he was gone. I spent every night for weeks sitting in the dark, staring into my mirror, even walking around with my little brass spyglass, thinking I'd catch his reflection, catch his shadow. I expected him to be right there, telling me what to do next."

He shook his head. "Nothing. Not a flicker. The zero was absolute. I was entirely alone. I just kept going, built my crew, went on voyages... until that day in Loguetown. When Captain Roger was executed... that's when Bavi finally showed up. And you know the rest."

Buggy finished simply, pulling Luffy closer. "The chaos of that day, and then the chaos of you brats. Bavi needed something huge and stupid to cling to, and you three were it."

Luffy nodded, his eyes now drooping closed. "Mmm-hmm. Good story, Buggy." He nuzzled into Buggy's side, already halfway into sleep.

Buggy looked down at the child, then across at the two silently sleeping figures of Ace and Sabo. The cool absence of Bavi was still there, a fresh wound, but it was no longer an agonising void. The collective weight of three warm, breathing, fiercely loved children—a new, chaotic remainder of his past life—was pressed against him.

He closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to rest.

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

The sun was high and unforgiving over the newly completed Grand Flash Island Hotel in the South Blue. The finishing touches had been placed, the last remaining construction debris cleared, and the grand opening—a highly public, utterly deceptive event—was scheduled for seventy-two hours later. It was time for a well-deserved rest.

Buggy lay sprawled on a plush, velvet lounge chair near the pristine, infinity-edge pool, draped in a luxurious silk robe.

In the pool, Law was doing controlled, powerful laps, his dotted hat floating neatly at the edge. Over in the designated smoking area (a small, tastefully shielded gazebo), Rocinante was leaning back, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, his massive form a picture of relaxation.

Buggy felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple. The ice-cold juice on the small teak table next to him seemed impossibly far away. "Ace!" he called, not opening his eyes. "Be a dear and hand me my Raspberry Flash juice. It’s right there."

Ace, who had been meticulously polishing his boots with a cloth and spit-shine technique that would make any Marine proud, sighed and tossed the box across the few feet separating them. Buggy caught it effortlessly.

"Thank you, you wonderful child," Buggy said. He took a long sip, then frowned, holding out his legs and arms. "Sabo, Luffy! My sensitive genius skin cannot be damaged by the sun before the grand opening! Apply the SPF 500 evenly to my limbs! No streaks! Think of it as a crucial protective layer for your primary tactical asset!"

Luffy, busy trying to teach Sabo how to make a sand castle that could withstand a punch, immediately scrambled over. Sabo followed, already looking resigned. "You really hate the sun, don't you, Buggy?" Sabo muttered, starting to smear the thick cream onto Buggy’s forearm.

"The sun is vulgar and unseemly! Unlike my magnificent skin!" Buggy declared. He was utterly relaxed. "It’s good for your little muscles and big bones, mind you! Excellent for energy! But the sun is fundamentally an enemy of high-quality cosmetics and superior breeding! You must be vigilant! We want you looking like flawless, healthy humans, not sun-cured jerky!"

Buggy snatched the tub of glittering cream from Sabo. He expertly applied a precise layer to his own chin, then turned and gently took hold of Luffy's cheeks.

"Here, you little Meathead. I'll handle your face. This Buggy Brand, Ultimate Defence Formula is non-toxic and biodegradable, perfect for your eventual sea journeys. We want the world to look at your future Pirate King face and see unblemished genius, not wrinkles!" Buggy carefully applied the cream around Luffy's eyes, then pushed the straw hat down just a bit further. He moved to Sabo, swiftly covering the area around the boy's high cheekbones.

"Ace! Don't think I can't see your exposed ankles from here! Did you apply the protective layer to your lower limbs, or are you hoping to resemble a grilled sausage by dinner?"

Ace didn't even look up from his intensive polishing routine. "Yes, Buggy. Full coverage. Don't worry, I won't get skin cancer on your perfectly managed island."

"See that, boys?" Buggy said, sinking back. "Always be prepared. Always be protected."

Luffy immediately returned to his sandcastle project with Sabo, explaining the precise mathematical angle needed to resist the incoming tide (or in this case, a powerful punch). Buggy raised the chilled cocktail to his lips and took a deep, satisfied sip.

A moment later, Mohji trotted up, his lion Richter trailing lazily behind him. "Boss! The Grand Hall is set up for the opening ceremony. All the banners are hung, the confetti cannons are primed and the lighting is maximum flash! Everything's on schedule!"

"Naturally," Buggy said, waving a dismissive hand. "A genius needs no delays. Thank you, Mohji."

Then Hachi lumbered by the poolside, pausing to wave all six hands at the children. "Captain Buggy! The new Fish-Man recruits are settling in well! We're stocking up the kitchen now!"

"Excellent, excellent. Keep the morale high," Buggy replied, sipping again.

Just as the blissful relaxation peaked, Arlong strolled past, his massive form casting shadow. He nodded curtly toward Buggy. "Clown," the Fish-Man said, his voice surprisingly devoid of his usual snarl. "I have secured two new apprentices for the cartography and data analysis department. They are humans, young, fast learners and they start in a few weeks."

"Splendid! Use their little hands for something constructive! Just ensure they don't touch my personal charts," Buggy approved, completely missing the loaded term 'apprentices' and Arlong's slight smirk.

Buggy closed his eyes, the perfect logistics and the perfect sunblock making this the best vacation ever. He was about to doze off, basking in the sheer genius of his multi-layered disruption of the world economy. Suddenly, the tranquil silence of the resort was shattered by a booming, ear-splitting shout from the sky, accompanied by a tremendous pressure wave that shook the palm trees.

"Buggy, you filthy, greedy little barnacle! I spent my morning detaining a drunken Celestial Dragon who was accused of punching a Marine Vice Admiral over a counterfeit golden shoe! You ruined the world economy and made a mockery of my men! I know that stupid communication jammer is your work!"

The boys, though initially startled, were already used to Garp's sudden, violent entrances. Luffy, hearing the familiar voice, craned his neck around Buggy's shoulder. "Hi, Makino!" Luffy chirped, waving a hand smeared with sunblock.

Makino, running toward the poolside from the main building, managed a quick, kind smile. "Hello, Luffy! You all right?" Then her face instantly sobered. "Buggy, Garp is coming. He looks furious."

Garp landed on the cracked pavement, his massive shadow enveloping the pool area.

"I don't care about your filthy hotel! I'm talking about the stack of complaints so high it crashed marine headquarters' servers! You've made the Celestial Dragons look like idiots, exposed half a dozen admirals on the take and your glitter bomb reports have sent the new world into a state of panic! You're a menace, a real, proper pirate king-level menace! Why can't you just be a normal pirate who loots ships?!" Garp roared, steam practically coming from his ears. "I'm too old for this, you damn clown!"

Buggy sighed dramatically, pulling his velvet robe tighter. "Makino, darling," he said, handing her his empty juice box. "Be a dear and intercept that ape. Tell him the Grand Flash Island Hotel has a new guest policy. It strictly forbids loud, destructive, old bags of wind whose only contribution to the world is punching children. Tell him to take his 'justice' and shove it, and that no one invited the Marine Hero to my grand opening."

He paused, admiring Makino's healthy, vibrant green hair. "Your hair is particularly luminous today, by the way. My Beautiful Barnacles' shampoo clearly suits your complexion. You’re doing excellent work with the marketing team, promoting the brand. Keep it up."

Makino stifled a giggle, a mischievous spark in her eye. "Thank you, Buggy! I'm glad you noticed!" Then she nodded. "A very strict policy. And I'll be sure to mention his clashing uniform." She turned, a determined glint in her eye, already planning her approach to the enraged Marine.

Before Makino could take two steps, Luffy scrambled up the side of Buggy’s lounge chair with the effortless agility of a monkey, settling into Buggy’s lap. He immediately grabbed the second, unopened juice box from the side table and stabbed the straw through the top.

"Why is Gramps angry?" Luffy asked, taking a huge, noisy slurp. "And what's a 'glitter bomb report'?"

Buggy pulled the boy close, resting his chin on the top of the straw hat. He watched Makino approach the still-roaring Garp with a serene smile.

"That ape is angry because your genius adopted father is solving the world's problems too efficiently," Buggy explained, keeping the explanation perfectly simple. "For example, the Warlords are a disgrace—they only cause trouble and threaten our future competition. We've been subtly destabilising their funding and supply lines, making them utterly useless to the World Government. We've also started a preliminary operation to expose the fake news that keeps the people ignorant and compliant."

He tapped Luffy's head. "Garp thinks this is messy. I think this is efficient public relations. We're creating World Peace through spectacular financial collapse and mass confusion. This whole thing? It's basically my application for the Nobel Prize in Logistics and Global Reform. Garp just doesn't appreciate genius infrastructure change."

Luffy beamed. "So you're making the world easier to punch?"

"Precisely," Buggy sighed contentedly, hugging the boy. "Now drink your juice."

Buggy took another satisfied sip of his juice, ignoring the rapidly approaching sound of Garp’s fury, when a large, clumsy shadow appeared. Rocinante stumbled toward the pool’s edge, tripping over a discarded beach towel. He flailed, arms windmilling, nearly plunging into the water. Ace and Sabo, with synchronised reflexes, lunged forward and grabbed a lapel and an arm respectively, steadying the giant Marine before he ruined the pristine pool.

Law, surfacing nearby, wiped the water from his face with a detached expression. "Don't worry, Cora-san. If you drown, I promise I'll harvest your organs immediately. We can't waste perfectly good donor material."

Rocinante gave a nervous, apologetic laugh. "Thanks, boys." He leaned down to Buggy, lowering his. "Buggy, I've got hot news from the undercover Whitebeard intel we lifted. Teach—Marshall D. Teach, the one on the second division—he's been operating a massive covert research network behind Whitebeard's back."

Buggy raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Teach? That nobody from Whitebeard's crew? What's he researching? New ways to eat?"

Rocinante glanced nervously at the children. "It's about Devil Fruits. Specifically, he's tracking down and destroying any records regarding the Mythological or Ancient Zoans that disappeared from the World Government's databases decades ago. And more recently, we tracked him initiating a series of black-market deals."

He leaned closer. "The Whitebeard Pirates have no idea he's running this research operation or building a crew in secret. He is planning something huge, Buggy. Something that will shatter the balance of power, starting with his own crew."

Luffy wrinkled his nose. "Huh? Who's Whitebeard? Is he another Marine guy?"

Ace, already back to polishing his boots but listening closely, chimed in. "No, he's a huge deal. He's a Yonko, Luffy. They say he's the strongest man in the world. But is he really, Buggy? Is he strong enough to beat Dad?"

Sabo knelt by Buggy's chair. "I read about them. They have sixteen division commanders. It’s highly unusual for a pirate crew to be structured like a military organisation. Is that 'family' thing a ruse to hide their true, tactical setup?"

Buggy scoffed, his gaze drifting over the pool to watch Makino calmly talking to a sputtering Garp. "Yonko, schmonko. Whitebeard is an antiquated relic! He's just an overgrown brute who got lucky. He's nowhere near as strong as he thinks he is, and certainly not strong enough to defeat my cunning. As for Roger, well, Roger was merely a footnote to my own impending glory, and Whitebeard was a secondary footnote."

He curled his lip. "And let's discuss the branding failure! 'Whitebeard!' It's so pedestrian! Why not 'The Tremor King?' Or 'The Massive Brute?' It's all because that hideous crescent of hair is the only thing memorable about him! Though, technically, in the original language, it’s closer to 'Moustache,' which is even less threatening!"

