Chapter Text
Brook and the small contingent of royal guards moved cautiously through the shadowed halls, their footsteps echoing off cold stone. The distant sounds of battle—the clang of steel, the shouts of militia—were growing louder, vibrating through the castle walls. At the end of the corridor, a heavy door swung open, revealing a room glittering with gold and jewels: Charlos’s treasury.
Inside, the prince stood surrounded by piles of coin, ornate caskets, and gleaming artifacts, his hands gripping a heavy chest. His eyes blazed with panic and greed.
“No! I’m not leaving here without my gold!” Charlos shrieked, spinning toward the approaching guards. “I’ve worked my whole life for this! You can’t just take it from me!”
One of the guards, nervously adjusting his helm, stepped forward. “Your grace, it is only a matter of time before Shanks’s forces breach the castle. We must leave now! Every second we delay puts your life at risk!”
Charlos flailed, pawing at the nearest mound of treasure. “Risk? My life? I will not abandon my fortune! My throne! My—”
Brook, walking among the guards, adjusted his disguise, his wicked grin hidden beneath his helmet, his bony fingers curling around his sword hilt.
“You don’t understand!” Charlos yelled, voice cracking. “This gold… this is everything! You can’t make me leave it!”
Another guard grabbed the prince’s arm, trying to steer him toward the waiting horses. “We’re not negotiating, Your Grace! You either come now or risk being captured—or worse!”
Charlos struggled, his eyes darting wildly around the room, calculating, panicking, and trying to summon any advantage. The glitter of gold reflected off his frantic movements, casting wild shadows across the walls.
Brook whispered under his breath, almost to himself: “Ah… the perfect time for a little musical intervention…”
And with that, the plan Brook had been biding his time for was about to swing into motion.
The heavy doors of the treasury boomed shut.
The sound echoed like a judge’s gavel.
Brook stepped back and slid the iron bolt into place with a sharp clang. The room—once alive with the glitter and clink of gold—fell into stunned silence.
The guards spun on him.
“What are you doing?” one barked. “We were ordered to get the prince out of here! Open that door immediately!”
Brook turned slowly, straightening to his full height. He reached up and removed his helmet, letting it clatter to the marble floor. Moonlight glinted off his glasses, his mass of hair bouncing free.
“No can do,” Brook said pleasantly. “You see… I have a little mission of my own.”
He rested a hand on the hilt of his cane sword.
“And that mission,” he continued, voice dropping into something colder, sharper, “is to return the king to his rightful throne.”
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then steel rang out.
The guards drew their swords and rushed him all at once.
Brook moved.
He was gone in a blur—light as air. His blade slid free with a whisper, the sound more like a sigh than steel. The first guard never even saw the strike; Brook slipped past him, sword flashing once. The man crumpled, weapon skittering across the floor.
Another swung wildly. Brook bent backward impossibly far, the blade slicing through a tuft of his hair. He straightened in the same motion, tapping the guard’s wrist with the flat of his sword. The man yelped as his fingers went numb and his weapon dropped.
Brook danced between them, feet barely touching the ground, movements precise and effortless. Every strike was clean, controlled—disarms, pressure points, blunt impacts that sent bodies crashing into piles of coin and jeweled chests.
One guard charged with a roar.
Brook sidestepped, hooked his cane around the man’s ankle, and flicked upward. The guard flew, landing hard atop a mound of gold, coins exploding outward like a grotesque fountain.
The last guard hesitated, eyes wide.
Brook was already there.
The flat of his blade struck the man’s chest, knocking the wind from him. He collapsed in a heap beside the others, groaning.
Silence returned to the treasury, broken only by the soft settling of coins and the crackle of torch flames.
Brook sheathed his sword with a neat click and turned.
Prince Charlos had backed himself against a pillar, face pale, hands shaking violently.
“N-no—!” he shrieked. “Don’t kill me! Please! I can give you gold—titles—anything!”
Brook tilted his head, considering him. “Oh my. As tempting as that sounds…”
He shook his head gently.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Brook said calmly. “That honor belongs to King Shanks.”
Charlos sagged with shaky relief—only for it to turn into fresh terror as Brook’s gaze drifted past him.
