Chapter Text
Sengoku moved away from the headless corpse of the former Celestial Dragon, Donquixote Homing. He took a deep breath and emerged from the dense tangle of buildings into an open area.
Was he… a member of the World Nobility? No, not anymore. Was this justice, or merely revenge? In the face of this escalating brutality, his faith in humanity was dwindling with each passing day.
Faint sounds of sobbing snapped him back to reality.
He scanned the surroundings. He froze in horror when he noticed a small child half-hidden behind a dumpster, watching the scene. Sengoku reached out his hand to lead the child away. The child curled further into himself, and his sobs turned into a muffled scream.
He stopped. He dropped to his knees, lowering himself to the child's level. He said nothing. He simply waited. Then, he slowly reached out and stroked the child's messy, dirt-caked hair.
"Are you alright?" he asked. There was an uncharacteristic softness in his voice. But the child was looking away.
"Admiral." One of the Marines was approaching with a report in hand.
The child’s shoulders tensed instantly.
"Keep your distance," Sengoku said in a low voice. Then, looking at the Marine, he added: "Speak."
The Marine looked at the child for a moment, then went back to the report. "The identity of the body has been confirmed, sir. Preparations have begun to transport him to Marineford for an autopsy."
The child was startled as the ominous sound of the coffin lid being opened echoed through the heavy air. "What?" The child froze completely. He didn't cry. He didn't move.
The coffin was being lifted. Two Marines carried it between them, unhurried, indifferent.
"WHERE ARE THEY TAKING MY FATHER?!"
Seeing how the child trembled, Sengoku took him into his arms without a second thought.
He turned to the Marine. "Turn the scene over to local authorities and keep everyone away."
The child wept, shivered, and beat his small fists against Sengoku’s chest. Sengoku said nothing, he just held him.
When they entered the sickbay, the child who had been struggling to get away moments before was now clinging tightly to Sengoku. He gently stroked the child’s back as the child buried his face in his shoulder.
"This is just routine procedure," Sengoku said quietly. "We need to make sure you’re alright. It might sting a little, but it won’t take long. "I'll be right here."
The doctor approached silently as he pulled on his gloves. "First I need to check if your head was hit," he said in a soft voice, but the child flinched. When the doctor reached for his head, the child panicked and clutched Sengoku even tighter.
Sengoku stroked the child’s hair. "Breathe, little one. Just breathe," he murmured, then gently turned him on his lap.
The first time the doctor’s cold gloves touched the child’s face, he trembled. After finishing the examination, the doctor paused. "I can only do a basic check for now. You absolutely need to see a proper doctor at Marineford," he said. He hesitated a moment. "Can you take off your shirt?"
As Sengoku carefully pulled off the torn shirt, hiccuping sobs echoed through the room. When the garment slipped free, even the doctor’s hand froze.
The child’s back was a map of hatred. It was far more pain for such a small body to carry than anyone could endure. Sengoku’s jaw tightened.
While the doctor worked, the child kept his face pressed into Sengoku’s shoulder. His small hands clutched the hem of Sengoku’s uniform and his shoulders shook as he tried not to cry out. Every time the antiseptic‑drenched cotton touched a wound, his body flinched. Each wave of pain only made him cling harder.
By the time the stitches were finished and the bandages were being prepared, the child still hadn’t spoken. He simply leaned against Sengoku’s chest, shivering, and laid his head there.
When they moved into the galley, T‑Bone was there.
"Admiral," he said with a formal salute, then turned back to the stove.
Sengoku guided the child onto a chair and sat across from him. The child pressed his hands against his stomach. "What do you like to eat?" Sengoku asked.
A brief silence. Then, quietly: "Cabbage… and lettuce… and umeboshi…"
T‑Bone joined them at the table, setting down a bowl of vegetable soup. Sengoku looked at the two of them for a moment, then turned to T‑Bone. "Could you bring us some senbei?"
T‑Bone took the plate from the refrigerator and set it on the table. Sengoku waited for the child to reach first.
T-Bone handed the tray to the child. "Would you like some soup?"
The child grimaced when he saw the bread in the tray.
When the child picked one up and began nibbling slowly, Sengoku finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He reached for one himself—but then noticed silent tears slipping down the child’s cheeks. The child wasn’t crying out loud, nor was he trying to stop. He was just eating and crying at the same time.
Sengoku set his senbei back on the plate, stood, and turned to T‑Bone. "Thank you," he said softly. When the child finished eating, he lifted him into his arms.
When they reached the cabin quarters, Sengoku pulled a pajama shirtfrom his locker and shook it out. While the child was getting dressed, he turned around, buttoned his shirt, then knelt down next to him and folded the arm of the pajamas.
"My office is right next to the captain’s quarters," he said. "If anything happens, I’ll be there."
He took the child in his arms and carefully laid him on the bed. As he closed the door, he could hear the silent sobs.
It was past midnight when Sengoku finally managed to lift his head from his papers. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, listening to the gentle rocking of the waves outside his cabin. Then he heard the door open slowly. No one came in. He didn’t open his eyes.
After a while, small footsteps approached. He heard the creak of one of the chairs in his office. Then silence. He waited, listening until the breathing grew slower, steadier.
Only then did he get up. He carried little Rosinante, surprised by how little space the child took up, and brought him back to his cabin. He laid him in bed, pulled the blanket over him, and paused in the doorway for a moment.
Then he turned back, switched off the bedside lamp, and fell asleep in the chair beside the bed.