Buggy scoffed again. "Anyway, the 'family' is no ruse, Sabo. It's his biggest weakness. He collects these broken-down pirates—the ones who couldn't make it on their own—and forces them into a sappy, sentimental arrangement. They waste their time worrying about their 'brothers' instead of plotting world domination like normal, healthy pirates! It’s a nightmare of nostalgia and misplaced loyalty!" He gestured to his crew and children. "We have a team, not a therapy circle. That's the difference."

"So Teach is planning a betrayal and trying to find a specific Devil Fruit?" Ace pressed, pushing down the boot he was polishing.

"And he's building a secret crew outside the Whitebeard Pirates?" Sabo added. "When are we going to move? We can't let him succeed and destabilise the New World while the Navy is distracted by your chaos."

"Move? Instantly, of course!" Buggy declared, snapping his fingers sharply.

Nothing happened.

Buggy frowned, tried a louder snap.

Still nothing.

He sighed, rubbing his temples in annoyance. "For heaven's sake! This is why I can't rely on amateur labour!" he shrieked, sitting upright. "WHOEVER IS ON BUTLER DUTY! I SNAP MY FINGERS, AND I EXPECT MY GOLD DEN DEN MUSHI TO BE DELIVERED TO MY HAND! INSTANTANEOUSLY! This is a simple butler/genius dynamic! I don't need some clumsy ninny! I need a Thing! A Pennyworth! Someone with the quiet, impeccable efficiency of a Sebastian Michaelis! Hire better help, Cabaji!"

A nervous crew member scrambled out from behind a palm, holding the golden Den Den Mushi like a sacred relic. Buggy snatched it. He quickly dialled the only person he knew would have Whitebeard's precise location. The receiver was picked up almost immediately.

["Hello? Are you sure this is the right number?"] a recognisable, booming voice answered.

"Don't pretend you don't recognise the voice of genius, you clumsy moron!" Buggy snapped. "Shanks! You're friends with everyone! I need the current whereabouts of the Whitebeard Pirates' main fleet! No jokes, no excuses!"

Luffy, hearing the distinct, friendly voice, instantly started swinging from Buggy's neck. "SHANKS! Hi! Tell me a story!"

"Makino, I'm warning you, don't push it!" Garp's enraged voice boomed as he tried to side-step the bartender, who stood firmly in his path. "He's destroying the world balance! the chaos he creates is a direct violation of every international law! he is a glitter-covered monster, and I'm going to punch him into next week!"

At that moment, Hatchiko, Hachi's sister and the lead organiser of the service staff, ran out, waving a piece of paper. "Captain Buggy! I found out Arlong’s 'navigators' are two small human girls! They look like they're seven! This is a Ten-Star Hotel, not a training camp for kidnapped children! You have to stop this immediately!"

"Boss! I'm trying to get Richie a towel!" Mohji yelled, rushing past.

"And I'm trying to organise the security detail!" Cabaji shouted, tripping over an umbrella stand.

A high-pitched, teasing laugh came clearly over the Den Den Mushi. ["A Ten-Star Hotel? Luffy and Garp are there? Buggy, you've finally gone completely mad! You want Whitebeard's location? Sure, but first, tell me why Garp is calling you a glitter-covered monster! Ha ha ha! Best call ever!"]

Buggy's face turned a shade of purple. He clamped his hand over the snail. "Shanks, you idiot! Luffy, get down! Hatchiko, that’s unacceptable! After everything we risked to shut down the slave trade, that aquatic idiot thinks he can run his own miniature child labour camp under my nose?! I hereby authorise you to use extreme prejudice! You have my express permission to give that fish-man a piece of my mind! Lock him in the basement, feed him nothing, but dry crackers and lecture him on the importance of human decency and proper workplace ethics until he cries for his mother! Get that mess cleaned up immediately!"

He ripped his hand off the snail, ignoring the sound of Shanks's continued laughter. "This is all your fault, you red-haired fool! And the universe! You are all idiots! I am trying to be a good person, for once, and the entire narrative framework decides I am too magnificent to be allowed a single minute of peace! Curse this entire clumsy, sentimental, high-seas fictional world!"

Luffy, bouncing in Buggy's secure arm like an angry spring, strained toward the call. "Shanks! Grandpa wants to punch Buggy! He broke the ground! Are you coming to eat meat?"

Shanks’s voice, though still teasing, held a note of concern. ["Are you okay? And why is Garp—"]

"I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT, YOU BEER-SOAKED IMBECILE!" Buggy snapped, holding Luffy tight against his side. "It's about Teach! He is going to betray Whitebeard, get his hands on a Devil Fruit and then he will use that betrayal to force his way into the World Government as a Warlord of the Sea! You need to understand the implications! He will use that title to gather the most dangerous criminals and start a chain reaction that will shatter the central powers! Stop laughing and call me back in an hour!"

Buggy slammed the receiver onto the Den Den Mushi's base, silencing the snail. He took a deep, shuddering breath. He then looked down at the insistent, bouncy toddler in his arms and the destruction surrounding him.

Luffy was still bouncing, demanding a story. Ace and Sabo were watching intently, already geared up for the next mission.

Buggy felt a familiar, protective wave wash over. Despite the child labour emergency, Garp's wrath and the impending global war, these three little troublemakers were his anchor. He stroked Luffy's hair. They were the only genuine gold in his life. And they were powerful—emotionally and physically.

His genius mind whirred, rapidly calculating the next logistical step.

"Very well," Buggy announced, adjusting his velvet robe and giving the children a supremely confident smirk. "Teach is a threat to my future peace and profitability. Therefore, we must intervene. And what is the fastest way to get to Whitebeard's massive, clumsy fleet without alerting the entire Marine network?"

He looked pointedly at Ace, Sabo and Luffy.

"We shall use the element of Chaos," Buggy declared. "You three are going to be my highly distracting, sentimental torpedoes. We will put you on Whitebeard's main ship. You can get a good look at that oversized brute, realise that a genius pirate is much better than a glorified father-figure and while you're disrupting his entire sentimental system, I will launch a silent, surgical strike to locate that Devil Fruit. It's flawless! They won't know what hit them!"

He pinched Luffy's cheek affectionately before glancing over at Law, who was emerging from the pool, looking darkly amused. "Law, prepare the sub. We are going to pay a visit to a very messy pirate celebrity."

Buggy then leaned in, making sure Ace and Sabo heard the correct designation. "And when I say 'celebrity,' I mean the antiquated, over-sentimental, earthquake-shaking relic who insists on wearing a giant, tacky, white facial hair prop. We will remind him that he is nothing compared to the genuine Genius of the century!"

Chapter Text

The Moby Dick was a fortress of peace on this stretch of sea, the huge white sails catching the sun with an easy grace. Below deck, the laughter of the Fourth Division echoed up to the main mast, blending with the gentle splash of water against the hull. It was the epitome of a normal, relaxing day, a moment of well-earned reprieve where Marco could simply lean on the railing, watching the lazy glide of the seabirds, his internal flame banked low.

This quiet was shattered by the sight of the Red Force approaching, its jolly roger a bright, almost arrogant splash of colour against the blue. Shanks stepped aboard with the casual confidence of an old friend, yet his manner was the one strange thing about the encounter.

He didn't greet them like a rival or a drinking partner; he simply stood, a smug look twisting his lips as his eyes swept over the massive ship and its contented crew. "Just dropping by to say hello, Whitebeard," he called out, his voice carrying clearly. "How long are you all going to be anchored here?"

A simple question, easily answered by their Captain.

"For a while, brat," Pops boomed.

And then, Shanks left. Marco watched the red ship disappear, a profound chill settling over his shoulders despite the warm sun. The ease of the departure was unsettling; it felt like a scout marking a target. Marco didn't know what was coming, only that the air felt charged and the hard-won peace was, without a doubt, about to end.

The Red Force had been gone less than two minutes when a cheerful, booming voice cut into Marco's troubled thoughts.

"You planning on turning into a statue up here, Marco?" Thatch clapped him hard on the shoulder, holding a half-eaten pastry. "You’ve been staring daggers at the horizon since Shanks disappeared. Did he forget to pay a bar tab, or something?"

Marco shook his head, the casual normalcy of his brother's presence a stark juxtaposition to his internal alarm. "It’s not that, yoi," he muttered, gesturing vaguely towards the empty sea. "It’s Shanks himself. He didn't come to spar, he didn't come to drink. He just came to look and ask that one question. It felt… too deliberate. I’ve felt a growing tension in the air for days—something big is brewing—and seeing that crimson-haired menace today just confirmed it. He didn't do anything, but I have a sinking feeling he’s going to be the root cause of some massive, unpredictable mess."

Thatch stopped chewing, sensing the genuine depth of worry beneath the First Division Commander's calm facade. "A mess bigger than usual?" he asked quietly.

Before Marco could answer, a piercing shriek echoed from the supply bay. "It's here! It's finally here! The new shipment of... Buggy's Beauty Barnacles!" Haruta came tearing around the corner, eyes wide and glistening with what could only be described as joyous tears, clutching a large, brightly labelled crate like a trophy. "My hair is saved! Saved, I tell you!"

Thatch and Marco exchanged a look.

The commotion escalated quickly as Fossa and Izou joined Haruta, all three beaming at the crate labelled with a surprisingly tasteful, yet vaguely clownish, logo. Marco walked over, shaking his head at the absurdity, while Thatch grabbed another pastry.

"You have to understand the hype, Marco," Fossa insisted, tears of relief pricking his eyes. "This isn't just vanity; it's maintenance! Buggy's Beauty Barnacles is famous because the ingredients are all natural and it actually works on sea-damaged hair."

Haruta’s eyes were still shining. "Buggy the Clown is a nobody pirate from the East Blue, but a major celebrity businessman in the New World. Everyone uses it—pirates, civilians and yes, even the Marines, I hear, because it’s the only 'eco-friendly' brand that passes inspection."

The fact that a commodity was transcending pirate and Marine divides was astonishing in itself, but the repeated name caught the attention of the longest-serving commanders. "Buggy," Jozu repeated, the name sounding foreign coming from his mouth.

Marco’s expression tightened as a fragmented memory surfaced, connecting the gaudy product to the pirate world's oldest history.

"Buggy… Shanks's crewmate, wasn’t he?" Vista supplied.

"No, not crewmate," Marco corrected. "Cabin boys, yoi. They were both cabin boys on the Oro Jackson... Shanks's perpetually complaining, clown-nosed friend."

The sudden realisation of the name's history silenced the shampoo excitement instantly.

Jozu gently nudged the crate open with a finger. The bottles inside were heavy, dark glass with a surprisingly minimalist, chic design—no garish colours, just elegant, gold-embossed lettering. The only touch of absurdity was the small, circular logo stamped near the base: a stylised, cartoonish tentacle wrapped around a gleaming, single gold coin.

"Buggy's Beauty Barnacles," Marco read the label, a deep scepticism in his voice. "This looks like something a high-end noble would use, not the product of that shrieking brat, yoi."

Vista picked up a bottle, turning it over in his hand. "What else do we know about this Buggy?"

Marco shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the absurd tentacle logo. "Not much, yoi. Just that he was loud, greedy and cried whenever Shanks took his map. They were rivals in everything, and he had that ridiculous clown nose. We only saw him during the occasional skirmish or party when Pops and Roger met."

Haruta, having recovered from their initial excitement, leaned in. "That's exactly why he's fascinating now!" he whispered. "This brand went utterly viral about five months ago, completely out of nowhere. One week, nobody; the next, everyone from the new pirates in the blues to the Grand Line captains were raving about it. I’ve done some digging through stolen Marine files—they're obsessed with the stuff—and it looks like they’re giving his supply ships preferential treatment. Small infractions are ignored and his distribution channels are untouched, all because the admirals and high-ranking officers want their quarterly shampoo shipment protected. It’s like his business is too big to fail now, even for the Marines."

