Chapter Text
The sea was still.
Not dead, not lifeless—just breathing slow and easy beneath the morning sun. The kind of gentle rhythm that seemed to hum through the world when no one was watching. The tide lapped in soft patterns against the hull of a small, single-sail boat, rocking it like a lullaby. The waves didn’t crash. They nudged, curled, and slid past like silk drawn over the back of a sleeping hand.
Luffy lay flat on his back in the center of the boat, limbs splayed out like a starfish in the sun. His chest rose and fell in steady intervals. One arm hung loosely over the side, fingers twitching now and again as if they dreamed along with him. His straw hat was pulled low over his face, shadowing everything except the slow curve of a ridiculous, snore-lined smile.
He had been sailing for hours. Technically.
Really, he had drifted for most of the morning.
After all the calls—Nami, Zoro, Usopp, Sanji, the rest of the crew—his heart had been so full of noise and motion that sleep had snuck up on him like a warm tide. There wasn’t anything that needed doing. Not yet. His crew was coming. His course was set. And if something important happened, well… it’d probably wake him up.
That assumption was, in fact, correct.
It started with a shift in the air.
The warmth of the sun dimmed slightly—not gone, but dulled, like a hand had drawn a curtain across the sky. A shadow rolled across the deck of his little boat, blotting out the warm golden streaks and replacing them with a strange, cool pink.
The boat tilted.
Not much.
Just enough to nudge Luffy sideways, his body rolling slightly as the weight of the ocean changed beneath him.
“Mffrg… gugh?”
He stirred, one eye cracking open beneath the rim of his hat. His lips puckered in confusion as a gull called distantly overhead.
Then came the sound—a slow, groaning creak, like something massive shifting in place.
Luffy blinked, sat up halfway, and pushed his hat back from his face with the heel of one hand.
What he saw was…
…a wall.
A massive, shimmering pink wall.
It rose beside him like some terrible pastel cliff, ruffled with ribbons and gold trim, with ironwork painted in the shape of hearts and swirling curls. The figurehead was a bloated cherub with a beauty mark and heavily painted lashes. The cannons had carved rose petals on them. Even the rigging looked like it had been scrubbed and polished until it sparkled.
Luffy stared up at it for a long moment.
Then squinted.
“Mmm… what the hell is that ugly thing?”
He sat up fully now, rubbing his eyes.
The sails overhead bore a jolly roger—but not the traditional kind. Instead of menace, the skull wore lipstick. Its crossbones were stylized like long curling ribbons. A feathered hat perched atop its head, tilted dramatically.
Luffy’s expression twitched into something almost pained.
“…No way.”
The memory slithered up from somewhere beneath the nap haze and hit him squarely in the brain.
The colors. The shape. The vaguely perfume-like scent that now filled the air.
“Wait. This is…” he groaned. “The fat lady's ship? Seriously?”
He sat there for a beat, squinting harder like maybe it was a prank. Maybe he’d fallen asleep and someone had painted a normal ship pink just to mess with him.
But no.
This ship was exactly as he remembered it.
A bizarre, lopsided memory surfaced—Coby, in oversized glasses and too-large sleeves, sweeping the deck while flinching every time someone shouted at him. Scrub brushes, barking pirates, the scent of seaweed stew and cheap perfume.
Luffy blinked slowly.
“Oh yeah,” he muttered, rubbing his chin. “Coby. Forgot he was on this ship before.”
There was a long pause.
Then, a yawn.
He stretched, arms thrown wide overhead as his spine cracked pleasantly. The breeze tugged at his shirt.
“Guess I better go check,” he mumbled, glancing up at the looming shadow of the larger vessel. “He’s probably around here somewhere. Or, I dunno… kidnapped, wasn't he?”
He reached over and looped a length of rope from his boat lazily around one of the decorative rings near the hull of Alvida’s ship. It wasn’t a real knot—just enough to keep his little boat from drifting off while he snooped.
Then, with a spring of coiled muscle and the effortless stretch of a rubber man, Luffy launched himself upward.
