Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The Red Hair Pirates, led by Akagami no Shanks, are a prominent figure across all the seas. And you are the infamous strategist and commander of the red force.

The crew members are known to wield no Devil Fruit, relying instead on their own raw physical strength, monstrous Haki, and chaotic energy. You on the other hand use your shrewd brain and your fool proof plan to win a fight.

Fame and power always change a man, and your captain is no exception.

Now that he’s a rising, prominent figure across the seas, it's easy for him to get anything he wants, women included.

As they say, Everything is yours for the taking when you're the most powerful man in the room. 

Whenever you dock at an island to load the ship with necessities, you'll always find him at a tavern with women flocking to him. Dazzling them with his charming smile and making them giggle at every word he says. Predictable.

He does that sometimes to score free drinks, but most of the time he just wants the attention and he gets it effortlessly."

Agree to disagree, but there's no doubt about it, Shanks is a beautiful man. He is a walking magnet, drawing everyone near him, with no exception.

His parted crimson hair, messy like he just rolled out of bed, effortless but adorable. His tan skin bronzed by the sun and peppered with scars like they were a badge of honor. His tall figure and broad shoulders are striking.

But his smile, his smile... It was too perfect. It was out of the world. Whenever a smile comes out of his face, your world just stops. When he smiles, a warm, genuine light reaches all the way to his eyes, crinkling the corners. You consider it lethal for your heart.

Everyone is drawn to his undeniable charm and you were nowhere near safe from it. The only thing was you were off his radar. He never offered you a look of interest. He just never tried with you. He looks at you like you're just someone he didn't need to impress. He smiles at you like how a captain smiles at his crew. Not a single interest from your captain.

It was a sunny day. The sun was bright. The weather is perfect. Everything was going great until you eavesdropped.

Lucky Roux, Yasopp, Beckman, and Shanks were sitting at the big round table near the main deck, playing a card game. You didn't actually mean to eavesdrop. You had just stepped out of your quarters to quench your thirst, walking toward the galley. But as you approached the door, you heard something that instantly piqued your interest.

"What's your type, Captain?" Yasopp asked, a mischievous glint in his eye as he leaned forward at the table.

"What?" Shanks chuckled, the sound rich and easy. "That's a completely random question, Yasopp."

"I mean, you keep flirting with all these women, but haven't you at least fallen for one of them?"

Shanks pretended he didn't hear that, his smile faltering for a split second before he smoothly masked it. "What's my type, you ask?"

"You're avoiding the second question—" Benn Beckman pointed out calmly, taking a slow drag from his cigarette, his sharp eyes tracking the captain's forced casualness.

Shanks completely ignored Beckman's comment.

"Well... I don't know, maybe someone cute," Shanks replied playfully.

"Come on, Captain, give us a real answer!" Lucky Roux barked with a laugh.

"Hahaha, alright, alright. Well, I want a woman with a curvy body. Red lips and big eyes. Gentle and soft-spoken... and it’s a bonus if she’s well-endowed."

"I can't tell if you're being serious, Captain." Yasopp groaned.

"Well, it's up to you what to believe." Shanks grinned, leaning back in his chair with a secretive smirk.

"You're the worst."

Laughter erupted from the table. Then, Beckman cut through the noise, his deep voice dropping like an anchor.

"What about her?"

"Her?" Shanks blinked, momentarily confused, his laugh cutting off mid-breath as the atmosphere shifted.

Lucky Roux and Yasopp exchanged a knowing glance.

"Your strategist. The Commander." Beckman specified, his gaze fixed heavily on Shanks, waiting to see how the captain would answer.

Sudden silence fell over the deck. Lucky and Yasopp waited for his answer with anticipation, but behind the door, you quietly froze.

Your hand paused mid-air, inches from the doorframe. You didn't move a single muscle, completely caught off guard and suddenly too curious to walk away.

Shanks looked serious for a split second, his expression completely blank as if his brain was scrambling to process the imagery. Then, he laughed hysterically, waving a hand off a little too loudly, trying desperately to push the idea away.

"Benn... seriously? She's..." He huffed, shaking his head. "She's fine, I guess."

The words gave you a sharp, quiet pinch of disappointment, a sudden cold drop in your chest.

"Fine? What do you mean by that exactly?" Beckman pushed, his voice laced with a subtle undertone of skepticism. He wasn't letting the captain off the hook that easily.

"It means she's just part of the crew, Benn." Shanks stated plainly, his laughter completely dying down into a tone that was entirely professional, drawing a hard, definitive line.

"Besides, she's way too strict!" Shanks continued, leaning back to break the sudden tension.

"Y'know me, I can't be controlled."

"I agree with the Captain, she seems too scary!" Lucky added, shuddering playfully. The men all nodded their heads in agreement.

"Right?! You really get me, Lucky." Shanks cheered, looking relieved that the heavy atmosphere was gone.

"I'm telling you, Yasopp, she's like a grandma!"

Another wave of roaring laughter filled the main deck. Behind the door, you quietly let your hand drop to your side. All the hope was crushed instantly.

'Why would I even expect anything?'

You weren't hurt by the things he said; in fact, you couldn't even deny them. Every word was true. What actually hurt was realizing that he had never seen you in a special way.

To him, you were just part of the crew.

Just someone working under his command.

Deciding your thirst could wait, you silently turned on your heel and headed back to your quarters before anyone caught you listening.

And that was the day you knew you stood absolutely no chance with your captain.

You had never tried to make a move on him—or perhaps you did, but it was always through small, subtle gestures that were highly unnoticeable.

You were always too careful to ever cross the professional boundaries between you.

But now, it was crystal clear. He was your unreachable captain, and you were only his crew mate. His strategist.