"Weaponised hair care..." Thatch muttered, shaking his head in disbelief, while Jozu made a low, rumbling sound that might have been confused admiration. The commanders stared at the crate, the reality of the small-time pirate-turned-business-mogul sinking in.

The sudden, chaotic arrival of two other figures broke the tension.

"Haruta, you magnificent genius!" Namur cheered, high-fiving the Fourth Division Commander, quickly followed by Curiel, both clutching bottles of the coveted shampoo.

"We owe you a lifetime of thanks! Our split ends are cured!" Curiel cried.

It was then that the massive shadow of their Captain fell over the deck. Whitebeard strolled over, his massive face splitting into a pleased grin at the sight of his daughters' happiness. He took in the crate, the frantic crew and his troubled commanders with an amused expression. "So, the infamous Buggy's Beauty Barnacles finally arrived, eh? I hear even those self-righteous fools at Marineford are fighting over this stuff."

He let out a deep, booming laugh that shook the deck. He looked down at the sleek packaging. "Hmph. Never thought that clown-nosed brat would amount to anything beyond a pain in the neck for Shanks. But to have the entire World Government bowing down to his shampoo supply? Now that," Whitebeard said, tapping the crate with the end of his bisento, "that is a proper pirate ambition. Roger would have been proud of the chaos that boy is stirring up."

"A proper pirate ambition!" Namur echoed, giving the Buggy's Beauty Barnacles crate another appreciative pat.

Haruta ran a hand through his own perfect curls. "Exactly! And speaking of massive chaos..." His expression shifted, not losing its energy, but gaining a sharp focus. "This is even more recent, but it’s what’s really got the Marines reeling right now, according to the coded messages I intercepted last week. They're dealing with unprecedented levels of global disruption. I'm talking actual world chaos! It looks like the Revolutionary Army is getting incredibly creative and serious lately. We're seeing massive, coordinated attacks that are completely destabilising the status quo."

"For example," Haruta continued, raising a finger to punctuate the severity. "The Marine is quietly trying to suppress the fact that there have been reports of multiple Celestial Dragon-associated auction houses being completely destroyed across the New World—gone, poof! And the initial reports from their field agents described the chaos as being caused by some sort of 'explosive, non-lethal, high-velocity particle dispersion,' which caused mass panic among several highly-ranked officials."

"I mean, think about the organisation needed for that! I honestly wonder how the Revolutionary Army managed to pull off so many sophisticated, high-impact operations in such a short period of time. They've also been exposed lately for helping leak files that implicated half a dozen high-ranking Admirals in serious corruption schemes. They're making the World Government look like absolute fools!"

Pops’s deep laughter softened the grave news slightly, but the commanders remained focused on the details of the world chaos. Before anyone could question the scope of the Revolutionary Army’s supposed actions, a crewman who had been quietly stocking a small supply cupboard, Isle, chimed in. "Wait, I heard something about that, too," he said, stepping forward. "On the last island we visited, the civilians were passing around rumours. They said the local Marine base there had been hit, causing massive confusion. But the talk among the common people was that it definitely wasn't the Revolutionary Army. They said the RA is too serious, too strategic. This felt... different, more theatrical."

"Then who?" Haruta demanded, eyes snapping wide. "If not the RA, who could possess the logistics and motivation to strike at the Celestial Dragon's houses?"

Isle shrugged. "No idea, Commander Haruta. Just... the whispers mentioned it might be a new group. Something to do with a circus theme, maybe? They said it was all glitter and noise, but impossible to catch."

Haruta’s face transformed from intense focus to sheer, delighted excitement. "A mysterious organisation? Better than the RA! A new player? I need to know everything!" He spun on his heel. "I'm going back to the command room! I have to dig deeper! There must be more!"

Haruta was gone in a flash. Marco watched his enthusiastic brother disappear, then turned to see a flurry of movement near the crate. Namur and Curiel were already passing out the Buggy's Beauty Barnacles, their grateful "sisters," including Blenheim and Kingdew, each happily claiming a coveted bottle before scattering to test the organic formula.

Marco sighed, a strange mix of deep political unease and mundane pirate life settling over him. Shanks visits, the world falls into chaos and it’s all connected by a clown and a bottle of shampoo, he thought.

The rest of the afternoon settled back into the Moby Dick’s normal routine.

Marco threw himself into the practical work, trying to drown out the low thrum of political dread with logistical checklists. He inspected the sails, reviewed inventory, and made his rounds of the ship’s vital points. The work was calm, the sea was smooth and the unsettling events—Shanks, the circus rumors—were relegated to the background.

Except, they weren't.

Wherever Marco went, there was a strange, silent revolution underway.

His sisters and other crewmates were suddenly everywhere, posing with dedication near light sources. Marco passed the galley and saw Kingdew taking a serious, angled self-portrait, his usually tame hair now a gravity-defying, shimmering black waterfall.

Later, in the empty storage room with the hatch sealed, he saw a crewman’s magnificent beard actually blowing slightly, as if caught in a mystical wind current. What the hell kind of non-toxic magic is in that bottle? Marco thought, genuinely bewildered.

He finished his shift and found Thatch waiting for him near the mess hall, leaning against the doorframe like a catwalk model. Thatch’s iconic pompadour was blinding—it was so unnaturally shiny it seemed to be generating its own halo.

"Admiring the flawless finish, Marco?" Thatch struck a pose, his pompadour catching the sunlight perfectly. "It's the Barnacles, brother! I recommend you give that sad, yellow pineapple of yours a shot of this brilliance. It'll change your life!"

"I appreciate the offer, Thatch," Marco said flatly, pushing past the dazzling pompadour. "But no. I don't care how shiny it is. My hair is fine, yoi."

Thatch gave a disappointed huff. Marco's mind was still reeling from the strange convergence of Shanks's visit and the Buggy product. He needed to speak to Pops privately about his escalating unease, away from the hair-obsessed crew.

He headed toward the captain's quarters, navigating the increasingly narcissistic crewmen. Rounding a corner near the main stairwell, he nearly collided with Haruta, who was walking quickly, hunched over a sheet of paper covered in furious notations. Haruta's earlier zeal had been replaced by a sort of stunned, almost defensive confusion.

"Marco, just the person I wanted to see," Haruta muttered, not looking up. "I've been digging into those coded reports about the 'circus' attacks, the glitter bombs, the auction house destruction, all the new global chaos the Marines are facing."

Marco's chest tightened. "And? Did you find the mysterious organisation?"

Haruta hesitated, finally lifting his head to reveal eyes wide with disbelief. "I'm not sure. It's ridiculous, but the few traceable logistics, the explosive signature, the strange, highly-specific locations... it all points back to the man who makes that shampoo. Buggy."

Marco stared, feeling the blood drain from his face. "The cabin boy? The clown-nosed brat? How is that possible? He sells conditioner!"

Haruta threw up his hands. "I know! It defies every logic! But he's the only one with the motive (greed), the known associate and the complete impunity from the Marines due to his business. He's somehow leveraging his eco-friendly shampoo empire to fund a global crime wave. It’s insane. He’s a total genius."

"A total genius," Marco repeated. "But why, yoi? What's the end game?"

Haruta ran a frustrated hand through his now exceptionally shiny hair. "It gets worse, Marco. I found fragmented reports in the highest-level cipher. Remember the chaos surrounding the prison break of Doflamingo a few months ago? The one everyone attributed to the chaos of the New World? I'm finding data linking his release directly to a massive, illegal payment made through Buggy's shell corporations. They appear to be business partners. The data is messy, but it looks like not only did Buggy get him out, but Doflamingo's entire criminal record—the deep dirt, the Celestial Dragon connections—has been erased from the Marine servers, replaced by a simple, generic 'escape' notice."

Haruta paused. "And there's another name that keeps popping up in relation to Buggy: Crocodile. It's not the same level of partnership, but the data suggests he’s been provided exclusive, untaxed routes for something called a 'premium organic sea-salt trade,' all linked to the South Blue and his old desert territories."

He shook his head in disbelief. "It's like Buggy is collecting Warlords! He leaves these breadcrumbs—the glitter, the clown theme, the boastful spending—it has to be deliberate! He wants us to know it's him."

Marco felt a cold knot form in his gut. "Yoi," he said. "I'm going to see Pops, and you, Haruta, you're coming with me, yoi. We need to brief him immediately, and then we're calling a full Commanders' meeting. We need to figure out what the hell this circus is planning."

Haruta quickly gathered his papers. "I agree we should tell Pops," he said, nodding briskly. "But a full Commanders' meeting, Marco? That seems overkill. This is hilarious! Buggy's genius is that he's dismantling the World Government and embarrassing the Marines for us. We should sit back and enjoy the spectacle!"

He grinned. "We just watch the clown show, get our cheap shampoo and let Doflamingo and Crocodile chew on the Marines. It’s perfect!"

Marco watched Haruta's casual attitude, but the relief didn't settle in his chest. It makes sense, he conceded internally. Buggy is just causing trouble, not targeting us. He almost agreed with Haruta's assessment. But then he remembered Shanks's strange, smug visit.

"Maybe you're right, yoi," Marco murmured. "But I still feel like this 'circus' is setting us up to be part of the performance. Not as targets, but as... props."

Before either could dwell on that final thought, a screech tore through the deck, loud enough to stop the entire ship. It was Thatch, sounding like his pompadour had been set on fire. "MARCO! GET DOWN HERE! THERE IS A SMALL HUMAN CHIMPANZEE IN THE DRY GOODS STORAGE! HE'S EATING THE BARRELS! HE ATE THE KEY TO THE FREEZER!"

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

Night had fallen over the Moby Dick, bringing with it a deceptive quiet.

The Commanders were in a closed-door meeting. Thatch, meanwhile, was wrestling with a far more immediate, though equally bewildering, threat: Luffy. The boy, only eight years old, had appeared as a starving stowaway from Dawn Island. The boy was sitting opposite him, calmly swinging his legs under the table. Luffy claimed he got here "by accident" and the "smell of food."

The reason Thatch was watching him was still unbelievable.

The moment Pops had read the accompanying letter, his face had drained of all colour, like an old drawing soaked in water. Pops had simply announced to his commanders, before dismissing the rest of the crew, that the boy was a "temporary, mandatory new member."

He'd looked straight at Thatch. "You will take care of him for a few weeks. Consider it an urgent, high-value mission." Thatch, the Fourth Division Commander, Master Chef, was now a babysitter. The sheer injustice of missing the Buggy briefing for this kid was almost too much to bear.

Luffy stood up from his chair, stretching his arms. "Thatchy! That last plate was good! Can I get number twelve now? I think I have room for twelve more!"

Thatch threw his arms up in exasperation. "TWELVE?! We're going to have to make a supply run just to feed your dinner, you little monster!" he groaned dramatically, but his annoyance was fading fast. Luffy was such a cute, earnest little thing. He was small, yes, but those cheeks were wonderfully plump, and his wide, dark eyes seemed to hold the entire sea.

The sight of his tiny, muscular body encased in a perfectly tailored blue and red outfit—clearly Buggy's high-end, eco-friendly fashion line—was a study in adorable. Buggy might be a genius criminal, but he has excellent taste in dressing his cabin boy, Thatch admitted. He watched Luffy bounce with anticipation.

Thatch felt the last of his resistance crumble. "Fine! Fine, you win! But you are going to eat me out of house and home!" The second the words left his mouth, Luffy let out a sound of pure joy and threw his arms around Thatch's waist.

He went completely still. It was the warmest, most genuine hug he’d ever received. He was a dead man. His heart didn't just melt, but it liquefied, turning into warm, sugary sauce. I will fight Crocodile and Doflamingo for this child, he swore.