To the massive, empty treasure chest sitting near the wall.
Brook’s grin widened—sharp, theatrical, and utterly unsettling.
“You wanted to stay with your gold,” Brook said lightly. “Right?”
He strolled over, tapping the rim of the chest with his cane. It echoed hollowly.
“I think,” he continued, turning back toward the prince, “we can arrange that.”
Charlos screamed as Brook took a single step toward him, the treasury doors locked tight, the glitter of his stolen fortune reflecting his own terror back at him.
The wagons thundered down the forest road, wheels rattling over roots and stones as the guards urged the horses faster. Prisoners were packed shoulder to shoulder inside the wooden cages, chains clanking with every jolt, fear and hope mingling in their eyes as the castle lights faded behind them.
“Move!” a guard snapped, cracking the reins. “Faster!”
The forest loomed ahead—dark, dense, and just within reach.
Then the lead horse screamed.
The first wagon skidded to a halt, wood groaning as the animals reared. One by one, the wagons behind it slammed to a stop, chaos rippling down the line. Guards shouted, horses snorted and stamped, prisoners cried out.
Two figures stood in the middle of the road.
They were little more than silhouettes against the moonlight—dark shapes framed by drifting smoke and steel.
The guard driving the first wagon leaned forward, fury and fear in his voice.
“Out of the way! By order of Prince Charlos, ruler of the land!”
For a moment, neither figure moved.
Then the one on the left lifted a hand to his mouth. A cigarette flared to life, its ember glowing bright as he took a slow drag. Smoke curled lazily into the night air.
“Prince Charlos?” the man said coolly, exhaling. “Ruler of the land?” He gave a low, amused chuckle. “Huh. Don’t recall Charlos being any king of mine.”
He glanced sideways at his companion. “What about you?”
The second figure stepped forward, moonlight catching the polished hilts at his side. Three swords slid free in a smooth, unmistakable sound—steel singing as it met open air.
“Can’t say I do,” Zoro replied, eyes sharp beneath his bandana. “The only king I know is King Shanks.”
The guards stiffened.
One swallowed hard. Another reached for his weapon too slowly.
Sanji flicked his cigarette aside, crushing it under his boot. “So here’s how this is gonna go,” he said pleasantly. “You unlock the wagons. You walk away.”
He cracked his neck, eyes glinting. “Or you don’t—and we do this the hard way.”
The prisoners inside the cages stared, disbelief turning into wild, dawning hope.
Whispers spread like wildfire.
“It's the Laughing Men! John the Three Bladed and Much of the Chef's son…”
“The king’s forces…”
“We’re saved…”
Zoro raised his blades into a ready stance. “Choose fast,” he said. “We’re on a schedule.”
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
And then the night exploded into motion.
Zoro moved first.
He vanished in a blur of steel, boots tearing into the dirt as his swords flashed under the moonlight. The nearest guard barely had time to draw before Zoro’s blade slammed into his midsection, sending him flying backward into the wagon with a bone-jarring crack.
“That’s one for me,” Zoro muttered.
Sanji was already in motion, a streak of black and gold. He spun low, his heel arcing upward in a brutal kick that caught a guard under the chin. The man lifted clean off his feet and crashed into the road.
“Don’t blink, moss-head,” Sanji said coolly. “You’ll miss it.”
Two guards charged him at once. Sanji ducked between them, pivoted, and drove his heel into the first man’s ribs, then twisted midair to plant a flaming kick into the second’s chest. Both went down hard.
“I got a two-for-one!”
Zoro cut through the opposite side of the road like a storm. One sword parried, the second disarmed, the third struck—clean, precise, relentless. A guard lunged; Zoro stepped inside the swing and slammed the pommel of his blade into the man’s temple.
“You didn’t take him down,” Sanji shouted, kicking another guard into the underbrush. “He fainted. You can’t count that!”
“He hit the ground,” Zoro shot back. “That counts.”
Arrows flew. Zoro deflected one with a sharp twist of his wrist. Sanji leapt onto a wagon, running along its side before dropping down with a crushing kick that splintered wood and sent two guards sprawling.
“Show-off,” Zoro growled, cleaving through another attacker.
