Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They called it Grandline Academy.

It is a prestigious name spoken with admiration and envy across the country. 

Isolated on a vast stretch of private land, a few meters away a small town and untamed woods, the academy stood as a beacon of opportunity for the brightest, boldest, and most ambitious students in the country.

And for a good reason it was.

Equipped with best facilities, Grandline Academy prided itself on cultivating excellence in every field; science, athletics, arts, and even specialized programs for things as niche as cooking or marine biology. 

It was the kind of place that shaped prodigies. 

The kind of place where rules were strict, expectations of its students were higher than the campus clock tower.

Speaking of the students… All students came from all over the country.

Some by recommendation, others by scholarship. A few simply had the right family name.

To accommodate them, the school provided more than just classrooms. 

There were sports fields, libraries, gardens, laboratories, a massive auditorium, and of course, the dormitories: multi-story buildings divided by age and year level, designed to function like mini-homes away from home. 

It wasn’t uncommon for students to spend the entire year on campus, rarely needing to leave with everything already at their fingertips.

It was clean. Efficient. Private. And most of all…

Safe.

The student council room buzzed with energy, thick with the scent of fresh paper, marker ink, and the lingering perfume of strawberry tea steeping on the windowsill. 

The long table at the center was cluttered with charts, budget sheets, building maps, and handwritten lists that had already been revised too many times to count.

Vivi stood at the head of the table, clipboard in hand, her expression composed but sharp. 

Even in the morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows, there was no mistaking the seriousness in her voice.

“All right,” she said, flipping to the next page on her clipboard. 

“We’re officially six days out. I want status reports from everyone. Starting with finances.. Helmeppo?”

The blonde treasurer, hunched over his laptop at the far end of the table, looked up with a start. 

“Ah! Right. Uh—yes! All vendor payments are secured, receipts logged, and the remaining budget has been redistributed evenly between all activity booths. I also factored in backup funds in case something breaks. Or catches fire. Or explodes.”

There was a short silence.

“I don’t expect anything to explode,” Vivi said carefully.

Helmeppo shrunk slightly in his seat. 

“Yeah… but, y’know… just in case.”

She sighed, but nodded. 

“Fine. Good work. Ichiji?”

Sitting far too relaxed in his chair, Ichiji offered a slow, confident smile. 

“Academic schedules have been fully suspended for festival week. All lectures and assessments pushed to next term. Teachers already submitted their final checklists, and all classrooms are free to be repurposed for event setups.”

Vivi raised a brow. “Even the chem labs?”

Ichiji shrugged. “Well…Yeah, ofcourse. I don’t want any accidents happening before the festival.”

“Mm-hmm,” Vivi said, jotting notes. “Rebecca, Koby?”

Koby straightened up from his seat beside the window. 

“We finished mapping the main field and garden path for students who want to set up booths there.”

Koby paused, Looking down at his notes for a split second.

“We’ll also be marking layout boundaries later today with flags and rope. Emergency exit routes are in place, and the first years are helping set up chairs and tents.”

Rebecca nodded beside him. “Also, the fencing club is helping manage the crowd barricades. I told them no actual swords.”

Vivi didn't look up. “Good call.”

Koby laughed nervously. “One of them asked if they could ‘joust’ during the opening ceremony.”

“Absolutely not,” Vivi said instantly.

Rebecca leaned back with a smirk. “We already told them no. Kind of.”

Vivi gave them both a long look but moved on. 

“Law?”

The messy haired medic stood near the corner, his arms folded, already dressed in his club’s black medic jacket with the white cross on the sleeve. 

“I’ve mobilized the medical club,” Law reported. “All members are on standby for festival day. We've stocked trauma kits, water, and rest stations near the main field and performance area. Two students per station, rotating every four hours. We’re treating it as a live drill.”

“Efficient, as always,” Vivi said. “Thank you.”

“We’ve done a lot,” Vivi said at last. 

“And we’ll keep things moving. But keep your eyes open. Big crowds bring big risks. If anything feels off, I want to know immediately.”

There was a collective nod.

Just as Vivi turned the page on her clipboard, her gaze shifted to the only council member who hadn’t spoken yet.

“Carrot,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “Did you get everything down?”

The blonde freshman was sitting cross-legged in her chair, her notepad filled with messy, color-coded scribbles and doodles of smiling carrots in the margins. She blinked once, then grinned wide.

“Yup! Got it all!” she said, waving the notebook for emphasis. “Booth lists, logistics, volunteer names, even the snack stand rotations. Though… Luffy’s name showed up six times on the food patrol schedule for some reason.”

Vivi raised an eyebrow. “That’s probably a scheduling error.”

“Nope,” Carrot said, flipping a page. “Usopp wrote him in. With a crayon.”

Vivi pressed two fingers to her temple.

Carrot laughed softly, then tilted her head and fixed her rabbit-eared headband.  

“You need to settle down a little, Vivi. Seriously. We’ve got everything covered. Just ‘cause we’re the student council doesn’t mean we have to be all stiff and boring about it. The festival’s for everyone. Even us.”

Vivi hesitated, her fingers gripping the clipboard a little tighter.

“I just want things to go smoothly,” she said. “If anything goes wrong, people are going to look to us first.”

“They already do,” Carrot said, leaning forward with a small, genuine smile. “And we’ve always handled it. You worrying so much just means we’re all gonna worry, too. So just… chill out a little. For once?”

There was a pause. Vivi’s shoulders dropped just slightly, and she offered a small sigh in return.

Before she could say anything, Helmeppo leaned back in his chair with a dramatic stretch and loud groan.

“Ughhh, here we go. Another stressed Vivi episode. Everyone brace yourselves! She’s gonna reorganize the booth layout for the fifth time!”

Rebecca snorted.

Koby looked alarmed. “Wait, fifth?! There were four others?!”

Vivi narrowed her eyes at Helmeppo, but Carrot giggled and kicked her legs under the table.

“See? Even Helmeppo’s teasing you. That means it’s time to settle down.”

Vivi looked around the table at the people who’d stuck through every planning session, every late night, every last-minute schedule change.

And despite herself, she smiled.

“…Fine,” she muttered, barely loud enough to hear. 

“I’ll try to relax.”

Carrot grinned, victorious.

Helmeppo gave a thumbs-up. 

“That’s the spirit. Now if we can all collectively agree not to host another emergency meeting at midnight, I might actually survive this week.”

Law, without looking up from his phone, quietly added, “No promises.”

The door of the room soon creaked open just as the laughter died down, and in dragged a familiar sigh. It was long, dramatic, and thoroughly fed up.

Perona swept into the room like a bored ghost, parasol folded under one arm, a bored pout tugging at her lips.

Her pink twin-tails bounced with every step as she sank into the empty seat beside Carrot, draping herself over the table like she was melting.

“Ughhh… no tea parties. No break time. Just sweaty underclassmen and neon banners,” she groaned. “This festival is a nightmare.”

Carrot gave her a sympathetic pat on the head. “Aww, but you still showed up. That’s dedication.”

Vivi straightened. “Perona, thank you for coming. I was just about to check in—how’s activity coordination coming along?”

Perona waved a hand vaguely. 

“It’s coming. Most of the clubs submitted their booth plans on time, and I’ve already approved layouts for the music corner, drama skit stage, and that weird archery game the third-years made up. Still don’t know how that one passed the safety inspection, by the way.”

Rebecca mumbled, “Because no one told me about it.”

“But!” Perona continued, perking up slightly. “The Chemist Club also wants a booth.”

That made the room go still for a moment.

“…The Chemist Club?” Vivi repeated carefully.

“They want to do some kind of live reaction show. Smoke, color changes, maybe some dry ice,” Perona said, twirling her parasol. 

“Nothing big. Just flashy science-y stuff.”

Ichiji sat up straighter, one brow raised. “You’re letting them use the lab?”

“They’re practicing in there right now,” Perona said cheerfully. 

“They begged. Said they’d be careful. I mean, come on, how bad could it be?”

Vivi looked up from her clipboard, a faint line forming between her brows.

 “Perona… the labs were supposed to stay restricted until after the festival. We agreed it was too risky to have unsupervised access during prep week.”

“Ohhh relax,” Perona said, waving off the concern. 

“They’re supervised. Some of the upperclassmen from the med club are there, too. If anything explodes, at least there’s someone on hand to sweep up the ashes.”

Law looked up from his phone at that. “I never agreed to that.”

Perona shrugged, unconcerned. “Oops.”

Ichiji chuckled. “Well, this is going to be fun.”

Vivi, visibly trying to hold back a stress-induced sigh, pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Just… have someone from the council here check on them before the end of the day,” she muttered. 

“Last thing we need is an actual fire hazard the day before set-up begins.”

“Got it~,” Perona sang, resting her chin on her palm. 

“Still think a spooky tea party would’ve been less dangerous. Just saying.”

“I can go check on the chem lab if no one else if offering to,” Ichiji offered with a casual shrug, already standing and stretching like this whole thing was just another walk in the park. 

“My brother’s in there. If anyone’s going to light something on fire, it’s probably him.”

Vivi hesitated, as if debating whether that was reassuring or not. 

“...Fine. Just make sure they’re not doing anything reckless.”

“No promises,” Ichiji grinned, already making his way toward the door. “But I’ll make sure Niji doesn’t blow up the west wing.”

“Comforting,” Law muttered dryly.

Ichiji had left the student council room, the chatter of the others fading behind him as he stepped into the open hallways of the high school building. 

The corridor buzzed with busy activity. Students moving decorations, hauling tables, and game stalls.

As he passed by the culinary room on the second floor, the familiar scent of garlic and seared meat drifted out into the hallway. 

Ichiji slowed, glancing sideways through the glass panels.

Inside, Sanji stood at the front counter, calmly overseeing a couple of students slicing vegetables under his instruction. 

Ichiji tapped his knuckles on the glass, causing one of the students to flinch. 



Sanji looked up, already frowning.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice flat through the half-open door.

Ichiji leaned in with a smirk. “Just checking in. Making sure you haven’t burned the place down. Yet.”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “Not all of us try to sabotage school property for fun.”

Ichiji grinned wider. “That was one time. And it was Yonji.”

“Same DNA, same brain cell,” Sanji muttered.

“You’re part of this DNA too, y’know?” Ichiji pointed out.

One of the students in the background stifled a laugh.

“Anyway,” Ichiji said, backing up a step. “Carry on with your gourmet babysitting. I’ve got a science circus to supervise.”

Sanji didn’t even dignify that with a response—just turned back to the stove with a muttered “Jackass…”

With a low chuckle, Ichiji continued on, heading down the stairwell that led toward the restricted side of the school. 

The chem lab was tucked away near the edge of the academic wing, far from the hustle of festival prep. As he approached, the faint smell of chemicals and something… vaguely singed tickled his nose.

Of course.

He opened the door without knocking.

“Oi, Niji,” he called into the haze of swirling vapor. 

“Don’t tell me you already broke something.”

The moment Ichiji pushed the door open, he was greeted with the sharp, acidic scent of something totally not on the official safety list.

Inside the chem lab, a group of students in lab coats were huddled around a table near the back—beakers bubbling, goggles slightly askew, and stress levels visibly rising. 

And right at the center of it all, with a crooked grin and a beaker tilted dangerously over a swirling glass bowl of unknown liquids, was Niji.

“—Wait, wait, don’t drop it yet—!” one of the students hissed.

Too late.

The second the door clicked open, Niji’s hand jerked ever so slightly at the sound. The clear liquid dribbled in.

The chemical reaction was immediate. 

The bowl frothed with bright green fizz and let out a sharp buzzing sound, like a hundred angry bees had been stuffed into a soda can. 

A burst of vapor shot up toward the ceiling, and the nearest student yelped, scrambling to cover the container with a metal tray.

“Vent it! Vent it!!” another shouted, waving their hands uselessly in front of the cloud.

Niji, still holding the beaker, turned his head lazily toward the doorway.

“Oh, look. Older twin brother’s here,” he said flatly.

Ichiji stood with his arms crossed, one eyebrow raised, a grin tugging at his mouth as he watched the chaos unfold.

“Should I be worried?” he asked, stepping just inside and letting the door close behind him.

Niji sighed and finally placed the beaker down. “You’re early.”

“I figured if anything was going to explode, it’d be before lunch,” Ichiji replied. “Didn’t want to miss the fireworks.”

The vapor had mostly settled now, though a faint sizzling sound still echoed from the table. One of the med students (recognizable by the white armband and funny symbol) was fanning the air near the vents with a clipboard, glaring at Niji from across the room.

Niji leaned back against the table, arms crossed to mirror his brother. 

“Perona gave us the green light. We're prepping a crowd-pleaser for the festival. Nothing dangerous. Just... dramatic.”

Ichiji looked pointedly at the stained ceiling tile above the workstation.

Niji followed his gaze, then shrugged. “Okay, maybe mildly dramatic.”

“Vivi’s gonna have an aneurysm,” Ichiji said, amused.

“I’d pay to see that,” Niji snorted. 

“So, what now? you come here to babysit or snitch?”

Ichiji smiled faintly. “Just making sure you don’t cause problems for the festival’s preparations.”

“Then tell Vivi to stop treating us like we’re in a hazard zone,” Niji muttered, pushing himself off the table. 

“We’ve got it under control.”

Another student knocked over a tray behind them with a loud clatter.

Chapter Text

6 Days before the Festival

The kitchen had finally quieted down.

The once bustling space had simmered into silence. The only sound left was the soft splash of water and the dull scrape of a sponge over stainless steel.

Sanji stood at the deep sink, sleeves rolled up, a dish towel slung over his shoulder as he scrubbed the last of the platters clean. 

Remnants of test dishes that had burnt edges, streaks of sauce and crumbs, had already been tossed out, leaving behind only the faint smell of dishes in the air. 

They had done decent work today. The freshmen had taken to their tasks better than he expected. They were clumsy, sure , but they were eager. 

That was good in Sanji’s books. He’d rather have a passionate chef than a lazy one. 

They’d need that drive if they wanted to serve dishes that actually stood out during the upcoming festival. 

Sanji had let them go after they’d finished the bulk of the prep, citing clean-up duty as his own problem.

He didn’t mind the task really. Sometimes the quiet after the storm was the best part.

Creaaaaak

The kitchen door slid open a crack, just wide enough for a familiar face to peek in.

A wide grin. Round eyes. Straw hat slinging at the back of his neck–It was his closer friends.

“Sanji~!” Luffy’s voice rang out playfully, muffled only slightly by the door frame.

Sanji didn’t look up right away, he first set the last tray down, wiping his hands on his towel before tossing it aside.

“Took you long enough,” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Normally you’d be with Usopp about now, where is he?”

Luffy pushed the door open with his whole body, arms still resting on the frame as he leaned in like a kid trying to sneak into a candy shop. 

“He’s busy in his builder’s club, he just had a great idea and needed to tell his members about it…” He trails off.

Then his nose twitched. “Did you guys make grilled pork earlier?”

“Yeah,” Sanji said, grabbing a rag to wipe down the counter. “And no, there’s none left. You’re late.”

“Awwww, man,” Luffy pouted, walking inside fully now. His straw hat bounced with each step. “I knew I should’ve come in sooner. You always make the good stuff when I’m not around.”

“That’s because you treat the kitchen like an all-you-can-eat buffet,” Sanji shot back, though the tone was more fond than annoyed.

Luffy plopped down at one of the empty prep tables, swinging his legs. 

“Smells like you guys had fun.”

Sanji gave him a sideways glance. “If by ‘fun’ you mean running damage control while a freshman nearly sets tempura oil on fire, then yeah. A blast.”

Luffy grinned. “I would've helped! I’m great at putting out fires.”

“You’d start most of them, idiot.”

Luffy just laughed, wide and unbothered.

Sanji paused his cleaning, leaning back against the counter for a moment, arms crossed. “So? What brings you here? Just your stomach?”

Luffy tilted his head, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Nah. Thought I’d bug you so it looks like I’m busy.”

Sanji snorted. “So I’m your escape plan.”

“Yup.”

The sun dipped lower outside the kitchen windows, casting long shadows across the tiled floor.

“…Wanna finish up and find the others?” Luffy asked. “Zoro was napping on the stairs again. Nami’s probably still yelling at booth people’s finances.”

Sanji glanced at the counter.

Just a few more dishes to dry, a few tools to stow away. He let out a quiet breath through his nose and nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

Sanji tossed the rag onto the counter, flicked off the sink, and grabbed his blazer from the hook by the door. 

As he wore it on, he noticed Luffy already halfway out into the hallway, clearly too restless to wait.

“Hold it, Luffy.” Sanji called.

Luffy blinked, turning just as Sanji reached him. The cook let out a dramatic sigh, one hand already reaching out to tug Luffy’s wrinkled collar into place.

“Your tie’s crooked again. And your shirt half-untucked. Are you trying to make me your caretaker?”

Luffy looked down at himself, completely unfazed. “Huh. Didn’t even notice.”

Sanji rolled his eyes as he smoothed down Luffy’s collar and tucked the corner of his shirt back into his waistband. 

“You’re in Grandline Academy, not a jungle. Just because you’re in the Wilderness Club doesn’t mean you have to look like you live in a tent.”

“I do live in the dorms with my brothers,” Luffy said with a goofy smile.

“Tch, I suppose it’s the same.”

Sanji gave his shoulder a light slap and finally opened the kitchen door for them both. 

The hallways outside were still tinged with golden light, the academy bathed in late afternoon warmth.

Festival flyers were pinned to the cork boards, colorful and cluttered. Students were moving in pairs or small groups, excited chatter echoing from the courtyards as booths slowly came together.

They walked in a steady rhythm, their footsteps tapping gently against the messy but glossy floors.

Luffy’s gaze wandered like always, taking in everything. 

“I saw Koby earlier,” he said, tone casual but with a tiny edge of something softer underneath. “Tried to wave to him. But he was in such a hurry he didn’t even see me.”

Sanji glanced sideways at him. “Yeah? What was he rushing for?”

“Dunno. Looked like he had his hands full with paperwork or something. Looked really tired.”

Luffy’s shoulders slumped just a little, not enough to be dramatic, but enough for Sanji to notice.

“Been a while since I talked to him just to… talk. Y’know?”

Sanji nodded slowly. 

“He’s on the student council now, remember? Community Coordinator isn’t an easy gig. Especially right before a festival. He’s probably swimming in schedules and supply orders.”