Thatch pulled away, slightly dazed, and began prepping an entire side of beef. "Alright, kid. Question time. That letter you delivered to Pops? He went pale and burned it. You wouldn't happen to know the contents, would you?"

Luffy looked confused for a moment, then brightened. "Oh! Buggy gave me another one! He said, 'If the white-bearded brute destroys the first one, give him the spare, just in case he forgets the terms of our deal!'"

"A backup copy? This is unreal!" Thatch exclaimed, pulling the second letter from Luffy's surprisingly deep pocket. He braced himself and unfolded the letter. Luffy leaned against his thigh, humming happily. Thatch scanned the opening, his eyebrows climbing higher with every line.

["Dear Whitebeard, you pathetic, geriatric sea-hobo.

Greetings from the true future of piracy! I know you’re probably missing Roger's charming presence, so think of me as his cooler, smarter successor. I am lending you my dearest cabin boy, Luffy, for a few short weeks. He's a sweetheart, dresses impeccably and is going to make you feel young again, you old codger. I’m doing this as a kindness because, unlike some people, I respect the elderly. I could have just left him on deck tied to your mast like a package, but I'm giving you time to prepare because, frankly, you look like you’re only operating at 10% capacity lately.

Now, the deal is simple: You will take excellent care of him. If you refuse, I will publish the detailed account of The Ballroom Incident. You and Roger swore to the Void Century that no one would ever know about the time you lost a bet to a tiny nobleman and had to spend three hours dancing the waltz in a full, frilly pink gown while Roger played the music on a kazoo. I have the signed affidavit, and I will publish it across all my Buggy's Beauty Barnacles packaging inserts if you don't comply!

The Future Pirate King (Me), Buggy.

P.S. Do something about that ridiculous white facial hair prop. It's shedding all over your deck. Invest in my Buggy's Beauty Barnacles for better maintenance. Also, your intelligence officer (Haruta, I think?) is quite tenacious. He almost found the real transfer logs! I’m impressed your crew has some talent. Consider this an exciting new objective to make your boring life more interesting, you old fool!"]

Thatch finished reading the P.S. and lowered the letter, his mind spinning so fast he thought his pompadour might achieve lift-off. He looked at the little boy hugging his leg then back at the letter detailing Whitebeard's humiliation.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up, quickly turning into a roar. Thatch nearly choked on the sheer audacity. "The pink gown! The moustache prop! He’s a menace! He's a genius! I knew Buggy was entertaining, but this is legendary! I almost want to start a Buggy fan club!"

Luffy looked up at Thatch's loud, delighted laughter and cheered happily, his smile stretching wide. "Shishishi! Buggy is the best! He's the best dad ever, Thatchy!"

Overwhelmed, Thatch scooped Luffy up and settled the surprisingly light boy on his hip. "He is, kid. He really is." He carefully folded the priceless blackmail document and tucked it back into Luffy’s pouch. "Alright, my little genius-adjacent buddy, what's for number thirteen?"

Luffy's eyes immediately glazed over with focused hunger. "Meat! Lots of meat! A whole, big, juicy mountain!"

"Meat it is!" Thatch agreed.

He turned toward his cooking station, completely absorbed in prepping the feast. The warm, saccharine atmosphere of the galley, full of paternal affection and the smell of impending roast, was suddenly crushed by a heavy, booming presence in the doorway.

"Zehahaha! Hey there, Thatch. What you cooking up so late?" Teach—Marshall D. Teach, the massive, imposing member of the Second Division Commander—greeted him with a grin that never quite reached his eyes.

"Teach! Hey, what are you doing lurking in the shadows?" Thatch asked, a wide, genial smile on his face. He assumed Teach had been briefed in the strategy room. "We're preparing the second round of dinner for our newest guest, Luffy. I'm sure someone filled you in—Pops put me in charge of the little monster for a few weeks."

Thatch shifted the child, who was momentarily distracted from the promise of meat. Luffy was staring intently at Teach's face, his expression unreadable, all the previous joy evaporated. Then, the boy’s entire small body seemed to seize up. With a sudden, silent movement, Luffy wrapped his arms tightly around Thatch's torso in a vice-like grip, pulling himself close enough to feel the beating of Thatch's heart.

"Whoa, hey there, buddy," Thatch murmured, patting the stiff little back. He chuckled, assuming the cause. "Don't worry, Luffy. This is Teach, our brother. He just looks scary, but he's a funny guy—just needs a shave! Come on, say hi!"

Luffy made no acknowledgement of the words, remaining silent, his face pressed into Thatch's chest, clearly trying to vanish behind the bulk of the man.

Thatch was perplexed by the sheer silence emanating from the boy. "Come on, Luffy, he's just Teach! We all love Teach!" When the reassurance failed, he gave up, turning to his brother with a heavy sigh. "Seriously, Teach, sorry. He's totally shut down."

Teach waved a large hand dismissively, his chuckle sounding genuinely mournful. "It’s alright, Thatch. The sea is a cruel mistress, and she hasn't been kind to my looks, zehahaha. You have your clean, handsome mug, but I have this... beastly face and my perpetually dark aura. It's natural for a child to instinctively recoil from my sheer, awful despicableness."

He leaned heavily against the doorframe, projecting an air of deep-seated resignation. "It's a fact of life, brother. I'm a horrible-looking pirate. Never mind the kid. What kind of magnificent feast are you making for the commanders later?"

Thatch felt a familiar swell of protective affection for his simple, sweet brother. Aw, Teach. That's not fair. You're a great guy, just a little rough around the edges. He was about to launch into a genuine defense of Teach's character, confirming that looks didn't matter, when Luffy twisted violently in his arms.

Luffy’s face was contorted into an expression of sheer disgust and anger. He pointed a rigid, tiny finger straight at Teach's face. "Liar! You're a liar! Buggy says no one gets to say bad things about their own face!" He took a furious, gulping breath. "And it's not your face! Or your body! You just feel… sticky! Like you’re hiding old, rotten fish under your coat!"

His voice rose to a defiant shout. "I'm not scared of ugly! I'm scared of mean! You're making mean plans! The dark, bad ones that make people cry! Buggy says a pirate's real treasure is the gold, so I shouldn't be mad you want a lot of it! That's just being a pirate! "

He stamped his foot on Thatch’s thigh. "But you're not doing bad pirate stuff! You're doing bad family stuff! You are waiting for the chance to take the biggest, shiniest thing we have, and Buggy said I have to be quiet about it because he wants to watch you do it!"

Luffy squeezed Thatch tighter. "You're a sneaky sneak!"

He finished with a loud, declarative Hmph!, settling back against Thatch, clearly having said enough.

Thatch felt a hot flush of embarrassment and indignation. "Luffy, stop it! Apologise to Teach right now! That is a terrible thing to say!" He struggled slightly to keep the boy from kicking his legs in agitation. He turned to Teach with a desperate, apologetic smile. "I swear, Teach, he's just overtired. He's making up stories—"

Teach didn't offer a self-deprecating comment. Instead, the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile that was all tooth and malice, and the unsettling resignation vanished entirely. He took one large, silent, highly intentional step deeper into the galley.

"NO! DON'T! GO AWAY!" Luffy shrieked, suddenly terrified again, his arms wrapping around Thatch's neck like a lifeline. "DON'T COME CLOSER! YOU'RE MEAN! YOU'RE A BAD GUY!"

Thatch instinctively straightened, a flicker of genuine fear piercing his confusion. He had never seen Teach look like this—not in battle, not ever. The air in the galley was thick and wrong. "Teach! Stop! Please, don't come any closer," Thatch requested, his usual easy-going tone replaced by a strained firmness, unsure if he was ordering a child or a monster.

What the hell is going on? Why is Luffy reacting like this?

Teach stopped abruptly, his features momentarily softening into a mask of false calm before letting out a flat, heavy "Zehahaha!" "It's alright, Thatch," he rumbled, his voice carefully controlled. "The boy is just confused. Let me ask the little dreamer one thing."

Teach focused his cold, piercing gaze on Luffy. "You said I was waiting for the biggest, sneakiest thing, didn't you? Tell me, little one, is that 'biggest thing' perhaps a black, squishy treasure that looks like a horrible fruit?"

Luffy, realising he'd been tricked into saying too much, pulled back and screamed in fury. "It's not a treasure for you! It's the black, squishy thing that Buggy gave me! He told me to hide it in the safest, darkest place, so you can't get it! He said I can give it to the person I like best on the ship, and it's not you! Nah-nah, you can't have it!"

He pulled a face, sticking his tongue out in triumphant, childish defiance.

Teach's face froze instantly, the smile completely gone, leaving his eyes wide and vacant. The air in the galley became toxic with sudden, lethal intent. He recovered instantly, the forced laugh returning, but with a harsh, strangled quality. "Hah! A black, squishy toy! Good imagination, little one! Zehahaha!"

He straightened up, wiping cold sweat from his brow. "Well, Thatch, you better get that boy fed. I need to... catch the commanders. Good night, brother." And without another word, Teach quickly turned and bolted from the galley.

Thatch took a moment, leaning against the counter, to regain his composure. The silence in the galley was now heavy with unsaid threats and the lingering scent of Teach's cold sweat. Thatch was utterly confused, angry at Luffy and deeply unsettled by Teach.

He pulled over a small chair and gently placed Luffy in it.

"Luffy, look at me," Thatch ordered, rubbing the child's shoulder. "That kind of screaming is not acceptable, and you cannot accuse a brother of being a bad guy. It was disrespectful to the whole crew." Luffy avoided eye contact, but the guilt was evident in the rapid blink of his big eyes, framed by the shadow of the straw hat.

"Okay. Apologies are mandatory on this ship. You have to promise me you will apologise to Teach for being rude to him, understand?"

Luffy looked up, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I'll apologise for shouting, Thatchy. But I'm not sorry for saying he's sneaky."

Thatch shook his head wearily. "Fine, that's fine. Now, let's focus on that incredible hunger of yours."

Luffy, surprisingly, didn't cheer for the food. He crossed his arms over his chest, his earlier agitation replaced by a sudden, protective seriousness. "Thatchy, I'm not hungry anymore," he announced, his voice flat. "I need to go to bed now. I have to guard the black, squishy thing so the sneaky-sneak doesn't get it."

Thatch stared at the child, the lack of hunger being the single most alarming sign.

He's not hungry? After Plate Twelve?

Luffy just accused Teach of trying to find a Devil Fruit and betray the entire family. "Wait, wait, wait, Luffy. Back up," he said, his casual tone evaporating. "Did you really say a Devil Fruit? The black, squishy thing? What is it? And why would you think Teach wants it?"

Luffy leaned in conspiratorially. "Yeah! The Dark-Dark Fruit! Buggy’s friend found it on an island where everything was black and broken. Buggy gave it to me right before I left. He said to keep it super safe."

Thatch's eyes widened. Buggy gave this menace a Devil Fruit? "Buggy gave you a dangerous item that you might accidentally eat?!" Thatch asked incredulously.

Luffy scoffed, puffing out his chest. "No way! I'm not that stupid, Thatchy! I know fruits are bad if they taste awful! I would never accidentally eat a weird, nasty fruit!"

"I certainly hope you aren't that stupid," Thatch muttered, running a hand over his face. The whole situation was too bizarre to grasp. "But why Teach, Luffy? Why are you so convinced he would betray the family for a fruit? And where on this ship did you hide it? We can put it in a safe."

Luffy looked at Thatch as if he were incredibly dense. "Because he's a sneaky sneak! He wants the biggest prize so he can be the boss of everyone! And it's in my bag! Buggy said the bag is safe!"