He landed lightly on the deck of the larger ship with a soft thud—barefoot, crouched for a breath before straightening up. The boards beneath his feet were polished to a shine. A little too polished. The scent of citrus oil clung to the air, and even the brass trim on the railings gleamed like someone had been scrubbing obsessively.
Luffy glanced around, hands settling on his hips.
The place was quiet.
No shouting. No footsteps. No crewmates swearing at each other over chores or cards. The only sound was the slow creak of rigging and the hush of the wind brushing over the sails.
“Cooooby,” he called, sing-song, loud enough to bounce off the deck railings. “You still here or what?”
Silence answered.
Not even a groan from a sleeping pirate.
Luffy tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly beneath the shadow of his hat.
“…Don’t tell me they’re all still asleep,” he muttered. “That’s my job.”
He walked further across the deck, sandals scuffing against the polished wood. One hand drifted toward the brim of his hat, adjusting it slightly as the wind teased the edges of his hair.
The stillness itched at the edges of his senses—not dangerous, exactly. Just wrong. Like a joke with no punchline.
He wandered past the main mast, eyes scanning the foredeck and the upper walkways. There were a few signs of recent life—half a mop bucket, a feather boa tangled in the rigging—but no people.
Luffy frowned thoughtfully.
Then shrugged.
“Guess I’ll just keep looking,” he said aloud.
And with that, he strolled deeper into the ship—not belowdecks, not yet. Just along the open walkways toward the shaded upper deck, where a long tarp had been rolled back and the shadows seemed to flicker with promise.
After all, he had a pink-haired marine to find.
The ship creaked underfoot.
Not from motion—barely that—but from age and decoration. Alvida’s flagship was heavy with excess: gold-lined rails, oversized rigging ropes, decorative heart-carved panels that groaned with every gust of sea wind. The sails overhead, blindingly pink, billowed with a faint whisper. They cast wide shadows across the deck that danced slowly over the wood like drifting silk.
But aside from the wind and the soft flap of sailcloth, the place was eerily quiet.
Luffy walked slowly across the main deck, arms swinging loosely at his sides. His straw hat cast a shadow across the top half of his face, and the rest of him looked more curious than cautious—like someone wandering into the kitchen in the middle of the night and forgetting why they were there.
The silence was… wrong.
A ship this size shouldn’t be this quiet. There should’ve been shouting, footsteps, clanking metal. The chaotic rhythm of pirate life. Instead, only the distant call of gulls and the occasional creak of wood filled the air.
Luffy paused near the central mast, gaze drifting toward the foredeck where a long pink tarp had been rolled aside. Beyond it, tucked under the partial shelter of the upper canopy, was the source of the sound.
A handful of pirates—maybe five—lounged in the shade, clearly off-duty. A half-drained barrel of rum sat at the center of their makeshift circle, doubling as a card table. They hadn’t noticed him yet.
One man leaned against the wall with a bottle cradled in his lap, slowly nodding off. Another picked at his nails with a knife while muttering about being left behind. The largest of the group sat with one boot propped up on the rail, scratching his chest with all the energy of a lazy barn cat.
Their laughter was low and distracted. Casual.
Until one of them caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
A tall figure, alone, standing near the mast.
The pirate squinted.
“…Oi,” he muttered, nudging the guy beside him. “Who’s that?”
Another man turned his head slowly, clearly expecting one of their own.
He froze.
“That guy—he’s not crew.”
“What?” said a third. “Where’d he come from?”
“I didn’t hear the alarm…”
“I didn’t even see any ropes—did someone just climb up?”
Luffy tilted his head slightly at the noise, like a bird hearing something mildly interesting. He stopped walking. Just stood there, one hand drifting toward the brim of his hat, the wind teasing strands of hair against his cheek.
The pirates were fully focused on him now.
The one with the bottle stepped forward, puffing up his chest. “Oi! You deaf or just dumb? This ship ain’t open for tourists.”
Luffy stared at him, eyes half-lidded, unimpressed.
The pirate’s voice grew louder. “I said—who the hell are y—”
Luffy sighed.
It was quiet.
Barely louder than the creak of the sails.