“I guess,” Luffy mumbled.

Sanji bumped his shoulder lightly against Luffy’s. “You’ll get your chance. Festival’s in six days. You’ll have time to talk and spend time with him and everyone else.”

That got a grin out of Luffy.

“Yeah… maybe I’ll drag him to Sanji’s food booth and bribe him with grilled meat~”

“Smart move,” Sanji said with a smirk. “Food always cheers the soul.”

Luffy laughed, full and genuine.

Then, as if a switch had flipped in his head, he suddenly pointed down the hallway. “C’mon! If I remember correctly, Zoros by the stairway here!”

Before Sanji could protest, Luffy was already skipping ahead, arms swinging, feet echoing lightly as he bounded down the corridor.

Sanji followed at a more reasonable pace, hands tucked into his pockets.

As they turned a corner, the familiar back stairway came into view. Half-finished decorations spilling over the banister like the aftermath of a rushed art project. 

It looked like the Art Club had tried to hang banners and paint flowers along the rails, but only got halfway through before abandoning the space.

A streak of pastel paint dried unevenly on one step. Paper lanterns sat unlit in a box nearby. Glitter lingered on the wall like an accident waiting to happen.

And there, right in the middle of the third step, arms folded behind his head and one leg hanging lazily over the side, was Zoro.

Fast asleep.

Of course.

A limp piece of red party string drifted down from above and landed squarely on his forehead, resting just over the bridge of his nose.

Sanji couldn’t help it, he let out a quiet laugh. “Perfect. He’s part of the decoration now.”

Luffy soon crept up to the Kendo club member, like a child about to poke a bear. 

“Zoro,” he sing-songed, reaching down with both hands to clap in front of his face. “Zoro, wake up~”

Zoro grunted, his eyes still closed. “Go away…”

“Zoro, we found you!” Luffy said louder, this time grabbing the party string and wiggling it in his face.

Another grunt. Then one eye cracked open, bleary and full of immediate regret. “What the hell do you want…?”

“You’re missing all the festival fun! We’re hanging out,” Luffy grinned, plopping down on the step next to him.

Zoro blinked slowly, then squinted at the decorations around him. “Why does it smell like glue and paint in here?”

“Art Club,” Sanji answered as he leaned against the railing with crossed arms. “Mustve been one of the spots they decorated. Don’t tell me you slept through the whole process of them decorating it.”

Zoro sat up with a heavy sigh, brushing glitter off his shoulder like it had personally offended him. “I hate this place.”

“You say that everytime your sleeping spots are disturbed,” Sanji quipped.

“Well, others just keep complicating it for me.”

“Your brain’s complicated.”

“Keep talking, curlybrow.”

“Keep napping, mosshead.”

Luffy chuckled at the banter, kicking his feet against the step.

Zoro rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as he finally sat upright. “You’re both loud.”

“You’re just always asleep,” Luffy countered.

Sanji checked his watch. “Well, if we’re all assembled now, might as well find Nami or Usopp if he’s available next.”

“Usopp!” Luffy exclaimed, already pivoting in the wrong direction with absolutely no certainty where he was going.

“He’s with his club today, Said they were working on something huge .”

“Knowing the builder club,” Zoro muttered, “it’s either a masterpiece or a pile of wood held together with duct tape and dreams.”

Sanji chuckled as they followed the sound of hammering down one of the open-air walkways.


The Builder Club had set up shop near the back courtyard where the woodshop shed was.

The club was preparing something.

As they got closer, voices quieted a little, and Luffy didn’t bother knocking. Instead, he just leaned in with a big grin and loudly declared,

“Knock knock!”

The entire club froze.

A loud clatter echoed as someone dropped a wrench. Then, in a burst of movement, Usopp dove forward with a yelp and yanked down a heavy curtain over the half-finished structure like he was covering a national secret.

“No peeking!” he cried, arms spread wide in front of the curtain. “Luffy! I told you, it's top secret!”

Luffy blinked innocently. “But I said knock knock.”

“That’s not how doors work!!”

A few club members groaned, others just shook their heads and laughed as they began stepping back to give the group room.

Usopp huffed, brushing sawdust from his vest and straightening his goggles. “Look, I’m really busy, okay? I already told you guys this is my big builder project for the festival—”

“And what a huge project it really is,” came a voice from the side.

Yonji popped out from behind one of the supply crates, twirling a hammer in his gloved hand. 

Striking features as Sanji, but everything about him radiated loud confidence and mischief. His grin widened when he spotted his older twin.

“Well, well. Look who decided to show up after hours of slaving away in the kitchen like a domestic goddess.”

“Yonji.” Sanji’s voice was flat but not unfriendly. “Didn’t realize they let you play with actual tools.”

“They do when I’m good at it,” Yonji shot back, tossing the hammer into the air and catching it behind his back for dramatic flair. “Unlike some people, I can multitask.”

Luffy waved enthusiastically. “Yonji! This place is so cool! What’re you guys making?”

“That,” Yonji said with a wink, “is classified. But it may or may not launch fireworks and-or shoot t-shirts.”

“Which is it?”

“Yes.”

Sanji sighed.

Yonji then turned and slapped a hand on Usopp’s back. “Anyway, you've got visitors. Go hang out with your crew, Captain Buildstress. I got this.”

Usopp blinked. “Wait, seriously? You’ll cover for me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yonji said with a lopsided grin. “Go bond or whatever. You’re more annoying when you’re guilt-tripping yourself.”

The other Builder Club members gave Usopp thumbs-ups or small waves, clearly used to his overthinking.

Usopp straightened up proudly, adjusting his goggles again before puffing out his chest. “Alright! I guess I can spare some time for my adoring fans.”

“You’re welcome,” Yonji muttered behind him.

“Let’s go!” Usopp grinned, already falling in step next to Luffy. “I have so many things to tell you guys about!!—”

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “Does this involve more gossip?”

“You’ll see when I pick which to talk about first!” Usopp said smugly, his hands tucked behind his head as he strolled ahead of them.

Luffy leaned in with curiosity practically radiating off him. “Is it juicy?”

“Oh, super juicy. A little birdie told me,” Usopp began with dramatic flair, “that one of the student council members is secretly dating someone.”

Zoro scoffed. “Please don’t tell me it’s Law. That guy’s allergic to feelings.”

Luffy gasped. “Wait, is it Vivi?!”

Sanji rolled his eyes. “You guys are hopeless. If it’s gossip-worthy, it’s gotta be Rebecca. Freshman Vice President—she’s the easiest to track around campus.”

Usopp pointed dramatically at Sanji. “Ding ding ding! We have a winner!”

Luffy’s eyes lit up. “No way! Who is she dating?!”

“I’ve been trying to figure that out,” Usopp said, lowering his voice like they were in a spy movie. “But my sources are tight-lipped. I did hear it’s someone she’s always with, though.”

Luffy tilted his head. “So like… Koby?”

Zoro shrugged. “They’re always running around together. Makes sense.”

Usopp almost choked. “NO! Not Koby!”

The three of them stared at him.

“They’re siblings, ” Usopp declared.

Sanji blinked. “What?”

Zoro turned to Usopp with a flat look. “You’re kidding.”

“I am not ! I just found out recently,” Usopp said, puffing up a bit. “Apparently, they’re estranged siblings. Like, they don’t even really talk about it. Totally different surnames and everything.”

Luffy furrowed his brows, face falling slightly. “Koby never told me…”

“You didn’t know?” Usopp asked, surprised. “You’ve known him since, what, elementary?”

“Yeah!” Luffy huffed, kicking a stray pebble along the path. “We used to play together all the time, he used to tell me all the problems!!”

Sanji gave a small smile. “You were kids. He probably didn’t know how to talk about stuff like that.”

Zoro crossed his arms. “Still weird to hide something like that.”

Usopp nodded thoughtfully. “I think they just don’t like talking about their home life. Koby’s super private. And Rebecca, well.. she always acts like everything’s under control, you know?”

Luffy stayed quiet for a moment before sighing. “I guess I’ll just ask him later or so.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Sanji asked, glancing sideways.

“I’m not gonna be nosy!” Luffy insisted. “I just… wanna let him know I’m still his friend. Even if he’s hiding stuff.”

Zoro smirked faintly. “Look at you, being all sentimental.”

“I am sentimental!” Luffy declared proudly. “Especially to my friends!!”

“Yeah,” Usopp snorted, “that’s what we’ll call it.”

They all laughed, the tension easing again as they continued down the path. The golden-orange hue of the late afternoon sun streamed through the trees, casting playful shadows along the walkway.

“Alright, alright,” Usopp grinned, spinning on his heel to walk backward in front of the group. “You guys want another piece of gossip?”

 “Now, this one? This one’s got layers alright!” Usopp beamed.

Sanji sighed, though a hint of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Get on with it, you drama queen.”

Usopp cleared his throat dramatically. “So... apparently, someone from the music club was caught sneaking out of the auditorium with someone else from the art club.”

“Oooh,” Luffy said, leaning in way too close. “A forbidden romance! Don't the club leaders of both their clubs hate eachother?”

“Messy club politics,” Sanji muttered.

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “Wait, who? That violin guy?”

“No, no, not him,” Usopp waved it off. “I’m talking about that second-year pianist. The one with the long sleeves and tragic backstory vibe.”

“...Ah, that guy?” Sanji asked after a beat. “The one who's always humming and drawing on sheet music margins?”

“Yes!” Usopp snapped his fingers. “Him!”

“And he’s with someone from the art club?” Luffy asked excitedly. “Is it the girl with the ink-stained apron?”

“No,” Usopp said, “it’s the one who paints all the dreamy surrealist stuff. You know, the one who painted the mural with the clouds and giant dogs.”

“Ohhh,” Luffy nodded sagely, like it all made perfect sense. “They’re gonna make weird art creations.”

Sanji choked on a laugh. “Weird art creations?!”

Zoro actually smirked. “He’s not wrong. Those two seem like the type to write poems to each other in secret code.”

“I mean,” Usopp grinned, “according to my source— which is totally reliable —they’ve been passing sketchbooks back and forth with notes in the margins.”

“Romantic or suspicious?” Zoro asked.

“Why not both?” Sanji shrugged.

“Or maybe they’re plotting a school takeover,” Luffy offered.

Usopp gasped. “A musical art rebellion?! I knew the band room was hiding something!”

The four of them burst into laughter again.

Sanji watched them as they walked—Luffy swinging his arms wildly, Usopp still spinning a story with his gossips, and Zoro pretending not to listen but definitely tuned in. 

And for just a moment, amidst all the ridiculous theories and jokes, everything felt... simple. 

It was his personal joy.

Sanji allowed himself to relax and smile. “You guys are idiots,” he muttered fondly.

Luffy tossed an arm over his shoulders. “But you’re part of this group of idiots!”

“Unfortunately,” Sanji replied, rolling his eyes, but he didn’t pull away.

.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long golden shadows across the courtyard where rows of festival booths stood half-assembled. 

The air buzzed with the sounds of tape tearing, wood being hammered, and students shouting over booth design disputes.

Near the front, Nami stood in her element, clipboard in hand, eyebrows furrowed as she glared down another trembling club rep.

“I said itemized , not a scribbled list of snacks and useless materials!” she snapped, tapping the clipboard like a gavel. “Helmeppo needs real numbers, not your sugar intake.”

The poor student offered a meek nod before fleeing with his receipts, and Nami sighed, already scribbling notes to fix yet another budget mess.

From her perch on the side of the booth frame, Monet twirled her paper parasol and smirked. “You really do take the crown when it comes to striking fear into the hearts of overfunded clubs.”

“Helmeppo owes me an apology and a drink,” Nami muttered.

Monet’s grin widened, eyes flicking past Nami’s shoulder. “Speaking of caffeine and chaos... Here comes your boy band.”

Nami didn’t need to turn around. She knew the rhythm of those loud footsteps anywhere.

“NAMIIII!” Luffy’s voice rang out like a kid spotting his favorite candy, arms flung high in excitement as he sprinted across the courtyard.

Trailing right behind him was Sanji, hands clasped together with hearts practically in his eyes. “ Nami-swaaaaan! Your voice is like velvet! Your dedication; so dazzling! Do you ever rest that brilliant mind of yours?!”

Luffy skidded to a stop in front of her, his face with a big grin. 

“We came to help! Or talk! Or both!”

Sanji twirled dramatically beside him, striking a romantic pose. 

“You’ve been working too hard, my sweet tangerine blossom. Let me take you away from these peasant finances and into a paradise of comfort and tea.”

Nami blinked, caught off guard.

Monet let out a low whistle. “Wow. Was that too extra for you?”

Usopp and Zoro ambled up behind the two idiots, both shaking their heads.

“Ten seconds in and we’re already in a soap opera,” Zoro muttered.

“Sanji’s putting on a whole stage play today,” Usopp added.

But Nami, despite being tired, stressed, and one paper short of strangling someone, actually just laughed. 

Just a small one though, but it was there, and it cracked her serious demeanor like sunlight through clouds.

She flicked her pen at Sanji’s forehead. “Knock it off, prince charming. I still have five more budget sheets to collect.”

Sanji clutched his heart, pretending to stumble. “Cruel… but beautiful!”

Luffy giggled and looped an arm around her shoulder. “See? We cheered you up!”

Nami rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it.”

The group gathered naturally around her. Zoro leaning against the booth frame, Usopp peeking over her shoulder to ‘accidentally’ read club numbers, and Luffy already asking if she was free to hang out.

Even Monet looked amused. “So, is this the part where you all burst into song?”

Sanji looked like he was already about to start if it meant fawning over the beautiful women inthe area.

“ Don’t you dare, ” Nami warned, and that only made them laugh louder.

Despite her initial stress, Nami finally felt like the day wasn’t such a disaster after all.

Nami adjusted the clipboard in her arms and gave the group a sideways glance. 

“Alright, enough chit-chat, now that you’re all here, might as well report in your clubs.. how’s prep going for the festival? Six days left, remember.”

Luffy perked up immediately, bouncing on his heels. 

“Wilderness Club is going great! We’re setting up a mini obstacle course and a campfire booth! Usopp said I couldn’t bring wild animals, but I might bring a snake.”

“Absolutely not,” Usopp cut in, face already pale. “That’s a health code violation. Also, dangerous.. Especially when it’s venomous!!”

“I’m with Usopp,” Sanji said, flicking his lighter open and closed out of habit, finally outside to smoke. The school grounds didn’t really like it when its students would smoke indoors.

“Last thing we need is a kid passing out because Luffy wanted to show off a large snake.” He puffs out a small cloud of smoke.

“The Cooking Club, by the way, is moving along well. We’ve narrowed down our entry dishes to five finalists. Freshmen are doing alright, even if they keep burning half the test batches.”

“You’re the one yelling about flambé,” Zoro muttered.

Sanji shot him a glare. “It’s called ‘technique’, mosshead.”

“I don’t think lighting things on fire counts as cooking,” Zoro replied lazily, arms crossed.

“Tell that to literally every gourmet chef—”

“Boys,” Nami interrupted with a look. “Focus.”

Usopp raised his hand like he was in class. 

“Builder Club’s going great by the way! We’ve already finished three booths ahead of schedule. Yonji’s handling the heavy-lifting side so I can focus on details. We might actually pull off something fancy this year.”

“Fancy?” Sanji arched a brow. “Last year, your ‘dragon’ almost burned down the gardening club’s booth.”

“That was slight mishap! Besides it’s not our fault something flammable was stationed beside us.” Usopp huffed, clearly wounded.

Luffy laughed, at the back and forth, while Nami scribbled notes beside each name.

Then Zoro soon chimed in, sounding as casual as always, though he was still also half-lounging on the side of the booth. 

“Kendo Club’s prep is whatever. We’re just doing another live demo.”

“Of course you are,” Nami said with a sigh.

“But…” Zoro paused, frowning slightly, “weird thing though. Past two days, we’ve been chasing a bunch of mice around the practice hall. Like, more than usual.”

“Mice?” Sanji raised an eyebrow. “What, like a nest?”

“Maybe. But they were acting kinda nuts, super fast, jittery. We had to halt training yesterday because they kept scrambling around our gear. One even ran off with a bandage roll.”

Luffy tilted his head. “Aw, maybe they’re prepping for their own tiny festival!”

“More like a plague,” Usopp muttered, pulling a disgusted face. “You think someone left food out?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Sanji said. “One of the clubs must’ve dumped trash behind the gym again.”

Nami, still writing, glanced up. 

“If it’s that bad, I’ll bring it up at the council. Vivi would get either Koby or Law to handle this. They're the ones handling safety measures anyway.”

Zoro just shrugged. “Not my problem unless one chews through a shinai.”

“Maybe the mice are part of the Animal Club’s weird experiments,” Usopp joked, elbowing Luffy. “Maybe they’re training rodents to steal other clubs’ supplies. Industrial espionage.”

“I knew they were shady,” Sanji said with a smirk, crossing his arms. 

“One of them tried to barter cooking oil with me for dry ice. Dry ice. What were they even doing with that?”

“Making ice cream?” Luffy offered.

“Blowing stuff up,” Zoro muttered. “Probably.”

Nami shook her head, lips twitching. “You guys act like you’re not part of the most chaotic groups here.”

Sanji gasps, playfully offended. “My club is under  strict management control.”

“Yeah,” Zoro added dryly, “controlled burns.”

Usopp snorted. “And the Wilderness Club literally brought a Goat into the hallway last semester.”

“He had a name!” Luffy protested. “Merry was my friend!”

“Merry nearly took out the vending machine.”

“I trained him to do that!”

Nami pinched the bridge of her nose, but a soft laugh escaped before she could stop it. 

“I swear, if you three bring chaos to this festival, I will personally report all of you to the student council.”

“Even me?” Zoro asked, faking sad eyes.

“Especially you,” she said, pointing at him.

They all laughed, all with familiar laughter that came from their years of friendship. 

The courtyard was still bustling around them, students running around, booths being built and paint getting spilled.

Sanji looked over at them;

Luffy, grinning wide like the sun, Usopp waving his arms as he explained some dramatic story of his club’s activities, Zoro trying not to smirk at the absurd antics and Nami rolling her eyes but laughing anyway.

Sanji hoped the festival would be just as fun as last year.