He was only keeping you close because you were useful to his grand ambitions, and he had just made that fact undeniably clear.

He comes back to the ship drunk, As usual. Helping him wasn't an assigned duty but somehow it has become an unwritten task for you. Retrieve your captain from the tavern safely back to the ship.

The sharp, chemical sting of cheap rum hit you the moment you caught his weight. You wrinkled your nose in disgust.

You were trying to look in another direction to avoid the overwhelming smell of alcohol while holding him by his waist.

He is heavily draped on you, walking in zigzag lines as you try your best to support his heavy figure.

"Captain, didn't I tell you not to get so drunk?"

you scolded, keeping your face turned in the opposite direction. Your expression was entirely annoyed as you struggled under his weight.

"Hey..." he chuckled, the sound vibrating deeply against your shoulder.

"My strategist..."

"Don't speak in my direction, your breath stinks of alcohol."

He laughed drunkenly, completely unbothered by your sharp tone.

"You're mean!"

"And you're a drunkard."

When you finally made it back across the deck of the ship, you dragged him into the quiet sanctuary of his quarters.

You unclasped his black cloak first, tossing it onto a nearby chair before he plopped heavily onto his bed. Kneeling down, you unbuckled his sandals and set them aside.

You stepped out to the galley for a brief moment, returning with a fresh glass of water.

"My strategist..." his voice mumbled out from the pillows.

"Go to sleep, Captain," you quieted him, setting the glass on his nightstand.

"You're the best..."

You stopped mid-motion. Your heart began to beat incredibly fast, a sudden, familiar ache blooming in your chest.

"What would I do without you..." Shanks murmured, his voice trailing off into a soft sigh as he immediately drifted into a deep sleep, completely unaware that he had left you standing in the dark, your heart entirely unsettled.

That was the routine, dock, supplies, tavern then go back to the ship drunk and you help him every time.

The tavern isn't just a place for cheap rums and alcohol. It was also a place where beautiful women spend their day or night.

And Shanks, the ill-famed Shanks, never let a day pass without flirting with someone that catches his eyes.

You hate the attention he is getting. It's not because  you want the attention yourself but It's because you have loved him before the fame. You can't help but be angry and jealous.

You've been in love for him for who knows how long and seeing a girl he has never even met before flirts with him? It really angers you. 

You've seen him flirt with the whole population. You don't even know if you're used to it. Maybe you were, but it still hurts

But no one prepared you for this one girl.

This one specific girl that would change the course of your life.

The Red Force docked at a small island for a routine supply run and inventory check.

As the leading commander, you efficiently assigned the crew their respective tasks.

For the weapons negotiation, you specifically delegated the responsibility to the one person who needed the structure.

"Be back in four hours, Shanks. I am serious," you warned, locking eyes with him.

He offered a playful salute, nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, ma'am!"

With that, he departed immediately alongside Yasopp and a few junior crew members. Deep down, you didn't actually expect him to fully obey.

You knew your captain far too well; the odds were high that he would find his way into a local tavern within two hours.

You wouldn't even be surprised if he already knew exactly where it was. The man operated as if he had an internal compass or a magical ability to navigate toward anything containing alcohol.

By late evening, the docks had grown quiet. Every division should have returned by now, especially since you had strictly forbidden anyone from visiting the taverns.

Tonight was meant exclusively for packing, sorting, and restocking everything required for the next leg of your journey.

One by one, the crew members checked in with the supplies you had ordered:

"Lucky Roux with the food provisions—check."

"Hongo with the medical supplies—check."

Scanning the logs, you noticed a glaring absence.

"Yasopp isn't back yet?"

"Yes, Commander!" a junior crewman replied, straightening up nervously.

"What's the reason for the delay?"

"Well... it seems the Captain and some of the junior crew are currently at the tavern."

Your brow furrowed. "What...?"

"I'm sorry, Commander!" the junior crewman stammered quickly. "I reminded them to leave because it would anger you, but the Captain refused to budge."

You had heard more than enough. Turning on your heel, you marched off the ship, your footsteps heavy and echoing against the wooden planks.

Locals and passersby gave you wide berths, looking at your dark expression with genuine concern.

When you arrived at the tavern, the scene unfolded exactly as expected. The establishment was packed to the brim with your crew mates, the atmosphere incredibly loud and rowdy.

But as you pushed the doors open, the final straw wasn't the clinking of mugs or the drunken singing—it was the distinct, high-pitched squealing of local girls crowded around your captain.

Shanks was sitting at the bar stool surrounded by women. It was a common event, a typical catastrophe and you expected this. You're not even surprised. But what you were not expecting was there, on his lap, sits a gorgeous woman.

She was undeniably beautiful, the kind of woman who can capture anyone just by looking at her. Long slick hair, Pale white skin with a pink flush on her soft cheeks. Her lips as red as rose. She was captivating. She had a soft look on here face yet daring eyes with a message behind. Her clothes clinging to her curvy body.

She was the epitome of your captain's type.

Shanks' arm was supporting her waist, his hands were attached to her sides, while her hands snaked on his neck. She was whispering something on his lips and Shanks was watching her like it's his first time seeing a woman. She was laughing at something Shanks had said, though it felt controlled and rehearsed.

The Shanks you knew was just a guy who played with everyone's feelings. He simply said whatever he wanted, effortlessly charming people with his unmistakable, enchanting smile before moving on to the next island.

But this time, it was entirely different. This was not the captain who merely flirted for a night and sailed away the next morning. He was completely captivated.

Looking at him, you realized it was dangerous, not just for your own peace of mind, but for the safety of your captain himself.