“This is annoying,” he said simply.
And then—
The change was immediate.
There was no flash. No stomp. No grand gesture.
Just pressure.
Invisible and suffocating, like gravity had suddenly remembered how heavy it could be. It rolled outward from Luffy in a wave so smooth, so quiet, it didn’t make a sound—but the world around him felt it all the same.
The birds overhead scattered in a scream of feathers and sky.
The ship groaned. The sails snapped taut.
And the pirates dropped.
One by one, they collapsed—eyes wide for a heartbeat too long, bodies going slack as consciousness drained out of them like the tide pulling from shore.
Thud.
Clatter.
Thunk.
A bottle rolled from loose fingers and struck the floor with a dull clink, tipping gently against the base of the rum barrel.
Then silence.
Real silence.
No breathing.
No shouts.
Just the sway of the ship and the faint sound of cards fluttering down from the table, drifting through the air like falling leaves.
Luffy stood alone again.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t smile.
Just exhaled softly and placed his hands on his hips.
“…That’s better.”
He gave the deck a brief nod, like he’d just tidied a room.
Without looking back, he turned toward the stairs leading below deck.
His footfalls were light. Measured. And somehow made the whole ship feel heavier in his wake.
Coby was here somewhere.
Probably.
And if he wasn’t…
Well, they’d find someone else to explain what happened to the crew.
The steps groaned under Luffy’s feet as he descended below deck, the creaking of the wood echoing faintly down the corridor like the ship was sighing around him. The light thinned with every step—sunlight filtering down in dull streaks between the floorboards above, casting long lines across the dusty planks.
It smelled like salt and rope and old stew. Familiar, in the way all pirate ships kind of smelled the same after a while.
Luffy walked with the unbothered gait of someone who had no interest in stealth.
He peeked through every doorway he passed.
Most of the rooms were empty. One was full of cleaning supplies. Another had a row of hammocks, all abandoned and slightly swaying from the ship’s motion. One door creaked open to reveal a barrel of cabbages, which he considered investigating for a solid three seconds before a soft sound drew his attention elsewhere.
A hiccup.
No. A breath.
Too quiet to be someone speaking.
He turned toward a pair of doors at the end of the corridor—one slightly ajar, darkness leaking out into the hall.
Luffy stepped closer. The boards creaked again beneath him.
He pushed the door open with one finger.
The space beyond was dim and cluttered. Storage, definitely. Crates lined the walls, stacked haphazardly—some labeled, most not. Nets hung from hooks overhead like tangled spiderwebs. An overturned bucket sat beside a leaning shelf, and a few broken tools lay discarded in the corner.
Luffy stepped inside.
He didn’t call out. Didn’t ask permission.
His gaze swept the room once, casual.
And then it landed on something in the far corner.
A shape.
Small. Slouched. Wedged between two crates like it was trying to disappear into the shadows.
At first it looked like part of the junk—maybe a dropped coat, or a bag that hadn’t been unpacked. But then it shifted. Just slightly.
A head lifted.
Hair—pink and wild, sticking out in uneven tufts like it hadn’t been brushed in days. A pair of glasses slipped low on a small, round nose, the lenses smeared with grime and fogged from breath. Wide, watery eyes blinked up at him. Blue. Behind them, terror bloomed.
Luffy blinked, tilting his head just slightly.
The boy in the corner clutched his knees tightly to his chest, fingers curled into the fabric of his oversized shirt.
His shoulders trembled.
“...Whoa,” Luffy said after a pause. “I forgot how tiny you were.”
Coby froze.
Everything about him tensed—like a mouse spotting a hawk.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t blink.
Just stared in mounting horror as Luffy took a step closer, head still cocked to the side.
Coby’s thoughts were screaming.
Who is this?!
Why is he smiling like that?!
Why does he know my name?!
Luffy grinned a little wider, recognition now settling in comfortably.
“You’re Coby, right? Kinda hard to tell with all that shaking.”
Coby flinched like he’d been hit.
He opened his mouth—but no sound came out at first. Just a breath, sharp and panicked.