Steel rang. Boots pounded. The road became chaos—guards falling into the dirt, weapons scattering, horses rearing and breaking loose as the fight tore through the wagons.
“Thirty-two!” Sanji called.
“Thirty-four!” Zoro snapped back.
Another guard rushed Sanji from behind. Zoro intercepted him, blade flashing once.
“Hey!” Sanji barked. “That was mine!”
“Too slow.”
They fought back-to-back now, a seamless rhythm of kicks and cuts. Every swing was answered, every charge broken. The last few guards tried to flee.
They didn’t get far.
Minutes later, silence fell over the road.
Bodies littered the ground. The forest rustled softly, as if exhaling.
Sanji bent over, hands on his knees, breathing hard. He straightened slowly, rolling his shoulders. “Sixty-seven,” he said. “That’s my count. Including the forest pass.”
Zoro wiped his blade clean on the grass. “Same,” he grunted. “No way I’m accepting a tie.”
As if summoned by spite alone, a lone guard burst from behind a wagon, sword raised, screaming.
Zoro didn’t even turn fully. He shifted his weight and slammed the flat of his blade into the man’s chest, dropping him instantly.
Zoro smirked. “Sixty-eight.”
Sanji clicked his tongue, scowling. “Damn it.”
Without another word, they moved to the wagons. Sanji wrenched open the first lock with a sharp kick. Zoro sliced through chains like paper.
The cage doors swung open.
Prisoners spilled out, blinking in disbelief, some laughing, some crying, some dropping to their knees in the dirt.
“You’re free,” Sanji said simply.
Zoro nodded toward the forest. “Go. Don’t stop running.”
The freed townsfolk didn’t hesitate.
They vanished into the trees—away from the castle, away from Charlos, toward freedom—as the echoes of battle continued to rage behind them.
Steel rang through the throne room as Lucci advanced, boots measured, expression sharp with anticipation. Luffy shifted his stance, keeping himself squarely between Lucci and Nami, knees bent, ready to spring. His eyes never left the blade in Lucci’s hand—darkened along the edge, slick with poison.
Lucci’s mouth curled into a thin smirk. “Let’s see how deep your luck runs, Straw Hat.”
“Luffy!” Nami shouted. “Be careful—his blade! It’s poisoned!”
“I know!” Luffy barked back, already moving.
Lucci lunged.
Luffy twisted aside, dragging Nami with him as the blade sliced through the air where they’d been a heartbeat before. Marble cracked where the sword struck. Luffy shoved Nami behind a pillar, then bounced off the wall, coming back in from above with a flying kick. Lucci raised his sword, blocking just in time—clang—the impact shuddering through the room.
Nami scrambled, grabbing the nearest thing she could find—a heavy brass candleholder. “Catch!”
She hurled it.
Luffy caught it awkwardly and immediately grimaced. “I’m not good with objects! I’m better with my hands!”
“Well, using your hands isn’t an option!” Nami snapped, ducking as Lucci’s sword whistled past her head. “I don’t think he’s just going to hand you the antidote because you asked nicely!”
Lucci pressed the attack, forcing them back step by step. Luffy parried with the candleholder, sparks flying as poisoned steel scraped against brass. The weight nearly tore it from his grip.
“This thing’s trying to kill me!” Luffy yelled.
“That’s the point!”
Lucci swept low. Luffy jumped, grabbing Nami around the waist and flipping them both over the arc of the blade. They landed hard, rolling across the floor. Nami snatched up one of Charlos’s ornate scepters—golden, ridiculous, and heavy—and brought it up just in time to block another strike.
The impact rattled her arms. “I hate this man’s taste in decor!”
They stumbled back, breathless, hearts pounding, Lucci stalking them like a patient predator.
“Nami,” Luffy blurted suddenly, between dodges, “there’s something I wanna tell you—in case we don’t make it out of here!”
She smacked Lucci’s blade aside with the scepter. “I really don’t think now is the time!”
“I know, I know, but—!” Luffy ducked another swing, grabbing her hand and spinning them both away. “Look, I know we’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks, but it feels like a lot longer!”
Lucci slashed again. They barely avoided it, stumbling behind the throne.
“You know when you get that feeling,” Luffy went on urgently, “like you’ve known someone your whole life?”