He was looking at the woman as if she were a goddess descended from the heavens. His eyes, usually so light and careless, were filled with a profound, terrifying admiration. But seeing the raw devotion in his gaze made her perfection feel like a threat.

Your stomach twisted into a sickening knot. The sight was utterly heartbreaking, too heavy. Turning on your heel, you left the tavern without saying a single word.

You didn't want to stand there for another second, and more than anything, you didn't want to do something stupid.

Your initial plan, the approved plan, was to leave in a week. 5 days for inventory and securing the supplies, and the other half for celebration and for a well-deserved break. It was settled. That was the decision you and your captain had agreed upon.

But it seems that his brain is no longer functioning properly ever since he met that woman. Your stupid fool of a captain had other plans—or a third-party disruption made him change his mind.

“2 weeks. We’re staying for 2 weeks.” Shanks announced casually.

“What?” you replied, a sharp edge of growing annoyance cutting through your tone.

“You heard me, Commander.”

“That is too much, Captain. We explicitly agreed to stay for just a week.”

you countered, your voice dropping into a deadly serious register. You locked eyes with him, looking at him intently.

“Why would you go back on your word?”

“Hey, you need to calm down. Let's just enjoy this island, yeah?” He muffled a short laugh, entirely dismissing the schedule you had painstakingly built.

Most of the crew didn't mind the sudden change at all; in fact, they eagerly rallied behind the captain’s new plan. I mean, who wouldn't want to extend their break, drown themselves in rum, and party for days on end? Absolutely no one.

“You don't just get to decide that on a whim,” you stated flatly.

“I am the captain—”

“Don't use that against me.”

“Okay, okay.” Shanks raised his hands in mock surrender, a smug grin tugging at his lips.

“Fine. Majority wins. Let's put it to a vote.”

He turned to the rowdy crowd. “Raise your hand if you want to leave in a week.”

You snapped your hand up immediately. You scanned the room, your sharp eyes counting.

Only four or five hands crawled up into the air alongside yours.

...

“Okay, now who is in favor of my plan? A two-week stay?” Shanks cheered, suddenly inflating the number even more.

An overwhelming wave of hands shot into the air. You whipped your head around, landing a lethal glare directly on Yasopp and Lucky Roux. The sheer terror of your look hit them instantly, and they dropped their hands back down to their sides as if they'd been burned.

“See? Everyone wants to have fun!” Shanks laughed, throwing his arm out to the room.

“Live a little, Commander. Don't be so grumpy all the time.”

The tavern erupted into roaring laughter at his teasing comment, leaving you standing there alone against the crowd.
______________________________________

The next days were still bearable, you still performed your duties perfectly. The crew doing their parts as well.

But it was on the 5th day that a quagmire arose.

An unwanted friction between you and Shanks. His unprecedented behavior opened a distinct rift between you and him that would lead to consequences you both did not want.

It was around eight at night when the rowdy echoes of the crew announced their return to the Red Force. But as you looked down from the shadows of the upper deck, you realized the noise wasn't just from the men. Your captain had returned, and he wasn't alone.

Beside him stood the woman from the tavern.

Your eyes traveled over them, scanning the pair with a cold, analytical precision that failed to shield your heart.

Your gaze locked onto his hand, resting firmly yet softly against her waist, anchoring her to his side as he guided her across the gangplank.

A sharp, physical ache bloomed in your chest at the view, a sudden pressure that made it hard to breathe.

In all the years you had sailed these seas together, this was the first time Shanks had ever brought a woman onto his ship.

The intrusion didn't end at the deck. The final blow came when Shanks, with a casual wave of his hand, instructed the crew that she would be sleeping in his own quarters.

That night, sleep was an impossibility. You stared at the ceiling of your office, your chest heaving with a quiet, suffocating agony. You desperately tried to force the emotions down, telling yourself it was stupid to waste tears over a man who had clearly made his choice, but the tears wouldn't listen.

They spilled over your temples, hot and unbidden, as the crushing realization settled into the dark room: it was entirely, completely hopeless.

 She was on the ship every single day.

In response, you became a ghost within the wooden walls of the Red Force.

You mastered the art of disappearance, completely vanishing before the bell rang for communal meals.

From breakfast to dinner, your seat at the galley table remained empty.

Yet, because you were a disciplined, fiercely responsible commander, you never let your personal heartbreak compromise your duty. You never skipped a single strategic meeting.

You led them with an icy, flawless professionalism, keeping the ship running even as the world around you shifted.

During those briefings, you quickly noticed that Shanks wasn't as attentive as before. His eyes would wander to the windows, his mind clearly drifting away from supply lines and navigation routes.

Soon enough, his distraction turned into outright abandonment. He began spending entire days off the ship, leaving the crew behind to lose himself in her company.

You never spoke a single word to her. You didn't want to.

To the rest of the crew, your absolute silence might have seemed childish, petty, or cold, but you didn't care. You would gladly wear the label of being childish if it meant protecting the fragile remains of your pride from having to acknowledge her.

What made it burn worse was how effortlessly she won the heart of the Red Force.

Within just a few days, she had charmed the entire deck. She possessed a natural, magnetic attraction—a seamless ability to interact with rough, hardened pirates and make them smile.

Watching them from afar, you couldn't help but see the bitter truth: she and Shanks seemed entirely perfect for each other. It was too easy. Too comfortable. They met each other effortlessly at the halfway point, a natural rhythm that didn't require the years of blood, sweat, and shared battles that you had given him.

Before her arrival, you were the one who used to lounge on the deck, sharing loud jokes and easy laughter with Lucky Roux and Yasopp. Now, from your isolated point, you watched them laughing together with her.

They traded jokes as if they had known each other for a lifetime.