Chapter Text

5 Days before the festival

The morning sun filtered through the dormitory blinds, casting golden lines across the floor of Sanji’s room.

The smell of shampoo and cologne lingered in the air as he buttoned up his uniform jacket with practiced ease. His tie hung loosely around his neck, swaying slightly as he moved.

He didn’t look over, but he grabbed his cooking club’s  binder, tucked a pen behind his ear, and headed toward the door. 

But before he could go out, he was stopped short as a familiar figure leaned against the frame, arms crossed.

“Leaving so soon?” Reiju asked, her pink hair still damp from a shower, a few strands curling around her face. She was dressed in the uniform of the College building, the emblem of the botany major stitched proudly on her chest.

Sanji blinked, then groaned. “Oh no.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Forgot already?”

Sanji closed his eyes, sighing deeply. “I forgot it was his turn week.”

Reiju gave him a sympathetic smile. “Afraid so. Judge wants to see all of us for check-ups this morning. Something about complying with the court rules when mom divorced him.”

Sanji pinched the bridge of his nose. “As if he gives a damn about compliance. He just wants to see if we’re at the top of our classes and putting on a good name for him.”

She shrugged playfully. “Maybe. Or maybe he just misses you.”

Sanji shot her a flat look.

Reiju chuckled softly. “Okay, maybe not that. But yes, your ‘loving’ father expects you to show up. And yes, your ‘delightful’ brothers know. From the way Niji almost threw his phone off the balcony, I’d say he’s not thrilled either.”

“That makes two of us,” Sanji muttered, tightening his tie with an annoyed yank. “I had a whole list of things to prep today. The festival’s five days away, I don’t have time for one of his ego stroking sessions.”

“You’d think with all his obsession over control, he’d care more about letting us live like normal students,” Reiju mused, brushing a nonexistent speck off her sleeve.

Sanji grabbed his bag, muttering curses under his breath in French. “Normal doesn’t exist in his vocabulary.”

“Well,” Reiju said as they walked side by side out of the dorm room, “at least you’re not alone in dreading this. There’s a certain comfort in collective suffering.”

“Misery does love company,” Sanji agreed dryly.

As they stepped into the hallway, the distant noise of morning bustle echoed from the lower floors.

Students running to grab breakfast, clubs already setting up in the courtyards, the preparation for the festival’s energy growing stronger by the day. 

Sanji glanced out one of the tall windows, seeing colorful banners fluttering in the breeze.

All he wanted was to focus on his club, his food, his friends.

So Sanji descended the dorm stairs, muttering a string of curses under his breath in half-French, half-frustration. 

His brows were furrowed, jaw tight, and even the usual click of his shoes against the floor felt heavier than usual.

He hadn’t even bothered to light his usual morning cigarette since his mood was already smoky enough.

When he entered the Home Economics wing where the kitchen was stationed, the scent of burnt sugar clung to the air, cluing Sanji that someone had definitely overdone the caramel again. 

A few underclassmen in the club turned their heads as the door creaked open and Sanji stepped in, his sharp gaze sweeping the room like a head chef at inspection.

“Morning, Senpai!” one of the freshmen greeted with too much cheer.

Sanji gave a tight nod. “Morning.”

He walked over to the front counter, setting down his bag with a little more force than needed. 

The group paused, sensing the shift in energy as he took a deep breath and straightened up.

“I won’t be around for half the day today,” he announced, his voice calm but firm. “Family matters came up.”

A few murmurs rippled through the group, and one of the juniors timidly raised a hand. “Is… everything okay?”

“It’s not a funeral,” Sanji muttered, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Just... the usual. Anyway.”

He turned toward the blond second-year student by the stovetop—his vice leader. 

“You, you’re in charge while I’m gone. You’ve already seen the recipe board, and I expect the test batches for the curry and grilled sandwiches to be finished by lunch. Don’t burn anything. Don’t fight over ingredients. And for the love of Mr. Zeff, no one touches the spice rack without supervision.”

“Yes, Senpai,” They said, nodding crisply with a bit of pride at being entrusted.

Sanji gave her a faint smile before glancing back at the rest of the club. 

“Cooperate with each other. If I come back and find that you lot turned this kitchen into a battlefield, I’m throwing everyone into dish duty.”

They all stiffened, nodding quickly.

Satisfied—for now—Sanji adjusted his collar and grabbed his coat.

“And clean the trays properly this time,” he added over his shoulder as he walked toward the door. 

“Last week’s lasagna tray still haunts my dreams.”

Chuckles broke out behind him as the tension eased, but Sanji didn’t linger. 

His footsteps echoed down the tiled hallway, and though he kept his posture calm, his fists were clenched tight in his pockets.

With a sigh, he pulled out his phone and tapped it open. 

Notifications lit up his screen like confetti—mostly from the group chat with his friends.

Luffy: zoro tried to eat raw cookie dough again

Usopp: Technically it was Niji’s science experiment

Zoro: I thought it was Sanji’s new recipe

Nami: I swear to god I will throw the dough at all of you.

Sanji let out a soft snort despite himself, but he didn’t respond, he had to do something first.

He swiped over to the family group chat, A red notification stared back at him. 

He opened it with a resigned sigh.

Niji: Where the hell are you?

Niji: He’s in the car waiting

Niji: A nd tapping his fingers on the steering wheel like he’s about to blow something up

Niji: If I have to suffer longer because you’re late I swear I’ll replace your kitchen knives with uranium ones.

Sanji rolled his eyes, fingers hesitating before typing. But before he could respond, another message popped up.

Yonji: I told him you were crying in the mirror about your hair again and He didn’t laugh

Yonji: He said “Typical.” lol

Sanji clenched his teeth and typed back.

Sanji: Tell him I’m on my way. And if either of you make another comment I’ll make your next meal taste like soap.

Yonji: Bold of you to assume we’d let you cook again after last week’s “experimental risotto.”

Sanji: Bold of you to think I won’t shove a ladle down your throat.

He shoved his phone into his pocket with a huff and picked up his pace, taking the nearest stairwell down toward the parking lot. 

Each step felt heavier than the last. 

The closer he got, the more the air felt suffocating.

He wasn’t in the mood for lectures or reminders of where he came from.

All he wanted was to get it over with—and get back to the things that made him feel like he belonged.

Sanji pushed open the main doors of the academy's parking lot and stepped outside into the morning sun. 

The glint of a sleek, black car parked near the curb made his mood worsen on sight. Of course it was flashy. 

Of course it was unnecessarily loud, even when the engine was off—just like the man who owned it.

Leaning casually against the passenger side of the car, arms crossed and hair slicked perfectly as always, was Ichiji. 

He was in uniform too, his student council uniform.

“Late,” Ichiji said, raising an eyebrow.

“Bite me,” Sanji muttered, brushing past him toward the door.

Ichiji smirked but didn’t press it. “We’re heading straight back to campus after. Dad's idea.”

“Yeah yeah,” Sanji replied dryly, tugging the door open.

Inside, Reiju was already seated in the front passenger seat, legs crossed neatly, tablet in hand as she scrolled through something that looked like her botany notes. 

She glanced back and gave Sanji a gentle smile, her usual calm presence a small comfort.

The backseat was already a battlefield.

Niji was slouched on the left side, legs spread obnoxiously wide, tapping his fingers on the window in clear impatience. 

Yonji was in the middle, smirking the moment Sanji climbed in.

“Oh look, the prodigal cook arrives,” Yonji said, nudging Sanji in the ribs.

“Poke me again and I’ll snap your fingers,” Sanji grumbled, squeezing himself into the cramped space.

The door clicked shut just as the driver’s side opened. Judge stepped in, tall, broad, and as imposing as ever in his military-stiff posture and cold, calculated gaze. 

The air inside the car seemed to shrink the moment he sat down.

“Sanji,” Judge greeted, voice clipped but heavy with scrutiny.

“Father,” Sanji replied with equal coldness, the word tasting bitter in his mouth.

Judge started the engine, the low rumble filling the awkward silence. For a moment, no one spoke.

“I assume all of you are maintaining your respective roles,” Judge said as the car rolled forward. “The academy’s records should reflect the Vinsmoke name with excellence.”

Ichiji made a non-committal grunt.

Reiju said, “Yes, Father.”

Niji clicked his tongue. “Still stuck on reputation, huh?”

Yonji blew a raspberry and muttered, “Wow, shocker.”

Sanji stared out the window, jaw tense. He didn’t reply, but he was listening.

Judge continued, undeterred. “With the festival approaching, it is imperative you are all seen in positions of influence. Don’t waste your time with trivialities. Understand?”

There was no reply. 

Just a shared, collective sigh from the siblings in the back, each of them tuning out but still hearing every word, the way they’d grown used to doing their entire lives.

The car drove on in heavy silence, the kind that wasn't new, but it never got easier.

.

The ride couldn’t have ended soon enough.

By the time the car pulled into the hospital's private parking lot — because of course it was private —Sanji was already tugging at his collar, trying not to feel suffocated. 

The sleek exterior of the facility looked polished and sterile, a sharp contrast to the odd figure waiting just outside the sliding doors.

“Shurororo! There’s my favorite genetic masterpieces!” Caesar Clown cackled as he waved enthusiastically, his lab coat flaring dramatically in the wind. 

His goggles were perched crookedly atop his frizzy hair, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

“Oh, great,” Niji muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s that guy again.”

Yonji leaned over to Sanji, stage whispering loud enough for half the parking lot to hear, “Does he look even paler than last time, or is it just the lighting?”

“Probably just dying from radiation poisoning,” Niji chuckled under his breath.

Sanji tried to suppress the chuckle bubbling in his throat. 

A small snort escaped, and he quickly masked it with a cough, clearing his throat like nothing happened.

Judge stepped out first, completely unbothered, and approached Caesar with a firm nod. “Doctor Clown.”

“Judge, my good man!” Caesar grinned wide enough to show every tooth. “The examination room is all ready. I’ve made some... recent upgrades. Hehehe.”

“Wonderful,” Judge said, dead serious. “Efficiency is paramount.”

Sanji watched the exchange with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. ‘This is who he trusted with our health?’

Reiju exited the car gracefully, already pulling her long sleeves down as she walked ahead with practiced patience. 

Ichiji followed silently, shooting a brief glance toward Sanji as if to say let’s just get this over with.

As they all trailed behind their father, Caesar turned and waved them along like ducklings.

“Come, come, children! Let’s poke some nerves and draw some blood!”

“Charming,” Niji grumbled.

“Can we pretend to faint and skip this?” Yonji whispered.

“Try it and Judge would make it worse for you,” Sanji replied flatly.

The exam room was large, too clean, and far too bright. 

The smell of alcohol and something vaguely chemical stung the air as the five Vinsmoke siblings filed in behind Caesar.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable! Or not,” Caesar grinned as he gestured to a row of chairs. 

“I’ll have everything ready in a moment.”

Sanji eyed the room suspiciously. Sure, the basic equipment was all there… blood pressure monitor, scale, medical clipboard. 

But then there were the other things.

The tall, rotating lamp that buzzed ominously. The dozens of multicolored syringes lined up on a tray like paintbrushes. 

The large inflatable octopus hanging off the IV stand. A set of googly eyes had somehow been stuck to the heart monitor.

“...Was that thing here last time?” Sanji muttered.

Yonji squinted at the octopus. “Nope. Definitely new. And unnecessary. I think it blinked at me.”

“Can it even do that?” Niji asked, half amused, half alarmed.

“Oh, look,” Ichiji said dryly, pointing to a machine labeled BioWave Stress Reducer that was quietly humming in the corner. (It was actually just an air humidifier)

“Another toy Caesar probably found online and slapped into the room to feel important.”

“Ahem!” Caesar turned, dramatically holding a thermometer in one hand like it was a wand. 

“Need I remind you brats that I’ve been your family doctor since you were in diapers?”

“And we’re still recovering,” Yonji muttered with a grin.

Caesar threw his arms up. “No respect! No appreciation! I have degrees!”

“We have trauma,” Niji added helpfully, stretching his arms behind his head.

Sanji sat down in the farthest chair, crossing his legs.

“Just get it over with, Clown. The sooner you’re done, the sooner we can go back to school and do something useful.”

“‘Useful,’ he says!” Caesar pointed at Sanji with his stethoscope. “You think your cooking club is going to cure diseases?!”

“It’s definitely more hygienic than this place,” Sanji shot back, eyeing the heart monitor again. One of the googly eyes had fallen off and was now dangling by a thread of glue.

Reiju sighed with the faintest smile. 

“Let’s all be civil. Father wouldn’t want us to ruin his image of us being ‘efficient and exceptional.’”

“Too late,” Ichiji said without blinking.

“I’m writing ‘dead on arrival’ on my how was the experience form,” Yonji added.

Caesar groaned dramatically and began snapping on gloves. 

“Ungrateful little monsters…”

The wind picked up outside Grandline Academy’s west courtyard, sending a flurry of half-taped banners tumbling from the poles they’d been nailed to. 

Koby scrambled forward, arms outstretched, catching one before it fluttered into the muddy construction zone. 

His uniform was already damp with sweat, dirt streaking his sleeves from where he’d crawled under booths and zip-tied wires.

“Sorry! Be careful!” he called out to a couple of younger students who were carrying crates of supplies too tall for them to see over.

They didn’t respond, just hurried past him, almost bumping him aside like he was part of the clutter. Koby caught his breath and adjusted his glasses.

No acknowledgment.

He crouched by the pile of extension cords he’d been trying to organize for the outdoor lighting setup. 

One of the cords was frayed, and he pulled a roll of electrical tape from his bag to patch it up. His fingers worked quickly since he knew exactly how much time he had before someone yelled for him again.

“Oi, Student Council Boy!” a voice called from across the yard.

Koby looked up to see a third-year senior from the sports club, waving a clipboard impatiently. 

“These booth sizes aren’t gonna work. Who signed off on this layout?”

“I-  That would be the Community coordinator, I believe, which is me—” Koby answered, standing. “But I can bring it up at the next—”

“I don’t care about meetings. ” The senior scowled, tossing the clipboard to Koby. “Just fix it. And hurry, or my booth’s losing its spot.”

Before Koby could reply, the older student turned and walked off, barking at his own group. 

Koby looked down at the clipboard. The measurements were perfectly within the guidelines Perona had signed off on. But arguing wouldn’t help. It never did.

He sighed and tucked the clipboard under his arm. “Okay… I’ll fix it. Somehow.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Koby fished it out, the screen lighting up with a message from Rebecca

Rebecca: Did you eat yet??
Rebecca: I’ll bring you something in a bit if not, don’t say no!

Koby’s shoulders sagged just slightly in relief. He typed back a quick:

Koby: I’ll take a water if you have one! Thank you! :’)

He pocketed the phone and stood up straighter.

‘Keep going. It’ll be worth it. Just a little longer.’

Behind him, someone knocked over a stack of supply crates. 

A first-year yelled at him that the med team was still waiting for extension cords on the east wing. Koby turned to answer, even though it wasn’t his responsibility (that was Law’s!!). 

Koby wiped his forehead, he could take a break now but if he didn’t answer to all these stuff, then who would?

.

Koby was in another area, he adjusted the crates in his arms, one stacked precariously atop the other, his knees buckling slightly under the weight. 

He was halfway across the courtyard when a familiar voice rang out, loud and carefree.

“Wooah Zoro!! you’re gonna crack the table if you lean on it like that!”

It was Luffy.

Koby stopped in his tracks, breath caught in his throat.

Just beyond the tree near the half-assembled water balloon booth, Luffy stood with Zoro and Usopp, all of them laughing over something. 

Nami had just walked over too, waving a pen at Luffy with her usual no-nonsense expression while Sanji trailed behind her, arms full of flyers and snacks. 

It looked so... easy. 

Comfortable. 

The kind of relaxed bond that Koby remembered once having before he became too busy.

Before the student council.

Before responsibilities became more important than friendships.

Before Luffy had made more friends than Koby could count.

Koby shifted the weight in his arms and hesitated. His fingers twitched against the box edges.

‘Just say hi. Ask for help. He’s your friend, isn’t he? You used to talk every day. He used to tell you about his club plans, about his ideas for dumb stunts to pull on Zoro or weird bugs he found in the forest..’

He took a step forward, His mouth opened. 

And then stopped.

He saw the way Luffy threw his head back in laughter when Zoro teased Usopp, how Sanji handed Luffy a drink mid-convo without a word, like it was second nature. 

Koby’s stomach twisted. He was there yesterday—Luffy had smiled and waved at him, but he’d barely stopped. Not to ignore him, but because Luffy was always moving. Always surrounded.

And Koby…

Koby was always running errands with his own group.

Still, he brushed the thought aside and tried.

“L-Luffy!” Koby called, voice wavering slightly. The crate shifted in his arms, wobbling. “Hey—uh, d-do you think you could—?”

Luffy turned, a grin already on his face.

“Ah—Koby!”

Koby’s chest warmed for a split second.

But then—“Sorry, I gotta help Nami real quick! Talk later, yeah?” Luffy gestured vaguely, already half-turned toward the booth she was motioning toward.

And just like that, the moment slipped away.

Koby stood still. He swallowed thickly and nodded, even though Luffy wasn’t looking.

“...Yeah,” he murmured. “Later.”

He readjusted the crates in his arms again, trying not to let his disappointment settle too deeply. 

It wasn’t Luffy’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. 

Still, he turned on his heel and kept walking.

The festival won’t build itself.

Rebecca sat on the stone bench just outside the back wing of the campus building, hands neatly folded over her clipboard, legs crossed like she’d been taught. 

Her posture was perfect, back straight, chin level—exactly the way people expected the Vice President of Grandline Academy to carry herself.

She hated it.

Her eyes flicked across the papers in her hand: booth schedules, supply checklists, the medical station layout Law sent over last night. 

All of it organized to near-perfection, as expected. She’d double-checked it, then checked again. Just in case Vivi might glance at it and raise an eyebrow.

Not that Vivi would do that to be cruel. Vivi never meant to make her feel small. It just… happened, sometimes.

“I saw the Vice President earlier. She's always so composed.”

“She's like Vivi, but quieter.”

“Of course she’s in the council—look at her grades!”

Whispers like those chased her down the halls wherever she went.

Her fingers clenched around the pen clipped to her board.

Truthfully, Rebecca had never wanted to be Vice President. 