Nami, panting, eyes locked on Lucci as he circled the throne, nodded. “I… I do.”
“Well, that’s how I felt when I first met you!” Luffy said, grinning despite the danger. “And—and I’ve really grown to care about you. It’s like when you see a bunch of food, and then you eat some, and then you realize you were actually super hungry the whole time!”
Nami stared at him. “That doesn’t even make any sense!”
He blinked. “You’re right. I’m always hungry.”
Lucci’s blade crashed down on the throne, splintering wood. Luffy yanked Nami down with him, both of them crouching behind the shattered remains. Luffy turned to her then, sudden and earnest, gripping her hands.
“What I’m trying to say,” he said, voice fierce and soft all at once, “is—I think I’m in love with you.”
Nami froze.
Then she smiled—warm, radiant, fearless even now. “Luffy…” Her voice trembled, but her eyes were steady. “I feel the same way.”
They embraced—quick, desperate, real.
“Move!” Luffy shouted.
Lucci’s sword came down.
Luffy rolled them both out of the way just in time, the blade cleaving stone where they’d been. They scrambled to their feet, backing away, Luffy once again placing himself in front of Nami, fists clenched, shoulders squared.
Lucci pointed his sword at them, advancing slowly. “How sweet,” he said coolly. “At least you’ll get to die together.”
He raised the blade.
In that instant, Luffy’s eyes flicked upward.
A rope.
He grabbed Nami with one arm and leapt, snatching the rope with the other. Lucci’s sword swung—
SNAP.
The blade severed the rope instead.
Luffy and Nami shot upward as the massive circular wooden chandelier overhead tilted violently, chains groaning as it swung. They dangled high above the throne room floor, the world spinning beneath them.
Luffy looked at Nami, wind rushing past, chaos roaring below.
“Nami, my darling,” he said brightly, as if they weren’t moments from death. “Will you marry me?”
She laughed, breathless and shining. “Oh, Luffy,” she said softly. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Below them, Lucci looked up, fury flashing across his face—as the chandelier creaked, swayed, and began to fall.
The chandelier finally gave way.
With a deafening crack, the chains snapped free, and the massive ring of wood and iron plummeted straight down. Lucci barely had time to look up before it came crashing onto him, the impact shaking the entire throne room. Stone split. Dust and splinters exploded outward. The sound was thunderous—final.
Nami turned her face away, pressing it into Luffy’s chest as the crash echoed behind them.
Luffy peeked over the edge, squinting through the settling dust. “Yeah… I don’t think he’ll be getting up from that in a while.”
For a heartbeat, there was only the groan of the ruined ceiling and the distant sounds of battle outside.
Then—
creeeak.
The rope in Luffy’s hand began to fray.
“Oh,” Luffy said, blinking. “Uh. That’s bad.”
Nami followed his gaze upward just as the fibers snapped one by one. “Luffy—!”
The rope gave out completely.
They dropped.
Nami screamed. Luffy whooped.
They plunged straight down through dust and smoke—and vanished into something impossibly soft.
FWUMP.
White frosting erupted like snowfall. Tiers buckled. Sugar, cream, and crushed pastry swallowed them whole as the massive wedding cake—three tiers tall, obscenely ornate, and clearly built for royal excess—collapsed under their combined weight.
Silence followed.
Then a hand, slick with pink frosting, shot up from the wreckage.
“…Ow,” Luffy muttered.
Nami burst up beside him, coughing, her hair and face smeared with cream, candied fruit clinging to her curls, sugar flowers crushed into her sleeves. She stared at the destruction around them as realization hit.
“This is…” she sputtered, incredulous. “This is a wedding cake. I can’t believe that idiot had a wedding cake prepared! He probably planned to eat it himself after he had me hanged!”
Luffy scooped a finger through the frosting, tasted it—and brightened. “Huh. Not bad!”
The absurdity of it all broke something loose in her. Nami laughed—full, breathless, unrestrained. Relief, adrenaline, and joy spilled out together as she reached up, wiped frosting from Luffy’s cheek, and rested her forehead against his.
Then—
The great doors of the throne room exploded inward.
Wood shattered. Iron hinges screamed as they tore free from stone. Smoke and torchlight flooded the hall—and through it strode Shanks.