And right there in the center of it all was Shanks. He watched her blend into his world with soft, captivated eyes, falling deeper and more irrevocably in love with her with every passing second.

It was the 8th day of your stay.

You were in your office, executing your duties with your usual meticulous precision. As the ship's navigator and commander, you were always steps ahead in the planning, mapping out courses and calculating variables.

To do that, you needed one specific navigation tool—a prized, invaluable instrument passed down to you from Captain Roger himself.

It was a treasure you guarded with your entire heart.

Then, the realization hit.

You couldn't find it.

Panic seized you instantly. Your heart hammered violently against your ribs like a trapped bird, and the room began to spin. You never placed it anywhere outside this office.

For years, this room had been its sanctuary; no one among the crew ever dared to touch it because they knew exactly how much it meant to you.

Cold sweat drenched your skin, and your chest began heaving in sharp, jagged breaths as the air turned suffocatingly thin.

That tool was the second most important thing in your life. Beyond its flawless utility, it carried an irreplaceable sentimental weight. It was a parting gift from the Pirate King himself.

Driven by a frenzied urgency, you began tearing your office apart, turning everything upside down.

Perfectly stacked ledgers, maps, and documents were swept off the desks, scattering across the floorboards.

You didn't care. All that mattered was the lost artifact. You triple-checked every surface, ripped open every cabinet, and searched the drawers again and again.

Nothing.

The room was left in absolute ruin, completely unrecognizable. Though a crushing sense of dread settled in your gut, you refused to stop.

You threw your weight against the office door. It didn't just swing open; it slammed against the external wooden planks with a thunderous bang that echoed across the deck, nearly cracking the wood.

The violent noise startled the crew instantly. You stepped out into the sunlight pale-faced and frantic, looking as though someone had just died.

You paced the deck with erratic, sharp movements, your chaotic energy immediately making your juniors uneasy.

Some stared in stunned silence, while others, worried sick by your uncharacteristic display, quietly cleared out of your path.

Your face was devoid of color, and you were biting your lips so fiercely that a thin line of blood began to smear across your chin.

Your hands shook uncontrollably. Not knowing what to do with the adrenaline racing through your veins, you dug your fingers deep into your hair, gripping it tightly as if you could force your brain to remember.

The next second, your hands flew to your temples, massaging them harshly, desperately trying to pierce through the mental fog.

Scanning your surroundings, you began tossing every room on the ship. You burst into the galley, where Lucky Roux was prepping food. He snapped his head up, his expression instantly shifting to deep concern at the sight of your distressed state.

"Lucky, it's missing! I don't know where it is!" your voice erupted, high-pitched and frayed. You had completely lost control of your pitch, every syllable laced with raw terror.

"I can't find it... Lucky, I'm scared—"

Lucky dropped what he was doing and rushed to your side, hands raised to stabilize you.

"Okay, calm down, Commander. This isn't like you—"

"Lucky, please, I don't know—"

"CALM DOWN!" Lucky barked, trying to break through your hysteria.

"Don't tell me that !" you shot back, spinning on your heel.

You stormed out of the kitchen, your vision cutting through the ambient noise of the deck.

And then, you saw her.

A slim female figure was leaning carelessly against the ship's railing. Your eyes, sharp and hyper-focused, locked onto the object in her hands.

It was your navigation tool. She was casually swinging it by its cord, playing with it like a worthless toy.

An absolute, blinding rage erupted within you.

You marched toward her, your boots slamming into the deck with booming, heavy steps that threatened to splinter the very floorboards.

The woman felt the sudden, icy drop in the temperature and turned sideways.

The moment her eyes landed on you, absolute panic plastered over her small face.

It was as if she were looking at a monster.

You were fuming, your jaw clenched so tightly the bone strained, your eyes wide and unblinking, and thick veins popping precariously along your temples.

Every step you took felt like death incarnate walking straight toward her.

Before she could even utter a syllable, you lunged forward and shoved her hard. The impactful force sent her crashing against the floorboards, a heavy thud echoing as she shouted in pain.

Without a shred of hesitation, you pinned her down against the hard wood, your hands locking onto her shoulders like iron vices.

She winced, writhing beneath your grip, but her fingers remained instinctively curled around the tool.

"You damned woman," you snarled, your low, lethal voice causing the blood to drain from her face. "Give it to me."

Terrified, she stared up at you as if you were a demon, her eyes wide as teardrops began to spill over her lashes.

Her mouth quivered violently. "Wha—what are you saying?! Let go of me!"

"Give. Me. Back. My. Treasure."

With each punctuated word, you pressed her down even harder against the grounding, forcing a deep grunt of agonizing pain from her throat.

Now weeping openly, her eyes shut tight in terror, she screamed out at the top of her lungs, "Shanks! Help me!"

A few seconds later, the frantic sound of hurried, clumsy, and intensely worried footsteps came sprinting down the deck toward your position.

Shanks skidded to a halt, shocked to his absolute core. He saw you—his reliable, steadfast commander—pinning the weeping woman to the deck.

The sound of her crying awakened a sudden, protective fury within him. He stopped breathing for a fraction of a second, and then his own anger flared, veins bulging at his temples.

Before you could even open your mouth to explain the theft, Shanks lunged forward, using his weight to aggressively push you off of her.

You tumbled backward, landing hard on your torso, your shoulders working quickly to balance you as you skidded across the wood.

A new wave of panic flooded your chest, but this time, it wasn't about the tool. It was because you had never, in your entire life, seen Shanks look at you with such unmitigated hostility.

Your chest heaved in heavy, ragged gasps. Shanks paid you no mind; he immediately dropped to his knees beside the woman, quickly wrapping a protective arm around her trembling frame.