Thatch nodded in relief. Right. The small duffel bag Marco put in my room. "Good. We'll—"

Luffy suddenly shook his head. "Wait, no! Buggy said the bag wasn't safe enough from sneaky-sneaks!" Luffy reached up with both hands, seized his beloved straw hat, and pulled it off his head. "It's in here!" And there it was, nestled carefully inside the crown, a perfectly spiralled, terrifyingly ominous black fruit.

Thatch's eyes bulged. He stared at the fruit, then the hat, then back at Luffy. "What the hell is that straw hat?! It's a Devil Fruit safe?! And you've been carrying a billion-berry item on your head?!"

Luffy clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief as he pointed at Thatch. "Shishishi! Your face is funny, Thatchy! You look like a fish!"

Thatch muttered a low, stunned curse. A billion-berry fruit in a hat. He was about to suggest securing it in the captain's safe or, perhaps, he could take it to the Commanders meeting—it was clearly more urgent than Doflamingo's finances.

Before Thatch could speak, Luffy's face lit up with inspiration. "Here, Thatchy!" He thrust the cold, black fruit into the chef's hands. "You take it! I like you the best, so you can have it! Buggy said the fruit goes to the kindest person on the ship, and that's you!"

Thatch pulled his hands back instinctively. "Woah, no, Luffy! I don't—"

Luffy was insistent, pushing the fruit against Thatch's chest. "But you need it! Buggy said it's worth a lot of money! And if you sell it, the money is food!" Luffy tilted his head, adopting a serious, math-teacher expression. "If the fruit is worth a billion, and I eat about two million berries of meat a week, that’s... fifty weeks of meat! It's an investment, Thatchy!"

Thatch’s brain short-circuited trying to follow the math. "Okay! Fine! I'll take it! Thank you, Luffy. You're... very generous." he sighed, accepting the terrifying Dark-Dark Fruit.

Luffy clapped happily. "Yay! Now more meat!"

Thatch held the ominous, swirled fruit in one hand and watched Luffy's radiant smile. Kid's crazy, but sweet. Thatch's gaze drifted up to the hat now sitting on the counter. "That hat looks awfully familiar. Where did you get that straw hat?"

Luffy shrugged happily. "Oh, Shanks let me borrow it. He said I have to give it back when I'm a great pirate!" He then poked the straw hat with a curious finger. "It's cool and everything, and Shanks is nice, but it's not the best hat. My favourite is my yellow beanie! Buggy gave it to me! The straw one is famous, so I wear it outside."

Thatch stared at the straw hat, a sudden moment of clarity washing over the evening’s madness. That’s why! He mentally pictured Shanks visiting the Moby Dick several times over the years, always without his famous straw hat.

"I see," he muttered. "I always wondered why Shanks would sometimes look so... naked. So, he gave it to you, huh? He must really think you're going places, to trust a chaotic, meat-obsessed kid with his most prized possession. That's a serious endorsement."

He tucked the Dark-Dark Fruit securely into his belt pouch. "Alright, Investment Banker Luffy. What's the next strategic move? Meat, or nap?"

Luffy hesitated, rubbing his eyes and yawning again. "Mmm... I want a big cup of hot milk. Then I'll go brush my teeth and put on my pyjamas and go to sleep."

Thatch blinked, startled by the sudden, responsible plan. "Hot milk? Brushing teeth? Luffy, that is the most sensible thing you've said all night! That's a perfect plan!"

Luffy's small face beamed with pride, his smile radiant as he puffed out his chest.

Thatch hummed softly as he put the kettle on for the milk, the chaos finally subdued. He held the Dark-Dark Fruit up to the light, marvelling at the swirled pattern before carefully securing it. He had a million questions for Pops and Marco in the morning.

Outside the galley, flattened against the cold metal hull, Teach slowly pulled his large hand away from the doorframe. He had heard the entire exchange—the value of the fruit, the name, the exact transfer of possession.

A silent, dark laugh shook his massive shoulders.

The "biggest, shiniest thing"—the fruit—was now vulnerable.

Teach’s gaze drifted down the hallway where Luffy had run, then settled back on the galley door. The boy was right: Teach was a mean, sneaky sneak. And now, thanks to the little prophet, he knew precisely how he would break his family to get what he wanted.

Chapter Text

Marco leaned against the railing outside his cabin, savouring the late-night quiet. The Commanders' meeting had been tense, though mostly because Haruta kept suggesting they send Buggy a congratulatory fruit basket. The real worry isn't Buggy's market share, it's the domestic cost. He looked up as Thatch approached, looking surprisingly rested.

"Hey, Thatch. Luffy finally passed out, I take it, yoi?"

Thatch nodded, practically glowing. "Peaceful as a clam, Marco! He’s the cutest little guy! Honestly, all that trouble was worth it. We need to adopt him permanently!"

Marco shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. "You've been thoroughly charmed, haven't you, yoi? That kid is a menace disguised in a straw hat. I don't mean to burst your bubble, but the chaos doesn't end just because he's sleeping. Buggy sent a list of requirements that makes the World Government's logistics look simple."

He pulled out the demands, and the paper cascaded down to the floor, forming a scroll that threatened to spill into the hallway. He cleared his throat. "I took notes, yoi. 'Item 14: Luffy must only drink purified spring water collected from a designated South Blue waterfall.' And this one's for you, 'Item 15: All main meat dishes must be decorated with cheerful faces using only Buggy's Premium Pirate Ketchup. 'Item 19: Daily intake must include one carton of Buggy's Brand "Big Adventure" Apple Juice and one of Buggy's Brand "Future Pirate" Whole Milk.'"

Thatch barely listened to the list. He chuckled, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "Is Luffy his cabin boy or his actual, spoiled child? But you have to admit, he's raised a really sweet, adorable kid. I mean, sauce faces? I'm already planning a grumpy face for Tuesday."

Marco sighed, rolling up a portion of the endless list. "Thatch, you are beyond saving, yoi. But I guess it's not as difficult as it sounds. Buggy sent an unmanned supply barge loaded with everything on this list—including cases of the exact milk and the specific waterfall water. He just docked it a few hours ago, like a glorified pirate delivery service."

"Oh, that's just typical Buggy," Thatch said, beaming. He clapped his hands together, his eyes shining with pride. "Well, that's nothing compared to the favour I received tonight. You think those are big items? Look at this!" He reached into his belt pouch and dramatically pulled out the swirling, black, ominous Dark-Dark Fruit. "Luffy gave it to me! He said Buggy gave it to him and he wanted to give it to the bestest person on the Moby Dick! The kid chose me, Marco!"

Marco stared at the fruit, then at Thatch’s proud face. "Yoi... I... a Devil Fruit? The Dark-Dark Fruit, you say? Thatch, you idiot! You believe a random kid just hands you a billion-berry fruit!?" He ran a hand over his face. "Yes, fine, you're the 'bestest,' yoi. But this is way above your pay grade, yoi."

Marco took a deep breath, visibly trying to remain calm. "Go to bed, Thatch. You've had a long night. I'll take this and talk to Pops, yoi."

Thatch nodded, starting to feel the late hour. "Right, good night, Marco. See you in the morning!" He started to turn towards his room when Marco's voice stopped him.

"Wait, Thatch, yoi! I nearly forgot the most important thing! Buggy's message wasn't just about the supplies." Marco looked genuinely worried, his usual calm demeanour gone. "He sent another communiqué. Luffy's two older brothers, Ace and Sabo, are being dropped off tomorrow. They're about eleven. Buggy says you need to prepare the galley for two more high-maintenance, deeply chaotic children. Be ready, Thatch."

Thatch froze for a moment, his eyes wide. But the surprise quickly melted into his usual, beaming enthusiasm. "Two more? A whole set of brothers! That's wonderful!" He grinned. "If Luffy is this charming and sweet, imagine how polite and helpful his older brothers must be! I bet they're just as adorable! Thanks for the heads-up, Marco!"

Marco sighed, watching Thatch stride off, already humming a tune about beef inventory.

Poor Thatch. He has no idea the terror he's walking into.

Marco clutched the Dark-Dark Fruit tighter. An uneasy feeling, cold and sharp, persisted in his gut, completely separate from the Buggy mess. I can’t shake this dread.

He looked toward the corridor where Thatch had disappeared. Buggy, the chaotic demands, the two new kids... is it the triple threat? He couldn't put his finger on the exact source of his anxiety, but he strongly suspected it was the sheer scope of the clown's interference.

Well, nothing a good night's sleep won't fix. It has to be.

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

Thatch hummed a cheerful, off-key sea shanty as he finally reached his own quarters. The room, tucked neatly near the main galley, was small and practical, mostly serving as a glorified walk-in closet for his vast collection of chef's knives and exotic spices. There was barely room for the built-in single berth and a small dresser.

He pushed the door open quietly, careful not to wake his new houseguest. Luffy was already asleep in the berth, curled up tightly. He was wearing the brand-new, surprisingly soft fluffy blue pyjamas that must have come with Buggy's emergency supply drop. The child was hugging his massive straw hat like a teddy bear, his breathing deep and even.

Thatch’s heart swelled. He's truly a sweet kid.

He quietly pulled down the canvas hammock that he usually slung across the room for extra naps and began setting it up near the window. It wouldn't be as comfortable as his bed, but watching the little guy sleep was worth it.

Thatch's world dissolved into a peaceful, if sugary, dream.

He was in a massive, immaculate kitchen, surrounded by brightly colored, oversized fruit. Luffy, dressed entirely in white, skipped happily. "Thatchy, look!" The boy held up a piece of parchment tied with a ribbon.

["They have sent you a letter. To come back home to play."]

Luffy smiled, but the expression felt fixed and too wide. "We're going to meet Ace and Sabo now! They're super cool!" He led Thatch to an open doorway. Beyond the door were two tall, black, indistinct shadows waiting patiently. Thatch squinted, trying to make out their faces, but the shapes were completely flat.

As he stepped toward the shadows, the atmosphere curdled. The air grew heavy and a low, resonant voice—not Luffy’s—seemed to whisper the next lines right into his ear. ["But to your dismay, this isn't your day. For the happy fun time has begun to fade."]

A chill gripped Thatch. The colours in the dream—the bright fruits, the white outfit—suddenly looked dull and slightly stained, like old paper. He felt a desperate urge to turn around, away from the waiting silhouettes.

Thatch tried to turn, to escape the creeping dread, but his feet were stuck to the dull, stained floor. The two black silhouettes in the doorway began to grow, looming over him, their forms coalescing into something vast and menacing.

"Your fun time is over, Thatchy."

One of the towering figures raised an arm, and in its hand, a glint of dark cold steel appeared. Before Thatch could even flinch, a sharp, agonising pain erupted in his back, right where the Dark-Dark Fruit was nestled in his belt pouch.

It was real, a searing, icy fire that spread through his entire body. He felt a sudden, sickening warmth bloom on his chef whites, soaking through the fabric—wet, sticky and unmistakably blood. He choked, unable to scream, as the white, pristine dream kitchen dissolved into a swirling vortex of blackness and pain.

"THATCHY! THATCHY! WAKE UP!"

Thatch's eyes snapped open. He was no longer in a pristine kitchen, but in the dimly lit reality of his cabin. Luffy was perched on his chest, shaking him furiously, his small face scrunched up, red and wet with tears.

"THATCHY! YOU WERE MAKING BAD NOISES! YOU WEREN'T WAKING UP! I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO SLEEP FOREVER!" Luffy cried.

Thatch, heart pounding, pulled the trembling child into a tight hug. He held the little body close, trying to anchor himself back to the present. "I'm okay, Luffy. I'm okay. Just a really, really bad dream, yoi. Thank you for waking me up." He rubbed the boy's back soothingly. "I promise, I'm fine now. See?"