Sword loose at his side. Red hair wild. Coat torn and stained. His grin was sharp as ever.
Behind him came Ben Beckman, calm and deadly, bow resting on his shoulder, eyes already mapping every corner of the ruined chamber. Lucky Roux thundered in after them, laughing as he stepped over fallen debris, Shanks’s men fanning out with practiced precision.
Nami’s breath caught.
“Uncle—!”
She didn’t hesitate. She bolted across the wrecked floor and threw herself into Shanks’s arms.
He caught her easily, arms locking around her, one hand cradling the back of her head.
“You’ve grown since I’ve been away,” he said gruffly, relief cracking through his usual swagger. “A proper lady now, huh?”
Nami buried her face in his coat, laughing and crying all at once. “I knew you’d come.”
“Of course I did,” Shanks replied, pulling back just enough to look her over. His grin softened when he noticed the frosting in her hair, the bruises she hadn’t yet felt. “You’re family.”
From behind the remains of the cake, Luffy stood, brushing crumbs and cream from himself.
Lucky Roux leaned down, scooping a chunk of frosting onto his finger. “Waste of good dessert,” he muttered before eating it anyway.
Shanks turned slowly.
His gaze drifted from the shattered chandelier…to the unconscious shape buried beneath it… to the annihilated cake… and finally landed on Luffy.
A long pause.
Then Shanks laughed—deep, booming, delighted.
“Looks like you had yourself a hell of a fight,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Nice work, kid.”
Luffy walked over, scratching his head. “Hey, have you found Charlos yet?”
A familiar voice echoed from the doorway.
“Perhaps I can assist with that.”
Brook stepped into the throne room, hat tipped low, sword cane resting against his shoulder, a grin stretching across his face.
Torchlight flickered across the treasury’s gilded walls as Lucky Roux and Ben Beckman hauled the massive chest into the center of the room. The thing was grotesquely heavy, iron-banded and overflowing, gold coins rattling inside with every step.
“On three,” Lucky Roux grunted.
Ben nodded. “One. Two. Three.”
They heaved.
The chest tipped, slammed against the stone floor, and burst open with a deafening crash. Gold spilled everywhere—coins, jewels, chains clattering and skittering across the stone like rain.
And with it, a body.
Prince Charlos tumbled out in a heap, rolling across the floor amid his precious hoard. He groaned, then immediately clawed at the coins, eyes wild, fingers shaking as he scooped handfuls toward his chest.
“My gold—!” he panted. “My gold!”
He crawled forward on his hands and knees, stuffing coins into his sleeves, his mouth, anywhere they would fit. He didn’t look up—couldn’t look up—until his hands bumped into something solid.
Boots.
Polished leather. Worn. Familiar.
Charlos slowly raised his head.
Shanks stood over him.
The torchlight carved hard shadows across the former king’s face, his expression unreadable, sword resting loosely at his side. Behind him stood Luffy, Nami, and Brook—frosting still clinging stubbornly to Luffy’s sleeve—along with Shanks’s men, filling the room with a wall of silent judgment.
Charlos let out a strangled shriek and scrambled backward, slipping on coins, colliding hard into Lucky Roux’s bulk and Ben Beckman’s immovable stance behind him.
He swallowed, throat bobbing violently, then forced himself to turn back toward Shanks.
“O–oh,” he stammered, voice cracking into something oily and false. “Welcome back, Shanks. I—I took great care of the kingdom while you were away. And of your niece as well!” He flashed a nervous grin, sweat pouring down his face. “After all, that’s what family does… right?”
A sharp voice cut through the air.
“By great care,” Nami said coldly from behind Shanks, “do you mean keeping me locked in this castle, trying to force me to become your wife… and then sentencing me to die by hanging when I refused?”
Charlos flinched.
Shanks didn’t look back at her. His eyes never left Charlos.
“You know,” Shanks said quietly, “I’ve always gone away on long crusades.” He took a step forward. Coins crunched beneath his boot. “I thought I was doing the kingdom a favor when I asked you to rule in my stead until I returned.”
Another step.