“I—I don’t—” he finally squeaked.
Luffy took another step forward.
“Well, whatever,” he said with a shrug. “Time to go.”
“Wait—what?!”
Luffy didn’t stop.
He bent down and—before Coby could process what was happening—hooked his arms around the smaller boy and lifted him clean off the floor.
Coby yelped, limbs flailing in all directions.
“W-WHAT?! PUT ME DOWN! WHO EVEN ARE YOU?!”
Luffy tossed him over one shoulder like a duffel bag, entirely unbothered.
“Taking you with me,” he said matter-of-factly.
“YOU CAN’T JUST—THIS IS—THAT’S KIDNAPPING!”
“You don’t wanna be here, right?” Luffy asked, stepping around a crate as if they were having a normal conversation.
Coby opened his mouth to argue.
Then shut it.
He squirmed once, as if testing how secure Luffy’s grip was. The answer: very.
“But—wait—why?”
Luffy didn’t slow down.
“Dunno. Just felt right.”
“THAT’S NOT A REASON!”
“Sure it is.”
Coby flailed weakly, glasses bouncing on the bridge of his nose.
“I—I think I’m hallucinating. This is a concussion dream. That’s what this is.”
“Good,” Luffy said, unconcerned. “You’ll be easier to carry that way.”
He strolled back into the hallway, ducking under a hanging net.
Behind them, the quiet of the storage room folded in on itself again.
And the door swung gently shut.
The sunlight was sharp and hot now, pouring across the upper deck like spilled honey. It gleamed off every gaudy surface—pink rails, gold trim, polished fixtures that tried very hard to look elegant and only succeeded in looking ridiculous. The unconscious bodies of Alvida’s deckhands still lay in various undignified heaps, sprawled across the floor like a spilled deck of cards.
Luffy stood in the middle of it all, barefoot and perfectly relaxed.
Coby dangled from his shoulder, frozen stiff, legs swinging slightly every time Luffy shifted his weight.
A seagull flapped overhead, circled once, then veered away.
And then—just as Luffy was starting to wonder if they had any food stored on deck—the silence broke.
“Hey—pull it tighter, you idiot! You’ll drop the whole thing!”
“Shut up! I got it—look at all this loot! We got three crates of dried meat—”
“Who cares about meat?! Did you see that lady’s jewelry box?!”
Voices, rough and excited, floated upward from over the starboard rail. The crew was back.
They were noisy. Rowdy. Buzzing with the energy of a successful raid and the promise of lazing around for the rest of the day with full bellies and full pockets. A rope ladder slapped against the hull as the first of them climbed up—two, then five, then a dozen men heaving crates, bags, and a wildly dented brass lantern.
Their boots hit the deck with solid thuds.
And then they stopped.
Like a wave slamming into stone.
The laughter died.
One man tripped over a collapsed crewmate and let out a yelp. Another stumbled back into the rail, knocking a crate from his arms.
Because something was wrong.
Very wrong.
The ship was… quiet. Too quiet.
Their crewmates were unconscious. Laid all out, like someone had hit them all with the same silent explosion. Mouths open, eyes shut, limbs tangled in the absurd luxury of Alvida’s deck cushions.
And in the center of it all stood a tall boy in a red vest, one hand on his hip and a stranger slung over his shoulder like a spare sack of rice.
He didn’t look particularly threatening.
But he was smiling.
And that was somehow worse.
“Who the hell is that?” one pirate whispered.
Another shook his head, face pale. “I don’t know—but he’s not one of ours.”
“Did he do this?” a third asked, voice trembling.
“Did he take someone hostage?!”
And then the boots returned.
Heavy. Measured. Furious.
The crew instinctively shuffled aside, forming a loose path as their captain stepped up from the lower deck.
Alvida.
She was taller than most of her men, wide-shouldered and thick with muscle beneath the lavish white feathered cloak she wore like royalty. Her makeup had smudged slightly from the heat, but it did nothing to soften the rage on her face. Her iron mace was already in her hands, the massive spiked head trailing a gouge across the wood where she’d dragged it up the final step.