He was worried sick.

"Shanks, it hurts so much..." she sobbed, her voice shaking as she clung to him.

Her tears sent the captain completely over the edge. He snapped his head toward you, his eyes burning with rage.

"What have you done?!" he roared, his voice echoing across the entire sea.

You froze, paralyzed by the weight of his fury. You looked at the girl, then back at Shanks, and a bitter, hollow realization settled deep in your chest.

He didn't choose you.

Silently, you stood up, your hands shaking as you brushed the dirt and splinters off your clothes.

Shanks rose to his feet as well, his arm remaining firmly locked around the woman’s shoulders, grounding her against his side.

"What is seriously wrong with you?!" he demanded.

You ignored his question entirely. Your focus had narrowed back down to the tool clutched tightly in the girl's trembling hand.

Shanks noticed your gaze stalling, and his eyes followed yours down to the artifact.

In an instant, the puzzle pieces clicked in his head. A slight calm washed over his features as the initial shock faded, replaced by the realization of what had triggered the attack.

Slowly, gently, he reached down and took the tool from her shaking fingers.

You thought that would be the end of it—that he would simply hand it back. You were wrong.

"Is it because of this?"

Shanks asked, lifting the tool between you, his tone suddenly laced with disappointment.

"That's why you're acting like this?"

"I have no time to argue with you." you replied coldly, extending your hand.

"Answer me."

"No."

"Okay." Shanks said, his expression hardening as he pulled it back. "Then you're not getting this back."

Your heart stopped.

"What?"

"Give it back, Shanks. I am warning you."

"And I am warning you to stop this unreasonable behavior!" Shanks shot back.

"Unreasonable...?" you echoed, a sharp, bitter laugh threatening to tear from your throat.

Unreasonable?! That word shattered the last of your restraint.

"What you just did was entirely unacceptable!" Shanks thundered, stepping forward.

"You almost seriously injured her over a stupid tool!"

"Stupid tool?!" you bellowed, the disrespect to Roger's memory causing your vision to go red. "What the hell are you talking about?!"

"Are you honestly willing to trade a person's life for an object? Are you out of your mind?!"

"You know damn well, Shanks, it’s not for some stupid reason—"

"It is! Look at yourself! You are acting like a savage!"

"That object is the most important treasure on this ship, and you know it!" you screamed back, your voice cracking under the emotional weight.

Shanks set his jaw, his voice dropping into a stern, unyielding command.

"Apologize to her. Please."

"NO."

"Alright," Shanks said, his tone turning dangerously flat. "If you don't want to, then you can't have this back."

"What—?!"

"You heard me—"

Driven by pure desperation, you lunged at him, your fingers clawing through the air. "GIVE. IT. BACK!"

"What is wrong with you?!" Shanks yelled, instinctively raising his arm high above his head, lifting the tool completely out of your reach.

"Give it back, damn it!" You threw yourself forward, rising onto your tiptoes, straining every muscle in your body to reach the cord.

As Shanks felt your fingers brushing against his wrist, he clumsily jerked his hand away to keep it from your grasp. The sudden, forceful movement was too abrupt. The slick cord slipped through his fingers.

Time seemed to slow down. The tool didn't drop to the deck. Instead, it sailed clean over the ship's defense, flying out into the open air toward the ocean.

Your heart dropped into a bottomless, icy void. Before your brain could even process the survival mechanics of what you were doing, you violently shoved both of them out of your way.

You bolted toward the railing and, without a single second of hesitation, doved straight over the edge.

No thought of the depth, no sense of self-preservation, just a straight dive into the freezing, dark waters of the sea.

Shanks’ eyes grew wide with horror. A wave of sheer panic flooded his entire system, erasing his anger in an instant.

"NO!" he screamed.

Within seconds, he threw himself over the railing, diving into the ocean right after you.

Under the surface, the cold water shocked your system, but you scrambled blindly through the currents.

Shanks’ strong arms suddenly wrapped around you from behind, breaking your momentum as he forcefully pulled you up toward the surface.

The moment your heads broke the water, you began violently thrashing against him.

"Let me go, damn it! Let me go!" you screamed, coughing up saltwater.

Realizing you wouldn't calm down, Shanks released his grip and dove back under, his eyes scanning the murky depths for the glint of the metal.

You didn't just wait for him; you submerged right alongside him, kicking frantically.

Fortunately, the ship was anchored in a shallower part of the reef.

Within a few agonizing minutes, Shanks’ hand wrapped around the familiar frame of the tool near the seabed.

The moment you saw it secured in his hand, you swam toward him with every ounce of strength you had left.

Your boots scraped against the sandy bottom of the shallows as you reached him, and you aggressively snatched the tool from his grasp.

You quickly secured it, wrapping the long lace around your hand in a tight, twisted, unyielding knot. Only then did you look up at him.

Shanks was standing in the chest-high water, panting, his eyes completely filled with a crushing, heavy guilt.

Looking at you soaking wet, holding the artifact like a lifeline, his actions had finally opened his eyes. He remembered. He remembered exactly what that tool was, who it came from, and the profound weight it carried.

He opened his mouth, staring at you with an expression pleading for forgiveness.

But instead of offering a word of thanks or acknowledging the remorse in his eyes, you looked right through him.

Your expression was an icy, dead mask. Moving forward, you deliberately slammed your shoulder into his as you pushed past him, wading through the freezing waves alone to get away from him and back to the ship.

That night, Shanks decided it was best for the two of you to talk. He didn't want to sleep or rather, he couldn't sleep without dealing with what had just happened.

He knew he was wrong. It took a lot for him to admit that to himself, but that tool was truly important to him as well. 