“And what do I come back to?” His voice hardened. “News that you staged a coup against me. Took my throne. Crushed the people under taxes they couldn’t survive.” His grip tightened on his sword. “Then spread lies of my so-called treachery to turn my people against me.”
Charlos let out a thin, nervous laugh. “A-about that—”
Steel hissed from its sheath.
In one smooth motion, Shanks drew his sword and leveled it inches from Charlos’s throat. The prince froze, eyes blown wide, breath hitching.
“Come on, Shanks!” Charlos babbled. “Mercy! Please—!”
Shanks’s blade remained steady.
“Don’t worry,” he said, voice calm, almost gentle. “I’m not killing you.”
Charlos sagged in relief—
“Not yet.”
Shanks’s grin turned sharp.
“I have a much better idea.”
Behind him, Luffy crossed his arms, smiling wide. Brook tipped his hat, a low chuckle escaping him. The men of Shanks’s crew closed in, their presence heavy, inevitable.
Charlos looked around at the gold scattered uselessly around him, at the faces that would no longer bow.
The town square of Nottingham had never looked so alive.
Children darted between legs, laughter and cheers ringing off stone walls still scarred from battle. Stalls had been overturned and hastily righted, banners rehung crooked but proud. And near the old fountain, a crowd had gathered around a very particular spectacle.
“Come one, come all!” Lila called, standing atop a crate, her grin wicked and bright. “Come test your aim!”
Taro cupped his hands around his mouth. “Take your shot at Prince Charlos the Lesser and the dishonorable Sheriff Lucci of Nottingham!”
Ben held up a small sack of coins. “Free of charge! Gold provided!”
Locked in the stocks beneath them sat Charlos and Lucci—heads and hands trapped, necks stiff, humiliation complete. Their fine clothes were rumpled and stained. Charlos flinched as another coin struck his forehead with a dull clink.
“How dare you!” he shrieked. “Take your hands off my gold! That’s mine! All of it belongs to me! You hear me?!”
Another coin smacked his cheek.
Lucci, by contrast, merely sighed, eyes half-lidded in pure disdain as a coin bounced off his shoulder. “Insufferable,” he muttered.
The crowd roared with laughter.
At the heart of the square, a raised platform had been erected. Banners bearing the old crest fluttered proudly once more. Upon it stood Shanks, clad in royal garments, his crown restored to his head. He raised a hand, and slowly, the square quieted.
Behind him stood Lucky Roux, Ben Beckman, and Jinbe in their royal militia uniforms—solid, steadfast, smiling with hard-earned satisfaction.
“People of Nottingham,” Shanks called, his voice carrying easily, “your king has returned. Forgive me for not returning sooner.”
The square erupted.
“King Shanks is back!”
“Charlos rules no more!”
“Long live King Shanks!”
“LONG LIVE KING SHANKS!”
Shanks waited for the cheers to ebb before continuing.
“First things first,” he said, holding up a finger. “As of today, the tax rates will no longer be eighty percent as declared by Prince Charlos.”
A stunned beat.
“They will be lowered to their original rate.”
The roar that followed was deafening.
“Second,” Shanks continued, smiling, “I am pleased to announce the opening of a brand-new schoolhouse, led by Lady Nico Robin.”
Robin stepped forward, offering a graceful wave. The cheers swelled again, children clapping wildly.
“Third,” Shanks said, “the kingdom will open a new Royal Infirmary for the ill and injured, run by Friar Chopper. All services will be free of charge.”
Chopper waved enthusiastically, blushing as the crowd cheered even louder.
“And fourth,” Shanks said, voice warming, “Robin of the Straw Hat and his Laughing Men will no longer be wanted criminals.”
The crowd gasped—then exploded.
“Brook, Franky, Usopp, Vinsmoke Sanji, Roronoa Zoro, and Monkey D. Luffy,” Shanks declared, “as of today, you are all granted my royal pardon.”
The six of them broke into cheers of their own—Usopp pumping his fists, Franky shouting triumphantly, Brook tipping his hat, Sanji lighting a cigarette in celebration, Zoro smirking, and Luffy grinning so wide it hurt.
Shanks opened his mouth to continue—
“Ahem.”
Nami cleared her throat.
Shanks blinked, then chuckled. “Ah. Yes. One last thing. How could I forget? Looks like there will be a wedding after all!”