A soft knock preceded the door flying open, revealing Whitey Bay, her face etched with sharp concern in the dim light. "Thatch? I heard shouting. What in the blazes is going on in here?" She paused, taking in the sight.

Thatch managed a weary grin, still holding Luffy tight. "Whitey Bay! Sorry about that. It was just a super bad nightmare I had and I spooked the little guy. Everything is fine now, just calming down the newest recruit."

Whitey Bay raised a sceptical eyebrow. She looked Thatch over, noting the pallor under his tan and the sheer amount of sweat soaking his shirt. "You look like you wrestled a sea king in a steam bath, Thatch. You're white as a ghost." She stepped back. "I don't care about the nightmare, but you're coming down to the infirmary later for a physical check-up. Promise me you will."

"I promise," Thatch sighed, giving Luffy a final squeeze. "Just let me get this little pirate back to sleep first."

Luffy, still clinging to Thatch's neck, lifted his head. "No! No sleeping! I can't sleep now! The bad thing is outside! I have to go with Thatchy! I have to protect him!" He then turned his furious gaze to the Commander. "That sneaky-sneak bad guy is waiting! I have to guard Thatchy!"

Thatch patted Luffy's back, trying to keep his composure for Whitey Bay's sake. "Woah, easy there, champion. Teach is a good guy, remember? Just a bad dream mixed up with our big imaginations." He tried to gently pull the boy back toward the bed. "There’s nothing to protect me from. Go back to sleep."

Luffy stubbornly refused, tightening his grip. "NO! Bad thing is real! I'm not letting you go alone!"

Thatch realised arguing would only make the child more hysterical. "Alright, alright," he conceded with a weary sigh. "Deal. We won't sleep. We'll get ready, have the meat breakfast and then you can personally escort and protect me to the infirmary, okay? You'll be my personal bodyguard."

Luffy immediately calmed, eyes wide with importance.

Whitey Bay, who had been watching the exchange with narrowed, assessing eyes, gave a firm nod. "Good. Protect your commander, kid. Don't let him put that off." She closed the door without waiting for a reply.

Thatch slid out of the hammock and gently placed the solemn Luffy on the edge of the bed. The boy sat straight up, his legs swinging rhythmically in his soft blue pyjamas.

Thatch went to the small dresser and pulled out Luffy's canvas bag, fishing out a clean, simple white shirt and a pair of blue shorts. He also grabbed a fresh change of his own clothes, tossing the sweat-drenched ones aside.

"Right, Bodyguard Luffy," Thatch announced, holding out his hand. "Phase one: Hygiene."

They walked hand-in-hand down the hallway, Thatch leading them to the largest shared bathroom usually reserved for the Command staff. Thatch set Luffy on the counter, helping him splash cold water on his face, brush his teeth with a massive, soft brush and patiently comb the chaotic mess that was the boy's hair.

Soon, both were changed, ready to face the day.

It was still early, the galley just opening for the first rush of breakfast. Thatch, despite being the Head Chef, wasn't cooking right now because several members of the Fourth Division were already expertly handling the griddle, setting out a massive, buffet-style breakfast for the early risers.

Thatch marched in, holding Luffy’s hand. "Good morning, everyone!"

Luffy’s voice, now fully energised, shouted "HELLO!"

The galley crew, many of whom looked tired from their night shifts, instantly brightened.

Thatch picked up Luffy and held him high above the chaos so the boy could survey the spread. "Time to fuel up, Bodyguard." A cook named Blenheim, flipping pancakes the size of dinner plates, called out, "Morning, Chef! Morning, little guy! Did Thatch try to eat that weird swirly fruit you found?"

Luffy pointed directly at Thatch, wide-eyed. "No! But he said he's going to trade it for meat! He was crying in his sleep about it!"

Thatch felt a hot flush crawl up his neck. "Luffy! Nobody was crying! And it’s not for trade yet!"

A couple of crewmates burst out laughing. Another cook, Kingdew, leaned over the counter, teasing, "Rough night, Commander?"

"He saw a sneaky man in his dream! And then he got a boo-boo on his back and cried about blood! But I saved him!" Luffy shouted.

The crew erupted in a wave of cheers and applause.

"Atta boy, Luffy!" shouted a gruff pirate near the coffee urn.

"Way to save the Commander!"

Another called out, "You kept the Head Chef in one piece! That deserves a reward!"

Luffy beamed, puffing out his chest with immense pride, entirely convinced he was the ship's undisputed hero. He immediately returned to the topic of utmost importance: "MEAT! MEAT! MEAT! I need energy to protect Thatchy!"

Thatch sighed, the embarrassment fading beneath a wave of affection for the little champion. "Yes, yes, Commander Bodyguard. You certainly earned it." He gently set Luffy down on the counter.

Thatch grabbed a massive metal platter and began piling it high, ignoring the usual rules of portion control. A stack of ribs, half a dozen sausages and a generous slice of ham went onto the plate. "Here you go. Fuel up. We have an infirmary mission to complete."

Luffy grabbed the massive plate with both hands, his eyes shining. "Thank you, Thatchy! Best meat ever!" He immediately launched into the ham, chewing furiously.

Thatch watched for a moment, making sure the child didn't choke, before shaking his head fondly. "Alright, hold on," he chuckled, "I need coffee and enough food to survive the morning's protective detail."

Just as Thatch stepped away, Marco strolled into the galley, coffee cup already in hand. He looked much calmer than he had minutes ago. He slid onto the counter stool next to where Luffy was rapidly dismantling the platter. "Morning, Thatch. Morning, kid."

Luffy looked up, his cheeks stuffed. "Hi, Big Bird Man!"

Marco paused mid-sip. "It's Marco, yoi."

"Okay, Pineapple Head!" Luffy replied instantly, returning to his food.

Marco decided to let it go. "Never mind. Just wanted to tell you the delivery schedule changed. Your brothers, Ace and Sabo, will be here by lunchtime, yoi."

"ACE AND SABO! YAY!" Luffy erupted in a joyful roar, nearly knocking the plate over. Thatch quickly grabbed a napkin and wiped a smudge of ketchup from Luffy's chin. "Careful, Bodyguard! Chew, then swallow! And use this!" Thatch insisted, handing Luffy the napkin.

Luffy, still chewing furiously, snatched the napkin. "I know how to chew, Thatchy! I'm not stupid! Buggy taught me lots of skills!" He wiped the napkin across his whole face, accomplishing little more than smearing the ketchup evenly.

Thatch sat down next to him with his own coffee and plate. He watched the organized chaos of the boy eating—precise movements, yet spectacular mess.

"I can only imagine what raising you must be like," Thatch murmured, sipping his coffee. "Buggy must have the patience of a saint. How exactly did you become his cabin boy, anyway? Did he recruit you after he already had Ace and Sabo?"

Luffy tilted his head. "No idea! I was just small, maybe two or three? Dad had me, Gramps gave me to Makino. Makino's the barmaid at Partys Bar! She's nice. She took me to Buggy's house! Then I was Buggy's cabin boy! Buggy said he adopted Ace and Sabo first, and then he adopted me, so we are all brothers!" He paused his chewing to cheer. "Buggy is the best at adopting!"

Marco looked from the child to Thatch, bewildered. "Hold up, yoi. So your grandfather dumped you with a local barmaid, and she passed you off to Buggy the Clown?"

"Because my dad is boring! I don't know him at all. Buggy says he’s just a biological necessity, like being a 'sperm donor' and that's the only good thing about him! So I don’t care!" Luffy took a huge bite of ribs, smiling. "And Gramps is the worst! He loves me, but he yells so loud and he keeps training me by throwing me into deep holes! Buggy says he's a terrible, irresponsible grandpa!"

Thatch choked on his coffee. "He throws you into holes? That sounds wildly irresponsible. Even for a pirate."

Luffy stopped chewing and looked at Thatch with genuine pity, as if the chef were the slow one. "Why do you keep saying 'pirate'?" He tilted his head, completely confused. "Gramps isn't a pirate, Thatchy. He works for the government!"

Marco nearly dropped his coffee. "He works for the government? Then who in the flaming hell is your father and grandfather, yoi?"

Luffy shrugged, picking up a sausage. "Why don't you guys know? Everyone at home knows!" He looked back at his food, speaking matter-of-factly between bites. "My dad is Monkey D. Dragon and my gramps is Monkey D. Garp."

The galley, already bustling, suddenly seemed to fall silent around them.

Thatch shot straight up on the stool, knocking his coffee cup over with a crash. "DRAGON?! THE REVOLUTIONARY?!"

Marco stumbled backward, his eyes wide in disbelief. "AND GARP?! THE MARINE HERO?! Yoi, you're telling me we're babysitting the grandson of a Hero and the son of the World's Worst Criminal?!"

Luffy, oblivious to the chaos, just continued chewing his ribs. "Why are you guys yelling? It's just my family names! Buggy says names don't matter unless they sound cool and 'Dragon' is super boring!" He then scoffed. "And Gramps? Buggy says if he was a real hero, he wouldn't punch children into canyons. Buggy is way better at taking care of us."

Luffy then listed off his true kin with pride: "My family is Buggy, Ace, Sabo, Makino, Torao and everyone at the Grand Flash Island Hotel! They're way more fun than guys who throw you down holes!"

Thatch wiped the spilled coffee off the counter, still shaking his head. "This is unbelievable. We thought Buggy was just a clown with a scheme, but he's secretly running a high-stakes, politically explosive daycare service."

Marco nodded slowly, the colour returning to his face only slightly. "Suddenly, the demands for the South Blue spring water seem logical. But think about Ace and Sabo. What kind of family background could they have to warrant this level of chaos? There is no way Buggy could have stumbled upon two more kids with parentage that could topple the son of Dragon, yoi."

"Yeah! No way one of them is the son of the Pirate King or anything!" Thatch said, trying to reassure himself with a laugh.

Luffy, who had just picked up his cup of apple juice, paused mid-sip, his eyes wide. "Wait, you guys know Ace is that guy's son?" He lowered the cup. "Ace is the Pirate King's son! Shishishi! Buggy says Roger was super lame though!"

Thatch and Marco froze, their jaws slack. Luffy continued his Buggy-taught wisdom: "Buggy says Roger was a terrible pirate with a dumb title and that Buggy raised Ace since he was a baby and taught him everything, so Ace is more Buggy's son! Buggy says being the Pirate King is old news, but being Buggy the Clown is forever!"

The air left Thatch’s lungs.

Gol D. Roger’s heir, raised by Buggy the Clown.

The concept was so universe-shattering it should have caused a tidal wave. But watching Luffy’s unshakable, joyful faith, a profound realisation hit Thatch: if Buggy could inspire this in Dragon’s son, then Ace and Sabo were undoubtedly wrapped in the same audacious, protective love. His shock transformed into pure, unadulterated respect for the genius clown.

Marco, pale and trembling, opened his mouth to ask the obvious, terrifying question. "Yoi, Luffy, what did—"

"Wait!" Thatch interrupted, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I need to hear the official Buggy-approved review. Luffy, what's the best part? What did he call Roger?"

Luffy didn't miss a beat. "He said he was a 'no-good, treasure-hoarding bastard with a navigational sense worse than a dead fish and a laugh that made sea kings vomit!' Shishishi!" Thatch roared with laughter, clutching his sides, while Marco made a small, pathetic sound, the spiritual energy of the Moby Dick instantly vaporising.

Thatch's body was still shaking from laughter when the galley doors opened. "Morning, Commanders! Morning, crew!" Teach called out, his presence dense and heavy, yet cheerful. "I heard the Head Chef was having quite the morning."

"Morning, Teach," Marco replied automatically, though his eyes were glued to Luffy. Thatch, meanwhile, was instantly focused on the child. Luffy had become rigid in his arms, his mouth a hard line, eyes squinting and glaring at Teach with an almost primal distaste.