If she had her way, she would’ve been in the fencing club, spending her afternoons sparring, sweating through practice uniforms, feeling the rush of every well-timed parry and counter. 

Not organizing festival tables or fielding questions about tarp placements and student attendance.

She’d only joined the council because the teachers encouraged it. 

“You have such potential,” they told her.

“Your leadership qualities shine.”  

They made it sound like an honor. A privilege. And it wasn’t all bad..

Vivi was kind, Carrot made her laugh sometimes, and Helmeppo… well, he tried.

But some days—like today—it felt like she was just playing pretend.

“You’re late again, Rebecca,” a teacher said just this morning. “You know, Vivi manages to be on time and handle her tasks without delay.”

Rebecca had only been five minutes late. She’d stayed up working on the finance breakdown for Helmeppo last night, and had barely gotten four hours of sleep. 

She let out a breath, long and slow, and looked across the quad.

The fencing club had just started practice on the lower field. The sun caught on their foils, glinting silver as two students clashed in perfect rhythm.

Rebecca’s chest ached.

She’d sometimes practice fencing, and she wished she could join in with the club but she couldn’t right now.

Soon, her phone buzzed. It was a message from one of the student council members, Carrot.

Carrot: Rebecca, we’re missing two booths from the updated layout. Please revise and resend ASAP

She swallowed the frustration rising in her throat and stood up, clipping her gloves back into her bag.

“Vice President duties first,” she murmured.

She squared her shoulders, fixed her face into the calm, collected expression people expected, and walked back toward the area.

The work in progress festival grounds buzzed with energy as students hustled to and from booths, banners half-hung, stacks of supplies littering the grass. 

Rebecca weaved her way toward the central plaza, where two large tents stood partially erected. Booths #62 and #63. The missing ones from the updated layout.

As she paced through, she soon found them, Carrot crouched on the grass, scribbling into her notepad while puffing her cheeks in concentration. 

Beside her stood Helmeppo, visibly more tense, barking out numbers to a frazzled finance club member who nodded at rapid speed while holding a calculator and clipboards.

“Don’t round up like that!” Helmeppo snapped. 

“I told you, if the science club goes even a hundred beli over budget, the rest of us have to make up for it. And do you want to be the one telling the cooking club they can’t get a new gas supply that they ordered?”

The student squeaked out a “no sir” and darted back toward the admin tent.

Rebecca approached just as Carrot looked up with a bright grin. “Rebeee! There you are! You got my message, right?”

Rebecca smiled softly, crouching next to her. 

“Yep. These are the two booths missing from the plan, right? I’ll mark them down with your updated sketches and forward it to the teacher in charge of layouts.”

Carrot gave a relieved sigh, flicking her pen up dramatically like a warrior laying down her sword. 

“I thought I was going to lose my mind. Thank you, thank you, thank you . Seriously. Helmeppo’s been a cranky cat today.”

“Hey!” Helmeppo barked without turning. “I’m standing right here!”

“You’ve been standing there,” Carrot teased, standing and stretching. 

“Like a grumpy finance ghost. Who ya haunting today?”

Rebecca stood as well, stepping beside Helmeppo. “If I had to guess? Everyone.”

Helmeppo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about “ungrateful brats” and “financial black holes.”

Rebecca handed him the clipboard she’d updated. 

“Here, this has the new layout marked and the club’s revised expenditures based on your last budget sheet. I cross-checked it with the builder’s resource list too, just in case.”

Helmeppo blinked, took the clipboard, and visibly relaxed just a little. “You’re a lifesaver, Vice Prez. I’d be buried in receipts without you.”

Carrot leaned in. “To be fair, you’d still be buried in receipts, just slightly more organized ones.”

They all chuckled at the tiny joke. 

As Rebecca glanced around, she noticed a few passing students sneering subtly in Helmeppo’s direction, whispering behind hands. One muttered under their breath:

“Watch out, here comes the money-grabber.”

Another added, “He’s probably just doing this to get student fees raised again.”

Helmeppo didn’t react—but Rebecca saw the slight stiffening of his jaw.

It was something people never talked about openly, but everyone knew: being in the finance club came with a reputation. 

Clubs either feared or resented them, students avoided them, and no matter how fairly they budgeted, Helmeppo and his team were often treated like greedy collectors rather than what they were, the essentials.

Helmeppo finally exhaled. “I swear, sometimes it feels like I’m not part of this school. Just some glorified accountant people tolerate until they want to buy new stuff.”

Rebecca glanced at him, then nudged his arm lightly. 

“You're more than that, you know. We wouldn’t even have a festival if someone didn’t make sure the school didn’t go bankrupt.”

Carrot chimed in, her voice light but sincere. “Yeah, don’t let the salty ones get to you. They just don’t get how much of this stuff relies on your work.”

For a moment, Helmeppo didn’t respond. Then he gave a small, tired smile. 

“Thanks.”

Law walked with his usual expression, clipboard in hand, his coat fluttering behind him making him look intimidating. Though people close to him knew he just wanted to be seen like that for his ego. 

Beside him walked Bepo, He was in full uniform with a medic patch stitched onto the arm.

“The reports from the builder’s zone say one kid tripped over their own booth scaffolding,” Bepo said, scrolling through his tablet. 

“No serious injury, but the nurse was pissed that the others used gauze from the wrong drawer again.”

Law sighed through his nose. “Of course they did. Because God forbid anyone listen to protocol.”

They turned the corner toward the makeshift triage tent set up near the festival grounds. Law glanced at the row of med students busy preparing medical kits and standard safety bags, his gaze scanning like a hawk. 

“They’re trying to rush things now,” Bepo continued, frowning a little. “I think people are getting nervous with the deadline so close.”

“It’s their own fault,” Law said coldly. “They had time. They ignored it. And now we’re the ones who have to deal with the fallout.”

He stopped walking and looked out across the festival grounds, where hammering, shouting, and movement buzzed like an angry beehive. 

“If even one student ends up in the hospital because of this stupidity, you know who they’ll blame.”

Bepo lowered the tablet. “The council.”

Law gave a small nod. “And then me. I’m the one leading the medical club. If a kid gets a head injury or breaks something serious because someone forgot to anchor a booth leg, or if someone gets electrocuted wiring up lights without supervision…” He exhaled sharply. 

“It’s not only the club leader who gets questioned. It’s also the people who let it happen.”

Bepo looked down. “That’s not fair.”

“No. It’s not,” Law said simply, his gaze sharp as ever. “But when you take the job, you take the responsibility.”

They resumed walking toward the supply tent. 

Law’s boots made dull thuds on the pavement as his medic coat billowed behind him again.

“Without the student council, this school’s students would just fall apart.”

Chapter Text

4 Days before Festival

The wind was sharp up on the rooftop, fluttering Luffy’s uniform jacket as he stood by the heavy door, half-slouched and grinning. 

Beyond the safety rails, the academy grounds stretched wide, dotted with booths and students like little builder ants scrambling to finish their work. 

The sun was high but not harsh, it was casting a golden warmth over the rooftop and the helipad nearby.

Beside him, several other students clustered near the door, chatting idly or peeking curiously toward the far end of the roof.

“Man, you weren’t kidding, Ace…” Luffy muttered, eyes scanning the various crates and equipment being prepped.

Near the edge were two students in Ace’s major, Marco and Thatch. 

They were both knee-deep in wiring and powder canisters, meticulously laying out the skeleton of what would become the festival’s intro and grand finale; the fireworks.

Ace stood just ahead, grinning , hands in his pockets and wearing his unbuttoned uniform that Luffy seems to imitate with his own.

Though, his eyes didn’t leave his classmate’s setup for long. 

“Told you,” he said with a chuckle. “They’re the best when it comes to setting up as awesome as that.”

Luffy laughed, stepping up beside him. “You’re really going all out, huh?”

“Well, the headmaster did say to go big this year. Last festival before my college exams, remember?” Ace raised a brow. “Thought we’d make sure no one forgets it.”

A sharp snap of a wire being locked into place echoed, and Thatch raised a thumbs-up. Marco nodded, adjusting his gloves.

Luffy tilted his head. 

“But hey… why are there so many people crowding the door? Doesn’t seem like they’re all part of your club.”

Ace waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, that. The rooftop door locks automatically when it shuts. Real pain. You can only open it from the inside unless you have a key.”

“Ohhh,” Luffy said, watching the students lingering by the entrance. “So someone has to just stand there and babysit the door?”

“Yup,” Ace said, popping the ‘p’. “It’s kind of a dumb system, but hey. School safety, right?”

“Besides, I asked Vivi for a rooftop key or two, so if ever the case this door closes right now, Marco can use his and I can slide mine under the door.”

Luffy nodded thoughtfully, then blinked. “Wait… what if they loose the key and theres no one to open the door?”

“Well, they better not mess up,” Ace joked, then grinned. 

“Kidding. We’ve got radios.. But yeah, we keep a guy at the door while setup’s going on. No one wants to get stuck up here.”

Luffy tilted his head back to look at the sky above, imagining fireworks painting color across it. 

He could already picture it: loud, bright, and bursting like laughter.

“Four more days,” he murmured.

Ace caught the tone and glanced over at him. “Excited?”

Luffy grinned. “Yeah. It’s gonna be great.”

Ace chuckled at the enthusiasm and gave him a light noogie. 

“You better not sleep through it this year, y’hear? I don’t wanna see you snoring on the grass while fireworks are going off.”

“Hey!” Luffy protested, swatting his hand away. 

“That was one time! And only because me, Zoro, and Usopp ate all the good food until we got tired!!!”

“Sounds like the three of you are idiots,” Ace said, smirking.

Luffy pouted, but his smile quickly returned. 

“Still… kinda cool to see you up here again. We barely get to hang out lately.”

Ace gave a half shrug, resting his arms on the safety railing. “That’s college for you, Luf. Once you step into that building, you’re basically getting your soul signed away.”

Luffy laughed, then looked across the campus, his eyes scanning the area below them.

“You’re still in the third floor College Building, right?”

“Yeah. Third floor, Fire Tech Lab. It’s connected to the High School wing through the indoor bridge on the north side,” Ace pointed out with a lazy motion. 

“You know, the one right past the student council rooms.”

Luffy nodded, following the imaginary map in his head. “So, the High School building’s where I am, then past that is you. The Elementary building’s across the field, and the Dorms are by the east gate…”

“Bingo,” Ace said. 

“Four main buildings in total. The College and High School are basically siblings—same building, just two halves stuck together. Security says it’s to ‘encourage academic collaboration.’”

Luffy tilted his head. “What does that mean?”

“No idea,” Ace grinned. “Ask Sabo, he’s the one with the law brain.”

Luffy perked up at the name. “Sabo! How’s he doing?”

“He’s buried in books, like always. Final year in college, so he’s got three research papers and a thesis on school policy laws.”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” Luffy said fondly. “Though I Bet he’d help Vivi with the boring student council rules.”

Ace laughed. “Probably already has. If Sabo hears someone to scold him for doing probably illegal stuff, he counters how it’s ‘technically legal’.”

The brothers shared a laugh at the thought of their nerd brother.

“Y’know,” Ace added, watching Marco and Thatch work. “I think this year’s festival might be the best one yet.”

Luffy beamed. “I want a big awesome fireworks that will make people yell.”

Ace barked out a laugh. “No promises.”

The midday sun filtered lazily through the tall glass windows of the council conference room. 

Inside, the coordinators of the student council were seated around the long oval table, Carrot was scribbling furiously on her clipboard as the others threw out ideas.

"Okay!" Carrot tapped her pen to the paper. 

"So for this year’s awards, we’ve got; Most Innovative Booth, Best Club Presentation, and.. Crowd Favorite. That’s a good starting list, right?"

Koby nodded, arms crossed thoughtfully. "We can also add something like Community Impact? Some clubs are doing charity things during the festival."

Perona, lounging in her seat with her legs over the armrest, rolled her eyes. 

“Boring, but fine. As long as I don’t have to listen to the Gardening Club’s poetry slam again.”

Carrot giggled. “I thought that was sweet!”

“Sweetly terrible,” Perona deadpanned.

Koby cracked a reluctant smile, but before he could chime in, the door to the room clicked open.

“Speak of the devil,” Carrot mumbled, then lit up. “Hey, Ichiji!”

Ichiji stepped in with his usual cool stride, tugging at the collar of his uniform. 

He looked a little tired, but still neat and composed.

“Well, look who’s alive,” Perona teased. “Did Caesar finally stop poking you with weird needles?”

Ichiji gave a low chuckle. “Barely. He told me to rest for the full day after yesterday's check-up.” He reached up and rubbed his shoulder with a wince. “My arm still feels like it got assaulted by five different vaccines.”

Koby looked up from his notes, blinking. “Wait, wasn’t that just a regular check-up? Why so many shots?”

Ichiji waved it off. “You know how Caesar is. He claims it’s preventative.. something-something about immunity boosting for 'flu season.’”

Perona snorted. “More like scamming your dad into buying unnecessary meds.”

“I wouldn't put it past him,” Ichiji muttered as he moved to take the empty seat beside Carrot.

Carrot nudged over the clipboard. “We’re brainstorming award titles for the festival. Want in?”

Ichiji scanned the page quickly. “...‘Most Dramatic Display’? Is that a real category or did Perona suggest that one?”

Perona smirked. “Guilty.”

Koby chuckled. “To be fair, some clubs are putting on actual performances.”

“Then let’s keep it,” Ichiji said easily. “If it motivates people to step up their game, it’s worth including.”

They nodded, and Carrot resumed jotting down the growing list of award ideas. 

Ichiji leaned back in his seat slightly, glancing toward the empty chair across the table. “Where’s Law?”

Koby gave a quiet chuckle. “Probably brooding somewhere with Bepo again. You know how he gets, all edgy, mysterious, allergic to sunlight.”

Perona snapped her fingers in agreement. 

“Exactly! You’d think he was auditioning for a noir detective movie with how dramatic he acts. Bet he’s leaning against a tree with his coat blowing in the wind.”

Ichiji smirked. “Sounds like him.”

Koby shook his head fondly. “But seriously, he said earlier that he’s checking the booths that have potential medical risks. Guess it’s his way of helping out more directly.”

Carrot looked up from her notes. 

“Oh yeah, he mentioned that this morning. Something about the Physics Club having exposed wiring near their project.”

Perona frowned, sitting up a bit straighter. “Exposed wiring? Seriously? Do these clubs not understand the concept of not electrocuting people during a festival?!”

Ichiji snorted. “Apparently not.”

Koby sighed. “Y’know if even one student ends up hospitalized for something preventable, the blame falls on the council. So he’s just trying to cover what he can for us.”

Ichiji rubbed his temple. “Can’t blame him for avoiding this meeting, then. He’s probably the only one actually doing something useful while we sit around naming awards.”

“Hey,” Carrot said, holding up her pen like a sword. “This is important too! Presentation and morale matter!”

Perona gave her a lazy salute. “Aye aye, bunny captain.”

The door creaked open.

Law stepped in, the faintest scowl tugging at his lips. 

His presence immediately drew attention like always, though less because of his general vibe, and more because of the air of frustration rolling off him in waves.

Ichiji leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “You look like someone poked holes in your favorite med kit.”

Law exhaled sharply through his nose and dropped a clipboard onto the table. 

“Two clubs almost got into a brawl outside the gym.”

Carrot blinked. “What now?”

“The Robotics Club and the Theater Department were arguing over the last remaining extension cords in the supply closet,” Law said. 

“Theater said Robotics already took all the long cables, Robotics said Theater hoards the stage equipment. It got loud and almost rough.”

Koby scratched his cheek nervously. “That’s the third time this week.. clubs have been at each other’s throats lately..”

“It’s getting worse,” Law muttered. 

“The festival’s pulling tension tight, every club wants to be the highlight. They’re acting like rivals more than collaborators.”

Perona smirked around her teacup. 

“They always get like this when awards and recognition are on the line. Artists think the techies are arrogant, the builders call the performers lazy… it’s just more dramatic than usual this year.”

Law crossed his arms. “If someone ends up in the infirmary because of a thrown hammer or prop sword, that’ll be on my record.”

Ichiji clicked his tongue. “Is this about the supply delay?”

Carrot flipped a page on her clipboard. 

“Yeah, Helmeppo said the finance club finalized the budget yesterday. The next delivery should come today, but with how much clubs are requesting…-”

“It might not be enough,” Law cut in, his voice tight. 

“And if they don’t get what they want, they’ll take it from each other. Forcefully..”

Koby shifted uneasily in his seat. 

“They’re all… under pressure. We’re trying to juggle a hundred things, but the clubs are, too. I think they’re starting to forget that we’re students, not full-time event managers.”

Ichiji huffed. “Wouldn’t be surprised if someone sets up booby traps in the storage rooms at this rate.”

Perona grinned. “Imagine a glitter bomb war between the Art Club and the Science Club.”

Law gave her a tired glare. “Don’t give them ideas.”

Carrot chuckled, though her pen didn’t stop moving. “If this keeps up, the festival might turn into a battlefield.”

“Let’s just hope it’s a figurative one,” Law said darkly.

They all fell silent for a moment.

Then Perona lifted her cup in mock toast. “To the calm before the glittery, high-strung storm.”

They all fell silent for a moment.

The hum of the ceiling fan above filled the space before Perona finally spoke, twirling her pen between her fingers.

“…So, weird thing—I got a report this morning about mice showing up in the Kendo Club’s area.”

Carrot looked up from her clipboard. “Wait, again? I thought they cleaned up after the gym roof maintenance.”

“Nope,” Perona said with a sigh. “Zoro and his clubmates have apparently been chasing them with a broom instead of reporting it earlier, so Nami filed the complaint for him.”

Ichiji snorted. “That sounds about right.”

Koby leaned forward, brows drawn in concern. “That area’s near the indoor courts too, isn’t it? If there are mice, they could get into the storage closets.”

Law straightened, his arms crossed. “Then it’s a health risk. We deal with it now.”

Ichiji frowned. “But the budget…”

Carrot blinked. “What about it?”

“If we spend on sanitation now,” Ichiji said, glancing toward Carrot and then Perona, “that cuts into what we can give clubs who’ve been begging for last-minute resources. Booth material, wiring, tents, even paint. They’ll riot if we tell them they have to downscale now—especially since some of them already feel shorted.”

“So it’s either sanitation or satisfaction,” Perona muttered, raising a brow.