Her lips curled into a snarl the moment she laid eyes on Luffy.
“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!”
Luffy turned his head, blinking lazily at the noise.
Then looked at Coby.
Eyebrows furrowed in casual curiosity.
“Hey,” he said, nudging Coby lightly with a finger, “who’s the fat hag?”
The breath caught in Coby’s throat.
His eyes bulged. “Th—that’s… that’s Alvida…”
Luffy blinked once.
Then nodded slowly, like this explained everything.
“Oh,” he said, sounding completely neutral. “Well… she’s ugly.”
The words dropped like stones into the silence.
Every pirate on deck flinched.
Even the ship seemed to creak in warning.
Coby made a sound—high and faint—like he was actively dying. “Please don’t say that out loud again,” he whispered.
But it was already too late.
Alvida’s face turned a new shade of red.
The crew braced.
“WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?!”
Her voice cracked the air like a cannon blast.
And then she lunged.
With surprising speed for someone her size, she charged forward, club raised high over her shoulder. The iron gleamed in the sunlight, every dent and scar on it telling a story of someone who didn’t miss when she swung.
Coby screamed.
He curled into Luffy’s back like that might somehow protect him from the incoming obliteration.
Luffy didn’t move.
Not a step.
Not a blink.
The iron club slammed down.
It hit the side of Luffy’s head—full force.
And bounced off.
The sound was metallic, hollow, almost absurd. The impact rattled the entire deck—but Luffy didn’t even sway.
Coby’s eyes were squeezed shut.
When he opened them—
Luffy was frowning.
“...That was rude,” he said quietly.
Then he reached out with one arm, wrist flicking with casual precision.
And punched.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t loud.
But it was final.
The impact sent a burst of wind skimming across the deck like a shockwave.
Alvida’s feet left the ground.
Her body twisted midair, her club sailing from her grip as she arced over the rail in a spinning blur of feathers and fury.
And then—
SPLASH.
Far below, the ocean swallowed her with barely a ripple.
Luffy lowered his arm.
Turned back toward the pirates.
They stood frozen, every one of them pale and stiff and very clearly reconsidering every life decision that had led them to this moment.
Luffy tilted his head.
“Anyone else?”
Silence.
One man swallowed audibly.
Another dropped to his knees.
Heads shook—quick, wild, emphatic.
Luffy nodded, satisfied.
“Cool,” he said. “I’m leaving now.”
He turned, adjusting his grip on the still-flailing Coby, and strolled to the edge of the deck where his little boat bobbed gently below.
Coby was pale, wide-eyed, and clinging to the back of Luffy’s shirt now.
“I—I don’t understand what’s happening,” he whispered, voice shaking.
Luffy offered a lazy grin over his shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” he said, hopping onto the railing. “I’m a pirate.”
And with that, he jumped.
The little boat rocked gently as Luffy landed with a soft thud, barely jostling it despite having just leapt from a deck nearly three times its height. His sandals hit the floor with casual balance, and he barely paused before swinging Coby off his shoulder and setting him—none too gently—into the middle of the boat.
The pink pirate ship above loomed silently now. No more shouting. No more crashing boots or swinging weapons. Just the distant sound of waves slapping gently against its hull and the faint echo of one very large woman somewhere in the water screaming insults.
Coby sat upright, legs tucked beneath him, glasses askew, breath coming in short, uneven gasps.
His hands were trembling.
He clutched at the edge of the boat like it might suddenly disappear beneath him.
Everything hurt.
But mostly his brain.
The last twenty minutes had broken reality into unrecognizable pieces and scattered them like glass.
He stared at the boy in front of him—barefoot, loose-limbed, with a straw hat now back on his head, shadowing eyes that still glinted with laughter like this was all just a slightly weird picnic.
Coby finally found his voice.
It squeaked.
“W—Who are you?!”
The boy looked over his shoulder, still mid-stretch as he reached for the sail’s rope with one arm.
He grinned.
Wide and bright.
“Monkey D. Luffy,” he said cheerfully. “Nice to meetcha.”
Coby blinked.
“D… Monkey…?”