"Is the kid okay, Thatch? He looks like he’s practicing for a villain audition, yoi," Marco observed, concerned by Luffy's sudden silence.

"He's fine, Marco," Thatch dismissed quickly, pulling Luffy closer. He quickly rubbed the remaining ketchup from the boy's cheek. "Just needs a nap, not Teach's manners lesson. Come on, Bodyguard." He hurried toward the exit.

Just as Thatch passed the doorway, he heard a crewmate excitedly filling Teach in on the earlier discussion. Teach responded with an abrupt, sharp exclamation. "Wait! So the boy's brother is the son of... Gol D. Roger?!" Teach's voice was now a sudden, chilling hiss. "A living descendant of the Pirate King on this ship?! Zehahaha! That is a fate too sweet to ignore!"

── ⟡ ˙🌱 ̟

The air was crisp, the New World wind whipping past the mast of the Tiny Thunder, Buggy’s personal speed vessel. Sabo gripped the wheel, his gloved hands steady. He glanced at the gauges; the engine—a custom-built marvel whose baffling complexity only Buggy truly understood—was purring. It was rumoured to be powered by a scaled-down version of the Ancient Weapon Pluton’s schematic, built during one of their "secret architectural projects."

Sabo smirked, remembering the initial plan.

Buggy had wanted to drop all three of them on the Whitebeard ship at once, but Sabo had argued that such a triple dose of chaos would be cruel even to the mighty Whitebeard Pirates, especially with the silent mission of monitoring their "unsavoury Teach problem." So, Ace and Sabo had spent an extra month causing havoc in the New World under Buggy's direct command, giving Luffy time to settle for a day.

Ace was perched on the rail, his dark hair flying, belting out the chorus. He then launched into a series of quick, energetic back handsprings down the narrow deck toward Sabo.Sabo joined in, their voices blending perfectly above the roar of the sea: [“I wanna hold 'em like they do in Texas, please Fold 'em, let 'em hit me, raise it, baby, stay with me...”]

Ace landed flawlessly next to the wheel, immediately launching into a spinning jump while hitting the next line. [“P-p-p-poker face, p-p-p-poker face—”]

["Can't read my, can't read my, no he can't read my—Poker Face!"] Sabo finished, grinning at Ace. "Perfect timing. We hit the rendezvous point in twenty minutes."

Ace landed in a perfect stance, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Eh, twenty minutes? Plenty of time for a nap," he yawned, stretching his arms above his head as if docking next to the world's most powerful pirate wasn't a big deal.

Before Sabo could reply, the ship's Den Den Mushi—a flashy, miniature clown face—started ringing. "That's not Buggy's ringtone," he noted, frowning.

Ace grabbed it instantly. "Hello, this is the best cabin boy on the seas! Make it fast!"

The voice on the other end was smooth, calm and highly intelligent: ["Ace-kun. It's Robin. I have an update on the Alabasta commercial partnership. The King has fully agreed to the exclusive Buggy's Brand distribution deal for all royal garments."]

"Nice! Did they take the limited-edition sapphire collars?" Ace asked, sounding deeply invested. "We need to move the entire inventory out of Grand Flash by the end of the quarter."

["They did. And Sir Crocodile has signed the final paperwork, fully committing all his New World contacts to the logistics chain."] Robin added coolly. ["This means your inventory projections were correct. Tell Law his supply route needs to expand by twenty percent."]

"Got it! I'll let him know his submarine needs to step it up! See you when this Whitebeard chaos is over, Robin!" Ace chirped, hanging up.

Sabo watched Ace casually set the Den Den Mushi back in its cradle, then shook his head in quiet awe. "Robin is incredible. Seriously, Ace. I know we're busy, but I'm still impressed Buggy convinced her to trust us." His face hardened slightly. "After what the World Government put her through, hunting her for decades just for existing... she deserves this. She deserves to run a massive operation that spits in the Government's face."

Ace nodded. "Yeah. Robin's the best. That's why Buggy makes sure she gets the best revenge. Remember the last Buster Call in the North Blue?"

"How could I forget?" Sabo scoffed. "Thirty massive battleships paralysed for weeks."

"Buggy's team didn't just hack their navigation," Ace smirked. "They replaced the high-frequency radar components with glitter cannons and remote-controlled rubber chickens. The whole fleet was showering Marines with pink glitter when they tried to attack! Poor Gramps is never going to live that down. More fun to come too."

Sabo let out a wistful breath. "I can only imagine the show that's happening right now. Uncle Cora is probably trying to get Law to laugh while Robin is dealing with the paperwork and Buggy is leading a synchronised dance routine in the headquarters. It’s a shame we can’t witness the coordinated brilliance." Sabo gripped the wheel tighter. "But this is crucial. We have to give the Whitebeard Pirates a major distraction."

Ace stretched. "Yeah, Buggy needs his justice. Because Whitebeard’s boring old-man reputation is totally overshadowing Buggy’s new, glamorous 'Star' image. Buggy says their 'family' concept is low-effort and makes his own operation look less shiny, so they deserve to be annoyed."

"I know. Our job is to be the ultimate pain in the neck," Sabo confirmed, checking the compass. "We're here to tie up their commanders, spread the lineage gossip and generally make their day miserable so Buggy can expand his empire unhindered."

"Hell yeah!" Ace shouted, throwing his arms up in a cheer. He grinned fiercely, stretching his neck.

Sabo looked up, spotting the massive white form on the horizon. "Alright, Ace! Moby Dick in sight! I'm boosting the engine! Hold tight, we’ll be alongside in ten seconds!"

The small vessel shot forward, the high-tech engine roaring beneath the deck. Ace clutched the rail, laughing hysterically. The Tiny Thunder pulled alongside the enormous hull of the Moby Dick. Sabo expertly killed the throttle.

"Ahoy, Moby Dick! We are Ace and Sabo, Luffy's brothers! We are expected for lunch! Requesting permission to board!" Sabo yelled, cupping his hands.

A crewmember peered down from the railing, looking bewildered. Then, a heavy rope ladder was quickly deployed. Ace was up it in a flash, followed by Sabo, leaving their custom speedster bobbing in the water.

Sabo was only halfway over the railing when Luffy was upon them, launching himself into the air with a happy shriek, landing squarely in the middle of both his brothers. "SABO! ACE!" he cried, immediately engulfing them in a triple hug.

Sabo laughed, holding the warm, wriggling child tightly. "It's good to see you, Lu. Did you manage to stay out of trouble for a whole day?"

Ace ruffled Luffy's hair affectionately. "We were almost worried you'd forget all about us! Who's the best brother in the whole world, huh?"

Luffy pulled back just enough to stick out his lower lip. "You're both loud and smelly! Thatchy is way better than you! He has soft pillows and doesn't make me sleep outside!" He dramatically took off like a shot toward the ship's interior, clearly sensing the return of his new guardian. "THATCHY! ACE AND SABO ARE SMELLY!"

Sabo and Ace exchanged a look of amusement. They turned as one to face the watching pirates.

"Greetings, Whitebeard Pirates! We are Portgas D. Ace and Sabo. Thank you for accommodating our youngest brother! We are honoured to be guests on your fine ship!" Ace announced, executing a perfect, polite bow.

The knot of Whitebeard pirates watching the spectacle—a mix of Division Commanders and regular crew—were frozen. They had braced themselves for two more tiny terrors, perhaps carrying explosives or demanding payment for their presence, but not a perfectly executed, respectful bow accompanied by a courteous verbal affirmation.

A beat of silence hung over the deck, broken only by the gentle lapping of the waves.

Finally, Jozu let out a slow, confused chuckle. "Well, now... that was unexpected."

A rough, bearded pirate next to him muttered under his breath, audible enough for Ace and Sabo to hear: "They're... polite? They really sure they're related to the little monster? I thought they'd try to set the mast on fire!"

"We aim to please," Sabo replied, giving a charming, practiced smile. Ace simply winked, already scanning the deck for the best place to find food.

Just as Sabo and Ace were basking in the glow of their politeness, a massive figure appeared from the rear deck—the man himself, Whitebeard, with Luffy perched happily on his massive shoulder, looking like a triumphant squirrel.

"ACE! SABO! Look! It's the Big White Banana-Man! Thatchy's dad! He’s huge and strong, and he gives me juice! But Thatchy says he snores really loud and he poops bigger than a Sea King's head!" Luffy shouted, pointing at the Emperor with a joyful grin.

The entire Whitebeard crew collectively stifled their laughter and horror. Ace and Sabo's perfectly courteous masks shattered instantly. "LUFFY! Be quiet, you unhinged little pest! That is TMI!" Ace hissed, his face flushing crimson.

Sabo rushed forward, bowing so low his forehead nearly touched the deck. "Captain Whitebeard, s-sir! We are terribly sorry! He’s been taught that blunt honesty is a virtue! Please forgive our youngest brother’s inappropriate observation of your internal functions!"

Whitebeard threw his head back and let out a roar of delighted, earth-shaking laughter. "GURARARARA! Don't you worry about it! That little brat has a mouth on him, but he’s already my favourite!" He lowered Luffy gently onto the deck. "He's been nothing, but sunshine. Why, my son Thatch here wants to keep him forever! Tell you what, why don't you two join our crew too? You can all be my sons!"

Luffy immediately stomped his foot, shaking his head furiously. "NO! I can't join! I'm going to be the King of the Pirates! And I already have a dad, Buggy!"

Ace and Sabo exchanged a knowing look. They straightened up, giving a respectful, synchronised salute to the Emperor. "Captain Whitebeard, we are incredibly honoured by your offer," Sabo stated smoothly. "But our loyalty is already pledged. Buggy is our father."

Ace stepped forward, "He teaches us the best, most important skills! He can juggle fifty cannonballs while riding a unicycle!"

Luffy chimed in, "And he gets all the meat! He knows where the best juice is and he has a pirate hat that holds nine litres of soda!"

Sabo added, "And he’s the only one who truly understands the value of high-end, explosive-resistant fashion! No one else is as great!"

"And Buggy is smarter than all the other pirates!" Luffy declared, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Ace elaborated, "He especially thinks my biological dad, Roger, was a fraud!" He chuckled. "Buggy says Roger was a 'glorified sea hobo with a cheap suit, a chronic chest cold and a laugh that sounded like a startled donkey' who only became the Pirate King because he was 'too stubborn to die.'"

Sabo continued, "And Shanks? Buggy says he's a 'penniless, drunken disgrace who uses too much hair gel' and has 'terrible colour coordination.'"

Luffy pointed directly at Whitebeard's face. "And Buggy says you’re just a big, boring, old man! He says your big shaking power is lame! He says he could shake the world better than you with just his fabulous charisma!"

The air instantly went cold.

Whitebeard set his drink down with a loud thump. "My power is lame, is it?"

Ace clamped his hand tightly over Luffy's mouth, nearly hoisting the boy off the deck. "Sorry, Captain! We need to go practice our knots! He has brain damage!"

Sabo frantically bowed, "We apologise profusely for the disrespect, sir! He's just quoting propaganda!"

Whitebeard’s gaze remained fixed on the apologetic brothers, his massive form radiating silent power. Before he could pass judgment, Thatch burst through the assembled crew. "Gentlemen! Perfect! I'm here to retrieve them!" he said brightly, putting a reassuring hand on Sabo’s shoulder. "I’ve assigned them a private cabin—my room, actually—so Luffy’s brothers can settle in properly! We can have your things brought up from your vessel once you've had a look."

The word 'private' sounded like salvation.

"Fantastic! Thank you for the incredible hospitality, Commander Thatch!" Ace exclaimed, grabbing his brother's arm. "We should see the room immediately! Lead us, kind Commander!"