“Health comes first,” Law said flatly. “If someone gets sick or a booth gets shut down because of infestation, we’ll face more backlash than a few budget cuts.”

“But if we cause too much dissatisfaction,” Ichiji countered, “we’re going to lose cooperation. The clubs are already snapping at each other. One more push, and it turns into a blame game—and guess who they’ll blame?”

Perona leaned her chin on her palm, looking between them. “You two make a great disaster duo. We either start a plague or a mutiny.”

Koby rubbed his temples. “We should talk to Helmeppo again. Maybe there’s a way to shift funds without hurting the essentials. Maybe cut down on excess?”

“I’ll reach out to him,” Carrot offered. “He’s already stressed, though. And the finance club’s been getting a lot of heat lately.”

Law tapped his fingers against his arm. “Then we need to clean the Kendo area quietly. No big notice, no mass panic. Get it done before rumors spread.”

Ichiji exhaled and nodded. “Fine. But if I have to explain to a pissed-off robotics team why they can’t get their drone parts, you’re backing me up.”

Perona smirked. “Oooh, drama. We’re really setting the stage for a disaster, huh?”

Koby chuckled half-heartedly. “Let’s just hope we’re not writing the prologue to one.”

Carrot scribbled down the decision and mumbled under her breath, “Too late for that…”

Chapter Text

3 Days Before Festival

The chemistry lab buzzed with focus. 

Beakers bubbled, burners hissed, and the soft scratch of notes being scribbled filled the space. Niji stood at the center, arms crossed, surveying his club with a rare note of satisfaction. 

The Chemist Club had been working hard, and their test runs for their festival exhibit were finally showing promise.

He leaned over to check the color of a reaction in a conical flask, lips curling in approval. 

“Keep the flame steady. That mix is temperamental.”

Across the lab, a few students chuckled nervously, their gloves sticky with some purple compound. 

The energy in the room was tense but focused, exactly how Niji liked it.

But soon the door creaked open.

He didn’t look up at first, thinking it was most likely a late club member.

But instead of one of his own, a trio of students wearing the green-and-brown gloves of the Gardening Club stepped in, holding crates and dragging a small cart.

“Huh?” one of Niji’s members muttered.

“Can I help you?” Niji soon said, now knowing that it wasn't a club member due to his members’ reaction.

One of the Gardening Club members—a tall guy—gave a casual nod. 

“We need some space for prepping soil samples. Our shed's leaking again, and we were told you guys weren’t using the back half of the lab.”

Niji’s brow twitched. 

He turned slowly, eyes narrowing. “Told by who?”

“Our advisor. She said it’d be fine since the lab’s barely half-full.”

“The back half has our controlled compounds,” Niji said. “It’s not a potting station. Go dig beside the gym.”

Another Gardening Club member stepped forward, trying to be more diplomatic. 

“Look, we’re not gonna touch anything. We just need a table and some light. Just for an hour or two.”

Niji’s laugh was low and sarcastic. 

“An hour or two? You think we’re doing schoolyard science here? One slip of the wrong pH and this whole table could go up in smoke.”

“You’re exaggerating,” said the tall one. “You chem kids just love acting like your work is some top-secret project.”

Niji stepped around the station, jaw clenched. 

“You come into our lab, act like you own the place, and then try to lecture me about exaggerating?”

“It’s just dirt and water, not uranium,” someone from the Gardening Club muttered.

One of Niji’s clubmates stood up from their stool. 

“Okay, that’s enough—just take your crates and go. This isn’t your assigned lab.”

The tall one set his crate down harder than necessary. “We’ll be quick . It’s not like you guys are using every inch.”

Then the cart bumped into a table leg, wobbling a glass vial before falling and shattering.

A pale yellow liquid spilled out, dribbling across the tile, trailing toward one of the Gardening Club’s soil trays. 

A few drops soaked into the mix, the wet patch turning an odd gray-green,

“Hey, careful!” someone from the Chem Club shouted.

The tension snapped.

Niji shoved the crate aside with a clatter. “Get your compost-stinking junk out before I toss it out the window.”

The tall Gardening Club member pushed back. “You touch anything of ours again and I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Niji snapped, stepping forward until they were chest to chest.

Someone yelled, “Stop it!”

But unfortunately for everyone watching, it was too late.

The push was fast, shoulders instantly clashing, the sound of a tray spilling across the tile floor. A metal stool scraped violently, and another student jumped in to pull them apart, but in return someone else threw a wild swing.

More tables and shelves rattled. One shattered completely, sending a strange translucent liquid pooling beside the soil crates. A Gardening Club student’s boot slid through it before anyone could process what it even was.

Yelling filled the lab as students scrambled to get away from the chaos, A Gardening Club member tripped over a hose and hit the floor hard, cursing. Niji ducked a punch and drove his fist into someone’s gut with a satisfying thud.

Then, the lab door flung open.

A teacher's voice rang out, loud and angry. “What on earth is going on!?”

The scuffle froze. Lab gear lay scattered. The floor was a mess of soil, shattered glass, and strange-colored liquids slowly soaking into the tile and dirt.

Breathing hard, Niji straightened his jacket, one knuckle was bloodied. He didn’t even bother wiping it.

“They came in uninvited,” he said, tone flat. “We defended our space.”

The Gardening Club boys glared at him, faces red and bruised.

The teacher sighed. “You’re all on report. Clean up this disaster, and pray the festival goes smoothly enough to earn back your privileges.”

As the teacher stalked off, one of Niji’s clubmates whispered, “This festival’s turning everyone into lunatics.”

Niji didn’t reply. 

He just stared at the soaked soil tray, where a faint wisp of heat still curled above the reaction site.

Niji’s jaw tightened, the muscle twitching as he glared at the Gardening Club members. 

His voice came out low and sharp, with that signature snarl curling around the edges.

“Take your junk,” he said coldly, “and leave.”

The Gardening students, still bristling from the scuffle, began to gather their things. 

One of them quietly slid the soil tray toward their supply cart amid the clutter, unnoticed in the flurry of movement.

Niji didn’t need to look, he was too focused on the broken glass, scattered instruments, and the chemical splatter now dripping down the side of one of their burners.

“This is our lab. Our station. You barged in here like you owned the place, trashed our setup.”

He pointed at the overturned and broken working stations.

“We’ll take care of it. Because unlike you, we actually give a damn about how this place runs.”

There was a beat of silence before the Gardening members muttered under their breath and shuffled out with their cart. 

The tray with the altered soil clattered softly on top as the door swung shut behind them.

Niji sighed, running a hand down his face.

“That teacher is most likely reporting this to our adviser,” he muttered. “Damn it.”

His clubmates were already moving to clean, though a few lingered with bruises or ruffled uniforms. 

Niji turned toward them, his tone all business again. 

“Let’s get this place back in shape before another teacher does a full walk-in. Knowing how snitchy those gardening freaks are, if another teacher reports this mess they’ll tell on us.”

One bruised member groaned. “You think they’ll suspend the lab?”

“They better not,” Niji grumbled. 

“But just in case—I’ll talk to Ichiji about it. Maybe we can spin it into a lesser punishment. Say it was just a ‘heated misunderstanding’ or some crap.”

The others nodded slowly, returning to their cleanup as Niji finally exhaled, glaring once more at the mess left behind.

3 Days before Festival

—Later Afternoon

The back gates of Grandline Academy were buzzing with noise. Delivery trucks rolled in one after another, finally bringing the overdue supplies every club had been anxiously waiting on.

Nami stood near the supply shed, clipboard in hand, her brow furrowed and voice sharp as she and her club members tried to organize the chaos.

"One at a time!" she barked, fending off a trio of impatient club students trying to snatch their costume materials early. 

“Your name's not even on this list yet— back off! "

Her club members were forming a human wall, trying to stop other clubs from swarming the shed.

Helmeppo, meanwhile, jogged off to the second truck pulling up around the bend. This one had the food-related supplies for the cooking club, café booths, and festival concessions.

He waved toward the driver, clipboard tucked under one arm. 

“You guys are late,” he said, his voice light but tired.

“Tell that to the road closure,” the driver shot back with a smirk. “Half the route was jammed. But it’s all here.”

Helmeppo chuckled. He was about to start ticking boxes off his inventory sheet when his eyes drifted to the far end of the lot.

A few members of the Gardening Club were gathered there, unloading wooden flats filled with small potted plants and trays of soil. 

They seemed calm, chatting among themselves as they arranged everything under the shade.

Helmeppo squinted. 

“Hey!” he called, waving one hand. “You guys aren’t listed for pickup here!! what’re you doing with all that?”

One of the Gardening members looked up, brushing hair from her eyes. 

“Oh, no worries! We’re not taking anything!! we just needed space to set up some of our trays.. The lab’s kinda a mess right now, so we brought some of the soil we were prepping and figured this spot was out of the way.”

Helmeppo narrowed his eyes but nodded slowly. 

“Fine, just don’t block the supply path or lose track of your stuff. This place turns into a war zone when students smell fresh inventory.”

“We’ll be careful!” the girl said cheerily, returning to her group.

Helmeppo adjusted the clipboard under his arm and gave a glance toward the supply workers who were now opening up crates of dry goods and sealed ingredients right beside the gardening club’s chosen space.

“Just a heads-up,” Helmeppo called, pointing his thumb toward the growing pile of boxes. 

“There’s gonna be a lot of packaging noise here—maybe some shouting too. You all good with that?”

One of the Gardening Club boys, crouched near a rectangular planter box, looked up with a small grin.

“As long as no one steps on our plots, we’re chill.”

“Yeah,” another girl chimed in as she carefully loosened the soil around the base of a particularly leafy plant. 

“We’ve worked with worse in the shed when the janitor dropped an entire ladder mid-potting.”

Helmeppo gave a half-laugh and nodded. “Alright then, I’ll stay out of your way.”

Chapter Text

2 Days Before Festival

A clang of a practice sword hit the floor, followed by a loud thud! occurred as a wooden bucket was slammed upside down onto the ground.

“Got it — wait —nope! Damn thing’s fast!” one of the kendo club members hissed, kicking the bucket aside as the mouse darted out from under it.

Zoro let out an annoyed grunt, the tip of his wooden sword tapping against the concrete behind the gym building. 

The kendo club’s makeshift pest control efforts had been going on since the early morning, and his patience was thinning by the minute.

“Why the hell are there so many of them?” someone groaned, stomping as another mouse zipped past his foot.

“Did Nami really report this to the student council?” one of the underclassmen huffed, panting from chasing mice around the back lot. 

“Like, what if no one’s coming to help us?”

Zoro didn’t even look at him. He lazily adjusted his headband, letting his half-lidded eyes scan the ground. 

“She said she would. I don’t think she’d let mice pest fly easily.”

There was a collective grunt of agreement, Nami was the type to get things done, but that didn’t make the situation suck any less. 

The practice hall they used was behind the gym, closer to the more open forest edges of the academy grounds, so pests were to be expected at some point. But this many this year?

Another sharp squeak cut the air.

“Behind you, Zoro!” someone shouted.

Zoro spun on instinct and swung down, missing by inches as the mouse zipped beneath the cracked wooden deck beside the shed.

“Tch.” He shook his head. “We need to seal this place up.”

Beyond the shed, just across the practice lot, the small dirt path to the gardening shed crunched under the weight of carts and arms full of trays. 

Members of the gardening club were returning, each of them carrying plots of plants and bags of soil. Some were chatting and others were focused.

“Yo,” one of the kendo members nudged Zoro. “Aren’t those guys the ones that got into a fight with the chemist club?”

Zoro followed his gaze. Sure enough, the gardening club seemed unusually animated, whispering to each other and keeping to themselves like they were guarding something.

“They weren’t this weird last week,” someone else muttered, eyeing the odd leaves poking out from one of the trays. 

“Their plants look... off.”

Zoro narrowed his eyes, tracking one of the trays. 

The plant in it had strange, faint ridges on its stalks and its leaves had a purple hue that didn’t look quite natural. But he didn’t comment.

“Whatever they’re doing, it’s not our problem,” he said, sheathing his sword into the strap on his back. 

“Let’s focus on clearing the mice.”

Meanwhile, the shed creaked as the gardening club members slid open its rusted doors, beams of sunlight filtering through the dust motes that danced in the air. 

Inside, the air was thick with soil, moss, and the scent of something slightly... burnt.

“Careful, careful, don’t drop the plot,” one member muttered, stepping backward to give space.

It was a mutated Venus flytrap is what they had, it was larger than it had been just a day ago. Its green was deeper and its lips, lined with soft-looking teeth, twitched faintly as if reacting to sound or movement. 

Unnatural or not, it looked like something out of a botanical fantasy.

The trio who’d retrieved the soil from the chemist lab the day before stood the closest, a mixture of pride and secrecy worn openly on their faces.

“I still can’t believe it,” whispered one of them, a lanky boy with smudged gloves. “We just needed filler soil to replace the compacted trays, and look what it gave us.”

“Some kind of reaction must’ve happened,” the girl beside him added, crouching to examine the root structure of a smaller plot. 

“Maybe heat exposure with chemical residue… whatever it was, this soil’s on another level.”

A third clubmate, squinting at the newly settled tray, leaned in. 

“We should give it a name!!”

“We should not tell the teachers,” a girl said firmly, casting a look toward the door. 

“This is our find. They’ll confiscate it if they get even a whiff of weird.”

“Agreed,” the lanky one nodded quickly. “This stays between us. It’s going to be the centerpiece of our plot for our booth, no one has anything like this!”

A few others murmured in agreement as they began laying out their other, normal plants around the central tray to hide how strange the Venus flytrap had grown.

Someone fetched a shallow basin of water while another opened a fresh bag of potting mix, spreading the soil around

The quiet hum of activity had picked up, they weren’t loud nor too quiet as bugs rustled, trowels scraped against soil, and the club was moving in a fluid rhythm. 

“I’ll check up on the hanging vines that we’re gonna take as decoration,” someone muttered.

Another was gently misting some succulents in the corner while a third carefully retouched the display tags, labeling each specimen.

“Hey, pass the burlap cloth. I wanna line the table edges with it.”

As they busied themselves, a sudden rustle caught the attention of one of the trio from earlier. The boy turned his head sharply, brows furrowed.

“Did anyone else hear that?”

A muffled squeak.

He followed the sound, slipping around the tool shelf toward a row of decorative potted herbs.

There, nestled in the shadow of one of the containers, was a mouse. 

Its fur twitched as it nibbled greedily at the stem of a small basil sprout. 

“Hey! Shoo !”

The mouse flinched, but not fast enough, the boy grabbed a nearby broom and swept toward it. 

The startled creature scurried off, darting under one of the shelving units and disappearing through a hole in the far wall.

A couple of the other members rushed over, concerned. “What was it? A mouse?”

“Yeah. It was eating our plants,” he replied, crouching to examine the half-bitten leaves. His nose wrinkled. “It went straight for the basil and this…” His voice trailed off as she eyed one of the newer seedlings, the one that had been potted using a mix of the odd soil.

“Any damage?” someone asked, peeking over his shoulder.

“Just some bite marks, I think.” He tried to brush some of the soil over the exposed spots to hide the irregularities. 

“We’ll cover this tray with some cloth. Let’s tell them it’s part of a humidity test or something.”

“Good call,” the lanky boy added, already dragging over a scrap of woven fabric. “We don’t want anyone thinking we can’t handle pests before the festival.”

The Cooking Club was alive at the current hour, the sharp clatter of knives on chopping boards, the gentle hiss of oil meeting pan, and the low hum of focused conversations filled the air. 

The large prep counters were cluttered with ingredients, all of it lined up like soldiers awaiting their orders.

Sanji was in his element as he moved with precision between workstations. 

His blond hair was slightly damp with sweat, but he didn't seem to notice as his sharp eyes flicked across his club members.

"Alright," he called out, snapping the attention of the bustling teens around him. 

"We’ve got a deadline, and I expect the best works from everyone. The student council's gonna taste test each dish later today, so if we screw this up, we’re gonna have to redo dishes."

There were nods and a chorus of "Yes, Chef!" from the group.

As everyone got back to work, the kitchen window was let open, letting out the steam that was being produced.

But through that gap, a small mice darted in unnoticed.

The mouse was small, erratic in movement, and twitching with unnatural spasms, it scurried past the busy feet and large counters. 

Its fur was matted, its eyes wide and glassy with an almost obsessive urgency. It squeezed under the pantry door, vanishing into the supplies.

The mouse panted, limbs jerking as if its nerves misfired with every movement. 

It scrambled up a bag of flour, nibbled at the corner, then tore into a bag of dried herbs, its tiny body twitching more with every bite. 

A small paper sack of sun-dried tomatoes was next.

It sank its teeth into the corner, gnawing erratically. Its drool viscous and faintly tinged with a dangerous transparent color.

Back in the kitchen, Sanji wiped his hands on his apron and opened the pantry.

"Hey, are we out of sun-dried tomatoes?" he called out.

"Should be in the second shelf, top corner!" came a voice from across the room.

Sanji stepped inside, the cool air brushing against his skin. His eyes scanned the shelves quickly. 

“There we go…” he muttered, pulling down the slightly chewed sack. 

The nibble marks were small and subtle, hidden in the folds of the paper, barely noticeable in the dim light. 

"Perfect for the bruschetta," he said happily.

He emerged from the pantry with the sack in hand, walking over to the prep station. 

The club moved like a machine around him. One of the newer members toasted the bread while another arranged plates. 

Sanji, meanwhile, carefully layered the tomatoes over one dish’s toast with practiced ease.

The dish looked beautiful.

Golden crostini, glistening red, a drizzle of deep balsamic, and a single basil leaf on top of each one. 

He smiled faintly, proud. 

“Let it rest. We’ll plate and serve it to the council.”

.

Sanji stood near the main cooking table, arms crossed and posture relaxed. 

Every dish was in place, the table immaculate, and the plating clean enough to make a professional chef nod in approval. 

Around him, his clubmates bustled quietly, placing down identical trays of food for the incoming student council members.

Each member would get their own plate so; no sharing and no cross-tasting. 

The joint taste testing was a big deal. All four academy buildings—Elementary, High School, College, and Dormitory—had students submitting food booths for the upcoming festival. 

And now, the student councils from each building were convening to taste test and evaluate them. However, at the top of the pecking order stood Vivi’s council, representing the High School division. 