As expected, you were locked up inside your room. It took a great deal of pacing outside your door and swallowing his pride just to try and speak with you. With every single step he took, his pride felt more bruised.

After a few moments of hesitation, he knocked on your door.

No answer.

Then he knocked a second, third, and fourth time.

"Hey..."

He knocked for a fifth time. Still, there was no response. He knew you were still awake; you always were.

At this hour of the night, you would usually be writing reports and organizing inventories.

Because he knew you were up, it was glaringly obvious that you were intentionally ignoring him.

That realization immediately sparked his anger. He knocked harder this time, a loud, heavy thud against the wood.

"If you don't get out of your room right now, then we won't ever talk anymore!" he threatened.

He waited impatiently for about a minute. When there was still no sign of your presence behind the closed door, he refused to wait any longer.

"Fine. If you don't want to talk, then I'll do the same."

The two days that followed were filled with absolute silence. Shutting everyone out and completely ignoring Shanks was your ultimate goal.

The Red Force became so quiet; it felt like a ghost ship.

The crew grew incredibly tense whenever the two of you shared the same space. It was odd. Seeing the two of you refuse to speak to each other used to be impossible, but this time, it was a harsh reality.

The Red Force always held a serious meeting whenever departure drew near. This particular meeting only involved the senior crew and the captain. It was their eleventh day on the island.

You were the earliest to enter the room, followed by the first mate, and then the rest of the senior crew. Finally, the captain arrived.

Thankfully, he wasn't late, or else you would have been fuming with anger by now.

There was a massive wall between you and Shanks, and everyone in the room noticed it. The crew was being entirely too cautious

about everything they said and did. The atmosphere in the room was undeniably heavy.

You never looked at him, and he never looked at you. You had even positioned yourself as far away from him as possible, sitting at the exact opposite end of the table.

And how could they not notice? The bitter arguments from the days before were glaring proof that something was deeply wrong.

Furthermore, during every meeting before visiting this island, you used to sit right beside your captain. Now, it felt as though something would explode if the distance between you two closed even a fraction.

No one said a word about it; they just pretended everything was normal. They were terrified that even a lighthearted joke might break the fragile peace, so everyone decided it was time to be strictly professional today.

It was highly uncommon for the Red Force crew to be this quiet.

Shanks delivered his opening statements to officially start the meeting. Everyone listened intently. Everything was going smoothly.

"Commander, it is time for you to speak," Benn Beckman noted.

You nodded. While speaking, you made sure your eyes never drifted toward the captain.

"On the seventeenth day, there is a high chance a Marine fleet will be patrolling the coast. Therefore, on the thirteenth, we will leave exactly at dawn. This will grant us enough time to properly prepare ourselves and avoid any trouble in case they decide to initiate their patrols earlier."

"Uh, Commander, isn't that a bit too early? I mean, we could..." a senior crew member commented skeptically.

He was clearly hesitant, terrified that you might react poorly to the pushback. A few other members nodded in agreement with him.

You nodded your head, acknowledging his concern calmly. "All I want is caution and to avoid unnecessary trouble as much as possible. Are there any objections?"

"Well, I just think we could finish our preparations in a single day, and then stay for another two days just to rest and give the crew a break from the hard work.”

A senior crew commented. Though his voice sounded scared.

"Three more days? I don't think so. We are risking ourselves from the dangers of the marine."

Then Shanks butted in. 

"Relax, Strategy Officer." Shanks suddenly scoffed, his voice carrying a careless, mocking cadence that cut straight through the quiet room.

"The New World isn't going anywhere. You're completely suffocating the atmosphere with all these damn metrics."

He leaned back, entirely unbothered.

It turned out Shanks had completely overseen and neglected the inventory checks, causing a major delay for the supplies that were supposed to be loaded days ago all because he had been completely caught up with that new woman.

Because of his distraction, the ship's restocking was going to be delayed even further.

Shanks continued carelessly,

 "We're going to stay here a little longer."

"Excuse me?" you whispered, your voice dropping.

"We'll stay for five more days."

"Five?" You glared across the table. "Are you out of your mind? Captain, we are supposed to leave in two days. That is our grace period."

"It's her birthday in the next three days."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I promised her that I would take her to the festival for her birthday—"

You slammed your hands down on the table hard. A loud, echoing bang shocked everyone in the room.

"Oh, I see. So it's still about her... What the hell is your problem?!"

"What..? Commander I'm pretty clear I am the decision maker here."

"Well if you're a decision maker then you are A failed one, You damn love sick fool! "

Shanks froze. 

"What? This is clearly about something else.  what is your problem?" Shanks snapped back, matching your intensity. 

"You've been shutting everyone down! Ignoring the crew and all!" He continued.

"And you are acting like a fool who's been blinded by a girl off the streets!"

"What did you just say?" Shanks' voice turned dangerously low.

"You heard me, Shanks! That woman is from the streets. Ever since she entered our lives, everything has gotten worse!"

"Don't you dare speak of her like that—"

"And you—I don't even know who you are anymore!" you screamed, completely losing your grip on your restraint.

"You're acting like an animal that's been poisoned. You're being pathetic!"

"Hey, Commander, don't—" someone tried to interject, reaching out a hand to de-escalate the situation.

"No!" you snapped, refusing to be interrupted. "This is the perfect time to make him see his own stupidity!"

Shanks sneered, his eyes flashing with a cruel defense mechanism.

"Is it because you have never received love? Is that why you're acting so bitter and stingy?"

Your breath hitched. "You don't know what you are saying, Shanks!"

"Oh, I know exactly what I'm saying." he shot back, leaning over the table.