Ace and Sabo practically shoved Luffy between them and sprinted to follow Thatch, leaving the Emperor standing alone. Whitebeard shook his head, a wry smile crossing his face.

"Gurarara! Smart boys, knowing when to retreat!"

The surrounding crew broke into a mixture of chuckles and murmurs of amazement.

"These kids," Jozu muttered, "are going to be the death of us. But they're hilarious."

Sabo and Ace didn't stop running until they were safely inside Thatch's cabin, now their temporary home. The rest of the day passed in a blur of acclimatisation. They retrieved their backpacks from the Tiny Thunder and, rather than rest, Sabo and Ace immediately started helping with the deck work—sweeping, coiling rope and polishing brass, just as Buggy insisted. The Whitebeard crew was surprisingly warm, finding their polite efficiency utterly baffling.

Lunch was a massive affair in the galley, where they introduced themselves respectfully to every Commander they encountered. It was a good ship, stable and full of loud, caring pirates.

Thatch was the best. He kept bringing them snacks and drinks—always the good stuff: Buggy's Brand Supreme Strawberry Milk and the high-grade Grand Flash Sparkling Juice, procured especially for Luffy. By the time the massive Moby Dick galley closed for the evening, the brothers were exhausted, but satisfied.

Now, the small cabin was quiet.

Luffy was already sprawled on his assigned bunk, half-asleep. Ace and Sabo finished in the small, surprisingly nice bathroom, spitting out foam. Sabo watched Ace pull his bright orange pyjama shirt over his head, a peaceful exhaustion settling on him.

Mission parameters were achieved.

Chaos caused, Teach monitored, comfort secured. Time for sleep.

The lights were out.

The three brothers were curled up on a larger bunk. Luffy was nestled securely in the middle, monopolising the blankets, warm between Ace and Sabo. Ace’s bright orange pyjamas and Sabo’s blue set contrasted with the white sheets. Luffy’s cherished straw hat sat neatly on the bedside trunk, saved from the inevitable crushing hug.

A soft rap came at the cabin door. Sabo quickly pulled on a sleep mask to cover his eyes. "Come in!"

Thatch peered in, a soft smile on his face. "Just checking on my three little cabin boys. Goodnight, boys."

"Goodnight, Thatch," Ace and Sabo replied in unison.

"Thank you again for the room and for taking such good care of Luffy today," Sabo added sincerely.

"Anytime! I love having you guys here," Thatch whispered back. Just as he was closing the door, Luffy mumbled sleepily: "Hey... where's that weird dark fruit I gave you?"

Thatch paused, his smile widening. "Ah, the Dark-Dark Fruit? Don't worry about that, Lu. It's locked up tight. It’s in the blast-proof safe under the Head Chef's counter in the main galley. It won't go anywhere. Sleep tight!"

He shut the door softly, leaving Ace and Sabo wide awake in the dark.

Ace shifted, his voice a low, rough whisper in the darkness. "The Dark-Dark Fruit. Of all the Devil Fruits in the world, Buggy found the one Teach has been obsessed with for decades. He knew exactly what he was doing."

Sabo quietly pulled off his sleep mask, his eyes adjusting to the dim cabin light. "He's terrifyingly good at this. The plan is working perfectly. Luffy handed the bait directly to the future victim's brother, who conveniently told us exactly where he hid the prize."

"Yeah, but the galley safe?" Ace muttered, sounding worried. "It's blast-proof, but Teach is strong. We just have to hope the Whitebeard family connection is strong enough to keep Thatch from getting hurt. Buggy thinks if Teach goes for the fruit, the family will see his true colours and deal with him before he can run. We're here to make sure they're paying attention."

Sabo shifted carefully, ensuring Luffy didn't wake. "It's all too perfect, Ace. That's the problem. We're deliberately dangling Thatch's life—an innocent man who's been nothing, but kind to us—in front of a snake. If something goes wrong, if Teach slips away or Thatch is seriously hurt, who is truly accountable? Buggy? Us? Morally, we're better than using good people as bait."

Ace squeezed his eyes shut. "I know, Sabo, it feels gross. But look at the alternatives. Teach is a nasty bastard who would eventually find that fruit anyway, and he wouldn't care who he had to kill to get it. If he gets the Fruit unseen, he becomes too powerful, too quickly. At least this way, the Whitebeard family will be ready. It's a calculated risk against an inevitable disaster. We're just minimising the damage, not creating it."

Sabo processed the argument. "I hate that you're right, Ace," he whispered, leaning his head back against the pillow. "That level of foresight, that willingness to prioritise the greater good over immediate, ethical action... it's exactly the kind of cold calculation that Buggy demonstrates. I guess the 'Clown's Son' actually does think before he charges sometimes."

Ace, though pleased with the validation of his logic, bristled at the nickname. "Hey! Don't call me that! I'm smart! I just choose not to use my brain when I'm around you!"

Sabo ignored Ace, already turning slightly toward the wall. He adjusted Luffy's blanket and pulled his brother close. "Hush. Time to sleep. We have to be bright and helpful cabin boys in the morning." He hugged Luffy tighter, the comfort of the real family outweighing the moral complexities of their mission.

Sleep claimed Sabo quickly, the comfort of the full day and Luffy's warmth a heavy weight. The cabin was utterly silent, the sounds of the sea muffled. Ace had settled in moments after him, his breathing deep and even.

Peace.

Then, Sabo was suddenly awake. It wasn't a noise or a jolt, but a thick, unnatural absence of sensation, a strange, heavy pressure in the air, like the moment before a quake hits. His eyes snapped open. The darkness of the room felt oppressive, wrong.

Before he could move, Ace's hand, surprisingly quick and light, was on his arm. Ace was already sitting up, peering over Luffy’s sleeping form. "Sabo? What is it?"

Sabo whispered urgently, his focus on the door. "I don't know. Something shifted. It feels... cold. Like something is sucking the life out of the air."

Ace’s eyes widened in the dark. He felt it too. He looked down at the blissfully unaware Luffy, then locked eyes with Sabo over their brother’s head. "The safe. He's going for the fruit now. Let's go." They slipped out of the shared bunk simultaneously, moving with the practiced stealth of thieves, heading for the galley.

Sabo and Ace pressed themselves into the narrow, cold shadow beside the massive ovens in the main galley. The room was huge and complex, dominated by the long stainless-steel counter where Thatch's safe was hidden.

The darkness was absolute, heavy and dead, swallowing every sound. Even the natural creaks of the ship seemed to have stilled. They waited, their hearts thudding a loud, frantic rhythm in the oppressive silence. Every second stretched into an eternity.

Sabo's hands, usually steady, were slick.

The cold, heavy feeling he’d first sensed was stronger here, an unnatural, patient malevolence.

After what felt like an hour, the galley door at the far end creaked open with agonising slowness. A figure slipped inside. He moved like smoke, utterly silent against the wooden floor. Sabo's breath hitched. He recognised the massive bulk and the familiar, almost humorous grin faintly visible in the gloom. Teach.

But as Teach stepped closer to the counter, angling toward the safe, Sabo realised with chilling horror why the figure felt wrong. Clutched tightly in the crook of Teach's enormous left arm, completely limp and sound asleep, was Luffy.

Sabo’s entire body went rigid. He felt Ace tense like a coiled viper beside him, a low, guttural growl vibrating deep in his chest. Sabo’s instinct took over: he dug his fingers savagely into Ace’s arm, a desperate, silencing pinch. Ace stiffened, his breathing turning shallow and ragged, the sound of his pounding heart filling Sabo's ears. He could see the raw, lethal rage in Ace's eyes.

Teach paused, not moving toward the safe, but turning slightly into the centre of the room. A wide, yellow-toothed smile stretched across his face in the gloom.

"Heh heh heh. Took you two long enough to show up, brats," Teach chuckled, his voice a deep, oily rumble that echoed unnervingly in the quiet. The sudden click of a switch followed, and the galley flooded with blinding, harsh light.

Teach shielded his eyes dramatically. "Come on out. Your little brother is right here. He won't wake up," he said, nudging Luffy’s limp form. "I gave him a little something in the cocoa before you two tucked him in. Just a precaution."

Sabo cursed silently, Ace’s jaw visibly clenching as he struggled not to scream. "Don't even think about running, either of you. You make one sound, one move that wakes the ship and the little one takes a nap forever. Understood? Zehahahaha!"

Sabo held his position, forcing Ace into a tense stillness beside him. "You're making a mistake, Teach," he warned, his eyes flicking from Luffy to the safe. "The Whitebeard Pirates won't let you get away with this. Put Luffy down."

"Mistake? Zehahahaha! No, this is destiny, little scavenger!" Teach roared, then quieted, his voice dripping with malice. "That brat," he nodded to Ace, "was always going to be captured once his heritage was known. I'm just expediting the process! And since you two are glued to him, I get both the famous Pirate King's son and the son of the world's worst criminal!"

Teach stepped over the counter. "Open it, or I snap the sleeping beauty's neck and then crush his pretty little skull!"

Sabo, his eyes burning with helpless hatred, reached for the safe dial. The latch sprung open. Teach thrust his hand inside, grabbed the black fruit and brought it immediately to his mouth. A grotesque crunch echoed in the galley as he devoured the Dark-Dark Fruit.

Teach spat the remaining core of the fruit onto the floor. His body was wracked by a brief, violent tremor as the Dark-Dark Fruit took hold. He laughed—a deep, booming, terrifying sound that promised destruction. "The power is mine! The reward is yours! I don't need the useless scrap. One D-blood package is sufficient!" He threw the remaining fruit rind at the brothers and spun, tucking Luffy securely against his shoulder.

Teach bolted for the door. "Farewell, fools! Zehahahaha!"

Ace finally broke.

"LUFFY!" His roar was pure agony and he launched forward, Sabo seconds behind him. They sprinted out of the galley, screaming the name of their brother down the dark hallways. Sabo’s curses were low, furious oaths. Ace's were raw, desperate shouts.

They burst onto the deck in time to see Teach jump cleanly over the railing, landing heavily on the Tiny Thunder, which roared to life, pulling away quickly into the night.

"THIEVES! TRAITOR!" Sabo screamed just as footsteps pounded toward them.

Commanders Marco, Jozu and a dozen others materialised, weapons drawn, confusion etched on their faces. They saw the two small boys—one red-eyed and shaking with silent rage, the other pale and desperate—pointing frantically at the receding shape of their own ship.

"Teach! Teach took Luffy! He ate the Dark-Dark Fruit and took Luffy!" Sabo yelled, gripping the rail to steady himself, while Ace just stood there. The crew looked from the panicking boys to the empty space where Teach and Luffy had been, disbelief turning to horrifying realisation.

Amidst the chaos and the shouts of the bewildered commanders, Ace subtly nudged Sabo's side. Sabo glanced at his brother. In the emergency lights, Ace's red-rimmed eyes held a flash of ruthless triumph. They shared a swift, silent smile.

It worked.

"What happened here?!" Thatch, appearing shaken and pale in his nightclothes, shoved through the crowd. "Teach? The fruit? Where is Luffy?!"

Sabo immediately dropped the smile, his face returning to a mask of distraught anguish. "Thatch! It was Teach! He took the fruit from your safe and kidnapped Luffy!"

Thatch stared at the empty sea, his hands flying to his head. "No, no, no! Luffy! Yesterday, when I first introduced them, Luffy said Teach would 'betray the family'! He said he had bad vibes! I should have listened to him! It's my fault!"

Ace, recovering his act, grabbed Thatch's arm. "No, Thatch, it's not your fault! You were being a good big brother! You couldn't have known. Teach is the traitor!"

Sabo nodded in agreement. He then looked at the assembled, shocked Commanders. "We need a secure communication line immediately. We need to call Buggy."