They held the highest authority among the councils, making the final call on all festival decisions.

Sanji smiled to himself, thinking this would be easy, his eyes landing on Vivi who had just walked in.

She entered with her usual calm grace, her blue-trimmed council pin catching the kitchen lights. 

Behind her came Rebecca, Perona, Carrot, Helmeppo, and Koby. 

And ofcourse Ichiji arrived too, his face with a casual grin that Sanji wanted to wipe with dish cloth.

Behind Ichiji soon followed were two Dormitory division reps and a couple of younger members from Elementary, looking excited and slightly out of place.

Law trailed in last, giving the room a quick scan, acting important (he technically is).

Sanji bowed with his usual flourish. 

“Welcome, esteemed council members. The Cooking Club has prepared a full presentation of our planned menu for the festival. Each dish was made fresh this morning with yesterday’s supplies. We hope to meet your expectations.”

“Multiple plates,” Vivi noted with a small smile as she approached. “You came prepared.”

Sanji winked at Vivi, obviously treating her highly as a woman. “For the top brass? Only the best.”

A light chuckle rippled through a few members, though Law remained stone-faced.

Each person took their seat and their plate.

crisp dishes with dipping sauce, amazingly topped main courses, then there was tender skewered beef, and finally, the crostini topped with sun-dried tomatoes and herbs.

One crostini sat innocently among the others.

Sanji leaned back, watching as the members began to sample. 

Carrot was one of the first to dig in, chatting with Koby as she nibbled her crostini without hesitation.

“Oh!” she blinked. “That’s kinda strong, but good!!”

“Herby,” Koby commented as he tasted his own. “I like it. Bit tangy on the back end.”

Perona chewed slowly, squinting. “The tomato’s a little intense. It tastes like it’s been dried too long, maybe?”

Vivi was more reserved in her comments, taking careful bites and making notes on the form her secretary held beside her. 

She nodded approvingly at the beef and soba, her eyes lingering on the crostini with thoughtful silence.

Ichiji popped a gyoza in his mouth and grinned. “I’ll give you this, your food game is still solid.”

Sanji gave a confident nod. “Nothing frozen. All hand-prepped. Every skewer, marinated overnight.”

From the back of the room, Law finally spoke, tone dry. 

“And how confident are you that everything stayed… sanitary? Given the size of yesterday’s shipment?”

Sanji resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I watched over every crate. You know how serious I am about ingredients.”

Law only hummed, uninterested in arguing.

Everything seemed to go smoothly, each council member finishing their plates with little issue. 

But Sanji, sharp as ever, noticed Carrot shift slightly in her seat. She rubbed her throat once, then again. Her nose wrinkled like she was trying to clear a tickle in her sinuses.

“You okay?” Koby whispered beside her.

Carrot blinked a few times and smiled, a bit forced. “Yeah. Maybe just… spicy? That tapenade’s strong.”

She reached for her water.

No one else noticed.

Sanji called out to the group, “Any final thoughts?”

Vivi smiled at him, polite and official. “You’ve done excellent work, Sanji. You and your club should start prepping for your booth’s final station. You’ll draw in plenty of guests.”

Sanji beamed with pride and couldn’t help but preen at Vivi praising him. “Appreciate the praise!! Miss president.”

As the council began clearing their plates and discussing among themselves, Sanji turned to his clubmates with a grin. 

“Told you. We nailed it without any issue.”

Chapter Text

1 Day Before Festival

The Student Council room was alive with a constant shuffle of papers and faint typing from tablets.

Posters lay rolled on one end of the long table, Checklists were tacked up along the walls, their boxes rapidly filling in, while a large clock ticked down the hours above the door.

The festival was tomorrow.

Among the buzzing activity, a new figure stepped into the room.

“Excuse me?” Pudding peeked her head through the open door, her perfectly curled bangs bouncing slightly.

 “Hey.. has anyone seen Carrot?”

Rebecca glanced up from her notes, eyes a little red from staring at the screen too long. “Carrot?”

“Yeah,” Pudding stepped in more fully, her stylish school cardigan layered neatly over her dress. 

“She said she’d stop by our club room yesterday. I made a dress for her.. well it was, part of the wardrobe for her announcement role, but she didn’t come to try it on like we planned.”

“I texted her, but she didn’t respond either.” She frowned as she nervously held her phone.

Ichiji, who had just walked in with a drink in hand, raised a brow at the mention of Carrot’s name. 

“She didn’t check in today either. Koby said she hadn’t responded to his club updates either.”

Rebecca frowned. 

“She didn’t come by this morning? I assumed she was setting up one of the banners with Usopp’s crew…”

Ichiji took a sip of his drink and leaned against the edge of the table. 

“If it’s Carrot, she’s probably tangled in some emergency. Maybe she’s just helping out somewhere and forgot to report in.”

Pudding gave a small pout, clearly concerned. “But even if she was busy, she usually leaves a message…”

Ichiji didn’t look too worried. “We’ll ask around. If she doesn’t show by lunch, I’ll go hunt her down myself.”

Rebecca nodded in agreement. “Maybe she’s just overwhelmed.. We’ve all been running on fumes.”

Pudding, unconvinced but unwilling to push further, gave a small nod. 

“Alright… just let me know if you see her. The dress is really cute.”

As she turned to leave, Ichiji casually tossed a glance toward the council board where names and check-ins were pinned beneath department roles.

A quiet itch of unease crept up the back of his mind.

But he brushed it off for now.

Carrot lay on one of the narrow cots, a cold compress pressed gently to her forehead. 

Her usually vibrant eyes were half-lidded, and her skin held a faint, concerning flush. She twitched lightly, shifting under the thin blanket as her body trembled with a low-grade fever.

Law stood beside her with his clipboard, brows furrowed in concentration as he flipped through the vitals he’d jotted down. 

Shachi was by the cabinet, rummaging for more fever patches while Penguin leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“She looked like hell,” Penguin muttered, watching Carrot stir faintly. “She was barely walking, we found her by the high school dorm back entrance when we went out to grab our laundry.”

“She was limping,” Shachi added, tossing a pack of fever pads over to Law. 

“Didn’t even recognize us right away. Thought she was sleepwalking or something.”

Law clicked his pen and crouched slightly beside the bed, his voice level but firm as he addressed her. 

“Carrot. Are you with me?”

Her nose twitched at his voice. Slowly, her eyes flickered open a little more fully. “L-Law…?”

“You’ve got a fever. Dehydrated, probably exhausted,” he said, pressing the back of his hand against her cheek. 

“You need to rest. But I need to ask, can you handle being up today? Even for a few hours?”

She blinked slowly, trying to sit up. “I… I was supposed to help Pudding today… and the rest of the council—”

Law gently pushed her back down. “That’s not what I asked. Can you function ?”

Carrot hesitated, biting her lip. She hated feeling useless. “I can try—”

“You always say that,” Law cut her off, a flicker of irritation flashing behind his tired eyes. 

“This isn’t a scraped knee, Carrot. You were incoherent, and if Penguin and Shachi hadn’t found you, I don’t know how long you would’ve been there.”

Penguin nodded quietly. “You scared us, y’know.”

Carrot’s gaze shifted away, guilt creeping in.

Law sighed and pulled out his phone. 

“I’m contacting Rebecca, they need to know you're not showing up today. And don’t make me sedate you.”

Carrot’s face drooped, her body sinking slightly into the pillow as she gave a weak nod of defeat. “…Okay.”

As Law took out his phone, behind him, Shachi quietly adjusted the blinds while Penguin placed a water bottle on the small table beside her.

Trafalgar Law: Shachi and Peng found Carrot this morning near the dorms, She has a fever, disoriented, and showing signs of exhaustion. 

Trafalgar Law: We’ve got her at the clinic now.

Trafalgar Law: Don’t expect her to attend anything today. 

Trafalgar Law: I’ll monitor her condition and update later

The responses came swiftly.

Rebecca: Oh no… Is she okay?? 

Koby: Please tell her we hope she gets better soon

Koby: She’s been working really hard…

Perona: Ugh, I told her she needed sleep

Perona: Tell her I hope the fever gets out her system quick

Vivi: Thank you, Law. Keep us posted. I’ll shift her duties around for today. Her health comes first.

Law exhaled through his nose, sliding the phone into his coat pocket.

“Let’s get some fluids in her,” he muttered, his voice low.

Penguin gave a soft grunt of agreement as he unscrewed the water bottle cap. 

“Here, Carrot. You haven’t had anything since we brought you in. Just a few sips.”

He gently held the bottle out toward her, but the moment the water neared her lips, Carrot’s expression twisted sharply. 

She recoiled as if the bottle were a hot iron, eyes wide, breath hitching in her throat.

“No—no, I don’t want it,” she said abruptly, her voice strained, the words barely above a whisper.

Penguin blinked in surprise. “Huh? You gotta stay hydrated—”

“I said no!!” she hissed, shrinking into the pillow as her trembling fingers dug into the thin blanket as her chest rose and fell in erratic, shallow breaths.

Shachi turned from the window, frowning. “Carrot, c’mon. Just a bit. You’ve got a fever, you need—”

“No!” she cried again, pulling away further, her whole body tensing in a nervous coil. 

Her pupils had dilated faintly now, and her voice carried a note of irrational panic.

The two older boys exchanged glances.

Law stepped forward slowly, his gaze sharp. 

He didn’t say anything yet—but he noted everything.

Hydrophobia.

His fingers clenched silently by his side.

“…Alright,” he said quietly, motioning Penguin to step back. 

“No water right now. Just rest.”

Carrot slowly relaxed, curling onto her side, visibly calmer as the bottle was capped and returned to the table, out of her sight.

But Law’s eyes stayed locked on her. 

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Zoro adjusted the bamboo mat lining the side of the Kendo club’s booth, tapping one corner down with the hilt of a training sword. 

Around him, the rest of his clubmates were hustling to finalize their area behind the gym, banners rolled out, weapon racks arranged for display, and protective gear being sorted out for their upcoming performance.

“Yo, Zoro!”

He turned mid-motion, his brows raising slightly as he spotted the figure striding toward him.

“Kuina?” he said, surprised, lowering the practice blade. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you here. Thought you were taking the college break to get off-campus.”

Kuina walked up with a half-smile, the edge of her sleek black coat fluttering slightly from the breeze.

“Yeah, I was planning to. Festival prep usually means college kids get to ditch early.” She adjusted the strap of the duffel bag on her shoulder. 

“But I figured I’d drop by. See what you losers are up to before the chaos tomorrow.”

Zoro snorted and turned back to tap the mat once more. “Not much.. Just making sure our booth doesn’t fall apart mid-performance.”

“Ran into Usopp on the way in,” she added, stepping up beside him. 

“He told me you’ve been having some mouse issues back here. Didn’t know you were dealing with that too.”

Zoro groaned faintly, straightening his back. 

“Yeah, Little bastards were everywhere the last few days. We tried traps, repellents, even blocked off the storage crates and nothing really worked at first.”

“Still happening?”

“Not really.” Zoro scratched at his temple. “They kinda stopped showing up after yesterday. Weirdly enough.”

Kuina raised a brow. “Huh. You figure out why?”

Zoro shrugged. “Not exactly.. But I’m guessing the gardening club next door had a plant that repelled mice or something.”

Kuina tilted her head slightly, thoughtful. “Weird.”

“Yeah, but I’m not complaining if it means I don’t have to chase them anymore.”

She gave a light chuckle. “Can’t imagine you screaming over mice.”

“I didn’t scream.”

“…Uh-huh.”

He grunted but didn’t argue further, stepping over to adjust a stack of wooden swords.

Kuina glanced toward the edge of the gym building, where the gardening club’s setup peeked faintly into view. 

A few colorful banners, plot boxes, and mesh fences were laid out, half-hiding a strange-looking plant structure she couldn’t quite make out from here.

Kuina's eyes soon drifted to the nearby weapon rack, her gaze settling on a pair of practice bokken resting neatly against the stand. 

“So… when was the last time we actually sparred?” she asked, a sly grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Zoro glanced at her with a faint smirk. “Been a while. You've been dodging me all year?”

She scoffed. “Please, I’ve been busy actually winning tournaments. Unlike someone who peaked in middle school.”

Zoro huffed. “Tch, I’ve gotten stronger since then. I’m not the same kid you used to beat.”

“Oh?” Her grin widened. “Then prove it.”

Zoro didn’t need more convincing. 

He grabbed one of the wooden swords and tossed the other to her, which Kuina caught with ease. 

The two stepped onto the mat at the center of the booth area, clearing a small space. A few of Zoro’s clubmates paused what they were doing to watch, whispering excitedly as the two squared off.

They bowed—more out of old habit than formality—and immediately lunged into a blur of swift strikes and fluid footwork.

Zoro’s blows were powerful and aggressive, while Kuina easily flowed through them with practiced precision, parrying and countering with sharper movements. 

The sound of wood clashing echoed through the clearing.

“You’re definitely stronger,” Kuina admitted mid-duel, blocking a heavy downward slash. 

“But you’re still too open on your left side~”

Zoro growled and twisted his stance, attempting a feint that nearly caught her until she pivoted smoothly and knocked his bokken from his hands in a final, clean strike.

Thud.

Zoro stood there, beaten again by Kuina who was barely winded. She planted her sword on the mat and offered him a smug smile.

“Still the same kid,” she teased.

He narrowed his eyes at her, then gave a reluctant snort of laughter. “You got lucky.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

As they both walked off the mat, one of Zoro’s clubmates approached with two bottled waters in hand. 

“Here,” the student said, tossing one to each of them. “Nice match. Thought Zoro had it for a second.”

“He did,” Kuina replied casually, unscrewing the cap. “Then he didn’t.”

Zoro made a face but drank anyway.

“Oh, by the way,” the clubmate added, “some hospital van came through the campus earlier, Parked over by the highschool building.”

Kuina paused mid-sip. “Hospital van?”

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “That’s weird. They don’t usually come here unless someone got seriously hurt.”

“Maybe a bad accident?” Kuina wondered aloud.

“Could be,” Zoro said, his tone thoughtful. “Wonder who it was for.”

“Guess we’ll hear about it soon,” she said with a shrug.

“Yeah,” Zoro replied, his eyes drifting towards somewhere far.

The kitchens buzzed with activity today, the place was thick with the scent of spices and steam hissed from a pot left too long unattended, and laughter echoed faintly as Sanji’s cooking club scrambled to pack up the last of their ingredients and equipment for tomorrow's big event.

"Oi! Be careful with that!" Sanji barked as a clubmate nearly dropped a crate of perishable produce. "If you bruise those tomatoes, We might just not have enough to serve the crowd tomorrow.”

The student yelped and adjusted their grip, muttering apologies. Sanji clicked his tongue and turned back to the half-packed pantry.

The door creaked open with a slow groan, The once-stocked shelves looked barren now, many emptied by his clubmates.


Cardboard boxes had been pulled apart, labels half-torn and some contents missing. 

Though a strange, almost acidic tang lingered in the warm, still air.

Sanji wrinkled his nose. Something smelled...off.

“Smells like sweat and worry,” he muttered under his breath, “I guess they’re really that worried about their performance for the festival tomorrow.” He continued, waving away the thought.

“Let’s move, people!” Sanji called out, grabbing a cooler box by the side with one hand. “We’ve got the bar station to prep and I’m not dragging this stuff up the hill by myself.”

Several club members grumbled but followed, beginning to load up trays and sealed tubs. They had carts and coolers, nothing too fancy, but just enough to get by.

As Sanji pushed through the kitchen door into the hallway, the box balanced on his shoulder, he nearly collided with someone rounding the corner.

“Whoa!” he managed, stepping back to steady the box. “—Uta-chan?”

The girl blinked in surprise, taking a step back as her long pink-white hair caught the hallway light. 

“Oh, hey, Sanji.”

Sanji's face lit up like the stovetop flame. “If I’d known I’d see you today, I’d have baked a cake just to match your sweetness.”

Uta snorted, gently pushing him aside. “You’re still laying it on thick, huh?”

“Only for you~” he grinned.

She looked him over, eyeing the box on his shoulder. “Busy?”

“Always,” Sanji sighed, nodding toward the small train of students behind him wheeling carts. “We’re transferring our stuff to the bar station by the main stage. Big day tomorrow, y’know?”

“I can imagine,” Uta said, tucking her arms behind her back. “I’ve been running around too, mostly helping with music setup and lighting.”

Sanji adjusted his grip on the box as he nodded. “You’ve seen Luffy then?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.” She tilted her head. “Have you seen him?”

“Not today. Maybe earlier when we were unloading supplies, but that idiot moves like a gust of wind. Always here one second and gone the next.”

Uta laughed under her breath. “Sounds like him. Anyway, can you let him know I’ll be dropping food off at his dorm tonight? He keeps skipping meals or going to the mart to buy that trash.”

Sanji gave a mock salute. “Message delivered, angel.”

“Oh and if he wants to find me, I’ll be hanging around the gardening club’s shed for a bit. I got asked by the club leader to talk about some matters there.”

“Got it.” He hesitated, then added with a sly grin, “You sure you don’t want to stop by my club’s stand instead? My cooking has been known to win hearts.”

Uta rolled her eyes with a smile. “I’ll think about it.”

As she walked off, the hallway returned to its previous buzz. Sanji turned back to his group, still hauling boxes and containers down the hall.

“Let’s go!” he called, motioning them forward. “We’re setting up tonight or I’ll be personally deep-frying anyone who slacks.”

They laughed and moved ahead.

.

Soon enough, Sanji arrived with the rest of his cooking club, a line of students trailing behind him with carts, crates, and tubs of ingredients and utensils. 

He adjusted the strap of the cooler box over his shoulder, then paused as he caught sight of two figures already standing by the tent that was near the stage but far enough to not be disturbed by speakers.

Ichiji stood with his arms crossed, polished and unimpressed as always, eyes hidden behind sharp sunglasses despite the patchy shade.

Luffy, meanwhile, had sunglasses too but he was crouched by a cooler, poking at a list on a clipboard like it might reveal a secret if he squinted hard enough.

Sanji slowed his stride, lifting an eyebrow. “Well, well. Look who decided to play taste inspector.”

Luffy grinned without looking up, mimicked a familiar tough guy voice.  “Hey, ‘curly-brow’. You're late.” 