"It's because she gets all the attention, right? It's because everything is going well for her. What are you even trying to imply? It's not her fault that the crew loves her. You are acting like this because you're jealous of her, when in reality, you were the one shutting everyone down in the first place! You've been ignoring the crew, so don't blame her for the misery you caused yourself. You expect us to walk on eggshells because of you? No! Not everything goes your way. You've been shutting out the crew with your bossy, arrogant attitude!"

"Captain, you should stop!" Beckman cut in firmly, recognizing how deep the blades were cutting.

You were deeply hurt. The accusation pierced straight through your heart because a small, insecure part of you feared he was right.

But your pride refused to let you back down now.

"This isn't about me! It's about you and that damned woman!" you shouted back, tears of anger stinging your eyes.

"It seems only a few of us on this ship haven't been completely consumed by stupidity!"

"What are you trying to say?" Shanks growled.

"Did someone eat your brain? Wow. So not only did she steal my tools, she also stole your mind! That is truly impressive of her."

"I swear, if you say one more word about her, I'll—"

"What? What will you do, Captain?" you challenged, crossing your arms.

He took a step back and sighed heavily. Pressing the bridge of his  nose to regulate his anger. Because if he doesn't stop, he might say something he'll regret. 

"Let's stop this, Commander." Shanks suddenly muttered, his voice cracking slightly as the rage began to drain into something heavier. "I don't want to... I can't do this anymore..."

"Now you want to stop?" You let out a bitter, mocking laugh.

"You know what? You don't even deserve to be called a captain! You are leading your crew straight into danger. You are being a total burden!"

"Both of you, stop it right now!" Beckman commanded, his voice booming with absolute fury.

But Shanks was completely unhinged now, pushed entirely over the edge.

"You think you run this crew?!" he roared at you.

"You think you’re irreplaceable just because you write in a few notebooks?! You're nothing but a glorified accountant who takes the joy out of everything! You're boring and you're suffocating!

“And you are miserable! I'm sick of looking at your miserable face! You are disgusting!" You roared. 

"Hey! Both of you, shut up!" Benn roared, physically stepping between the two of you, while Yasopp and Lucky Roux rushed forward to hold Shanks back by his shoulders.

"Commander, step back!" Yasopp yelled, trying to force some distance between you.

But neither of you had been willing to back down.

The argument had gone completely off the rails, fueled by a year of unspoken heartbreak on your side and defensive, wounded pride on his.

You had been screaming over each other, hurling insults that cut straight to the bone, finally releasing all the toxic tension that had built up between you.

"You ungrateful bastard!" you choked out, your voice trembling with pure rage. "You are a fool, Shanks. A miserable fool!"

"Then if you think I'm a fool and you don't like the way I run my crew, then you should just leave!" Shanks bellowed.

You froze, standing perfectly still.

The fiery anger in your eyes instantly died, replaced by a cold, hollow vacuum. Your face went completely pale. The words hit your chest and completely shattered whatever small, foolish hope you had left.

He had said it, and  it was shouted in front of the entire senior crew.

You didn't scream. You didn't cry. You just became entirely, terrifyingly quiet.

Slowly, you stood up straight. You looked at Shanks, whose chest was still heaving, his face still flushed with anger.

A tiny flicker of immediate, horrific regret was already starting to show in his eyes as the finality of his words settled in the room.

But his stubborn pride kept him from taking it back. He didn't say sorry.

And neither did you.

Your anger had completely died out, replaced by a numbing shock. You truly hadn't expected him to say that.

Your captain, the person you loved more than anyone had just told you to leave.

You nodded slowly.

"Fine.”

You walked out from the room far too calm like nothing happened. The crew moved, not blocking your way.

They won't dare. 

And that was the day you and Shanks tore apart. 

Everyone thought that you wouldn't take it seriously because it had only come out because of anger, that the anger would just pass and everything would be okay the next day.

A problematic side of you? You take everything seriously. Every little thing he said.

You didn't come out of your room. You didn't eat dinner. Lucky Roux left food outside your door, but you didn't touch it.

They didn't know you were already packing and were ready to leave tomorrow.

The next day, the crew was quiet. The Red Force was far too quiet. It was unusual.

It was late morning when the door to your quarters opened. You stepped out with bags draped over both of your shoulders.

You didn't care if someone saw you. It was much better, actually. They would know that you take your Captain's words very seriously.

Most of the crew were gathered on the main deck, busy.

Thankfully, your captain wasn't there.

The first one who noticed you was a junior crew member.

"Commander?" he looked at you, confused.

When the others heard that, they all snapped their heads in the direction of your room. And they saw you.

Your face was unreadable and serious.

"Oi, you finally came out! Let's go eat now!" Lucky shouted.

He thought that you were finally okay, which was why you had come out.

Then he saw the bags.

The large piece of meat dropped from his hand onto the floor, completely forgotten.

Yasopp came forward.

"Lucky! What is wrong with you—?"

Yasopp was cut off from his words when he saw those bags on your shoulders.

They froze, their eyes staring wide. Their reaction made the other crew members curious.

One by one, they checked, and all they saw was you walking towards the ship's plank with bags.

That could only mean one thing. You were leaving.

"Oi! Why—what are you doing—?!" Yasopp shouted, his voice laced with concern and sounding scared. He jumped from the upper deck down to your level in seconds.

You continued walking. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Y-You're just throwing stuff away, right?"

"I'm leaving."

"No, you're not—"

"I said I am leaving, Yasopp."

"You're kidding!"

Lucky jumped down from the deck.

Both of them were not closing the distance. They were afraid. Their hands were shaking, not knowing if they were supposed to stop you or let you go.

Then Beckman followed.

"Calm down, Commander. This isn't the right decision right now."