All eyes turned.
Luffy looked up at Nami, his grin softening into something earnest, something almost shy. Nami met his gaze, her smile warm, eyes shining.
The square exploded into cheers.
Shanks laughed loudly, clapping. Fireworks cracked overhead. Somewhere, Charlos screamed as another coin hit him square in the nose.
The bells of the church rang out clear and bright, their peals rolling across Nottingham like a promise kept.
The great wooden doors creaked open—and then swung wide.
Cheers erupted instantly.
Luffy and Nami stepped out into the sunlight hand in hand, laughter spilling from them as petals rained down from above.
Luffy wore a medieval tunic of deep crimson and gold, embroidered at the hem with subtle knotwork. A dark leather belt cinched his waist, a simple cloak fastened at his shoulders, its lining a bold, sky-blue that caught the light when he moved. His boots were scuffed already—because of course they were—but his grin was brighter than anything else in the square. And of course, his straw hat was still affixed to his head.
Nami was radiant.
She wore an ivory gown of flowing linen and silk, its sleeves long and sheer, the bodice delicately embroidered with gold thread in swirling, compass-like patterns. The skirt fell in soft layers that brushed the stone as she walked, and a thin circlet of wildflowers rested in her hair, a light veil trailing behind her like sea foam. She carried herself like a queen, eyes shining, cheeks flushed with joy.
The crowd surged closer, clapping, laughing, shouting their blessings.
“Long live Robin of the Straw Hat!”
“Lady Marian!”
“May your travels be safe and smooth!”
Luffy laughed, lifting a hand in a wave that was more enthusiastic than coordinated, while Nami smiled and dipped her head gracefully.
They were led toward a waiting white stallion, tall and proud, its mane brushed smooth and gleaming in the sun.
Before mounting, Nami paused.
She turned, bouquet in hand—a bundle of wildflowers, herbs, and ribbons tied with twine—and lifted it high.
“Ready?” she called.
A chorus of excited shouts answered her.
She laughed and tossed it over her shoulder.
Chaos erupted.
Women lunged. Elbows flew. Someone yelped.
And then—calm as ever—Robin reached up and caught the bouquet effortlessly in one hand.
She blinked, then smiled.
Across the square, Franky froze.
Robin met his eyes… and winked.
Franky’s face went bright red. “S-SUPER—!” He broke into laughter, rubbing the back of his neck.
Usopp pointed at them, eyes wide. “Nuh-uh! Absolutely not! One wedding is enough! At least wait until Luffy and Nami get back from their honeymoon!”
The crowd laughed again.
Luffy helped Nami onto the stallion, steadying her as she settled behind him. He swung up easily in front, taking the reins.
Together, they turned to face everyone one last time.
Rowan stood with his arm around his wife, who was holding their newborn baby. Lila ant the rest of her siblings were perched proudly at her side. Beside them, Taro and Ben waved wildly. Shanks stood tall, arms crossed, smiling like a man at peace. Ben Beckman nodded once. Lucky Roux waved with a grin. Zoro leaned on a post, smirking. Sanji bowed dramatically. Usopp waved both arms. Robin smiled softly. Chopper bounced in place. Franky gave a thumbs-up. Brook swept off his hat. Jinbe pressed a hand to his chest in respect.
Luffy raised a hand. “See you guys later!”
Nami waved, her veil fluttering. “Take care of Nottingham!”
With a gentle kick of Luffy’s heel, the stallion began to trot forward.
As the town faded behind them, Nami leaned in, loosely wrapping her arms around Luffy’s waist and resting her head against his back.
“So,” she said softly, smiling, “where are we going? Spain? France? Perhaps even Italy?”
Luffy thought for a moment. Then grinned.
“I was thinking something more nautical.”
She quirked her brow. “The ocean? Have you ever even been on a ship—let alone captained one?”
“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “But it sounds fun, right? Can’t be that hard. Besides—” He glanced back at her. “I married a woman who knows how to navigate.”
Nami laughed, warm and bright, pressing her cheek to his shoulder.
“That you did.”
The horse carried them onward, down the road and into the horizon—toward open water, open skies, and a future as wide and free as the sea itself.