“You’re early,” Sanji snapped back, smirking. “Weren’t you supposed to be playing mountain-man out back with your wilderness club or whatever?”

Ichiji tilted his head lazily, already bored of the exchange. “He’s ‘filling in’ for Law.”

Sanji snorted. “Filling in? Right. More like using Law’s excuse to sneak in and mooch off free food.”

“I’m doing a serious inspection!” Luffy shot back, standing up with his hands on his hips. “You’ve got a health code to follow!”

“Oh, so now you care about hygiene?” Sanji drawled, stepping past them to unload the first crate. “That’s rich, coming from the creature who eats meat off the floor.”

“In my defense, It was a clean floor!”

Ichiji raised a finger. “Technically, Luffy is authorized to be here. Law gave him temporary clearance, he sent a note to the council chat this morning.”

Sanji sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Law's overworked again, huh?”

Ichiji uncrossed his arms. “He’s been inspecting some other stuff now.”

Sanji clicked his tongue. “Figures.”

Luffy, losing interest in the official talk, began peeking into one of the boxes Sanji’s club had brought. “Oooh! This has dumplings! You’re making dumplings?”

“Don’t touch that,” Sanji barked, slapping his hand away. “You're the 'inspector,' not a taste tester.”

Luffy whined, rubbing his hand. “You could at least let me have one.”

“I’ll let you have one when you and Ichiji clear us. Until then, hands off.”

Sanji turned back toward his club. “Oi! Set those boxes near the portable burner setups. Stack the dry goods away from the cooler side, we’re keeping everything organized by type!”

His clubmates hustled, used to his demanding tone. The setup was sprawling but clean: prep tables under the main tent, coolers in the shaded corners, a chalkboard menu off to the side waiting to be written on. 

There was a flow here and Sanji made sure of it. 

Ichiji watched as everything fell into place. “Impressive,” he said, a hint of genuine approval under his usual monotone. “Out of all the clubs, your setup's probably the most coordinated.”

“Damn right it is,” Sanji replied, wiping his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder. “I don’t let amateurs run my kitchen.”

Luffy circled back toward him, brushing some crumbs off his shirt. “Hey, Sanji. You seen Law today?”

Sanji shook his head. “Not since yesterday. Why?”

Luffy scratched the back of his neck, looking unusually serious. “Like what Ichiji said, Law had to take care of something and inspect something. Didn’t say what, just that it came up quick.”

Ichiji, who had been casually checking his tablet, chimed in without looking up. “Carrot got hospitalized this morning.”

Both Sanji and Luffy froze.

“What?” Sanji said sharply.

Luffy straightened. “Seriously?”

Ichiji gave a short nod. “Law didn’t give much detail. Just that she had a high fever and collapsed somewhere near the dorms. Shachi and Penguin found her.”

Sanji's grip on the crate handle tightened. “Damn. Carrot’s tough, though. That must’ve been one hell of a fever if it took her down.”

Luffy frowned, the usual brightness in his face dimming. “Yeah… I mean, she’s always bouncing around like a rabbit, it doesn’t feel right, her being stuck in a hospital right before the festival.”

“She’s one of the fun ones,” Sanji muttered, quieter but with an obvious sad tone. “She even helped us test flavor combos last month.”

Ichiji looked up now, his face unreadable. “Law’s monitored her closely earlier. Said he’d update us if the hospital contacts him. But as far as we know, it’s just a really bad flu.”

Sanji didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue either. “...Still. She better pull through. It’d suck not having her around tomorrow.”

Luffy gave a slow nod, mouth drawn into a line. “Yeah… It wouldn’t feel right.”

The three of them stood there in a brief silence, the distant sound of hammering and chattering filling the space around them.

Then Sanji cleared his throat, adjusting his sleeves. “Alright, enough standing around. We’ve got food to prep. Let’s make sure when Carrot comes back she’s greeted with something tasty.”

Luffy cracked a grin again, but it was more subdued. “Yeah. Something meaty . ”

He turned toward his club. “You heard em’! Let’s finish setting up. Chop-chop!”

And as they moved, stacking, sorting, prepping ingredients near the portable burners, the mouse from before had long since gone away, satisfied with what its contaminated.

“Oh yeah Luffy, I passed by Uta earlier and she told me she’s dropping off food at your dorm tonight.” Sanji said, almost forgetting.

Luffy’s eyes lightened as he raised his hands in the air like a victory, “Yosh!! Finally, no more mart food!!”

Chapter Text

The Festival Day

—4:32 PM

The hum of the hospital room buzzed like white noise under the ceiling lights. 

Carrot hadn’t moved in hours.

Her pale fingers twitched now and then, clenching the edge of her blanket, but she hadn't spoken since dawn. 

The IV drip clicked rhythmically by her side, a slow, constant reminder that she was barely there.

Caesar Clown leaned against the far wall, flipping through her chart with an exaggerated sigh. 

His thick gloves creaked as he scratched his neck, the plastic clipboard nearly slipping from his hand.

His lab coat was rumpled and his goggles hung loosely around his neck, looking like someone too smart and too dangerous to be trusted near anything fragile (like patients).

“Hmph.. Temp's still up, pupils dilated and she’s not responding to basic stimuli.” He clicked his tongue as he scribbled something with a neon pink pen. 

“Honestly, I told them this should’ve been under quarantine since yesterday. But nooo , just a fever, they said. ‘Just a mild case,’ they said.”

He turned his head slightly to glance at her. 

She was sweating now, her breathing short and hoarse. 

Her lips were slightly parted, teeth gritting from time to time.

Caesar’s brows furrowed. Something about her…was odd.

“…Tch.” He reached down, adjusting the monitors lazily. 

“Could be a reaction to the meds.. Would be nice if someone wrote better notes in her file. Honestly, what kind of half-assed—”

A soft thud interrupted him.

He froze.

Carrot’s hand had jerked, knocking her water bottle off the bedside table.

Then came a sound from her throat. A choked rasp, like something caught between a groan and a growl.

Caesar slowly turned.

Carrot’s eyes were open wide, and they were glassy.

Then her chest suddenly heaved upward in a violent spasm. Her back arched off the bed, the heart monitor began to spike faster, shriller.

“Oh… oh damn,” Caesar muttered, inching back.

Her limbs convulsed. 

One leg kicked the blanket off entirely. 

Her breathing turned erratic, shallow, quick, and then a gasp, it was like she was drowning in air.

“Someone call the nurse- NURSE —!”

Carrot screamed.

Her body jerked upright, The IV tore loose and Blood spattered onto the sheets.

Then, like something out of a nightmare, she lunged forward onto all fours. 

Her nails dug into the tile, Her teeth bared, Her mouth foamed.

Caesar stumbled backward, knocking over a tray of instruments with a loud crash as he threw it at the rabid patient. 

“NURSE!! A PATIENT IS RABID!!!” 

He screamed as he quickly reached for the door, rushing out and leaving it open for start of something new.

— 5:58 PM

The orange light of sunset spilled across the sky, softening the edges of the tall school buildings. 

Strings of paper lanterns lit up one by one, glowing amber against the darkening blue of early evening. 

The school festival was beginning.

Laughter, music, and the clinking of food trays and plastic cups filled the air like confetti. 

Booths had sprung to life, colorful and inviting. 

The scent of grilled food mixed with cotton candy and cold soda. Students in club uniforms called out to passersby, urging them to come play their games or sample their snacks.

At the main stage near the central courtyard, a small crowd had begun to gather. 

Carefully constructed stalls, decorative banners fluttering in the breeze and hand-painted signs proudly bearing the names of clubs.

The Grandline Academy Festival, held only once a year, had officially begun.

Vivi, the head student council president, stepped onto the stage with grace. 

Dressed in the official student council coat, adjusted and tailored perfectly by Pudding’s fashion club. 

With a confident grin, she raised the mic and smiled brightly.

Her voice rang out over the speakers, calm and clear;

“Good evening, everyone!”

The cheers came instantly, students clapping and whistling.

Vivi continued, “Thank you all so much for your effort, creativity, and energy these past few weeks. I know it wasn’t easy, but all our hard work has made this festival possible…” 

“So, on behalf of the student council…” she paused, her eyes scanning the crowd, “I wish you a night full of memories, friendship, and fun!”

The crowd erupted.

fireworks popped up above, signalling the start of the festival, and the sign for booths to begin serving.

Soon enough, the plaza was alive with color and chaos in the best way possible.

Balloons bobbed against the sky, trailing behind elementary students as they darted between booths, wide-eyed and full of childlike wonder. 

Festival banners flapped gently in the breeze overhead, their hand-painted letters glowing under the string lights. 

Paper lanterns danced on their wires as the smell of fried snacks, roasted meat, and sweet drinks wafted through the air like an open invitation to indulge in gluttony.

Koby walked in the middle of a group of younger kids, a clipboard in one hand and a group flag in the other.

"Alright, group C, stay close!" he called over the noise, eyes scanning the crowd carefully. “We’ll be heading to the demonstration booths next, so no wandering!”

A chorus of “yesss, Koby-senpai” echoed behind him, some sarcastic, some sincere.

Trailing behind him were a few lower-ranked council members, each assigned to help escort the younger students through the maze of stalls and stage areas. 

A few of the little ones tugged excitedly on their uniforms, pointing toward a nearby booth where smoke and sparks were rising like magic.

“Is that Usopp-senpai’s club?!”

One exclaimed, leading to a crowd of children to  rush and swarm the cluh front as Koby called out to them.

Usopp stood proudly on a small wooden platform at the heart of his club’s tech zone. 

His Builder's Club had drawn in a crowd larger than anyone expected, but it was mostly thanks to the spectacle he’d prepared.

“Ladies and gentlemen~ behold Builders club’s best machinery yet!!”

With an exaggerated flourish as Yonji and the others pulled open the curtains, Usopp danced and pressed the large red button on the console behind him.

The mechanical contraption of towering pipes, gears, and rotating fans soon shuddered to life. 

It puffed out rings of harmless smoke that changed colors midair, spun a mounted fan that made a whoosh sound with every pass, and finally it launched a series of lightweight glowing orbs that floated above the crowd like fireflies.

“Ooooohhh!” the children gasped, clapping.

“Whoa! It’s like a firework that doesn’t pop!” one of them shouted.

Usopp stood tall, chest puffed, arms crossed. “Just a little something I whipped up with the guys. Imagine what we could do if we had real funding.”

Behind him, his exhausted clubmates groaned in unison.

Not far from the tech zone, the lights dimmed slightly at a temporary stage tucked behind the gym. 

Spectators gathered in tight rows as silhouettes began to appear on a backlit screen.

Zoro and his clubmates stood in stances behind the canvas, their bokkens raised with practiced movements. What followed was a choreographed swordplay set to traditional music— this was a shadow-play display of discipline and storytelling.

The silhouettes clashed with rhythm, their shadows dancing like an old tale in silence. 

The crowd murmured in awe, especially at the younger swordsmen mimicking Zoro’s movements with stunning accuracy.

Behind the stage, one of Zoro’s clubmates whispered, “This is our cleanest run yet.”

Zoro gave a quiet nod. “Let’s end this act nicely.”

The final clash of shadows ended with a respectful bow, and the crowd erupted into applause.

Somewhere nearby, deeper in the food stalls area and game booths near the Highschool building’s entrance, Luffy darted through the crowd, grinning wildly and already sporting a messy hair.

“Luffy, stop running with your mouth full!” Ace yelled from behind, juggling a drink and a steamed bun.

“I’m not running!” Luffy shouted, clearly running. “I’m run-walking!!”

Sabo jogged beside Ace, already biting into a rice skewer. “Let him burn the energy now, He’ll crash early tonight.”

“I heard that!”

“Yeah you were suppose too!” Sabo yelled back. Soon he turned to Ace, “After that booth let’s go visit Uta, alright?”

They passed by booths manned by the drama club performing impromptu comedic skits, a haunted house set up by the horror literature club, and even a dunk tank supervised by the swimming club. 

Laughter, music, and friendly shouting filled the air, blending into a perfect chorus of celebration.

The sun dipped further down the horizon, bathing the school grounds in a golden glow. 

Lamps switched on one by one, casting a soft warmth over the festival paths.

It was a beautiful beginning to a night meant for joy, b ut Ace sighed heavily as he and his brothers rounded a corner of the plaza.

“Great,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “The older college crowd just had to show up now.”

Down the slope from the parking lot gates, a wave of older students in more mature and stylized uniforms began pouring in. 

Their presence immediately shifted the energy with their louder laughs, bigger egos, and flashier entrances. 

Leading the charge with flamboyance was none other than Buggy, arms spread dramatically as though the festival was his stage.

“Oh my god, Buggy-senpai!!” a group of underclassmen squealed, practically flocking around him. He tossed glitter confetti into the air as if he were royalty.

“Now, now, don’t crowd!” Buggy said smugly, striking a pose. “There’s enough of me to go around.”

Luffy chuckled. “I beat him in a fight once.”

Sabo chuckled on his skewer mid-bite while Ace cracked a grin, shaking his head. “That clown still thinks he’s king of everything.”

Luffy threw an arm around both his brothers and whispered, “He cried when I broke his nose.”

A looming shadow fell over their giggling, blotting out the light of the festival lights. The scent of cheap cologne and something faintly sour followed.

“Well, well, Straw Hat,” came a thick, mocking voice.

They turned to see Blackbeard towering over and grinning by his lackeys. His beady eyes locked onto Luffy with a grin of challenge.

Luffy’s smile faded slightly, his easy posture drooping.

Ace stepped in closer without saying a word.

“I heard you’ve been showing off lately,” Blackbeard said, his voice low but loud enough to draw attention. “How about putting your pride on the line at the ring toss booth? Unless you're scared."

Luffy raised an eyebrow, already trying not to let his fists clench. “Why would I waste time beating someone who keeps wanting to challenge me at my best games?”

The tension in the air thickened for a beat.

Sabo raised his hands quickly. “Hey now, it’s a festival. Not a duel, let’s go dunk your heads in something sweet.”

Blackbeard laughed it off with a chuckle and waved Luffy off. “You’ll come around.”

.

Farther away from the growing crowds and rivalries, Perona adjusted her parasol and made her way through the high school building’s entrance.

The cooler air inside the building was a welcome change. 

Hallways were lit with soft string lights and dotted with signs directing students to different themed booths. Laughter and the clink of teacups echoed from the café-style classrooms, each one different as it ranged from elegant fantasy tearooms to haunted maid cafés.

Perona glided past one with a mildly raised brow, ‘Black Butler Inspired Café’ was written in sweeping, gothic letters on a chalkboard. 

A swarm of girls and boys in dark suits and frilly aprons bowed as guests stepped inside.

“Tacky,” she muttered.

But as she passed, she caught sight of herself in the glass and smirked at her own gothic look. “Then again... a little flair never hurts.”

She turned a corner, intent on checking the Activity Club’s booth before it got too crowded, her footsteps echoing down the decorative hallway.

Perona turned at the stairway landing, her boots clicking softly against the polished floor. 

She was just about to descend when a familiar voice echoed faintly from below.

“Careful, Lami, don’t trip!”

A moment later, two figures came into view; Uta, her red-and-white hair tied into a quick side bun, and beside her was Lami, Law’s younger sister clutching a paper bag with stickers plastered all over it. 

Perona blinked, then grinned.

“Oh my—Utaaa!” she squealed, abandoning her usual cool posture as she practically launched herself down a few steps and wrapped her arms around the startled singer.

Uta wobbled slightly from the sudden embrace. “W-Whoa—Perona! I’m glad to see you too, but be careful!”

Perona leaned back, arms still looped loosely around her. “You should’ve told me you were here! I thought you were helping set up the music booth outside?”

“I was,” Uta said, gently straightening her shirt. “But one of the bands forgot their lyric sheets in their homeroom, and I offered to go get it. I figured I could swing by and find Law too while I’m at it.”

Lami tilted her head. “Law’s been missing all day.”

Perona perked up at that, her pink eyes narrowing. “Law? Huh. I haven’t seen him since yesterday... He did check in today apparently, but I dunno where he is.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully, then shrugged. 

“Maybe he’s just hiding away in some dusty closet, scowling at dust germs again.”

Uta laughed. “Sounds about right for that guy.”

Lami hugged the bag tighter. “He’s been worrying about something, Especially since yesterday.”

Perona didn’t miss the change in her tone but decided not to press. 

She tousled Lami’s hair lightly. “Well, if I see him, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks,” Uta said with a warm smile. “You headed anywhere in particular?”

Perona waved vaguely toward the second floor.  "Just making rounds, making sure the club booths upstairs don’t burn the place down, Ya’know, student council duties and all.”

“Well, alright then,” Uta said, gesturing toward the hallway. 

“Have fun patrolling, I hope you’re there for my performance later.”

—6:08 PM

At the far back of the gym building, Law crouched near a rusted drainage pipe tucked near the academy’s brick and steel fence. 

The grass was trampled, and a faint ammonia scent lingered in the air. 

Shachi knelt beside him, shining a small flashlight across the cracks in the pavement and grass. 

Penguin was checking the perimeter, eyes scanning for movement near the shed that belonged to the gardening club. 

Bepo lingered nearby, holding a notepad with scrawled-out notes.

“Droppings,” Law muttered, gloved fingers hovering near a dark smear on the concrete. “Fresh ones. They’re still around.”

“Think it’s related?” Shachi asked, shifting slightly to get a better look.

Law’s jaw tensed. 

“Carrot’s symptoms started yesterday, early evening. fever, light sensitivity and hydrophobia. It's progressing too fast for normal rabies, but the initial trigger still fits… Rodents are the only link we haven’t accounted for.”

He stood, brushing his hands clean on a towel clipped to his belt. 

His expression was sharp, more so than usual. 

“And it’s our fault,” he said quietly. “We knew about the mice days ago.. But the council was overwhelmed with festival prep.”

Penguin appeared at his side, pulling a cloth from his jacket and wiping his hands. 

“We’re figuring it out now, and that counts for something.”

Bepo looked toward the gym, where the muffled sound of drums and laughter echoed from within, he glanced back at Penguin and Shachi, hesitating.

“Are you guys sure you want to help out here?” Bepo asked. “You could be out there, at the booths or checking out the fireworks prep and having fun, You don’t have to stay here digging through old pipes and dirt.”