You looked him straight in the eyes and took a deep breath.

"Oh, it definitely is, Benn. Captain's orders, is it not?"

...

"You know that he didn't mean it," Beckman said, his voice softer this time, as if it was going to change your mind.

You didn't care. You stopped walking and took a deep breath.

"Benn, you know what I feel, right? If you do, do not stop me."

Beckman knew. He knew everything. He stopped. He took his cigarettes out and lit one.

"Then I wish you all the best. But know that we want you here, always."

Your heart clenched. You almost couldn't breathe when he said those words.

A quick flash of memories appeared in your mind. The memories of your happy moments with the crew, with the Red Force.

Truly, you respected Beckman with all your hear.

You nodded and muttered a thank you.

You started to walk again.

No one tried to stop you this time.

They knew, and they understood. So even if they didn't want to, they couldn't do anything but just watch you leave.

Then Shanks appeared, coming up from the plank. It seemed that he had just come back from the tavern.

The sight he saw there was something that would kill him.

You were walking towards the exit.

When you saw him, you froze. A sudden wave of anger rushed up. You felt your body tense as the bad memories suddenly flooded back—all the hurt, all those hurtful words, the pain.

When Shanks saw you with your bags, he wasn't just shocked; he felt a physical shiver. His body froze, his eyes wide in utter shock. He turned pale, as if he had seen a ghost.

"Y/N...?" It could barely be heard. His voice had become incredibly weak.

You put on a façade. Your face was ice-cold and unbothered, but what you were feeling was the exact opposite.

You cared too much, so much that your heart was bleeding.

You cared too much, and that was why you were hurting and dying inside.

Shanks breathed, stepping forward, the stubborn pride evaporating from his face in a fraction of a second, replaced by pure, blinding guilt.

"Hey, wait. Stop. What are you doing?"

You didn't answer. He knew what you were doing.

"I... I didn't mean it yesterday. I was just angry."

You didn't look at him. You just kept walking toward the gangplank.

"I said stop!"

Desperate and panicking, Shanks lunged forward and snatched the heavy duffel bag right off your shoulder.

"You're not leaving! I won't let you!"

In a frantic, clumsy display of authority, Shanks hauled your belongings into his own captain’s quarters, threw them inside, and slammed the door, locking it tight with his key.

He stuffed the key deep into his pocket, turning back to you with a breathless, desperate look.

"There. Your stuff is locked in my room. You can't leave without it."

You stopped. You looked at his locked door, and then you slowly turned your eyes to him. The sheer emptiness in your gaze made Shanks flinch.

You let out a deep sigh. "Keep it," you said flatly. "I don't need it."

You turned right back around and walked toward the edge of the ship.

"No—wait!"

Driven by absolute panic, Shanks didn't care about his dignity anymore.

He rushed from behind, bent down, and scooped you right up off your feet, slinging you over his shoulder.

He turned on his heel, marching fiercely back toward the center of the deck, determined to force you to stay.

"Put me down, Shanks!" You finally exploded, your voice echoing across the harbor.

You began violently thrashing against his back, hammering your fists into his shoulder blades and pushing against his spine with all your strength.

"Let me go! Don't you dare touch me!"

"No! I'm not letting you walk away over a stupid fight!"

Shanks yelled back, his voice cracking with an emotion the crew had never heard from him before. He was gripping you tightly, his knuckles white.

"We're a team! You've been here since Roger! You can't just abandon me!"

"You told me to leave!" you screamed, shoving his head away from you, your voice raw with a year's worth of suppressed, suffocating heartbreak.

"You told me! And I am doing exactly what you wanted, Captain. Now put me down before I make you!"

You channeled your fighting strength into a sharp, brutal shove right against his neck.

Shanks stumbled back, the force of your rejection finally breaking his grip.

He dropped your feet back to the deck, and you immediately scrambled back, creating distance.

Your chest was heaving, your eyes wild and filled with a cold detachment that terrified him to his core.

Shanks stood there, completely exposed in front of his entire crew.

His hands were trembling.

He took a shaky step toward you, his eyes wide and pleading, his voice dropping into something that sounded dangerously close to begging.

"Y/N... please. Don't do this. I need you. The ship... the crew... I can't do this without you."

I need you. It was the closest he had ever come to admitting how much you meant to him, but it was still about the ship. It was still about your utility to him, not your heart.

You looked at him one last time. You adjusted your coat, your fingers brushing against the brass of the tool in your pocket—the only piece of your past you actually needed.

"Goodbye, Shanks." you whispered.

You turned around, walked down the gangplank with steady, unyielding steps, and stepped onto the island dock.

Shanks took a step to follow you, but Benn Beckman shifted his weight, silently stepping into his path, blocking him with a heavy, warning look that said, 'You've done enough.'

But Shanks didn't stop. He ran past to grab your arm. And when he did, you yanked your arm back and kicked him, sending him crashing down onto the hard ground.

"If you dare to follow me, I will kill you and then I'll kill myself. I take my words very seriously. You know me, Shanks."

You glared down at him. He felt small.

He didn't even try to stand up. He just sat there on the ground, looking completely defeated.

He didn't care if you killed him—if that was the only way to get you back, he would have even helped you do it. But when you said you would kill yourself, he couldn't do a thing.

And when you knew he wouldn't follow you anymore, you walked away.

Your silhouette faded as you kept walking, completely disappearing from view.

All he could do was shed tears and drown in his own crushing guilt.

The sea has its own way of corrupting a person. Not everything it gives is beneficial.

Sometimes, the tides give you the world, just so they can watch you drown in it.

It gave him power, it gave him wealth, and it gave him an empire on the waves.

But in return, it took the one thing he could never buy back: his anchor.