He couldn’t even finish the name.
He was still trying to understand the rules of this new dimension he had apparently entered—one where men deflected iron clubs with their heads and laughed while kidnapping strangers.
Luffy gave the rope a tug. The sail caught wind with a satisfying snap, and the boat tilted forward into the current.
Coby clutched the side even tighter.
“Wh—where are you taking me?!”
He wasn’t yelling.
He couldn’t manage that much energy.
It came out breathless—half-whisper, half-wail.
Luffy finished adjusting the sail and flopped down onto a crate, stretching both legs out like this was the most normal morning in the world.
“Shells Town,” he said casually.
Coby blinked again.
“...Shells…?”
“Yup,” Luffy nodded. “Gotta meet some friends there.”
Coby’s head turned very slowly.
Like it might fall off if he moved too fast.
“F-Friends?”
Luffy tilted his head back, hat pushing slightly up from his forehead.
He grinned again, eyes gleaming with something sharp and alive beneath the calm.
“Yeah,” he said simply.
“My crew.”
Coby’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
He said nothing.
He simply sat there—clutching the rim of the boat, trembling slightly, as the sail caught the wind and they sped off across the water into the golden morning.
The kitchen smelled like butter and flame.
Steam coiled lazily above the open stove, while the rhythmic chop-chop-chop of a blade slicing through vegetables set the pace for the late morning prep. The fire under the main skillet flared with every flick of the pan, casting golden light across copper pots and polished tile.
Sanji stood at the cutting board, sleeves rolled, cigarette tucked behind one ear for the moment. His knife moved with effortless precision—clean, fluid strokes that turned onions into perfect slices and herbs into neat piles of green.
He didn’t look up.
But he didn’t need to.
He could feel them staring.
Ever since the “exorcism” incident last week, the rest of the kitchen staff had developed a habit of hovering in the corners like cats watching a dog they didn’t quite trust. Every time Sanji stirred a sauce too smoothly or tasted something without looking, someone muttered under their breath.
Even now, Patty was pretending to scrub a pan that hadn’t been dirty in hours.
Carne loitered near the spice rack, peeking occasionally through a curtain of hanging ladles.
Zeff sat at the counter like he always did—one hand curled around a chipped mug of black coffee, the other propped under his chin. His gaze wasn’t suspicious. Just patient. Curious. Like a man watching a fire that hadn’t quite started yet.
Sanji sliced one last carrot.
Dropped it into the bubbling broth.
And spoke without turning.
“Oi, old man.”
Zeff raised an eyebrow, not looking up from his cup.
“What, eggplant?”
Sanji’s mouth curled into something just short of a smirk. He wiped his hands on a towel, reached for his cigarette, and tucked it between his lips.
“My crew’s on their way. They're goona be here soon”
The kitchen froze.
Even the pot seemed to stop boiling for a second.
Patty dropped the pan.
It clanged loudly against the counter and rolled into a stack of mixing bowls.
He didn’t seem to notice.
“Wait—you have a crew?!” Patty said, voice an octave higher than normal. “Since when?!”
Carne stepped forward, eyes wide. “Are you serious? Like… pirates ore something?”
Sanji struck a match and lit the cigarette slowly. He exhaled once, the smoke curling upward into the rafters.
“Yeah,” he said coolly. “They’ll be here soon. Maybe a few days. A week tops.”
The words settled into the room like fog.
Heavy. Inevitable.
Zeff sipped his coffee, watching Sanji now with sharper eyes.
“So you where in contact with ‘em,” he said quietly.
Sanji glanced toward the window, where sunlight danced on the edge of a tomato knife.
“I was,” he said. “They called me. Isn't long now.”
Patty and Carne exchanged very uneasy glances.
Carne cleared his throat, edging closer.
“Uh… what kind of people are we talking about here?”
Sanji turned back to the cutting board and tapped ash into the tray beside the stove.
He didn’t answer immediately.
Just smiled—slow and amused.
The kind of smile you gave someone right before lighting a firecracker and walking away.
“Oh,” he said, eyes gleaming.
“You’ll see.”