Shachi gave a little snort. “Come on, Bepo, you know us~ You think we’re gonna let Law-guy go rat hunting alone on festival night?”

Penguin grinned and gave Bepo a thumbs-up. “Besides, the fun stuff can wait, helping out’s more important.”

Law didn’t say anything for a moment. 

He stood there, gaze fixed in the direction of the gardening shed.

“…Thanks,” he muttered.

|

The four continued forward, quiet and focused. 

Just as they rounded the back edge of the shed, Penguin stopped suddenly and knelt near a patch of disturbed soil, eyes narrowing at something glinting faintly in the moonlight.

“Guys… over here.. Looks like something chewed through one of the soil bags.”

Law stepped closer, and as the breeze shifted, something acrid and metallic touched his senses. 

It was faint, but wrong.

His frown deepened, something was off.

Penguin stepped back just as a faint rustling came from beneath a crate near the shed wall.

“There!” he hissed, pointing.

Bepo, quick on his feet, darted to the sound. From behind the crate, a small blur bolted out, it was scraggly and twitching erratically as it scurried in disoriented circles. 

Its movements were jerky, its body unnaturally tense like every muscle was pulled too tight. Its fur was matted in patches, and thin strings of saliva trailed from its mouth.

Without hesitation, Bepo pulled a thick handkerchief from his jacket, lunged, and brought it down gently but firmly over the creature. 

The mouse shrilled , desperate noise that raised the hairs on everyone’s arms.

“Got it!” Bepo said, carefully but tightly wrapping the mouse like a bundle and holding it at arm’s length. 

Even through the layers of fabric, he could feel it twisting violently, trying to bite, gnawing and writhing as if crazed.

Shachi winced. “That thing’s acting like it’s on something.”

Law moved in closer, his brows furrowed as he studied the shaking bundle. 

The mouse let out another guttural screech, then went still for a few seconds, only to suddenly spasm again, violently.

“Hold it tight,” Law instructed. “We’ll sedate it and test it as soon as we’re back at the med bay.”

Bepo nodded, his expression unusually serious. “Law… it doesn’t just look sick. It looks wrong.”

Law didn’t respond immediately. 

His gaze drifted up.

“Let’s go. Fast.”

Law and his group moved quickly but carefully through the edge of the festival grounds, keeping to the less populated paths that curved along the outer stalls and decorative fences. 

Shachi walked slightly ahead, parting the crowd gently when necessary, while Bepo stayed in the back, the bundled, twitching mouse still gripped securely in his arms. 

Penguin kept checking over his shoulder—more for Law’s reaction than the path behind them.

They passed by the outdoor food stand area. 

Law glanced briefly toward one of the busiest stands, eyes narrowing slightly when he saw Sanji at the front.

Sanji stood center stage at his own setup, an apron tied neatly over his button-up shirt, sleeves rolled past his elbows, hair slightly tousled from the heat of the grills. 

His clubmates worked in rhythm around him, taking orders, plating dishes, pouring drinks. 

A line of students, mostly high schoolers and younger college kids, wrapped down the lane, excitedly chattering as they waited.

“Thank you, darling~~ enjoy that curry but be careful! it's hot!” Sanji called as he handed a girl her order with a grin and a wink.

The girl laughed, her friends squealing behind her as they clutched their plates. 

Sanji barely turned before he was already flipping a pan, adding fresh oil, and calling out another name.

His clubmates exchanged amused glances. 

If was probably the most charming they'd ever seen him.

Eventually, Sanji waved a hand, calling out to his sous-chef, “Take over the grill, I’m gonna catch my breath for a sec.”

He stepped back, wiping his brow with the back of his hand and there h e leaned on the side of the stall, exhaling and pulling out a cigarette, though he didn’t light it, just held it thoughtfully between his fingers. 

The warmth of the festival lights shimmered around him, mixing with the golden hue of the setting sun. 

The air buzzed with laughter, chatter, and music from scattered radios and small stages.

His gaze drifted.

Across the crowd, past the bobbing heads of festival-goers, he caught sight of the main stage near the far side of the plaza.  The large red curtains hanging down, drawn closed for now. But there was a few spotlights that were blinking lazily overhead.

But it wasn’t the lights or the stage that drew Sanji’s attention.

He watched as a group of students, none of whom he recognized immediately, pushed carts toward the side entrance. It was all mostly tall decorative stands with leafy vines, wide blooming flower arrangements, and what looked like an odd plant sculpture or two. 

The way they shimmered slightly under the glow, the off-color hue of green… it didn’t look fake. But it didn’t look exactly natural either.

Sanji frowned, tilting his head.

"Must be another band setup," he muttered. “Pretty fancy decor, though.”

He watched a little longer, curious, until one of his clubmates called to him from the grill, snapping him back into focus.

“Sanji! We’re almost outta cabbage—do we pull from the back crate?”

“Yeah, go ahead!” Sanji turned back to the station, slipping the cigarette into his pocket. 

“Keep it crisp. Don’t burn the dishes while I’m not looking.”

He flashed a grin, forgetting the slight unease in his gut.

The grill sizzled beneath Sanji’s spatula as he flipped another batch of skewers, the scent of seared meat and fresh garlic drawing another wave of eager students to his stand. 

His hands moved like clockwork. It was graceful, fast and practiced. It was chaos behind the stand, but Sanji thrived in it.

"Four curry buns, two yakitori sets, and one soba bowl, comin’ up!" he called, sliding dishes into trays as his clubmates handed them over to the waiting customers.

"Chef!" one of them shouted, "We’re burning through the prep.. stock’s low!"

“I know, I know. That’s why I told you amateurs to keep portions exact,” Sanji barked playfully, cracking a smirk. “Don’t make me kick you out of my kitchen.”

He wiped his hands on his apron, glancing to the side where the crowd thinned slightly between two decorative booth walls. 

There, familiar voices called out.

"Sanji~!" came Luffy’s unmistakable drawl, waving his arms dramatically as he shoved his way forward, followed by Zoro, Usopp, and Nami.

Sanji sighed, smirking despite himself.

“Oi, don’t even think about it,” he called over. “The line’s back there.”

Luffy pouted exaggeratedly. “But we know the cook! C’mon, that’s gotta count for a special treatment or something!”

“It doesn’t,” Sanji said firmly, crossing his arms. “You think I’m letting your bottomless pit of a stomach cut ahead of twenty paying customers?”

Nami chuckled, arms folded with an amused tilt to her hips. “He tried the same thing at the takoyaki stand earlier, but it didn’t work either.”

“I almost convinced them,” Luffy grumbled.

“You tried to pay in ‘I O U’ stickers, Luffy,” Usopp deadpanned.

Zoro stood silently, hands in his pockets, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Told you he wouldn’t let you.”

Sanji rolled his eyes with a small laugh. “I figured you all would show up sooner or later, Luckily for you guys, I actually planned ahead.”

He motioned for one of his clubmates to cover the grill and waved his friends toward the side booth curtain.

“Give me a sec, I made something special.”

He ducked behind the curtain, rummaging through a neatly packed cooler under a prep table. 

From it, he pulled a small stack of neatly boxed meals he made earlier. Each one labeled in his neat handwriting.

"One deluxe onigiri set for Zoro, yes , I used extra pickled plum since you whine about everything else.”

The greenhaired teen caught the box with a grin on his face.

“Spicy curry dumplings for Luffy. Luffy don’t eat it all in one bite.” Luffy’s eyes lit up as he took the box from Sanji’s hands.

“Nami-swan~ your seafood pasta, with the amount of chili flakes just the way you like.” Sanji practically bowed over at Nami as he presented her box.

“And for Usopp, deep-fried squid balls with sweet soy glaze. No onions and no mushrooms."  The interaction was casual when Sanji offered the boxes meal to Usopp, his face with a playful and thoughtful smile.

“Man, you’re the best!” Usopp grinned.

“I knew you’d come through!” Luffy cackled, already opening his box.

Nami smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks, Sanji. You really remembered all our preferences?”

“Of course I did!! It’s my job as a gentleman and a chef,” Sanji said smoothly, striking a little pose. “..And also as you guys’ friend.”

Zoro snorted. “You even label them? That’s just overkill.”

“You’re just jealous yours doesn’t have hearts on it,” Sanji muttered, only for Zoro to glare as Luffy laughed with his mouth full.

As they dug into their meals, the festival lights glowed brighter with the coming night, and the sounds of laughter, music, and cheer echoed from every direction. 

The air was thick with scents of roasted meat, sweet glazes, and sizzling spices, while the chatter of students and the occasional burst of applause gave the entire courtyard a warm, celebratory pulse.

Zoro popped a pickled plum into his mouth and looked over at Sanji with a squint. “When did you even have time to make all this?”

Sanji, flipping a skewer behind him for another customer, raised an eyebrow. 

“Yesterday evening I brought some stuff from the supply drop and pantry into my dorm. Prepped everything early this morning before setup.”

Zoro narrowed his eyes slightly. “You stocked food spices in your dorm? That allowed?”

Sanji scoffed. “What Principal’s gonna come crawling through my drawers at six a.m.? I knew Luffy’d sniff his way here eventually. Gotta keep him distracted somehow.”

Luffy, already stuffing his face with the dumplings, looked up with puffed cheeks and gave Sanji a lopsided, satisfied grin. “Mmph! knew you loved me~”

Sanji rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. “Shut it. Eat slower before you choke idiot.”

Usopp snorted while licking soy glaze from his fingers. “Honestly, this tastes like a bribe, what are you trying to keep us from noticing, huh?”

Sanji leaned back against the post of the stall with a towel over his shoulder. 

“Just trying to keep things smooth y’know? Heard from Ichiji that Vivi’s council is making food their centerpiece for this year’s event.

Sanji glanced toward the stage as the soft thrum of the speakers buzzed to life, and the distant murmuring of the crowd hushed. 

A subtle shift in the air, stage lights dimming, and artificial fog beginning to curl around the foot of the platform was signaling a performance.

With a mechanical hum, the stage curtains began to slowly part.

Sanji straightened, as did several of his clubmates and a few students nearby. 

They leaned outward from the food stall area to get a better look. Luffy had already turned around, now standing on tiptoe and shielding his eyes with a hand against the glare.

As the curtain finished pulling back, the stage revealed a stunning display: painted columns arranged like ancient ruins, ivy and bright floral garlands hanging in wide arcs. 

Some of the plants weren’t fake but there were several large potted flora positioned at the corners, with wide leaves and brightly colored blossoms. 

A few vines curled gently around the base of the microphone stand, swaying faintly despite the lack of wind.

Then Uta stepped onto the stage.

The crowd erupted in cheers, clapping and shouting her name. 

She waved with a soft smile, holding the mic loosely in one hand, her other hand brushing her skirt down as she settled in.

“She’s up next?” Usopp blinked. “Nice!”

“Let’s go, Uta!” Luffy hollered, cupping his hands around his mouth. 

Sanji watched the stage intently, noting the graceful way Uta carried herself, she was confident yet calm. 

Her presence alone seemed to brighten the space. His eyes briefly shifted to the background, the plants swaying slightly, a few petals drifting down like confetti.

“She fits the setting,” Sanji commented idly, folding his arms. “Whoever designed that stage knew what they were doing.”

Uta raised her mic. 

The music started, gentle piano notes blooming into a cinematic scene, and her voice soon followed, rich and clear, carrying through the air.

— 6:35 PM

The lights of the chemist lab buzzed faintly, casting a pale glow over the counters cluttered with vials, notebooks, and beakers. 

In the center of the room, the mouse sat in a glass containment box, its small body twitching and jerking erratically.

Law stood with his arms crossed, dark eyes narrowed in thought as he observed the creature. 

It didn’t stop moving. Its tiny limbs scrambled uselessly against the walls, its jaw chomping open and shut. 

Clear, glistening drool spilled from the corners of its mouth, trailing down in thin strands.

“…Definitely rabies,” Law muttered. “But…”

He squatted to get eye-level with the glass and narrowed his gaze. “That saliva is not normal.”

“Yeah,” Shachi muttered, leaning in beside him, face slightly scrunched. “Shouldn’t it be… I dunno, cloudy? Foamy?”

“This stuff’s practically water,” Penguin added, tapping the glass lightly with a pen, causing the mouse to shriek and slam itself against the side. 

Bepo stood near the back, arms folded tightly. “There’s something really wrong with that thing.. You saw how fast it tried to bite through the cloth, it practically just went straight for blood!”

Shachi stood up straight and exhaled through his nose. “Y’know, I could just take the little monster outside and cut its head off.. We could most likely ice it and submit it to the rabies center after the festival’s done.”

Law didn’t respond immediately. He stood slowly, glancing over at the containment gear and the fridge unit in the corner.

“We’ll need more than one sample,” he said finally. 

“This is just one mouse. Nami reported mice, plural . What if this isn’t isolated?”

Bepo’s brow furrowed. “You think… all of them are infected?”

“If they were all exposed to the same source,” Law said, voice low, “then yeah. It’s possible.”

Penguin frowned, tapping a finger against the lab counter. “You think it came from the gardening shed? The kendo club’s hall, or something else?”

Law’s gaze darkened slightly. “I’m not ruling anything out.. Carrot’s symptoms progressed faster than normal rabies.”

There was a tense silence in the lab, only broken by the frantic scratching and snarling of the mouse inside the glass box. “Then we catch more?” Bepo said, his voice quiet but serious. 

Law nodded slowly.

“Right,” he muttered, reaching for his gloves. “We’re not done tonight.”

Law knelt beside the lab cabinet, carefully sliding the containment box with the rabid mouse into a reinforced, lockable drawer near the back of the room.

He shoved a stack of unused lab kits and sterile cloths over the box to obscure it fully before locking the drawer and pocketing the key.

“No one touches that until we decide what to do,” he said firmly.

Shachi gave a small nod. “Hope no one comes in here by accident.”

“They won’t,” Law replied, pulling off his gloves. 

“This room’s way too far from the festival area, let’s move.”

They slipped out of the lab, shutting the door with a soft click . 

The hallway was mostly empty and lights off, save for the faint hum of voices and laughter drifting up from the lower floors. 

As they reached a landing near a wide window overlooking the courtyard stage, Shachi leaned toward the glass. 

“Hey, look!! it’s Uta.”

The stage outside was bathed in neon lights. Uta stood beneath faux-stone arches wound with vines and fake flora, her voice carrying beautifully through the cooling air. 

Puffs of soft smoke curled around the stage, rising from the bases of the decorative plants. 

“Looks awesome,” Penguin grinned. “Those smoke things, are those from the fog machines?”

“Probably,” Bepo murmured, nose twitching as he squinted. “Smells… plant-like.”

Law didn’t bother to glance.

“Focus,” he muttered, then pulling out his buzzing phone form his pocket.

Caesar Clown

the caller id displayed alongside with his number.

Law’s thumb hovered over the ‘decline’ option as the name Caesar Clown flashed repeatedly on his vibrating phone. The clown wasn’t really the best when it comes to relationship terms with Law.

But with a sigh that curled into a groan, he finally accepted the call and lifted it to his ear.

“What?”

The voice on the other end was immediately frantic.

“ Law—Law— you have to listen to me!!”

Law’s brows pinched. “Calm down, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know—I don’t KNOW! ” Caesar hissed through ragged breathing. 

“She— Carrot —SHE’S GONE! She broke out—broke the restraints! She was convulsing and then just—just snapped, Law!”

Law straightened, the weight in his chest rising fast. 

“You’re not making sense. What do you mean, ‘snapped’? Where are you right now?”

“Locked myself in one of the back rooms at the clinic. She—she was crawling—no, no she was sprinting—I didn’t even see where she went after she took someone down! I think—I think it was one of the night shift med aides—”

Behind Caesar’s voice, Law could hear the distant whir of broken machinery and what might’ve been a toppled metal tray crashing against the floor.

“Caesar, focus ,” Law barked. “Is anyone else in the hospital? Who got hurt?”

“I don’t know!!! I can’t—I didn’t see her leave the building—I don’t know where she is!” Caesar’s voice cracked, sliding higher in pitch. 

“LOCK THE GATES, LAW. LOCK THE DAMN ACADEMY GATES BEFORE IT GETS THERE!!”

“What are you—”

CRASH.

A sharp, echoing shatter blasted through the call.

Caesar screamed.

Law’s eyes went wide as the audio filled with garbled chaos. Furniture scraping, a sharp yell, then a sickening series of wet thumps and guttural snarling. 

The phone trembled with the sounds of something breaking… and something tearing .

Then silence.

Law stared at his phone, his face unreadable for a long moment.

Behind him, the music from the stage swelled. 

The crowd outside cheered as Uta’s next song began, the upbeat tempo jarringly at odds with the pit growing in Law’s stomach.

Law dropped the phone from his ear, the screen still lit with the abrupt end of Caesar's call. 

He muttered a sharp curse under his breath, shoving the device into his pocket as he spun around and started moving toward the lab’s door in fast strides.

“Law?” Penguin called, confused as he caught the urgency in his captain’s gait.

“What happened?” Bepo asked, stepping away from the window where Uta’s performance blared with colorful lights and cheering fans.

Law didn’t answer immediately. His fingers were already tapping into the secured student council groupchat.

He didn’t waste time with a message, so he hit call frantically.

The ringing sounded longer than it should’ve.

‘Come on… Pick up…’

Then finally—

“Yo?”

Helmeppo. His voice came through a bit muffled, followed by a faint crunch.

“Helmeppo, where are you right now?” Law snapped, sharper than usual.

There was a pause, and then the sound of chewing halted. “Uhhh… near the main gate, actually, im at one of the food booths.. I’m on break. what’s up?”

“I just got a distress call from Caesar. He’s trapped at the hospital, and he said something happened with Carrot.”

“Wait, what?” Helmeppo’s voice jumped an octave.

“She was sick. Rabid . Probably infected. I need you to immediately notify the guards at the entrance to lock down the gates. Now.”

“Seriously...?” Helmeppo sounded unsure.  “Is this like… a prank? Caesar’s always weird and—”

“ Do it now, Helmeppo!! ” Law barked, his voice rising. 

Helmeppo paused, a little too long for Law’s comfort. But then he let out a strained breath. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll go! Damn, alright—I’m going now!”

The call cut.

Law stopped in the hallway outside the lab, his jaw clenched as he turned to Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo, who had hurried to catch up with him.